Singapore

ALWAYS TAKE THE WEATHER WITH YOU 

The world is full of strange phenomena that cannot be explained by the laws of science or logic. Hadi Awang is only one example

It’s cool this morning. In fact, the Kiara hills outside our apartment are cloaked in mist. 

OK, Siri says it’s a 28-degree morning and accounting for winds, a person accustomed to daily 32-degree swelters might consider it a chilly day.  

On mornings like this back when I was working, I used to wish it was a holiday. It’s grounded in science too: bodies in motion tend to remain in motion while bodies at rest – on a cool morning no less – tend to remain in bed. 

OK, I digress but if you think I’m exaggerating about the chill, three days of this weather in Singapore is, officially, “sweater weather,” ergo  the prudent make a beeline towards Uniqlo where long lines of palm-blowing shoppers have already gathered.

My daughter, Raisa, wishes Malaysia was cooler. 

Although born and bred here, she’s been living in Europe for over a decade, and it shows. Beads of sweat pop out on her forehead the minute she steps outside KL’s airport. It necessitates a mighty effort from the car’s air conditioning to reach a sufficiently Artic equilibrium to satisfy her. 

But she snaps back quickly and is acclimatised in no time at all. I suppose we all possess it to some degree. 

Example: Singapore is far more humid than Malaysia on account of it being an island, but we rarely sweat even when we walk. That’s unlike most tourists who sweat profusely and very obviously. 

In fairness, they might enjoy it. They would if they were, say, from Alaska where, because of climate change, the winters have become so cold even the polar bears are holding out for fur coats.

It’s interesting to observe things from another perspective. The English husband of my cousin visited our place the first time he visited Malaysia. A downpour ensued and he seemed fascinated by its severity. 

Then he walked into the deluge, and I was surprised to see him grinning, “It’s warm,” he said, delighted. He had the same reaction when he plunged into the sea off Langkawi. 

An American friend who’s been in Malaysia for over forty years once told me that he could no longer abide the cold, and he couldn’t think of living anywhere else. I knew exactly what he meant, and I share his sentiments.

I was in my 30s when I first went abroad for higher studies. It can get very frigid in New York, but it wasn’t so much the cold that bothered me.  It was the limited light.

Trudging to classes in the cold and dark at 4 in the afternoon is a grim prospect at the best of times. One suspects that man, like all life about him, not only needs the sun, he craves the sun. 

And yet, he is admirable because he has a tremendous ability to adapt. Consider the person who lives happily in Norway, the Land of the Midnight Sun, but where entire months go by in darkness.   

My daughter says she prefers the cold of Amsterdam.  So does my brother who lives in an even colder place, Connecticut. After Hurricane Sandy lashed America’s northeast, he sent me photos of his backyard. The snow had piled up to the top of his garage. 

Shiver Me Timbers! 

Now we might say we don’t want that but I remember most of my US classmates either gave me pitying looks or looked aghast when I said we had no seasons in Malaysia.  

They need the changes. “If (the weather) didn’t change once in a while, nine out of ten people couldn’t start a conversation here,” noted journalist Frank ‘Kim’ Hubbard by way of explanation.

It’s as good a reason as any.

ENDS

THE MAN ON THE RUN 

Whenever I see the Most Wanted lists, I often have this thought: if we’d only made them feel wanted before, maybe they wouldn’t be wanted now. –  Comedian and singer Eddie Cantor.

A joke being sent around yesterday gave me pause.  

It showed a picture of the former leadership of Malaysia’s once-ruling United Malays National Organisation clustered around its former leader, Najib Razak.

In the photograph, they are convulsed with mirth not least because Najib, his head thrown back, is laughing, presumably all the way to the bank. 

And a caption above reads: “Iswaran took what?? Football tickets?”

To the average Malaysian, the joke is painfully self-evident. On Wednesday, Singapore’s ex-Transport Minister S Iswaran was charged with 27 counts of bribery and corruption involving more than S$384,000 (RM1.34 million). It included over S$160,000 (RM560,000) in event (football, the theatre) and flight tickets from, billionaire Ong Beng Seng.

The alleged transgressions pale beside Najib’s epic theft from 1MDB, a sovereign wealth fund he set up when he was premier. The exact quantum of the loot isn’t clear, but the sums were heroic and in the billions. In contrast, it made Mr Eswaran’s alleged wrongdoing almost pointless, even vaguely Winnie-the-Pooh’ish. 

