“I see… all the members must be Singaporean?” she asked.
“Yes,” Saguna nodded. “Almost all of them are Singaporeans married to Malaysians, but they still hold the Singapore passport.”

She remembered one of the confession one of the ladies. “One of them said she forgets she even has a Singapore passport… she sees herself more as a Malaysian. Then why hang on to the Singapore passport?”

Saguna gave a small laugh. “Oh, that… You know how people sometimes say things. But these ladies are still Singaporean at heart. They grew up there. It’s still home in some way.”

“I see,” she replied quietly. Saguna glanced at her again. “So… what do you think? Would you like to join?” She hesitated.

“You have committee members and all that, right? Annual meetings, chairpersons… that sort of structure?”

“Yes,” Saguna said, sounding a little more proud this time. “Next year I’ll be the chairman of the group. And I would really like you to join us.” Her voice softened. “I think you’ll fit in.”

“Let me think about it first,” she said slowly. “It’s not that I don’t want to join… but if I do, I want to be sure I can commit. Otherwise no point, right? Just a name on the list but never attending meetings.”

It was partly true and partly the excuse she reached for. Since coming to KL, she had never joined any local social group include the ladies’ groups. Better to stay away from such circles, she always felt. She knew how things could get when a bunch of women gathered, small talk, cliques, hidden tensions, or sometimes just the kind of chatter she had no patience for.

The only group she had ever been active in was the Parent Association at her daughter’s school, helping out the class mom when needed. That was different, purposeful, focused, connected to her child. She never saw the need to join any Singaporean groups.

Not that she was constantly invited she rarely crossed paths with them anyway. Her world in KL had grown in a different direction. She moved around on her own, comfortable in her independence, and her involvement with the children home was more than enough to fill her days. She preferred it that way.

Being with the locals gave her freedom freedom to learn, to blend in, to understand real stories, and to stay close to the ground. Being boxed into a Singaporean circle in KL felt unnecessary, even limiting. She had already built her own rhythm here.

“Well, if you’re not keen, it’s okay,” Saguna said. “There’s another group… but it’s very formal.”

“Formal?” she asked. “Yes… very formal. The patron is the High Commissioner’s wife.”

“Oh!”

“And you get to mingle with other groups from the ASEAN countries, you know… coffee mornings, that sort of thing.”

“That is interesting…” she admitted, though her tone was more polite than enthusiastic. “If you’re interested, at our next meeting I can bring you around,” Saguna offered.

“High Commissioner’s wife?” she repeated.

“Yes.” repllied Saguna

She paused, then shook her head lightly. “Hmmmm… nah, it’s okay. I’d rather stay away from the embassy.”
She hardly went to the Singapore Embassy anyway. The only time she ever stepped into the High Commission was to make an enquiry about her husband’s driving licence. They had advised her to register with the Embassy after moving to Kuala Lumpur “just in case anything happens,” they said, “it will be easier for the High Commission to contact you.”

So far, she hadn’t done so. She didn’t see the need. Life in KL had been manageable without official ties or formal registrations. She preferred staying under the radar, moving about quietly, without the heaviness of embassy events, protocol, or the polished circles of expatriates.

She tried to understand why she had even agreed to come to this localized Singaporean-in-Kuala Lumpur gathering. She had known Saguna for some time, her daughter had been learning Tamil with her, so it was only natural for Saguna to introduce her to the group, hoping she might eventually join. But why was she so reluctant?
She knew herself well enough. These kinds of groups often ended up the same way: pockets of gossip, familiar cliques, small talk that went nowhere. A bunch of Singaporeans in Kuala Lumpur getting together like a support circle, trying to stay connected to “home,” trying to feel productive by organizing small community projects.

Nothing wrong with that, she told herself, but it wasn’t her. During her early days in KL, she did try joining the expat-wife group in her condominium. Mostly Caucasian ladies, Americans, New Zealanders, Australians. They were nice, friendly, open. They loved potluck lunches, poolside tea sessions, and handicraft afternoons. She went a few times, trying to be part of that world. But after a while, she grew bored. It wasn’t her. She didn’t feel grounded there. Everything felt too polished, too curated, too detached from the real KL she wanted to understand. So she slowly distanced herself, giving them the polite excuse that she was now helping out at the children’s home, which, to be fair, was partly true.

