"Your country don't want me!"

I cried to Dailytoe. "They put me in a room full of China people and make me wait two hours without seeing me!"

I was recalling what happened at the Immigration Centre where I was trying to apply for residency. Apparently, I am not the only one seeking butt-space in this island. I think half of China was there. Okay, make that 1/1000th given that their country population run into billions.

When I was taking my queue number, the civil servant at the counter whispered to me that chances of me seeing an immigration officer that day is very slim. There are 170 people ahead of me trying to put in their application. There is a digital information board displaying the estimated waiting time and it says '120 minutes for Applications.'

Since I drove half an hour to get to Kallang and ran from the public car park in the pouring rain, I am NOT going to give up without a fight; the fight being who can wait it out the longest. So I plonk my ass down at one of those plastic chairs along with the rest of the 170 hopefuls.

The waiting room is freezing cold, stuffy and crammed with restless Chinese folks. They were either sleeping or complaining. The Chinese couple behind me apparently has been waiting for many, many hours. I can hear them grumbling away in a strange village dialect. They have a kid sleeping in a pram which was placed next to me - and to my horror, he was completely covered in newspaper! I kid you not. To be specific, it was the Lian He Zhao Bao (Chinese Daily). And I only recognise that it was a human being underneath because a tiny foot was sticking out. A Good Morning towel would have been more appropriate... the poor kid...

I decided that I will take this opportunity to catch up on current affairs and to read my Straits Times from cover to cover. I got as far as the history of the Tibetan liberation movement before I promptly fell asleep. Yes, with newspaper on my lap and head resting on my right palm. I suspect my mouth was agape too. I was startled when someone tried pull something out from under me. The Chinese lady next to me was scowling when I open my eyes because I had encroached on her plastic bag which was placed near my legs.

An hour gone by. I look at the queue board. Only 20 numbers had been called.

I stared into space. Checked the Blackberry. Checked the phone. Yawn. Stretch the legs. Check whether the poor kid is still breathing under the newspaper (yes, the papers moved.) Listen to laments about hunger, cold, restlessness, better things to do elsewhere....etc. etc. I tried reading the papers again. There's an unattended kid running amok around me and incessantly knocking over my umbrella. It took tremendous willpower not to hit him over the head.

Two hours crawled by and I gave up waiting..

As I got up to leave, I can't help but wonder, why must this process be reduced to a waiting game? What about merits? Shouldn't there be an express queue for applicants like me who has been in this country long enough to have, for example, (i) executed the Great Singapore Workout at 7.30am in the morning because the 'Gah-Men' thinks the citizens are getting too fat, (ii) fought and queued for Hello Kitty collectibles from McDonald's, (iii) read and followed The Teenage Textbook & Workbook, and (iv) cheered for Fandi Ahmad/Ang Peng Siong during the Tiger Cup/SEA Games. Heck, I even witnessed Chen Liping turn from a skinny teacher to a fat auntie on Channel 8. Almost Singaporean what...

Dailytoe: "No lar! We want you. We love you. Singapore also boleh!
Frou: So shall I try to queue up again?
Dailytoe: Yes. Next time, be more kiasu. Go very early in the morning.
Frou: But they say if I arrive before they open, I have to queue outside the building. Like a migrant.
Dailytoe: Then you queue outside like a migrant lar! My friend, you want to live in my country, you need to learn to queue anyway. Can make it wan...
Frou: (breaking into a song) There was a time when people say that Singapore won't make it....
Dailytoe: (choking with patriotic pride) BUT WE DID!