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SINGAPORE TREASURES
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unusual stories, extraordinary memories, special encounters, just another unique day in Singapore
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Taxi/bus/mrtAn eco-friendly survival!
Author: Nasreen Taher
 At the onset of my journey, I had this nostalgic vision of Trishaws plying among the traffic .But little did I anticipate that in this age of sky-high technological developments, beginning from the zenith of genetic–engineering to the almost unimaginable and innumerable electronic advancements ---- old memories are part of antiquity and even to think of those make one an obsolete being nowadays, detached from modernity ! However, the disappointment of losing the opportunity of riding on the Trishaw could not be clung on for too long . Life, with its own meandering ways of moving along,dragged me towards a family-oriented city-tour, as the following week would find me venture from the nearest grocer’s to the largest departmental stores and at times may even take me to the children’s school, not to forget the swimming-pools and the gymnasiums where I might have to accompany my teenager duo ---- – therefore it would be better if I could memorize the map of the locality within 14 to 16 hours (I guess my family takes me for a whizzmom!).
We embarked upon the “LRT “ or “light Rail Transit”, which is a driver-less and electrically manoeuvred train. It is controlled from respective depots and is a form of “automated people mover system”. On seeing this advancement, my poor intuition calculated that Singapore has, forever, showcased all her manually-operated transports into the glass doors of antiquity…… never to bring them back again. Gliding along the smooth and elevated lines upon viaducts, the journey reminded me of my first cable-car ride which had an enchanting effect while posing an aerial view of the entire island. This one gives the feeling that the land is somewhere below while the train is gliding on a higher plane! As newcomers, we marvelled at the audio –visual technology at the concourse and inside the train that announces and displays the arrival and departure of each and every station on plasma screen.
On reaching the last LRT station, the Chua Chu Kang interchange within 12 minutes , we escalated towards a connecting train called MRT (Mass Rail Transit ) which also runs on electricity but because of its population en masse, is operated by human- drivers. Both these trains commute around the populated and designated areas of Singapore by the names of North-South Line, East-West Line, etc and make more than a thousand journeys on a daily basis. The island’s well-managed and limited resources has this facility only on populated and designated areas; the absence is seen in places where the population is still zero. In the next 5 minutes, we disembarked at Bukit Batok station, which has one of the biggest shopping malls in town, quenching the shopaholics’ thirst for sudden shopping spree!
“Bukit”means ‘hill/hillocks’ and from the name one can guess that the island was a hilly region not long ago; but Singaporeans love to paint a slight touch of modernity on the canvas of their century-old tradition, which enriches them culturally amidst the present world, hence the name “Bukit Batok” retains its antique profile with a sprinkle of western hi-tech modernity. On the other hand ,the western world regards this oriental vision as a subtle image of aristocracy in a melting-pot culture; the two different cultural exchanges form the excellence of asian development in Western technology.
Known as “shopper’s paradise “, Singapore excels in attracting her visitors towards her dazzlingly decorated minted malls . She even enticed, a penny-pincher like myself, to immediately disperse according to our gender-based aspirations of the worldly needs. My son and my husband went to the most popular bookstore POPULAR which lives up to its name, while my daughter and I almost hop-scotched competitively to check out on the latest collections of mascara, eyeliner, lipglosses and fruity facewashes…. .. Once we had sprayed almost all the tester-perfumes on ourselves, we noticed that two other members of the family seemed to be missing !
Surprisingly enough, they were waiting at the children’s favourite eatery “McDonald’s”---because by then, our empty stomachs had started sending messages. It is hard to believe that the children lick up the last drop of mayonnaise on their lettuce and the tomato-slices, despite the fact that these same vegetables are termed “yukky” when served at home. The influence of fast-food on children is enviable!
We decided to resist my route-memorizing scheme for another time and call it a day . On our return, most of our conversation was occupied by the rail system . Amazing to think that It took them only 40 years of Independence from their previous rulers to organize and display their ability. And that too, by retaining the ecological balance to let human beings survive to appreciate the abundance of such advancements----that they are blessed with. Recently, the island’s launching of a “Go Green” project has gained excessive support for discouraging all that adds to the global warming and welcoming any fruitful ideas for adding more greenery in the landscape.
