one week in singapore casts up new stereotypes. bus drivers and coffee shop assistants are p.r.c. chinese speaking impeccable mandarin and little else. the girls at the cold storage cashier and in shops are filipina. that helpful guide at the mrt station is foreign too. i miss the staunchly local middle aged men and women who previously populated all these places with their harshly accented ungrammatical endearingly familiar english malay mandarin and hokkien. the final domestic bastion must be the taxicab, whose driver continues to maintain his fierce opinions in unapologetic singlish.
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