That was the joke, but it could be on us. Such was the scale of the 1MDB plunder that it’s inspired books and even a 2023 Netflix documentary – Man on the Run – gripping enough to scream Malaysia’s name on to the world stage. 

By cracking down on its powerful, even for misdemeanors, Singapore sends out a compelling message about its values. Would that we might do the same. 

Not even close. There are those who are currently agitating – or secretly hoping – for the First Felon’s early release. 

Jibby has so far served 17 months of his 12-year sentence for corruption, and he faces more charges in three separate criminal trials. Even so, he has seemingly had enough and, through his lawyers, has indicated he wants out through a royal pardon. 

And, no kidding, it’s being taken with all the gravitas of a Lord Denning argument.   

When it comes right down to it, it could boil down to education. Najib’s co-conspirator in the 1MDB saga is the Man on The Run himself, Low Teck Jho, a corpulent crook who’s now on Interpol’s list of wanted fugitives. 

Nevertheless, he is a very rich fugitive. Add to that, educated: the substantial swindler was reportedly an alumnus of the Wharton School of Business, one of the most prestigious business schools in the world: its finance programme is widely considered the gold standard internationally. 

It must have been, for the paunchy pilferer hit on the idea for a sovereign wealth fund to steal from. We will never know but perhaps he was inspired by Dr Mahathir who, when he was premier, often exhorted his countrymen to “Think Big”. 

Jho Low went one step further. He Thought Galactic enough to grace the screens of Interpol and end up as a plausibly deniable guest of the virulently anti-corrupt Communist Party of China. 

It all goes to show the truth of what Theodore Roosevelt observed over a century ago: “A man who has never gone to school may steal from a freight car; but if he has a university education, he may steal the whole railroad.” 

ENDS

PARANOIA AND SURPRISE IN THE HEARTLAND

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you. – US actor Buck Henry 

The writer Pat Conroy (The Prince of Tides) would have had no problems understanding Singapore: “I’ve always found paranoia to be a perfectly defensible position.” 

Most folk don’t think that way so you can imagine our astonishment when my niece, showing us around her home for the first time, casually remarked: “And that’s the bomb shelter.”

It was spacious, a reinforced concrete shelter capable of accommodating herself, two children, her six-foot husband, and their live-in helper, Mirabelle. 

It looked sturdy enough to withstand a Tomahawk strike. In the quiet of a Singapore evening, however, it looked like what it was: a storeroom along whose shelves were stacked canned food and kitchenware. 

“Most of my neighbours use it for storage space,” Anita said matter-of-factly: she lived in private housing along the island’s east coast.  She was clearly surprised by our reaction. I suppose she’d grown up with its reality and took it for granted. 

When Singapore was ejected from Malaysia in 1965, the separation wasn’t amicable. Lee Kuan Yew, the republic’s premier, described his principal threat perception then in succinct fashion: “We were a Chinese island in a Malay sea.”

The new state promptly turned to Israel for advice and, in short order, an army was created.

It’s been speedy and surprising ever since. The creation of a two-year, 

mandatory conscription program for able-bodied males followed and it’s grown exponentially. 

Separately, only Switzerland, Taiwan and Israel have similar schemes, although Israel includes women as well.

Bomb shelters in new HDB housing made its appearance then. It isn’t clear if that’s still being built but it may no longer be necessary.

It can be found all over the island instead. There are shelters in schools, HDB housing, MRT stations, community centres and most major developments.

Things have moved on. If reservists are called up, Singapore’s standing Army today would be larger than Malaysia’s, while its Air Force is probably the most sophisticated in the region.

On our way to dinner two weeks ago, we were startled by a waling klaxon reminiscent of the Battle of Britain: the noise was shocking. But the driver explained it was a drill, that the sound could be heard all over the island. “It’s a yearly thing so we’re ready for any emergency.”

Later I found out that the drill had been publicised over radio and television for days beforehand. 

Not since the Scouts! The republic clearly takes its LKY-isms seriously: “We don’t leave anything to chance.” 

Well, almost. 

During the 2011 Presidential election, Tony Tan, a former People’s Action Party (PAP) minister, won by 100-odd votes from three other credible alternatives, all Singapore Chinese as well. It was the proverbial skin of the teeth (SOTT) stuff.  

In 2017, the post was reserved for a Malay on the grounds that one hadn’t held the position since 1970. In the event, Halimah Yacob, a former PAP Speaker of Parliament, won by walkover: two other Malay candidates were rejected.