Bringing home the largest incoming revenue, Singapore-transport ranks the topmost among globally advanced technology, backed up by its encouragingly pollution-free innovative efforts. The system serves a high demand for its comprehensively efficient and “wallet-friendly” implementation by paying special tribute to the middle-income group, students and senior citizens. In a place where almost 90% of the population has to travel to their working -places , commuters become extremely vital issues and calls for optimising “hassle-free ,smooth and time-minimizing” road-network system. Vigilance towards public-welfare has brought about the existence of such a covetous system. Working through a monumental effort, the island is becoming a model of complete-automation, alluring throngs of enthusiasts to make their pilgrimage in witnessing the wonders of development.
Implementation of strict disciplinary measures is simultaneously responsible for the healthy transportation system. A fine imposed on various activities like $500 for eating and drinking inside the train, $1000 if found smoking and $5000 for bringing any flammable gas are not simple advertisements --- the cccameras make sure that these bans are taken seriously to ensure safety and public health. And to think just a few years back, the same people would be termed as unsophisticated and barbarious to the point of clipping nails while riding the bus, not moving to let others inside public commuters and many more. The same people now, are enabling themselves to interchange with the other nations in order to adjust to socially-accepted norms. In fact, it is globally-accepted that the achievement of a nation depends largely on adjustments towards advancements. While commuting, sometimes I lose myself in the aspiration of being in my own country amidst such developments wondering if and when the new generation will wake up!
Once the “land of Lions” SINGA (lion)and PURA (land), Singapura, in reality, is roaring its “innovative advancement” that encourages ecological balance as well, which has become a burning aspiration of the present and the next generation. Receiving high demands as intra-town travel-facilities and favoured over buses, the rail-system of Singapore implements the theory and concept of bringing people at their doorstep from working-place. Being a land-scarce island, Singapore has been extremely successful in solving the problem of traffic- congestion and has paved her way into a WORLD CLASS TRANSPORT FACILITY -- thus creating a paradise on earth !
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The amazing Esprit girl....
Author: Sing Keng Loon
I sat down in my usual seat in the usual SBS bus to take the usual route home from my army camp. I opened up my usual paper and read the usual section in silence as the bus lugged along lackadaisically towards it's destination.
It was a mundane day with the usual faces sitting stoically on their seats amid the blare of the TV mobile that was showing the usual 'Diva on Dime'. It seems that the lulling bus ride was sapping the passengers' energy and sucking them into a black hole of torpidity. After what seems like an eternity, the bus finally came to a halt at the designated stop and the doors quiety hissed opened.
 I wasn't paying much attention to the people who were coming on board as I was trapped in between deciphering Arsenal's emphatic win and shutting out the irritation of noise coming from TV mobile. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a girl wearing a pink T-shirt sitting down in the seat infront of me.
The immediate tang of flower scented shampoo stung my nostrils into consciousness. My eyes reacted by shifting its attention to the long flowing tresses of a relatively young girl sitting in front of me. The light baked, brown hair of the girl in pink was conditioned to perfection as it sat hovering just beneath the slender shoulders of the petite frame.
From the back, I drew a sharp breath and opened my eyes. I am awake now but still unsure if I drew the sharp breath from the anticipation of a beauty or the twang of flower scented shampoo. I sat still, head tilted at an angle as I tried to confirm that the hair was as beautiful as it's owner's face but all I got was a heavily stained reflection from the bus window.
In the poor reflection, I tried to place the features that pieced up the girl's face. Like a puzzle, there was always something missing that disallowed me to comprehend the true extent of her beauty. I tried a few times and strained my eyes for a clearer picture and decided that I had enough and left the rest up to imagination.
Instead, I studied the human behaviour and tried to analyse the social etiquette of the girl. In the reflection, I could see the girl sitting pensively with her smooth like silk hand supporting her delicate chin. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she thinking about the attention that she was recieving or was she mulling over a break up?
Thoughts raced through my head as my nostrils continued taking in the flower scented shampoo that swept through the air conditioned bus like a wildfire. I observed her clothes.
Clad in a pink blouse with the logo stating Esprit on the back, she looked elegant. No doubt it was the gentle swivel of the air condition that parted the glossy hair to reveal a hint of the blouse's brand. I sucked in my breath again.
As I was sitting a sit from the front in a double decker bus, the top right handed mirror allowed me to spot a fitting denim skirt that was evenly patterned with little white patches. Her uninterrupted legs peeked from the skirt that she wore and her unwrinkled hand was perched on a Crumpler bag. This had to be a beauty.
30 minutes of wild imagination later, I saw a movement of her head. She was about to turn! Finally I was going to see her beautiful face!!! Her hands slowly reached out to press the button for the bell and I drew a sharp breath again. Slowly, the owner of the hottest imagined body turned around. I stared in shock as a pair of cross eyes greeted me. Her nose was as plastic as Madam Tussard's and acne clouded her pale yellow face. Anticipation turned to horror as I placed my hand over my jaw to stop it from dropping.
