Singapore Wa Wa

“I’ve not eaten all day yesterday, can you give me some money so I can buy some food.”

A burly Indian man, with tired bloodshot eyes approached me. He looks like he really needs some food. Trusting that he’ll use the money I’m about to give him to buy a meal (I made him promise me that it’ll be used for that), I looked into my wallet and decided that 2 Singapore Dollars is too little for a meal here; I gave him 4 instead. That way he can buy himself a proper meal.

Thus was how my day began in Singapore.

As usual, Singapore once again freaked me out with its perfect, sterile environment. Sidewalks are spanking clean, people walk at 120 miles/hour, public amenities ran like clockwork, even the trees on the sidewalk are perfectly spaced, and they are all cut to the same height precise almost to the milimeter. On top of that, the IMF/World Bank is having a conference here in Singapore; my substation friends pointed out to me…

“Last week, these sunflowers you see here were not here. Suddenly they popped out overnight... everything about Singapore is about being No.1, about doing everything really well, and so on and so forth…”

I was reminded of Akash’s film that was screened the night before. In one of the scenes the protagonist remarked on how the Selayang market was spruced up with potted plants and shit like that simply because Queen Elizabeth’s motorcade was passing by. Ha! We have the same shit back home.

Well, I replied by comparing Singapore and Malaysia… at least Singapore goes on with the rhetoric and carries out the rhetoric efficiently. Here in Malaysia… it’s loads of rhetoric and everyone goes ahead and do a half assed job. At least in Singapore, the authorities have got good taste in landscaping and design, thus making the city much more livable.

“Things may look beautiful here on the outside… but are we all really happy inside” he responded.

Well, I reckon that is not for me to judge. It’s not like I have to deal with your draconian government everyday, I have my own draconian government to deal with.

That night, as I was walking back to my hotel, I bumped into the Indian man again. He thanked me incessantly for giving me the money. I asked him what do you plan to do tomorrow. He said that he usually makes money by doing odd jobs in markets and such but there are days when he can’t get any work at all and starves.

People find the title ‘worker’ in my namecard amusing. I look at this man… Aren’t we all really just merely workers at the end of the day. I wished him all the best for tomorrow.