Anon

Ruth, one of the site editors, has been bugging me to write something for dimsum for quite a while now, and I finally agreed as there was something I wanted to get off my chest. By way of introduction, let's just say that I am a professional Singaporean male working in London, 30, single and frankly quite happy with life (my friends may disagree with that last point but that's another story for another time). Hmm... That didn't come out quite right, did it (a little too much like a personal ad, a very needy personal ad no less)? But as snapshot biographies go, fairly pithy and to the point.

Anyway, I though I'd share some thoughts about my latest trip home. Journey's home to Singapore (and for the sake of brevity I shall refer to it as all good Singaporeans do, as the 'S'pore' - after all why waste perfectly good vowels, eh?) are fraught at the best of times. The eleven-hour long haul flight in steerage (with the inevitable old biddy from Hertfordshire in the seat next to you who wants to talk about how much she loves S'pore, and how many times she's been there in the last 30 years for the whole 11 hours) does not a happy bunny make when I get off the plane. This time it was worse. I was going back for a wedding. And not just any wedding. After all, I had attended numerous weddings back in S'pore (seems to me like every time the government gives us a tax incentive, more of my friends get hitched, but perhaps, I'm letting my cynicism run away with me, we're just a very practical peoples...). No, the problem was that this time, it was personal. This time is was... family.

Blessed cousin David, the golden child of the family, a couple of months younger than me and beloved of all, was finally tying the knot with his fianc of 7 years. Bells were ringing, the heavens rejoiced and my gran had that beatific smile only comes with the certainty that she's going to be a great grandmother before all her friends. I kid you not, at this stage David and Valencia (yes, that really is her name) could do no wrong. They would make Snow White look like a short-tempered brat of a princess who'd just discovered that she had really bad split ends.

So what's the problem you ask? Simple: as I mentioned before, I'm single and David's younger than me. Basically I was bracing myself for the usual questions of 'so, when's your wedding going to be?', 'how come, you haven't got a girlfriend yet?', and the ultimate kick in the teeth 'you know, ah, Aunty so and so's daughter just came back from England also, you should meet [insert appropriate sounding female Chinese name that translates into 'something-pretty', which we all know is a surefire give away that she's anything but]?' - as if you couldn't find a girlfriend on your own and like some socially challenged (is that pc enough?) dating paraplegic, you need a 'helping hand', a 'gentle push in the right direction'. Okay, so I haven't actually been on a date since Prada insisted that 'Brown was the new black darlink' (which might account for the current state of my wardrobe). But still, to have my face rubbed in it like that...And the indignity of having to endure the fact that David got there first.

Ever since we were kids, David and I have always competed for everything, be it running (usually away from my gran, who was wielding a large cane. He always won and I have the scars today to prove it), climbing the chikku tree (he usually won those too), studies (a bit of a more level playing field there, but how do you measure success against someone who did a degree in marine biology because he loves to dive? Somehow my year-end bonuses seem to pale in the light of his permanently healthy tan). Now he's gotten married. Before me! I haven't even got anyone to bring to the wedding!!

So as I sit here putting this down to paper, I have to ask myself, what caused this reaction in me? Was it competition? No, not really, our lives have gone such different ways that I must admit that there isn't anything to compete over anymore. Was it the fact that I would be treated like a piece of meat by a gaggle of dowagers who were just looking for a chance to practice their age-old art of social engineering? Again, the answer would have to be no. I am a big boy and frankly nobody can force me to do what I don't want to and who I am to complain about getting girls thrust in my face.

The penny drops.

The problem is that, my cousin is living the S'pore dream. He's the poster boy of the Social Development Unit (yes, another S'poreanism - the 'SDU'). He's fulfilling all the expectations heaped upon us since my earliest recollection. As a result he is reaping all the rewards that that entails; Tax incentives, pretty wife, subsidized housing and enhanced state pension provisions - all benefits he will now be entitled to. I can say, hand on my heart that I am happy for him and that he's probably about to embark on one of the most exciting phases in his life (I mean, he'll be thinking about kids, for goodness sake, I still think I am a kid...). I don't regret not choosing the same path in life. My life in London is not a hard one and I like it most of the time but I guess there's a small part of me that's saying that all those things could've been mine and while I didn't choose them, I am sentimental enough to feel the twinge of 'what if?'

But that's ok. 'What if' is fine so long as it doesn't turn into 'When its my turn...'