I vomitted onto the seat beside me
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Bus ride turns into epic adventure
Author: Hsien Wei
What I am about to narrate is not by any means, an exercise of my imaginative faculties. It was only after I penned the date that I realized the date had hinted at the harrowing perils that have thus plagued me till this very minute.
Why did I forget my book, which had thus far loyally served its purpose as a distraction to my senses during the excruciatingly lengthy journeys home, I cannot fathom. Nevertheless I had decided upon the idea of catching some rest on the bus after the exertions at work today. The ominous solitariness of my presence at the interchange had gone unnoticed by me until I heard the door close immediately upon my boarding of the bus. The green seats all seemed at once to glow with a radiant invitation. Not one to break a routine, I stuck to my usual seat by the window. Settled and snug, I allowed the hum of the air-conditioning to lull me to sleep. Alas! My consciousness refused, in its stubborn endeavor, to be robbed by sleep. I then resigned myself to an hour of engineering random radical thoughts in my mind.
‘’Ding!’’ The hydraulics of the door worked itself into a hiss. It was the Haw Par Villa stop. I tried conjuring up images of ecstatic children running about within the compound and engaging themselves in a wonderful world of Chinese mythical characters. My efforts were nigh to impossible, for all my mind could divine out of the shadows cast upon my sight by the idols that stood erect against the light of the moon were that of a supernatural nature. The old man that came aboard didn’t do my warped reason any better. As if to tempt my imagination into overdrive, he chose-of all the empty seats that the bus afforded, the seat next to mine.
I found it hard to ignore my suspicions that he had settled his gaze on nothing else since his boarding but me. By now, the company on board has worked itself into a decent figure and yet for all the chatter that drowned my thoughts out, the niggling unrest persisted. To prevent my adrenaline from pumping itself into a frenzy, I gathered all of my focus and laid it upon the scenery passing me by.
The bus was now rolling along a stretch of road faintly lit by sparsely positioned lamp posts. I had scarcely noticed in the day, that the stretch was inhabited by dogs of staggering build, with numbers bordering on the state of infestation. Their eyes followed me as I went by, the fiery red instructing every hair on my skin to attention. I turned back.
The old man was gone.
Sometime during my mental diversion, he had vanished. I say vanished because of the stealth of his manner of disappearance. I hadn’t felt the slightest gust of displaced air which his movement, however slight, MUST have initiated. I wished for the bus to make haste of this incredulously creepy trip back home.
At long last, I caught sight of my lighted block sign. I pressed the bell and alighted from the bus that witnessed all of my fears this night. As the bus rumbled itself into a slur and eventual silence, I prepared myself to cross the road. It was then that I caught sight of this Malay lady of considerable age. Even from the distance I could see her steal a toothless smile at me. It could have been a neighbor who in her goodwill, desired to communicate her salutations in a less conventional approach. I couldn’t care less. I turned and ran.
As I put to ink the ghastly occurrences that, even in my memory, possess the ability to chill my blood into freezing, I apprehend the capacity for invention a simple bus ride home can offer to a restless mind itching to be employed. It could all be a wanton play of my imagination on my rational faculties- I will never know. However a simple routine of a ride home from work can turn itself into an adventure of epic proportions, if you allow it to.
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Rats in the taxi
Author: Anne Young
Chinese New Year was on the way and the whole of Chinatown was glowing red and golden. The streets were buzzing with people, all getting prepared to usher in the new year: The Year of the Rat.
We’d been wandering around town, but were now in a taxi on the way home. We being me, my boyfriend Peter and two visiting friends.
>From the look of it our taxi driver was taking Chinese superstition very seriously, his dashboard had been turned into a complete shrine and good luck charms were dangling from the rear mirror. Whatever bad luck would come his way, he clearly got himself covered. But what he didn’t know was that even more luck had stepped into his car that day …
While chitchatting away we revealed to him that he was in special company.
Not just one but three rats had boarded his taxi. Peter and our two Dutch visitors were
all born in 1972, which meant they were all rats. Driving around town with three rats on
the eve of the Year of the Rat, if that wouldn’t bring in extra luck then what would?
Well, at least our taxi driver seemed to think that way, beaming and chuckling at the thought of all good fortune coming his way.
 But it got even better. To tickle his superstitious senses some more Peter started telling him about the unusually high amount of numbers 8 we had been blessed with in our life. Our house is on number 8, our postcode contains two numbers 8 (and a 9) and best of all our phone number contains three 8’s and two 9’s. Mr taxi driver was beyond himself.