Last month’s election saw former deputy premier and PAP-linked, Tharman Shanmugaratnam face two opponents, both Singapore Chinese, and one of whom had helped build Singapore’s reserves to its current enormity. 

A humdinger was predicted, and all candidates were afforded publicity. My friends, including analysts I’d used in my media days, said it would be SOTT all over again.  

It was an anti-climax. 

Tharman won in a landslide getting a majority (over 70%) the PAP hadn’t seen in decades. 

It was surprising and, in the words of diplomat-lawyer Tommy Koh, “a triumph for multi-racialism.”

The city’s populace (77% Chinese) had transcended race to pick the sole non-Chinese candidate, the one they thought was best. 

It was astonishing.

Would that it might happen here in Malaysia?

ENDS

SEX AND THE CITY

You know that the Tasmanians, who never committed adultery, are now extinct. – Novelist Somerset Maugham 

Malaysian social commentator Sheraad Kuttan accurately described the gulf between the two countries yesterday.

“Singaporeans are funny,” he began in a tweet. “Concerned that their politicians are screwing each other. Over this side of the Causeway, we are more concerned that they are screwing us.”

Mr Kuttan’s actual language was a lot more explicit but I’m sure you’ve got the drift. 

In two separate, but distinct, extramarital affairs that might have otherwise elicited an approving oui from the French, the city state was recently “rocked by rare political scandals” – the breathless prose is courtesy of Bloomberg.

On Monday, the Speaker of the city’s Parliament Tan Chuan-jin, 54, and fellow lawmaker Cheng Li Hui, 47, resigned from the party and the legislature after Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong revealed that  they were engaged in an “inappropriate relationship.” Mr Tan is married, while Ms Cheng is single.

Mr Tan, once tipped as a potential premier, is no stranger to controversy. Earlier in the month, he was forced to apologise to opposition parliamentarian Jamus Lim for  “unparliamentary” language. 

In a speech in the House, Professor Lim had been arguing for more help for the island’s poor when the Speaker muttered “####ing populist” under his breath. Unfortunately, it was picked up by his microphone, a reality that the island’s netizens wasted no time in sharing over social media. Mr Tan apologised after the matter was brought to his attention, explaining that they  “were my private thoughts and muttered to myself and not meant for   anyone.” He added that Professor Lim had accepted his apology.

As if that wasn’t enough, two opposition  Members of Parliament  were also forced to quit after a video emerged showing the couple holding hands. 

Lest anyone conclude that the moral high ground was only reserved for the ruling People’s Action Party, the head of the opposition Workers’ Party, Pritam Singh called a press conference on Wednesday to announce that opposition MP’s Leon Perera, 53, and Nicole Seah, 36, were resigning after their “inappropriate behaviour” had come to light. Both MPs are married to other people.

The puritanical streak in modern-day Singapore might have astounded  Malaysia’s first premier Tunku Abdul Rahman. Asked once if he was ever worried when Indonesia “confronted” Malaysia over the latter’s creation, the Tunku replied cheerfully; “Not at all. All through the period (1963-65), my people were drinking, womanising and having fun. They weren’t worried so why should I?” 

But that was a long time ago. 

Singapore disapproved of such tolerance because they knew that even a little Leeway would be stretched irresponsibly. It was why its tax system was near-foolproof because they knew a simple truth, that if a taxpayer thinks he can  cheat safely, he will. Having begun on that premise, it was logical to then close off all loopholes. 

Despite the press conferences and the public hand-wringing, infidelity was relatively rare in Singapore for one reason: most of the island’s husbands were very, very fond of their homes. 

The French were astonished by the Singaporean prejudice. They were Catholics and  despaired of the Commandment but took comfort in the knowledge that no Frenchman had dreamed that one up. 

They knew that the novelist Henry Miller was right when he wrote; “Sex is one of the nine reasons for reincarnation. The other eight are unimportant.” 

ENDS

CHASING A LITTLE SLICE OF HEAVEN IN SINGAPORE

Fiber: edible wood-pulp said to aid digestion and prolong life, so that we might live for another six or eight years in which to consume more wood-pulp –  Writer and humorist Robert Benchley 

“It ain’t the heat,” baseball player Yogi “Malaprop” Berra used to fret, “it’s the humility I can’t stand.”

Raisa knows the feeling. 

