Navigating Dual Roots: A Journey of Love and Belonging
Almost thirty years after moving to Singapore, my Irish mother’s perception of home has both transformed and deepened.
“In a year or so, I will have spent more time in Singapore than in Ireland,” she remarked.
“But despite my affection for Singapore,” she added, “I still possess a steadfastly Irish heart.”
Jacquie Hourihane, my mother, harbors a unique love for her homeland, where she spent her first 27 years. “In Gaelic, we refer to it as a grá. I carry a grá for Ireland.”
Even while distanced from her native land, Jacquie’s Irish heart has only grown stronger—enabling her to embrace her second home, Singapore, with equal passion.
“I can’t replace my grá for Ireland, nor do I wish to,” she clarified. “However, that doesn’t imply I can’t love Singapore with equal intensity.”
Since arriving in 1994, she has discovered a significant similarity between her two countries: resilience.
“Singapore and Ireland share more commonalities than one might think,” she stated. “Both are former colonies that fought fiercely for their independence.”
Integration vs Assimilation
Recognizing such parallels is essential for fostering integration: while the world is diverse and vast, there are universal experiences that connect us. I have explored this topic for RICE from various viewpoints—often through profiles of individuals I don’t know personally.
It hadn’t dawned on me to ask my mother, now a Singaporean Permanent Resident for over a decade, her thoughts on this complex subject. After all, she has lived here for many years.
Her insights were unexpected.
“There’s a distinction between integration and assimilation,” she elucidated. “I believe the former can exist without the latter.”
In her opinion, integration acknowledges the varied experiences of immigrants and expats while fostering an understanding of Singaporean norms and values.
Assimilation, conversely, signifies a more complete process of ‘becoming’ Singaporean in a cultural sense. “This path may suit some, but I am proudly Irish.”
Jacquie does not view her grá for Ireland as an impediment to her life in Singapore. Must one relinquish one home to establish another?
“You can have more than one home. One deep connection does not negate or weaken another.”
She had not intended to remain for so long—just a couple of years. Yet life unfolds gradually, and their brief stay evolved into something much more significant. A considerable part of our family’s roots in Singapore stems from my mother.
And now, 27 years later, here we still are.
Feeling Out of Place
“It was pouring rain at Dublin Airport on the day we departed,” my mother reminisces. It was January 1994, coinciding with my grandfather’s birthday.
Years later, he confided that he was uncertain when he would see her again. Back then, when Irish individuals left Ireland, it was uncommon for them to return.
Upon landing in Singapore, Jacquie was immediately enveloped by the oppressive heat. “Even after 27 years, I’m still not accustomed to it,” she chuckles.
Her adaptation was a trial by heat and humidity. When my parents arrived, they knew no one aside from my father’s colleagues.
To get her bearings, Jacquie began exploring. Within a month, she had traversed the entire city. “While your dad was at work, I visited various places I had heard of and checked them out.”
She roamed without a map, asking for directions along the way. The kindness and hospitality she encountered, particularly from the older generation, made a lasting impression. “Everyone was so warm and curious—they inquired about my reasons for being here and how long I intended to stay.”
As an Irish woman in her mid-twenties, Singapore’s cultural mosaic was exhilarating. She was captivated by the distinct cultural neighborhoods, such as Arab Street, Little India, Holland Village, and Chinatown.
In the ‘90s, these areas felt particularly defined. “For the first couple of weeks, I took the bus into Chinatown every day. I loved being there, chatting with the aunties, and learning about herbal remedies.”
Finding their first apartment in Spanish Village along Farrer Road was a crucial logistical step. “We didn’t have an expat package, so we rented and paid for the apartment from your dad’s earnings.”
An estate agent named Elaine picked her up from their hotel, The Plaza (now Park Royal) on Beach Road for the initial viewing.
“Colleagues of our agent encountered her on the street. They kept saying, Elaine-ah. You know, Singlish. It’s so clear now, but back then, I thought her name was Elaina. I addressed her that way, and she looked at me as if I were mad.”
