Want to say a mahusiv thanks to everyone who came to my gigs last week, and for the three people in the whole expat wife community who didn’t make, I’m sure you had a good excuse (like husband away and helper sick). So for you, I’ll put the clip in this post.
I was meant to leave Singapore on Friday, but a series of rather wonderful occurrences occurred, so I thought HEY, why not just stay?! Hotels don’t give you the bill until you leave, right? So all I have to do is stay long enough to make some major cash (somehow), and then I’ll be able to afford the Raffles invoice.
Given that Agent Provocateur (the brand of my trademark sunnies) didn’t come through with the $2bn sponsorship deal I put to them, I’m pretty sure that Chanel (my new glasses) will be up for it. I’m happy to negotiate because hello, this is Chanel we’re talking about, so I could probably meet them at $1.9 or even $1.75bn. I’ll leave it up to them. They seem to know what they’re doing, so they’ll figure out what’s fair here.
That was my plan A, and then… Then I did my second sell-out gig from my sell-out tour of the whole of Asia but only in Singapore, at Chijmes. A lovely audience member tweeted this pic of me extolling the virtues of Grant Property, and now I’m thinking that they would most likely also love the opportunity to sponsor me as an emerging Asia expat (sort of) talent (totes).
Armed with Plans A and B, I also realised that I didn’t get to finish my second Tekka Market joke at the Blu Jaz, so I really need another shot at that. Plus, it has been so amazing hanging out in the sun that it just made zero sense to dash back to London.
Then the most incrediblé thing of all happened…
So you know that I met up with Mrs Doom and Gloom Expat Wifey last week, and that she is none of the above anymore, and that I actually started to like her because she has turned into a proper person with sensible values like partying and handbags, but then she said she’s getting her blog published, and mysteriously I didn’t like her anymore and considered throwing myself off the Swissôtel (I’m a complex person, as you know, dear readers).
Well. Crazy upon crazy, she came to my first gig and she brought a friend with her who’s a talent agent, and he loved me!! Not only that, but she showed my blog to her publisher and… He loves me too!!! OMFG!!!
So I’m like WOW, I have at least a gazillion reasons to stay in Singas, and only a few little crappy ones to go back to London, not counting the irritants. They’re fine with Don. He knows where their clothes and schools are, and has apparently hired a housewife I mean housekeeper. Oopsy, it’s just too easy to mix those things up, isn’t it?
Over the coming months, I need to assemblé my past posts into a book, as requested by the publisher, so I’ll be too busy to blog. Hashtag sad face. I’ll miss each and every one of you, and I know the feeling is mutual, despite you missing me more.
I might pop up occasionally, but it’s best I keep a low profile, in case Don thinks I should come back, and what with being on a tourist visa and all that.
I think, dearest readers, that I might be experiencing an epiphanification. I used to believe that I had worked hard to get where I was, to be an expat wife – like my mother before me, and her mother before her. Now that I have suffered the torture of repatriation, and returned to my spiritual homeland of warm nights on roof terraces, weekends in Bali, the peace of separation from family, the eternal transitions and exciting losses, the shopping, the laughter, the wonderful quicksand of the Unknown and Unknowable… Now I realise that this is where I was born to be. Not an expat wife, but a free soul: embracing the now, leaving behind that which no longer serves, and taking lots of selfies along the way. Descartes was wrong when he quotheded “I think therefore I am”. Or maybe not wrong, just not right anymore. Here, today, I have likes and followers therefore I am. There are 7.4 billion people in the world today, but I am somebody. And some people are more somebody than others.
This was my diary.
Love love love