She came to Singapore two weeks ago and, for someone born and brought up in equatorial Malaysia, began seriously perspiring the minute she stepped out of the airport. Being an island, the city-state is far more humid than Kuala Lumpur and almost three years of life in Europe had caught my daughter off-guard. 

But she became accustomed to the weather in short order and wanted to eat the stuff of her childhood, generally unattainable in Amsterdam but easily available in Singapore, give or take some differences. 

We sampled durian and mangosteens along the roadside in Geylang, tried chili and pepper crab in a restaurant on the East Coast, munched roti-chanai (called, rather grandly, paratha here) and chicken rice near Orchard, and tasted what the island tries to pass off as Hokkien mee in Tanglin.  

Meanwhile, I found out there is no such thing as Singapore fried meehoon in Singapore.  Go figure.

But Raisa had heard that the city boasted a certain famous restaurant and wanted to eat at Spago because she never had. Neither Rebecca nor I knew of its existence in Singapore. Apparently, we didn’t move in those circles! We Googled the place and finally secured a reservation ten days later. 

It was certainly grand enough, located as it was on the 57th floor of one of the towers of the Marina Bay Sands. Raisa asked Das, a knowledgeable waiter from Johor Baru, what was good, and he replied: “Everything.”

But Das let it slip that English chef Gordon Ramsey had come in some months ago and, having ordered the laksa with bream, had subsequently raved about it to anyone who would listen. 

Of course, Raisa had to have the laksa. Becky had duck breast, which smelt heavenly, and I ordered the wasabi-infused black cod.

My fish was melt-in-the-mouth gorgeous and good enough to convert the vegetarian. Becca reported that the duck was similarly divine. 

Spago, it appeared, was the creation of one Wolfgang Puck, an Austrian American who was, after Julia Child, the first, genuine celebrity-chef. Like Child, he was a television personality but, unlike her, was also an entrepreneur with a brand of frozen pizza and, at one point, 63 restaurants spanning the US and extending from Shanghai and Tokyo to Singapore and Sydney.  

Before Wolfgang, American cuisine was humdrum, non-existent and boasted Chinese takeaway at its zenith.

Haute cuisine’s philosophy at the time might be distilled into a solitary sentence: if it looked like a duck, sounded like a duck and smelt like a duck, it probably needed a little more time in the microwave.

Wolfgang changed all that. He made cooking a sought after, even glamorous, profession and brought respectability and better pay to a job long regarded as a necessary, if thankless, one. It brought with it a certain grandeur to the experience of dining out.  

And we probably have him, now 70-plus, to thank for the ever-present cooking show – Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, for example – we now catch on television. 

Raisa flies back tonight. But she goes home happy.  

ENDS

THE FAULT LIES NOT IN THE HEAVENS, BUT IN US

There is a relatively inexpensive Italian café Rebecca and I frequent. It’s within walking distance from the apartment and Paul, its headwaiter, is both friendly and a countryman, being from Petaling Jaya. 

We decided to have dinner there before Singapore shut down Thursday on “heightened alert” fears. Dine-ins would no longer be permitted then. 

Paul seemed his usual cheerful self until we wondered, as is our wont when we meet Malaysians, when we might all go back next.

Then he bemoaned the “challenging” times and let slip that his mother, sister and brother-in law were all down with Covid-19.

When I asked him how old his mother was, he broke down, weeping, and fled the scene. We were transfixed and I felt mortified for having asked the question. 

It turned out, as we found out later, that his mother, 70, was critical, having suffered a stroke last year. To compound matters, both his sister and brother-in-law had lost their jobs which made his job in Singapore absolutely crucial to sustain the family. 

But what made him break down was his sudden realisation that he was unlikely to see his mother again. The cost of the quarantines – both in Malaysia and Singapore – and the resulting no-pay during the period ruled out its possibility with a finality that crushed him.

Malaysia can probably claim an over-achiever’s share of ‘Pauls’, all unheralded, and mostly unlamented. The latter observation seems especially apt in the wake of some of the statements coming from our leaders. 

Consider the Prime Minister Muhyiddin Yassin, who exhibits the taste and sensitivity of a gnat. In a put down of the “white flag” campaign, the premier remarked that “if we were to go to the ground, we would probably find the kitchens of homes to be full (of supplies).” The Prime Minister was implying that the government was doing enough about aid. Hence, to his mind, the white flag campaign was pointless.