This Singaporean group Saguna mentioned felt like another version of the same thing. And she had no desire to be boxed into a circle simply because they shared the same passport. She had built her life differently in Kuala Lumpur, through children’s homes, community work, local friendships, and real stories. She didn’t need a group to tell her where she belonged.

She even sent her daughter to a local kindergarten run by two Malaysian sisters because that felt right to her. She wanted her daughter to grow up appreciating the local people, not just mixing with the expat-community children who lived in their condominium. She didn’t want her girl to grow up in a bubble, speaking only English, playing only with children whose lives were too polished, too sheltered.

Being in Malaysia meant learning from Malaysians. Not standing apart from them. So she made that choice early on: to let her daughter blend in, to let her have local friends, to hear the different accents, different languages, different ways of thinking. It was important to her just as important as keeping herself grounded. And maybe that was why she hesitated with these Singaporean groupings. They felt like a step backwards.

A return to a circle she had already walked away from. A comfort zone she didn’t need. She chose KL for what it was messy, colourful, unpredictable. And she wanted her daughter to grow into that world too.

Even the wives from her husband’s company… she always kept a comfortable distance from them. There were plenty of chances to mingle company dinners, annual events, festive gatherings. The husbands would talk about work, projects, market forecasts… and the wives would exchange tips on where to buy the best spices, or how their children were adjusting to international school life. She usually played along, smiling, nodding, pretending to be interested. But honestly, she was bored. It wasn’t that the women were unfriendly. They were perfectly nice. But the conversations felt predictable, recycled, as if everyone was following a safe script. She didn’t fit into that world of polite small talk and carefully edited lives.

She longed for real stories, raw, human, grounded. Not endless discussions about spice brands or school fees. So she stayed away, keeping to herself, choosing her own path in Kuala Lumpur. She didn’t need these circles to feel connected. She already had her own rhythm, and it suited her just fine.

She even tried joining the local hospice group, thinking it would be a natural continuation of her experience back in Singapore. In those early days, when she was still just an assistant nurse, she had volunteered with the hospice care group under the Singapore Cancer Society. She remembered attending her very first meeting, chaired by a senior STOMA nurse, who was then a Nursing Officer the first STOMA nurse in Singapore.
Later, after she graduated as a Registered Nurse, she continued volunteering, doing home follow-up cases and supporting families in their most difficult moments. So she thought she could carry that forward here in Kuala Lumpur. Same work. Same compassion. Same purpose. She attended one of their sessions just one and came back feeling completely disturbed. Something in her felt unsettled, almost shaken. Why does everything here have to run along racial and religious lines? she wondered. Why must even volunteer work be divided this way? She didn’t feel at home in that space. She didn’t understand the invisible lines people drew, the quiet segregation, the unspoken expectations. Compassion, to her, was never about race or religion. It was simply human.

After that experience, she stopped going. She couldn’t force herself into a structure that conflicted with her values. KL had its own way of doing things, and she was learning slowly, painfully at times that not every path she took in Singapore could be replicated here.

And then one day, Saguna called her again.

“Hey, next week Wednesday, you free?” She hesitated for a moment but answered,

“Yes… should be.”

“The Singapore Ladies of Kuala Lumpur are meeting at Temasek House. Wanna come? The High Commissioner’s wife will be there.”

Temasek House, the official residence of the High Commissioner and his wife. Most of the official and unofficial Singapore events in KL were held there. She had heard about it before but had never stepped inside.
One part of her wanted to say no immediately. But the other part… well, the other part was a little too curious for her own good.

Maybe there was no harm in going just once. Just to see what this Temasek House looked like on the inside, and what kind of woman the High Commissioner’s wife really was. Curiosity had its own way of pulling her forward, even when her practical side protested.

“Okay lah,” she finally said. “I’ll come. Just once.”