THE CITIZEN

And so I make my way to the Toa Payoh hub. My crotch itches, courtesy of the WD-40 cyber-Joanne had smeared onto my penis. Behind me, Tan Vee Bun and Robert Sebastian Cheong have left, taking cyber-Joanne’s body to be cremated. The rituals and traditions of the soulless. Not like me. 

I walk along Lorong 6. To my right, the SAFRA building looms large, new and imposing and open to all citizens who register. A reminder of our compulsory army years, where the Singaporean is truly born. The indoctrination to a school of thought where I, Li Jia Sen, become bored. I vaguely remember my buddy, a short man without initiative, but always helpful and kind. Who lent me mosquito repellent during field camp, who tried to keep in contact while I dreamt of revolution. 

The road construction ahead forces me to head up a grassy incline, into the play area of an ageing HDB block, to a now-iconic playground in Singapore -- the one with the dragon slide. The heritage of the past, of those who lived in Toa Payoh, who grew up as the movements of commerce and industry and accommodation sprouted up around them, while an old playground shifts its function from childhood amusement, to utilitarian, to danger and then to nationalistic nostalgia trip. No wonder we despise ourselves. 

I move on to the HDB Hub. Plain, tiled walls, glossy and impassive, tower above me, as the young couples and growing families of this wretched country hope, ballot and pray for a shoebox to live in, undecided between its use for living or for investment. The so-called retirement nest egg. I cast a contemptuous eye on them, Malay and Chinese and Indian and Others, talking to the uncles and aunties following the rules of their job. Pathetic. 

Around me, I feel the closing in of history again, as one version of reality disappears, as the freedom of the in-between fades away, and another version inevitably, comes creeping in like the birth of a new, foetid day in this tropical dystopia. 

Outside the HDB Hub, I pause at a strange sculpture -- three monstrous humanoids sitting on top of a brutalist rock. Their heads angular, their faces swollen, their eyes sunken, their hair and bodies reptilian. Who puts these things here? 

I put the nightmares out of my mind, and saunter past the McDonald’s and Starbucks on my left, the Koi Cafe on my right, each with their inexplicably long queues: Singaporeans buying into the latest fads of expensive coffee, sugar laden bubble tea, Hello Kitty tie-in meals, like the obedient fools they are. I think back to the ridiculous, thoughtless fights that break out almost every other year over some collector’s edition toy, and I say to myself, I can save them. This time it’ll be different.