Here’s a news flash for anyone who hasn’t got it:  the premier may be delusional. In which case, we might want to worry because delusional people tend to believe in themselves. 

What’s he smoking? Does he honestly think that anyone would want to raise the white flag, to admit that they cannot provide for their family and turn to charity? No one likes to be pitied. The premier should know this more than anyone else: there were many in Malaysia who sympathised when he was sacked from the Cabinet in 2016 by then premier Najib Razak. 

It was one of the many reasons behind the government’s ouster in the general election two years later. The Moo would do well to remember this.

“There is more stupidity than hydrogen in the world and it has a longer shelf life.” The statement was by no less than Frank Zappa, a rock musician whose onstage act included biting off the heads of snakes while wearing enough make up to delight Alan Pereira. 

What would Frank have made of Malaysian politicians? 

A Minister who can’t differentiate Spanish Fly from Flu and another who’s singularly blasé about the fact that the food aid from his ministry comes with his photograph!

And what about Hadi Awang, a minister whose exact function is vague but, as an avowed Islamic scholar, took pains to explain the public’s growing distrust of politicians. 

It was the fault of the liberals, the great thinker observed with the aplomb of a Zakir Naik, those “demons in human masks.” 

There are a great many ‘Pauls’ in Singapore and they will remember all this. 

And, make no mistake, they will return to cast their judgments. 

ENDS

A SHOT IN THE ARM FOR US

We’d been in Singapore since September so we weren’t surprised when Rebecca received the call last week.

We were to report to the Queenstown Community Centre at 7 pm on Wednesday for the first of our vaccinations.

We didn’t know which vaccine but a surprisingly knowledgeable Grab driver set us straight Saturday.

Driver: “You got your shots-ah?

My wife: “We will, this Wednesday. But we don’t know what we’re getting.”

Driver: “Where getting the shot?”

(He’s thumbing through his phone while continuing to drive. Unnerving, to say the least.)

Becky: “Queenstown.”

Driver: “Ah that, Pfizer only. Only four places got Moderna-one”

(Waves his phone at us as if that clinches it. We nod, dumbly, and suspect he’s right.)

He was.

The Queenstown Community Centre is many things to the neighbourhood. There is a small mosque, two tennis courts, notices announcing everything from yoga to acupuncture; numerous rooms for presumably those purposes and a large, cavernous hall that’s been set up for mass vaccination.

It’s extremely efficient. At our first stop, they peruse our IDs and elicit a brief medical history. They just want to know if we have had or are being treated for cancers or any autoimmune disease. That would, apparently, rule us out.

Then they want to know about allergies, specifically, those that cause anaphylaxis or severe breathing difficulties. I reply no but I do have those that cause “hives” and they say that’s fine.

Nasty, they admit, but OK.

We’d come prepared. An hour before, we’d both taken two paracetamol (Panadol, in another word) on advice from my doctor-niece. I’d also added an antihistamine.

You can never be too careful.

We joined those in line for their shots. There were chairs in socially distanced rows so it was a comfortable wait. Our peers were mostly elderly – ourselves, in another word – and some were accompanied by their children.

In Singaporean terms, these were Heartlanders, the ones who stay in HDB apartments, the brick and mortar of the People’s Action Party.

It took about 15 minutes before my wife was called and a sympathetic attendant asked me if she needed me to hold her hand.

“Are you kidding?” I replied. “If anything, I’ll need her to hold mine!”

That got a laugh, at least. When my turn came, the nurse pointed out the potential side effects – pain at the jab-site, headache, body ache and, rarely, fever – and again went through its contra-indications.

I think she must have applied some local anaesthetic on my left arm as well because I didn’t feel a thing.

More sitting around followed. Both of us felt fine although my wife’s arm was quite sore. But her ache disappeared the next day. We both felt sleepy though and had an early night.

I didn’t get off scot free, however, The next evening. I had an allergic reaction with hives. Thankfully, I was fine on Good Friday but not without the aid of a trusty antihistamine.

You got to hand it to Singapore. When vaccines began to be first approved worldwide, the republic went about purchasing Pfizer, Moderna and even the one from China.

But only the first two have been used with the Chinese vaccine yet to be approved. The point: Singapore bought first so that it wouldn’t have to wait.

I asked the nurse how many people she’d vaccinated that day and she shrugged tiredly: “Countless.”

I believe her: officially, the republic estimates it can vaccinate 80% of its population by June.

