Sarong Party Girls

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This book is written in Singlish, which is the patois that most Singaporeans speak to one another. It’s a tossed salad of the different languages and Chinese dialects that the country’s multiethnic population speaks—English, Malay, Mandarin, Hokkien, Teochew and more. It’s packed with attitude and humor and often is deliciously vulgar. Despite its allure, it has been the target of the Singapore government’s “Speak Good English” campaigns in the past. Fortunately, Singlish has turned out to be like a weed—it lives on.

Aiyoh, I tell you. If we do nothing, we are confirm getting into bang balls territory. We have to figure out how to make this happen—and we have to do it now.

After all, we’ve wasted enough time already. And we don’t have any more time to waste! We are not young anymore, you know—Fann just turned twenty-seven, my twenty-seventh birthday is two months away and Imo’s is not far behind. If we don’t get married, engaged or even nail down a boyfriend soon—my god, we might as well go ahead and book a room at Singapore Casket because our lives would already be over. In many ways, in Singapore, our kind of age is already considered a bit left on the shelf. Ordinarily, I don’t heck care about such things. Hallo—Jazzy here knows she’s quite power. Usually, unless the guy is blind or stupid or some shit, whatever guy I have my eye on I also can get, even at my age. You ask any bookie out there—my odds are damn good.

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