Tom Mullaly

We laughed, we cried, we even left some crap for other people to buy. For a slideshow of our little trip, click here.

Singapore: squalor-free. The first few days is a feeling of relief at the ease of it all, especially if you’ve arrived from the manic inefficiency of Jakarta or India, for instance. You will drink water straight from the tap, because you can. You will not hail a cab by peeing toward traffic as some tourists do, elsewhere. Careful though: without a purpose, staleness might set in. That’s what shopping is for, thought the less evolved (or was it more self-involved?) might feel a niggling guilt at abandoning the ‘road to more’ for the Orchard Road to more trinkets. I was with 3 world-class shoppers who talked me down.

Overheated and steamrolled by the retail mayhem, I also found this lint as I gazed at my navel:
I see no warped/creative side of this prosperity. As we know, this is normally bestowed on a society through a scene created by obnoxious youth who feel disenfranchised and therefore entitled to create their own ‘decadent’ tangents, timely distillates, the best of which becomes art that endures and expands the culture.
The feeling of everyone being on the same page here is palpable; there is no sign that success is measured by anything other than established standards and roles for people. There are no cracks that might show alternate sensibilities; I see no flyers on bulletin boards advertising underground shows for music either electronic or guitar-based; footwear is oppressively, disappointingly clean.
All this has been said before; ‘A’ and I observed years ago that the scene here after dark had no noncommercial edges and felt it showed something profound about this place, especially the youth.
As a society SG seems content to refine/improve existing processes relevant to the material wellbeing of its citizens, and young people seem unaware of anything greater than that purpose. A guy told me that he felt very lucky to be from a civilized bubble in Asia’s chaotic sea, and a small fear every time he left. Maybe this fear is what continues to drive a society with little interest in second thoughts, impractical navelgazing or tangents of originality. Who was I to argue?