Blue Blood

It was a sizeable shock.

There I was, curled up in my chair with legs propped on table, reading Mammon Inc., the hilarious 2nd book by Singaporean novelist Hwee Hwee Tan, about a Singapore-born, Oxford-educated woman training to become an CorpS Adapter in a world rife with mcCola, mcBurger, mcMac, and mostly run by Mammon Inc. Chiah Deng's role as anAdapter is to teach executives how to cross cultures. Her second Test in the pursuit of THE fabulous job is to turn her very-Singaporean sister into someone Brit enough to mix effortlessly in the JCR of Oxford's Christ Church College. Now, Chiah Chen is the epitome of the stereotyped Singaporean girl complete with mandatory kiasu-ness and perfectly atrocious Singlish. Hence Chiah Deng writes up a Guide to Being an Oxford It Girl:

"Here are the Top 10 questions that people might ask you at social functions.
Memorize these answers so that they'll think you're a posh socialite.
Questions about your:
1) Name
Your name: Sophie
Names of your best friends: Sophie, Tara, Sara, Cosmina, George, Robert, Prince William, Tom
2) Childhood and education
You were raised in Egypt. You could see the pyramids from your mansion terrace. Unfortunately, your family had to flee after Daddy's warehouse was burned down by ungrateful natives. When you returned home, you were shipped off to the Sherborne School for Girls."

And there it was, without so much as a by-your-leave ma'am, the jolt of my exotic past hitting me in the face. Sherborne School for Girls. Posh socialite. Was I really that blue-blooded, then?

But then I had a little epiphany. Years in posh Brit boarding schools notwithstanding, I guess all that really matters is the person I've turned out to be, not the names on my education certs nor my accent or my familiarity with old hymns due to long hours in freezing cathedrals/abbeys. Yes I ain't your average 19-year-old Malaysian gal, and I can't claim to mix with people from all walks of society, but you definitely won't catch me dead sniffing at anyone for being too nouveau riche. All I ask are things like not putting your feet on the table while eating, and I really couldn't care less if you knew which is the salad knife or the dessert spoon. So, off to the mamak it is!