Singlish

Endearing more than anything. The syntax the aunties and uncles have developed over a few short generations shows more than a little pizzazz. Creole often creates expressive flair and invention; Singlish is another example. Listening to earnest biz talk the rhythms and constructions, the emphases and unfolding, often seem productions of poorly concealed parody. In the steamy tropics even in the tearooms and air-conditioned malls one is always caught completely unawares by the elongations of Oxbridge—the kind of thing that got Dostojevsky's goat in the case of Parisienne Slavs. Even in the sixties in Australia there was little to compare to these perfections of Singapore when one came upon them. What we have here is an entirely immigrant city-state of three main language groups: Bahassa Malay, Tamil and the various Chinese forms (five or six markedly distinct from each other); then colonial English, foisted upon the population at large forty odd years ago. An unusual, not to say bizarre set of circumstances. The experiment continues to this day, with much understandable back-sliding and renewed government insistence. If there was a sizeable cultural disintegration resulting it remains a secondary concern, a year-long cycle of colourful festivals and celebrations denying the damage. 

Today was one of those rare examples that strike suddenly; a jab below the belt when least expected. Naturally idioms especially can leave a non-native speaker floundering. Daily one sees all manner of skewed usage in government sloganeering and advertising in particular. The ubiquitous billboard tees on the streets are always worth a look for the pronouncements—invariably only in English. 

This afternoon's example made one pity the poor girl concerned; pity the population at large caught in the no-man's land between languages and cultures. 

Young neat Senior High in fawn slacks, girl-next-door hair, dropping her chin and flexing eyes behind her lenses—the incongruity could not have been more stark. 

If her school friends visited the porn sites and engaged in sexting, not this dutiful daughter. 

Projecting from high on her chest, white upper-case on navy:

                                    WE'VE GOT THE BALLS

The Sports-master seemed the likeliest culprit; marathon-man or kick-boxer. It might even have been a Christian outfit, high-fee paying; many of the priests and ministers were native now rather than introduced.

The latest advertising blitz encouraged Sticky-notes for reinforcement of vocabulary and phrases. Write. Stick. Snap. Share.

Strange social laboratory. A Little Red Dot envied and copied for the perceived success of the model throughout the region.