Almost Local

We’ve been in Asia for over a decade now. Long enough that “expat” has never really felt like the right word for us — but also long enough that I never expected certain sentences to come out of my own mouth. Like: “I just bought the MOE workbooks for Math, English, and Mandarin.”

That one snuck up on me.

The nervousness under the nervousness

Our older daughter is transferring from international school to a local school next year, and if I’m honest, most of the worry isn’t really about her. It’s about us. We’re Caucasian parents who moved here from the Netherlands, and every local school story we’ve ever heard — the pace, the pressure, the sheer volume of homework — lives rent-free in our heads.

Mandarin sits right at the centre of that worry. Because unlike the academic subjects, we can’t just sit down and help her with it ourselves.

So we did what half the parents I coach at ActiveWomen seem to do eventually: we went looking for tuition.

Round one: copy the board

First class. She came home with sheet after sheet, all neatly filled in. Proof, basically, that learning had happened.

Except when we asked her what she’d learned, what the lesson was even about — she didn’t know. She told us she’d been told to copy what was on the board. Not read it, not understand it. Copy it.

Full sheets, empty understanding. Not exactly what we were hoping tuition would fix.

Round two: not “enough”

Next, we tried a group class that came recommended as more interactive, more fun — the opposite of copy-and-paste learning. Better vibe, for sure. But after one assessment, we were told she was below level, and that she should really start with one-to-one lessons first.

So now the message wasn’t just “your daughter needs help with Mandarin.” It was “she needs help just to be ready for the help.”

Round three: someone she already trusts

The third try was different, and it’s the one that’s actually working. We asked a teacher from her old preschool — someone both girls already know and feel safe with — if she’d take them on. She agreed to teach both kids together, for the price of one.

My older daughter started nervous, same as every other round. But partway through the first class, I heard laughing. Actual laughing. They came out happy, asking when the next lesson was, sad that the two hours were already over.

That’s it, really. That’s the whole difference — not a better curriculum, not a stricter class. Just a familiar face and a bit of joy let back into the learning.

So — are we becoming Singaporean?

Somewhere between the workbooks and the Koobits subscription (which, fine, has genuinely been a lifesaver for maths), I’ve had to admit: maybe a little. We’re stacking tuition onto an already full school day — international school until 4pm, then sports or Mandarin, layered on top of my work and trying to still show up for my other two kids and my own training.

I talk to so many parents going through some version of this. Locals, or families who moved here from places like Australia, all starting out wanting the same thing for their kids: more free play, less pressure. And all of us, slowly, quietly, making one exception at a time until the schedule looks nothing like what we swore we’d protect.

The one thing I keep coming back to, the thing I don’t want to trade away no matter how many tuition classes we add: unstructured time to just play and be creative. And going to bed on time.

We’ll see how long I can hold that line.