ENDS

DON’T CRY FOR ME, LILLIPUT

The following is, allegedly, Lee Kuan Yew’s posthumous letter to leaders of Lilliput, an oil rich, Third World Country that sent condolences to Singapore on Lee’s death in 2015. I have edited said letter for brevity…

“..Thanks, but I have had a good innings as do most of my people. The life expectancy in Singapore is 80 years for men and 85 for women.
I have no regrets because I did my country and my people proud. Let me share some facts.

We are ranked AAA by all the credit rating agencies, the only one in Asia ranked thus. We are the world’s fourth largest financial centre and one of its five busiest ports.

Manufacturing accounts for 30% of GDP and Singapore has the world’s third highest per capita income.

Unlike Lilliput, we don’t have any oil. Nor minerals, forests, mountain or any land to talk about. But, unlike you, we’re a huge exporter of petroleum products.

Meanwhile, Lilliput, with all its oil, has been importing petrol, diesel, kerosene and engine oil for decades.

Let me shock you further. We are the largest oil-rig producer in the world! The World Bank ranks us as the easiest place to do business in. I’m sorry if I sound immodest but what can I say?

How did we do it? In two words, incorruptible leadership.

First, the quality of leadership is non-negotiable. It’s the dog that wags the tail, not the other way around.

No country develops by accident. Development is planned.

That is where it starts. It’s when you have a vision of society with the basics. Education is key, electricity and water are key, health is key, infrastructure is non-negotiable. And you have to pick the best people to do the job, the best and the brightest. No compromises!

Leaders cannot be obsessed with instant gratification. That is one of the biggest problems you, Lilliputian leaders, have.

You’re so obsessed with official perks that you forget why you were even elected!

You like presidential jets and chattered jets. What a waste!

But you’re not alone.

In 1973, I went to Ottawa for the Commonwealth meeting. The Bangladeshi Prime Minister Mujibur Rahman, arrived in his own aircraft.

I saw a parked Boeing 707 with “Bangladesh” emblazoned on it. When I left, it was still standing there, idle for eight days, getting obsolescent without earning anything.

As I left, two vans were being loaded with packages for the Bangladeshi aircraft. But Rahman had also made a pitch for aid to his country. You want aid while showing opulence to the world.

Meanwhile, I generally travelled by commercial aircraft and helped preserve Singapore’s Third World status for many years.

I understand that Lilliput leaders are very religious.

The Muslims pray five times a day, go for haj often, fast during Ramadan and mention the name of Allah to punctuate sentences. But clerics seem obsessed with judging others and punishing “immorality” rather than decrying dishonesty, fraud or theft. There seems more importance on form rather than substance. The Christians take communion, pay tithes and hold regular prayer sessions.

Yet, you loot your state treasury without compunction, inflate contracts recklessly, and watch — without conscience — as your citizens struggle with reckless development, water disruptions and potholes.

I died an agnostic. I neither denied nor accepted that there was a God although two of my brothers were Christians.

I was never a churchgoer. Don’t misunderstand me: I am not saying you should not believe in God. I only wonder: how can you believe in God and fail so woefully in what the Bible and the Qu’ran teaches about loving your neighbour, caring for the needy and showing responsibility as a leader?

On a final note, I appreciate that you are mourning my death. But you too can become great by putting your citizens’ welfare above yours. Lilliput can also produce a Lee.

I went to my grave happy. Will you go to yours fulfilled?”

With apologies (for edits) and thanks to the anonymous messenger who posted the idea on social media.

THE FAULT ISN’T IN OUR STARS, IT’S IN THE HOROSCOPE.

The tableaux in the lobby of Singapore’s Shangri-La hotel features a belligerent ox amid pink cherry blossoms, all fashioned out of chocolate. It’s likely to be dismantled tomorrow which is a pity as its smell is irresistibly cheerful.

Today (Friday) is the last day of the festive season and Chap Goh Meh, normally riotously celebrated with firecrackers in Malaysia, is met here with only a stoic silence.

Firecrackers, or anything louder than a lion dance have been banned for decades.

Indeed, it’s been replaced by silence in Singapore on a sunny and very breezy day that’s left me desperate for a column-idea.

I’m stuck without a plan. Three years ago, I might have stepped out for inspiration through a moody cigarette. But this is Singapore where cigarettes are viewed with as much benevolence as Pol Pot did his countrymen. More to the point, I am long past the habit and, instead, settle for a scrutiny of the newspapers.