He couldn’t believe the amount of good luck that had fallen upon us. “So that phone number ah, how much you pay??”, he asked. “Well, euh.. nothing, we just got it that way”, was our honest reply. “Worth lot of money, lah”, he added with what seemed like dollar marks in his eyes.
To steer the conversation away from the boringly tiring money topic, we asked if he believed that meeting such lucky people would have a positive impact on his own luck as well. Oh yes, he certainly thought that would be the case. And as he was a very likeable guy we, in turn, were very happy to share our ‘luck’ and wished him lots of prosperity for the year to come. Especially in the gambling department, as he’d told us he often played cards with his fellow taxi drivers (secretly, because his wife was not to find out) and that he religiously filled in his 4D every week.
All the superstitious talking had made us quite curious about our own faith, so we asked if being a rat in the Year of the Rat and the lucky numbers in our life would mean we had a great year ahead of us as well. “NO”, he said decisively, “you are not Chinese, so for you it doesn’t work.”
“Well, thank you very much!” Isn’t that’s what you’d call superstitious discrimination?
Still a bit disillusioned we reached our destination and paid the fare. When we handed our taxi driver the $10 bill, he thankfully glanced at the serial numbers on the bottom of the dollar note. “Next time”, he said, “I will use those numbers to fill in my 4D. That will surely bring some good luck!”
“Have a nice day.”
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The 3 P’s or Taxi driver Philosophies
Author: Anonymous
I was on my way from Arab Street to Empress Place together with my parents. Due to a touch of faith (I guess) we ended up in a taxi driven by a philosopher in disguise who would totally change our state of mind that day.
Mr W, the taxi driver in question, was a cheery fellow, and loud too! After every sentence he would frantically clap his hands and burst out in laughter. A thunderboltlike, rolling laughter that nearly made me jump from my seat the first time!
While we started out with some polite chitchatting about the weather and a few naïve inquiries about the trails and tribulations of taxi driving life, he profoundly proclaimed in his bombastic voice that leading a happy life was all about the 3 P’s. “Think Positive, Act Positive, Be Positive.”
“Whatever hurdle you encounter in life, be it at work, in your marriage or even a financial crisis, if you approach the situation in a positive way your days will be filled with happiness.”
Mr W, a beaming example of his own philosophy, roared with laughter and clapped his hands again after this speech, giving us all the shivers.
And even though it sounds so ridiculously simple that it is almost too cliché, he couldn’t be more right. How many of us are actually happy? Look around you and listen, I bet the majority of the people around you are always complaining about the things they don’t have instead of being happy about the positive things they do have? It’s all in the mind.
After nearly 2 years in Singapore I’ve encountered quite a few shiny happy people that clearly embrace this philosophy. A lot more than compared to the West so it seems, this does make me wonder, do Asian people have a bigger talent for happiness or is it just their pragmatic attitude that helps them cope better with setbacks and hardship?
For example the old guy that works as a cleaner in my apartment block. He’s always so upbeat and cheerful, while I really can’t imagine how mopping floors can make you that happy. Is it really all in the mind? Am I the one that’s judging wrongly here? Mr W sure got us thinking!
For good measure (and because we still hadn’t reached our destination) Mr W continued his life lessons 101 and made us guess which are the 3 C’s that make for a good marriage. After some failed guesses on our side he apparently decided it was time to enlighten us and share his 3 C’s: Care for each other, Be Committed and Communicate.
For whatever it’s worth, there must be some truth in the matter, because Mr W had been happily married for over 30 years.
We’d now reached Empress Place and after paying him the $5 taxi fee, we happily parted. Positively spirited for at least the rest of the day.
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Lucky mole (Winner of Select Books Voucher)
Author: Timothy Yang
Everyone has a story. But we close our eyes and pretend to sleep and turn up the volumes in our Ipods and bury our noses into books and refuse to acknowledge their existence because they mean nothing, absolutely nothing to us. Because we don’t know their story.
I was 26, and had just come back after spending a 5 years overseas studying. I soon found myself employed at the Singapore General Hospital, and I would take the train from my home in Kembangan to Outram in the morning and then when I went home I would take the train from Outram back to Kembangan. I saw many people on the train. There were many Chinese girls on the train. They all have their own story, but I will tell you this one’s. It begins like this.