They shared a good laugh after that. Moving into Spanish Village coincided with Chinese New Year, which occurred over a long weekend.
“Of course, we were entirely unaware of what happens during CNY. Not a single store was open. We moved in with absolutely nothing—I needed toilet paper, kitchen towels, dish soap, and all the essentials. Even the petrol station was closed.”
Eventually, she borrowed some toilet paper from a hotel to get by.
Shortly after settling in, Jacquie was summoned to a government office to view a videotape of her cousin’s wedding that had been sent in the mail. “I sat there with a few of the—what should I call them?—censors, I suppose? We watched the wedding video from start to finish.”
She assumed they were screening it for inappropriate content. In hindsight, it was likely conducted by a film content assessor from the Board of Censors, established under the Films Act in the ‘80s.
For an Irish woman, this process was quite unusual. It struck her as somewhat silly, but watching her cousin’s wedding ceremony with the censors instilled a perspective she’s maintained throughout her life in Singapore: “I am a guest in a different culture, and I should behave accordingly.”
Eighteen Months of Rendang, Sweat, and Tears
It took my parents 18 months to feel comfortably settled in Singapore. For Jacquie, establishing her own life, independent of her husband, was essential for putting down roots in Singapore.
Having taken an ESL course prior to emigrating, she quickly found employment at an enrichment center, teaching speech, drama, and creative writing classes in local schools. Her first assignment was at Pei Hwa Primary School, where she read to 5-year-olds and taught them the alphabet.
As a Caucasian teacher, she stood out to her students.
“The little girls would twirl my hair and ask to brush it. I don’t think they had encountered many blonde women before. They adored me, and I adored them.”
Like any teacher, she had her favorites: “There was one little girl with a blunt bob and a serious expression. She seemed wise beyond her years. One morning, while I was reading a book of nursery rhymes, she earnestly exclaimed: ‘Cow SO fat… how can it jump over the moon?’”
Due to a shortage of English teachers at the enrichment center, she had to commute across the island daily. “There were days when I traveled from Upper Bukit Timah to Bishan and then to Tampines.”
Back then, her bus routes lacked air-conditioning. “I didn’t mind though. I wanted to experience all of Singapore, not just the expat areas,” she stated.
Weekends were dedicated to culinary explorations. Irish diets tend to be hearty but monotonous—consisting mainly of meat (beef, pork, chicken) and vegetables (greens, carrots, potatoes). Thus, Singapore’s diverse culinary offerings were alluring to my parents.
For a time, they were particularly fond of beef rendang. “Arab Street had the best one, and the Cricket Club was also good,” my mother recalls. They frequently visited The Satay Club on Queen Elizabeth Walk, which was later demolished in 1995 to make way for the Esplanade.
However, above all else, their true passion was Indian cuisine.
“Race Course Road had the most amazing restaurants,” my mother reminisced. The Banana Leaf Apolo, famous for its butter chicken, became one of their early and lasting favorites.
Although teaching and culinary experiences helped her connect with Singapore, Jacquie eventually experienced debilitating homesickness. Internet access at home was a luxury they couldn’t afford, and long-distance phone calls were infrequent due to high costs.
Born in Singapore, But Not Singaporean
That’s what my birth certificate states, marked with the location: Mount Elizabeth Hospital. It succinctly encapsulates the complex sense of “home” I’ve grappled with over the years.
Since I’ve never lived in Ireland, my attachment to Singapore is profound. However, I wouldn’t label myself as local either. My mother highlighted this internal struggle as a significant challenge to integration.
“This is the core issue, emotionally speaking.”
“Expats can feel rooted in two places, yet also torn between them.”
She experienced conflicting feelings of belonging after giving birth in Singapore. “I had a very challenging pregnancy, and you were born prematurely, which was quite frightening.”
The medical care she received was exceptional, but once my dad frequently traveled for work, she often found herself home alone with an infant.
During his absences, she deeply missed the support of her female relatives and friends back home, particularly her mother’s comfort and guidance.