The daily horoscope seems a good place to start. Off the bat, I don’t believe in horoscopes but that’s just me: I am a Pisces and we’re sceptics.

The filing on Pisces offers slim pickings. I’m informed I have “valuable diplomatic skills” and had a great opportunity to play “the peacemaker” among people who are “falling out.” At the same time, I am sternly warned: “Don’t let your thin skin hold you back.”

Well, my daughter, Raisa, is also a Pisces so maybe it’s her the post is aimed at. Still, this zodiac stuff can be mystifying: It’s like being inspired only to be disappointed at the end.

Put it this way. It’s not unlike meeting a scientist-looking fellow who tells you that he’s working towards eliminating “all cancers.” Just when you begin feeling impressed, he continues quietly: “Then I plan to move on all Virgos.”

Grim and stern, I tell you!

I felt better after reading Cancer’s fate. “You have a simple choice,” it began in no-nonsense fashion. “Either throw yourself into whatever’s coming your way, or you may stay on the sidelines.”

I say, this isn’t good for the average Cancer-professing fellow about to be rendered pandemically-unemployed and to harbour suicidal inclinations.

The fateful message ends on a killer note, the sort of stuff that pushes one to snapping point.

In short, if he did not throw himself into the path of a speeding bus previously, he definitely would have after reading this. “However, if you choose to stay aloof, circumstance may well force your hand.”

Pity the poor sucker born under the Aries sign, which comes with a chilling warning. “Both at home and at work, expect the unexpected!” it screams with a suicide-bomber’s fanaticism.

We know what time that is because that time is nigh. It’s the still unexpected but oh-so-friendly e-mail from the Nigerian prince whose inheritance had hitherto been unfairly delayed for lack of a man of integrity and, more importantly, a bank account.

There is also a pious bromide to the effect that “it is difficult to erase past memories.”

You think?

It seems to have as much to do with the typical
Aries person as the price of mothballs.

ENDS

IT’S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS

Since we stay at one of its service apartments, we are allowed to use the facilities at Singapore’s Shangri-La.

And as soon as you step into its lobby there’s no mistaking the time of the year you’re in. As you head towards the gymnasium amidst the Christmastide and its inimitable carols, you almost forget there’s a pandemic about because of the normalcy of the scene: families taking photographs under the towering, bauble-bedecked tree stretching up to the roof.

There’s a smell of chocolate in the air and it’s strongest near the escalator that takes you down to the gym. The reason isn’t immediately obvious and then you get it: the tableaux of three dazzlingly white polar bears playing with presents amidst the snow and ice next to the escalator is fashioned entirely out of chocolate.

Only when you’re on the escalator do you realise why the scene isn’t completely normal: everyone’s wearing a mask.

We decided not to go back for Christmas this year after cases in Malaysia began spiking four months ago. It prompted Singapore to tighten its rules. Previously, when we went back, we only needed to quarantine for a week at our apartment when we returned. Now we had to do it for two weeks at some government facility and, being foreigners, we had to pay for the privilege.

In any case, with Malaysia under movement control and our daughter in Amsterdam it wasn’t hard decision to make.

If you had to be somewhere else during the Yuletide season, Singapore’s the place to be with some additional advantages. Like many Malaysians, both Rebecca and I have family here and my niece, for example, has kindly invited us over to her place on the 23rd.

The other is that the island republic can seriously put on a show when it comes to Christmas. Only 20% of the country is Christian but the statistic belies the spectacle the nation puts on.

Carols were already being played on radio stations by November, while glittering, trees in tinsel and twine began sprouting in shops all over the place by early December.

It’s clearly a transactional Christmas in these parts and they make no bones about it. Even before Deepavali rolled around this year, the Christmas lights began blazing along Orchard Road on November 13.

We were out for dinner two nights ago and the lights along the 2.2- kilometre road were something else. Spectacular is one word that comes to mind. Over the top are three words more.

And then there’s the Botanical Gardens where a loop-around is about 4 miles. That was too long so we just cut through diagonally. Volunteers have done a fantastic job trimming every other tree along its length in Christmas splendor. You can imagine how the gardens might look like at twilight. It gives you that warm, fuzzy feeling.

Rebecca’s baked her pineapple tarts and thrown in some panettone for good measure. So, we’re all set.

We’ve invited four friends – all Malaysians as well – for dinner on Christmas Eve which is just nice as our dining table only seats 6.

Merry Christmas everyone!