The world is buzzing about the recent U.S. elections, where Trump was voted in as President once again—an event that will surely be etched in history. But let me tell you, something equally unforgettable happened at the American Embassy in Singapore just last month.
My daughter went there to renounce her citizenship (good riddance, if you ask me!). What unfolded could very well become a case study for their next meeting on handling... "unique" situations like ours. I’m pretty sure the embassy staff never imagined they'd encounter anything quite like what happened that day.
I can already hear you saying, "Come on, spill the tea! What happened? Stop keeping us in suspense!" Well, buckle up, because this is a story worth telling.
This milestone has been in the works for over a year. When Lani turned 21, she had to decide whether to remain a Singaporean or an American citizen. The choice was clear and straightforward—though the process was anything but. Lani made the smart decision to keep her powerful red passport, especially given the state of the country tied to the blue one, which seems to be in slow collapse.
Of course, dealing with the American Embassy is never simple. Let’s be real—it’s all about the money! Don’t even get me started on what they put me through 25 years ago when I was applying for my green card. If I did, this blog post might turn into my fifth book!
After several emails to the embassy without a response, we finally got a reply. But surprise—they informed me that I couldn’t handle the communication on my daughter’s behalf. She had to do it herself. (Bookmark this detail, because we’re circling back to it soon!)
So, Lani sent the email from her own address. And while I chuckled at how they didn’t consider that I could’ve easily sent it from an account in her name, the fact is she sent it herself. Their reply? A bunch of forms to fill out, a detailed list of requirements, and—of course—a fee.
And not just 'any' fee. Are you sitting down for this? Because I bet you’ll never guess how much they charged. Was it USD $50? Nope. Maybe USD $150? Wrong again. Okay, USD $500? Not even close.
The fee was a staggering USD $3,000. Yes, you read that right. Three thousand dollars.
It’s almost as if they’re saying, “Well, if you’re leaving us, we’ll squeeze every last dime out of you before you go.” Talk about daylight robbery!
Oh, and remember how the embassy wouldn’t let me handle the email communication because I’m "not" the citizen in question? Yet, where is a 21-year-old supposed to find USD $3,000? Naturally, it fell to "her mother" to foot the bill.
Ah, the irony.
According to the form, the payment options were clear: cash (after conversion, that would be SGD $3,250) or credit card. Naturally, we thought, "If they’re so desperate for this money, let’s make them work for it."
So, we came up with a plan—pay them in 'change'. Of course, the Monetary Authority of Singapore has rules about this, limiting the amount you can pay in coins to $32. Still, that was good enough for us! Small bills would make up the rest, and we were more than happy to get creative.
For an entire year, we looked forward to this moment. It wasn’t just about the payment—it was about the principle. Finally, we’d be done with America (well, almost...I still have a son who’ll need to go through this same process in three years). We planned everything, knowing it would take all day. I even took the day off work to savour the occasion.
But, of course, the embassy didn’t make things easy. Beyond the convoluted forms and the outrageous fee, they demanded we surrender my daughter’s American passport. Cue the awkward pause when we told them we didn’t have it anymore.
For context, we moved back to Singapore when Lani was 5 and never returned to the U.S. She became a Singapore citizen not long after, and honestly—who keeps expired passports that serve no purpose?
Thankfully, that was sorted out with a memo I had to write, explaining I had discarded the passport years ago. Oh, the temptation to add that I used it as toilet paper! But I refrained. (Barely.)
Let’s just say, by the time this process was over, the only thing sweeter than paying in change was finally saying goodbye to America—for good.
All our planning was finally coming together. The day before Lani’s appointment at the American Embassy, I headed to the bank to withdraw SGD $3,250—entirely in two-dollar bills, the smallest denomination we have in Singapore. I had hoped to get $32 in coins to add some flair to the payment, but apparently, the bank only handles change requests on specific days. Just my luck, that wasn’t one of them. Oh well!
What I didn’t anticipate was how heavy $3,250 in two-dollar bills would be. Let’s just say, carrying that stack gave me a whole new appreciation for lightweight digital transactions!
Fast forward to THE day.
Armed with a literal stack of cash, we made our way to the embassy. Hauling around $3,000 in small bills wasn’t easy, but it was absolutely worth it for the moment we’d been waiting for.
