There’s Nothing Special About Singapore

Endless summers. Hawker culture. Fine city.

I’ve lived in Singapore my entire life (that’s 28 years so far), and we’re famous for: Signature city skylines, rich diversity in food and drinks, economic stability, must-follow-law citizens (and hefty fines on “almost anything”). We’re also famous for the scorching, sticky heat.

But really, who wants to live in sweat all year round?

Foreigners escape the colder seasons in temperate places like Singapore, drop by for a night or two to “see the sights” and then pack up and leave. There’s nothing special about Singapore, it’s marketed as a fabulous stopover destination.

When friends ask me what are some must-sees I find myself at a loss for words. Despite all my griping that “2 nights isn’t enough”, I revert to the same old answers.

“Spend a day on Sentosa. And then you have to visit the Marina Bay area. Don’t forget to go shopping on Orchard Road.”

We’re working from home now, as most of the world is. When the weekend rolls around, I continue to move around the same walls, the same small space we’ve bought (borrowed?) for ourselves in this land-scarce city. Seven stories high, right beside a busy highway. Instead of looking out the window, I’m looking deep in my desktop screen. I’m watching a travel video from a couple living in Portugal, who have bought a Vespa and are riding around the island of Madeira.

Cliffs, the sea, old roads, tunnels, delicious Venezuelan pastries. Casually, effortlessly flitting between English, Portuguese, Spanish — I can’t claim to know the language. But it sounds so beautiful.

And it dawns on me (not for the first time) that there is just nothing special about Singapore. Our hills are crowded with hobbyist hikers, our shopping strips packed with malls squeezed side by side, gasping for air, fighting for precious space. The manmade beaches are thronged by visitors and locals alike, sipping overpriced cocktails — while our real beaches stink of trash and washed up bubble tea straw wrappers.

Why can’t we have sea views, cliff views, mountains that taunt and loom instead of hills with stairs built neatly into them. Where’s our version of nature that intrigues and teases, that lures the bravest explorers to summit? Our local “dialect” Singlish is something we are so fond of. Why do tourists pretend to know it? We don’t claim to learn German in a day. That sense of mockery fills me with anger — Singlish is a language too. You can’t throw it at the end of a perfectly uttered sentence and name that as your claim to localism.

If Singlish is our most unique attribute, and visitors claim it the minute they buy a plate of chicken rice from the tourist-heavy hawker centre, then what do we have left?

Who can claim to own the floating glaciers of Iceland? Or the far-reaching lakes of Patagonia?

What do we have in Singapore if not sweat, money, and tears?