at the moment, Singapore is like a young, swollen river. the undercurrents are swift and decided. it knows where it’s going and knows that some risk has to be taken to get there. the people of Singapore are riding that river.
the adventurous, the forward, the audacious, the plucky, are moving with it, braving the rapids, knowing that the waterfall will come, and it’ll be terrifying, but it is inevitable, and the fall will be thrilling and the pool will be worth it.
the timid, the fence-sitters, the stubborn, the fearful, are trying their best to anchor themselves, not wanting to know the changing landscape that lies beyond each meander, afraid of the rocks and tide, denying that to everything there is an ebb and flow.
but the rain will go on. and the river will burst and when it does, my river companions, all of us will have to decide whether we want to sink or swim. the river will be brimming with us, jam packed, but we don’t have to climb on each other’s heads, we just have to hold each other’s hands and take the plunge together. sink or swim.
on the banks of this river, sit our leaders and ministers, sheltered as ever from the downpour of reality, having a cultured picnic of afternoon tea. they look on at us and make bets. they portion off the river and decide which groups of people deserve to be thrown a rope, and where they’ll set up their state-of-the-art fishing gear, so that those groups won’t have anything to eat. they discuss ways to drill a deep, destructive hole into the bedrock so they might get from where they’re sitting, to the calm pool below the falls, without having to drown and die, and definitely without getting their white uniforms wet and dirty. they don’t know that time, like the river must run its course, especially a river as young and eager as this one. without the journey down, there is nothing to be learnt. there are no shortcuts, even when you think you have the resources to make one.
we’ll sink or swim, but we’ll get there, old and young, natives and newcomers. they’ll get lost under the pile of rocks and red tape, in their stupid, white suits.
(more like a chunk than a nugget, this one. pardon me.)