Cheryl Tan - Sarong Party Girls

The lights suddenly all came on at once and the Ah Beng emcee started singing this old Hokkien song—I could understand the first part, since sometimes people sing it at weddings. Some love song about two people sharing an umbrella—a bit toot, yes, but when someone explained the lyrics to me recently I was actually quite touched. So I thought, OK, this is not bad. But only the first few lines were sweet and slow—after that, this Lady Gaga — type disco beat suddenly started and then the umbrella song become half romantic, half Rihanna’s “Umbrella.” And the red spotlights started moving around like crazy again and everyone started cheering and clapping because these long rows of China girls started coming out from the four corners of the room, dancing down the aisles between the tables and then climbing onto the crisscrossed divider in the middle.

Each girl was wearing shiny black shoes with a small button strap across them, like those shoes you see schoolgirls in England wearing except these had very high heels. Some more they were wearing knee-high white socks and tight white buttoned shirts that were so see-through you could see that underneath them, each girl was wearing a sparkling red bra—their tetek were all so big the bra is confirm push-up one. They all had hair tied up in two ponytails, eyes painted big big, super long eyelashes—fake one lah. But the thing that all the old Ah Peks and Ah Bengs were really staring at was their skirts—aiyoh! These China girls—kani nah! Not shy! Each of their little black skirts was so short it couldn’t even cover their whole backside—whenever they moved you could see their white frilly panties underneath. And then the way they purposely danced, they kept pushing up their backsides for everyone to see.

Walao! By this point, Louis and his friends were all out of control, shouting and clapping like crazy. One of them even started loudly saying over and over “Teng kor! Teng kor! Teng kor!” (As if those girls would actually take off their panties—mad! I almost told Kelvin, “Hello, you buy them a Coach bag first then maybe can negotiate. If buy Louis Vuitton, then they confirm will suck your pretend big cock.”) Fann, Imo and I just looked at each other—we had nothing to say.

Like this—how can we win?

Just the other day, my mum was lecturing me about life again. These days ah, in my house, people cannot just quietly drink kopi and eat toast. Now, every day, breakfast is my mum’s big lecture time. The topic never changes: my future.

That day, mum had clipped out this Singapore Airlines advertisement from the newspaper. They were doing their annual recruitment, looking for new Singapore girls and stewards. Every year when this advertisement comes out, every year my mum confirm will cut it out. “Huay ah—you see?” she said, pushing the paper to me.

“Aiyoh, please lah. Guniang here so old already—as if they want me!” I said. She should know this better than me—Singapore Airlines, they usually want those twenty-one-, twenty-two-year-old girls. “Old birds like me? Please lah. If I apply, they sure laugh until fall down.”

“You cannot think like that, Ah Huay,” mum said, trying to push the advertisement in front of my face again. “The cutoff now is a bit older. Not like my time, when only young girls can apply. You got chance, why you don’t want? Flying can really change your life you know, Ah Girl—SQ will teach you how to dress, how to put on nice makeup, how to eat properly at those nice restaurants, look pretty, meet the right kind of men. You not young anymore, you know—please lah, why you don’t want to find a good husband? Your ah pa and I won’t be around forever to take care of you, you know.”

This argument ah, she every week also say. I don’t know why she still tries. She knows I listen until tired already. Cannot listen anymore.

Yes, of course I know she always wished she could have joined SQ. Then maybe she could have done something more with her life than be a hairdresser in a sleazy Excelsior Plaza salon where only cheapskate housewives go for those 1980s tight spiro perms. My ah pa is an OK guy lah, but he’s not rich, definitely not handsome, boring job, whole day watch football or go downstairs to the kopitiam to drink Tiger beer and smoke cigarettes type. Of course when you add all those things together, my mum was not happy. This kind of life, my god, if you dare to offer to me I confirm will tell you, “Eh, thank you ah—but balls, lah!”

But my life is actually not bad—I don’t know what my mum complaining about. Be an executive assistant to newspaper editor, you think it’s an easy job? Boss is always grumpy, I sometimes end up staying late because there’s always some news breaking somewhere. And now with texting, I’m somehow always on call—late at night also sometimes get text from the boss to ask me to book a table or buy a present or make an appointment or something. This one is not an anyhow kind of job you know—it’s a real career! Got future! My boss is a big guy, which means I am actually quite important. If my boss someday becomes publisher, then I’ll be the publisher’s assistant. Serious one! Don’t play play.

Yes, I know some of my school friends, all the smart girls, they managed to grow up to be lawyers, accountants and banking types. Even one of them actually became a surgeon—I also don’t know how. When we found out about it, we were all damn stunned. I mean, I didn’t go to the most terrible school in Singapore but even I also know that judging from the kinds of girls who went to my government school, for any of them to become a surgeon is almost as difficult as winning the Toto big prize. (Although if you saw this surgeon girl and the kind of backside face she has, you can tell that she’s quite smart.)

But me, I may not know much but at least I know what I can do—and I know what is just crazy to consider. I know I’m smart enough to be a secretary or executive assistant. But to become a doctor, lawyer or banker? I’m smart enough to know not to dream about it.

Don’t talk about becoming a doctor, I can’t even imagine marrying a doctor. Usually they are not the types of guys that you meet at the clubs and bar. At least not the ones we usually go to. But then again the doctors who come here from America or Australia are usually older, married already, stay-at-home type. I guess it’s a bit weird if you see them at Clarke Quay at 1 A.M., chionging in the SPG clubs. And the doctors who are Singaporean—my god, please, those are the most boring. Sure, if you marry one then your life will be good money-wise, but I tell you, those guys are the ones with the bossiest mothers, who will live with you and interfere with every single thing you try to do with your husband and kids. Give me that kind of life—hallo, I’d rather stay at home with my parents until I drop dead.

This Singapore Airlines issue though, I’ve explained it over and over to my mum until I’m fucking tired. It’s just wasting my saliva to even try telling her again.

But seeing the China girls at Lunar tonight, I started thinking that maybe my mum actually has a point. Maybe joining SQ or some shit like that is better than us trying to run around Singapore and anyhow hit balls. So many girls out there, so many different things to fight. I suddenly felt quite tired. And I also suddenly wished Sher was there at Lunar with us.

If Sher was here, confirm she would find something funny to say. (Also, usually when Sher is around, more guys talk to us, even if there are other chio girls around for them to look at.) I was trying to think where she was tonight. The wedding was a few nights ago—where did she say she was going for her honeymoon? Langkawi? Or Batam? Typical Ah Beng honeymoon. Marrying an ang moh means you get a honeymoon that’s not a cheapo Malaysia or Indonesia trip. Our friend Dolly last year went to Paris for her honeymoon when she married that American guy, OK! He’s not even that rich but he said Paris was very romantic, so honeymoon must go there. By the time Dolly came back, she was pregnant already! Talk about number one win. But if you marry an Ah Beng, aiyoh—they just want to bring you somewhere nearby so you don’t need to fly for so long and there’s cheap local food so they don’t have to pay big money for Western crap. All they want is to garabing garabung—fast fast one so then they can smoke a cigarette, text their friends and play Candy Crush.