Tiong Bahru was once a swampland ridden with mosquitos and also served as a cemetery. Tiong Bahru was gentrified where housing was demolished and rebuilt, facilities were upgraded, and new cafes started moving in. What I noticed when walking around the estate of Tiong Bahru, is that some old houses are still preserved next to tall, modern HDB flats, giving us a real-life portrayal of the past against the present, especially where a neat, welcoming cafe is oddly placed in the midst of a long row of old provision shops, seeming to have overtaken one of their spots. Tiong Bahru gives residents the best of both worlds where they can enjoy new and better services, but at the same time be able to visit familiar places that relive their childhood memories, welcoming both the old and young.
As I walked into the old housing estates, I remember my mother telling me of her early childhood stories, which I wrote a short simple poem about:
Past the rustic red diamond gate,
down the narrow spiral stairs almost tripping over the edge
out the block and into the corridor,
to catch the ice kachang man for treats galore.
A block of ice is shaved into flakes,
wide eyed, eagerly the kids await.
The flakes were made into a ball,
and over was the syrup poured.
Red, green, blue, it was complete
twenty cents for a wonderful treat.
She tells me how she misses her childhood dearly. I would really loved to have experience the same kind of carefree life she lived, where children weren’t thrown into a mini rat race right from the moment they enroll in school.
As I listened to the story of the Air Raid shelter, it felt so surreal. This happened to Singapore? In this peaceful setting that I live in right now, I could never imagine Singapore being thrown into such a chaotic state. I can never fully experience the panic and fear that the citizens must have felt, but I can only imagine myself in a severely downplayed version of what might have actually happened.
In the following poems below, I tried to focus a bit on form, forming the same shape as a 3ft door. The empty space in poem 1 represents and empty air-raid shelter. The ‘1’s in poem 2 represent the people in the air raid shelter, when it is filled. I apologize if it is a bit strange and painful to read (especially when you have to dart your eyes across the page), I wanted to explore something I’ve never done before. Hopefully I’ll get better at it soon. 😦
"Forgotten"- A Writing Journey 