I once saw a Chinese girl in the train. She was very pretty, and she had a mole on her face. It was a smallish sort of mole above her right eye-brow, and it stuck out like a ripe pimple and I wanted to reach over and pluck it off. When she was a baby, a soothsayer had told her parents, “The mole is good luck.” So her parents had been very happy. Indeed, the mole seemed to bring her luck. Her brother had died of pneumonia when young, and her aunt’s family was killed in a car accident. But she had been healthy and come through her childhood unscathed. Her father lost his job in the financial crisis in 2009, but she had won a scholarship to a prestigious university overseas.
There, she had found a good job and a good man. Her parents loved that western boy with good manners and a hearty laugh, and most importantly he came from a rich family. She was very happy, but the soothsayer predicted nothing but trouble. “The western boy is bad luck,” she said. “He will negate the luck your mole brings you.” The girl rubbished the idea, and the happy couple set a wedding date. Her future husband suggested they airbrush the mole off their wedding pictures, because it was a blemish on her otherwise flawless, porcelain face. “You look so much more perfect without it,” he told her. “To complete your perfect life.” She nodded her head and looked with eyes of love into his sparkling, deep-set blue ones, and she felt so happy she wanted to burst.
Then he suggested that she remove it altogether from her face. She agreed, and underwent the littlest plastic procedure to get it removed. But then, her wound got infected, and it left a scar over her right eye-brow. She married the western boy, still, covering up the scar with a long fringe and make-up, but it remained there still. Then he cheated on her, with another girl who did not have a scar on her forehead, and the girl with the scar became depressed. Because of her depression, she lost her good job, and her husband divorced her quietly. She screamed at him, and broke a vase. He stared at her, coldly, impatiently, like she was a little girl throwing a tantrum. "Oh, do grow up.", he told her.
The flight home was long and painful, and most of all, lonely. She came back home to her parents, broken and in tears.
She slowly fell ill and sickly, and she would wander her house in a daze. One day, she wandered out of the house, still not caring where she went, and she was hit by a car, which left her paralyzed and comatose, and her parents bemoaned the day they ignored the soothsayer and gave her away in marriage.
But there she was, still on the train, next to me, smiling at everything and nothing. I wondered what her story was, whether the mole had a part in it.
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Mornings
Author: Elane Luo
It was night. The chilly breeze blew against a mop of hair, pushing away tangled strands to reveal a face, which was attached to a strangely contorted body. Lying in a mess of leaves..
"RING!!!..."
At that split moment, I awoke with a start, eyes wide opened.
"RINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!..."
That *&%^$@#!@ clock never failed me, always getting me up at the precise time of 7-dot-1-5-a-m. I twisted my body back to its normal orientation(face-up lying position) and willed my legs to stretch away from my comfy mattress and reach for the floor. Once the feet moved, the rest of the limbs and torsos would follow.
A total of four steps brought this body to the screaming clock. The right hand reached out and slammed it silent. It really knew how to 'push my button' every morning. Returning to face what looked like a bed yesterday, I chuckled at a wet patch on the leaf motif on my pillow. Now what appeared in my dreams to cause such salivation?
After milling around for a while,it was off to the cleaning and grooming regimes to ready myself to step out of home and face the mad rush of life? Nah, aint so deep, it's actually the mad rush to get to the bus stop at precisely 7.30am(or earlier, NOT later) to catch the bus to get to the station, to squeeze against a crowd of white, blue and pink collared workers to get into the train, and to squeeze against the same crowd in the train.
Amidst a sea of poker-faced faces, I looked for someone reading the daily newspaper, sneaked a peek of the headlines until the owner of the papers realised and shut and folded the paper in my face. How generous. I switched my attention to observe what the confident bunch of adults (who have weathered the storms of the cut-throat society out there) were dressed in to weather the storms of the cut-throat society out there.
As the train approached my destination, I squeezed my way past the uncooperative WALL of adults , muttering "excuse me-s" as politely as I could. At the "DI DI" sound (or was it some other sound?) the train made before the door closed, I panicked and made a little dash. I tripped a little on the way but only after the door shut a few centimetres behind me. Okay, maybe a few centimetres is a little exaggerated but you get the picture.
I took a much-needed breath of fresh air and watched as the train glided off, and dreamed of it taking along its bulging carriages to lands far, far away.
I had to snap out of it a few seconds later. Lands 'far, far away'? The next station was two and a half minutes away! Tucking my childish imaginations away, I turned and rushed down the escalator, made a quick purchase of curry puff at one of the shops in the station, before completing the last stretch of my journey in a dash to my college.
Another busy, but nonetheless, fulfilling day of intellectual pursuit awaited.
Mornings are often madness but life is good!
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