During this time, she cultivated strong friendships with other expat women: “They truly stepped in to fulfill the role I had been missing. We were all in the same boat, right? I did the same for them and their babies. When you’re far from home, your friends become your family.”
She believes this is why expats can sometimes come off as cliquish and insular: “We create our own micro-communities in Singapore to feel seen and understood. Cultural differences can complicate socializing. Not difficult, or impossible, but complicated.”
In her experience, having a sense of familiarity made her a better-integrated foreigner in Singapore. She felt more comfortable and empowered to make Singapore her home within a community of people who shared similar cultural references.
Building a Micro-community
By the time I reached secondary school, my parents were tired of living “on the fly.” Their two-year exploratory journey morphed into permanent residency. When they received Permanent Residency in 2008, it felt like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders.
However, this change in status didn’t significantly alter their perception of Singapore. By then, it already felt like home after over a decade. “It was merely a formality; my integration didn’t suddenly improve due to my PR status,” she remarked.
After my birth, my mother sought more flexibility in her work schedule than teaching could offer—so she became involved in the local fair scene. Most of the vendors were expat women, providing local shoppers with imported goods.
At that time, she was operating on a Letter of Consent (LOC) linked to her Dependence Pass (DP), as were most of her colleagues. The LOC is an authorization certificate issued by Singapore’s Ministry of Manpower (MOM) that allows eligible LTVP (Long-Term Visit Pass) or LTVP+ holders and business owners to work for a Singaporean company.
Though she has been a PR for several years and no longer considers herself an “expat,” she felt disheartened upon learning that LOCs were no longer being granted to DP holders in 2021.
“Most people availing themselves of the LOC are expat women. They aren’t drawing substantial salaries by selling jewelry at sporadic pop-up shops. I don’t understand how they’re taking jobs from Singaporeans as small business owners.”
This legislative change reminded her of the importance of creating a sense of agency while establishing roots in Singapore.
“The women I know affected by this change want to be active in the community. They volunteer, work with animal shelters, and run small businesses. It doesn’t seem beneficial to prevent them from doing these things.”
Over the years, Jacquie has woven herself into the small business community. During the pandemic, she noticed that some long-standing brands (particularly those owned by expats) had vanished.
However, she was pleasantly surprised to see numerous locally owned independent brands and designers emerging once the dust settled. As a well-known figure in the industry, many new players reached out to her for guidance on growing their businesses.
After organizing a socially-distanced fair in 2021, she opened a shop—Cove Collection—in Sentosa to showcase locally grown small businesses, where each brand owner contributes a few hours weekly to manage the shop and sell everyone’s products.
It was vital for her to feature a diverse range of vendors, blending locals and expats. She successfully connected one of her favorite local vendors, Jessica, with other collectives and stockists in Singapore to broaden her reach and assist in growing her business.
“I understand how it feels to build something from scratch. I want to make it easier—and more enjoyable—for other women in Singapore as well.”
For the Long Haul
“Home is a feeling, not merely a location. You don’t need to be in one place forever to call it home,” my mother reflected, pondering whether she still identifies as an “expat.”
She has lived in Singapore long enough to feel uncomfortable being labeled as a “transient” visitor. However, she acknowledges the reasons behind the negative perceptions of expats.
“I’ve encountered some over the years that I’ve genuinely disliked. They breeze through, pay little tax, flaunt their wealth, and treat people poorly. Yet, there are many long-term residents you might not expect—those who have intentionally rooted themselves and welcomed Singapore into their hearts.”
In her experience, especially following the pandemic, she observes that there are more long-term residents than fleeting visitors. It’s more challenging now than when she arrived to make spontaneous decisions to relocate. Throughout this interview—and countless times over the years—I’ve sought an answer to when she plans to leave Singapore.
She always seems hesitant to commit to a specific date. For as long as I can remember, her answer has been, “a couple more years.” But the years continue to accumulate, and soon she will have lived away longer than she lived in Ireland.
One certainty she possesses is that a part of her will always belong to Singapore.
“I will be completely, utterly heartbroken when I leave. Whether I remain here or not, it will always be my home.”