We arrived an hour early, but, of course, we were turned away for being 'too early'. So, we trudged two blocks to a nearby mall, the weight of our “treasure” making itself known with every step.
When it was finally time, we made our way back to the embassy. Walking past the British Embassy, we noted its simple, decent design. Beside it, the Australian Embassy—a clean, unassuming white building. Then, towering between them, the U.S. Embassy appeared. It was massive, dark, and topped with a huge eagle emblem—less like an embassy and more like an intimidating asylum. But hey, who’s judging? Haha.
Arriving five minutes early this time (because heaven forbid we get it wrong again), we were made to wait outside in the sun. Eventually, we passed through security, where they confiscated our phones and iPads. Too bad—because I really wish I could’ve recorded their reactions when we handed them that pile of two-dollar bills.
The look on their faces? Absolutely priceless. Worth every step lugging that stack of cash!
So, the big moment finally arrived. We stepped into the U.S. Embassy at exactly 1:30 PM, as scheduled. From there, time became a blur—no watches, no phones (confiscated at security), and not a single clock in sight in that tiny waiting room. But that was okay; we were prepared for this to take all day.
The first officer we dealt with? An Asian woman. Not quite the American we’d hoped to torment, but maybe she was an American-born Chinese. Regardless, her attitude screamed 'American immigration officer'. We handed her the stack of meticulously prepared documents, and with a condescending expression and a fake American accent, she flipped through them. Then, she handed a chunk of the papers back, stating, “We don’t need these.”
Wait for it.
Minutes later, she reviewed what was left and started asking for the very documents she had just returned. My daughter Lani, channeling her inner me, didn’t hold back. In the most sarcastic tone, she pointed out, “You just gave them back to us, and now you’re asking for them again?”
The officer looked stunned. Clearly, she wasn’t used to people standing up to her. Well, guess what? We weren’t there begging to live in their 'cuntry (oops, 'country'). We were happily paying to leave.
After that little drama, we were directed to the cashier to make the payment. Now, this was the part we’d been waiting for!
Enter the stacks of two-dollar bills....
At the cashier’s counter, we were greeted not by an American but by a Malay Singaporean woman. I almost felt bad for her...almost. But we were too excited to unleash our grand plan.
Stack by stack, we placed the two-dollar bills on the counter. Her expression shifted from confusion to outright shock. She pulled out one of those money-counting machines you see at banks, but it was having none of it. Every time she loaded a stack, the machine jammed after spitting out just a few bills.
Perfect.
The machine failure meant they had to count everything manually. Music to our ears! As we waited in the small room, giggling like school girls, we noticed the embassy staff whispering and sneaking glances at us through the windows. Clearly, we had become the talk of the day.
After about 30 minutes, an actual American officer—a bald, overweight man—was sent to handle our case. He tried to intimidate us with attitude, but we weren’t fazed. He suggested we use a credit card instead. My response? “Nope.”
When he tried again, warning us that manual counting would take a while, we smiled and said, “Take your time. We’re happy to wait.”
At one point, they claimed their cashier on the second floor wouldn’t be available until later, implying we’d have to wait until 5 PM. Lani caught a clock behind the counter and called out their bluff: “Mum, they’re messing with us. The embassy closes at 5 PM.”
Caught in their own game, they handed us brown envelopes to seal the cash and walked it to their cashier with a witness. Before leaving, the officer even asked how we managed to get so many two-dollar bills, probably suspecting money laundering. I calmly replied, “From the bank,” pointing out the bank seals. That shut him up quickly.
After the payment drama, they claimed I couldn’t stay in the room while Lani took her renunciation oath. But by then, I think they were so done with us that they didn’t even enforce it. Lani stood, raised her right hand, and gave the oath with an attitude that screamed, “No f***s given.”
We walked out victorious, laughing all the way to the main road. I’m pretty sure we’ll be the talk of their office for a while. And when they send Lani’s application to Washington, I wouldn’t be surprised if they slap on a sticky note that says, “Expedite this. Get rid of her ASAP!”
This wasn’t just about Lani’s renunciation—it was payback for all the nonsense the U.S. immigration system put us through in the past. When it’s my son’s turn in a few years, I’ll be back, and this time, I might just bring coins.
Because payback is a glorious thing.
