On the road, I encountered that "comfortable Singaporean" and then killed him.

Author: eigen moomin

Translation: Deep Tide TechFlow

We are the descendants of those brave souls who fled due to war, sought refuge from famine, or simply abandoned everything in pursuit of a better life, migrating to this island.

They built a well-functioning nation, a place that tamed chaos and provided us with an orderly life. This kind of life allows us to live methodically, even without making any truly brave moves. Of course, you still need to work hard, but we have also become the first thoroughly "self-tamed" immigrant nation. We extinguished the ambition that once drove our ancestors, filled with hunger and dreams, to cross oceans in search of a better life.

This is a prosperous land, and it has been so for decades. Our people are hardworking, diligent, and well-educated. Our universities have nearly reached world-class standards, and the future looks even brighter. We are fortunate to be the only country in the world with a rational government and an efficient bureaucratic system.

However, after half a century of relentless effort, transforming a barren land into fertile ground, where are our "crops"? Where are the local companies we can proudly point to? Where is our "Ericsson" or "Nokia"?

Our self-identification has changed with the times. From the initial "entrepôt," a trade hub connecting the wealth of China and India, to a "manufacturing base," where we sculpt silicon wafers and refine oil. Today, we have shed our factory uniforms for suits and lab coats, upgrading from a "base" to a "hub"—in finance, biotechnology, and a plethora of buzzwords favored by The Economist.

Despite the changing times, the core relationship between Singaporeans and work has not changed. We remain the world's best "comprador." As a service-oriented economy, we train young people to serve banks, funds, laboratories, and factories. From once acting as intermediaries for Western companies, unlocking Eastern wealth, to now packaging images for Eastern companies, integrating into a world still dominated by the West. The old "boss" has passed, and the new "boss" has taken over; he may look like us, but we are still just his workers.

As for those local "bosses": who is truly admirable? Every so-called "success story" ultimately boils down to a form of "rent-seeking."

Here, you can earn a lot of money by providing very little value. Find a new policy direction that the government is enthusiastic about, start a consulting firm, and promise to deliver on these buzzwords. Apply for government grants, do no substantial work, just give dazzling speeches and hold "seminars." Or, if you’re not good at talking, source OEM products from China, slap on your own brand, and sell them at double the price as a "local entrepreneur." As for real estate tycoons, modern history has already given the correct judgment on those who made their fortune from land.

Our smartest talents never create—they're too smart, knowing that this path is too risky! We Singaporeans are smart enough to understand that the safest way to invest is to watch what others do and then do it better. We excel in mathematics, intuitively knowing that the risk-return ratio of entrepreneurship is far lower than that of being an investment banker, consultant, lawyer, doctor, or software engineer, and the latter has a higher Sharpe Ratio—look at this study, 90% of startups ultimately fail!

And when that emptiness of "we are a country without a fortress of enterprises to be proud of" hits us, we write articles, produce well-crafted CNA documentaries explaining why we cannot innovate. This way, we can comfortably take no action, because at least we have "professionally" diagnosed our problems.

Of course, the problem lies in culture. It has always been about culture. I could cite the names of thousands of economists and commentators, reference hundreds of minds smarter than mine, but in the end, it all boils down to that simple word: culture.

Smart People

Our education system is ruthless, rewarding those who succeed repeatedly while excluding those who might fail at any moment. Those who commit the grave sin of messing up even a single exam must pay the price, forced to walk a long road in Singaporean life (of course, except for those wealthy enough to afford studying abroad).

By the time you finally enter university, you have already undergone two rounds of fiercely competitive exams, each claiming to equip you with the necessary skills and knowledge to survive in modern society, but in reality, the most important lesson they teach you is: never be the one who gets eliminated.

In the face of such a system, the rational response is to climb as high as possible to avoid being crushed by the "sawdust machine" at the bottom. But when every exam score determines your future, who can bear to do anything poorly? Doing one more exam paper or spending an hour in a tutoring class means missing out on a side project, failing to learn a skill, and closing yet another door to a long and unknown future. It artificially restricts what could be a rich and colorful life to the pursuit of academic excellence, with the ultimate goal of becoming a professional in a field that requires excellent qualifications to reap rewards.

Maybe you are that 1% who has never faced hardship in school—you are truly lucky! You have enough leeway to discover what you truly enjoy and try new things. Each cohort may have 50 people like you. And among them, half will enter government departments, starting their careers in a glamorous way, never to see the light of day again. The other half will leave Singapore for the United States, never to return.

Fortunately, the rest of us are still smart and hardworking, and our excellent education teaches us how to solve any problem for our bosses. But without great leaders to guide the way, do we even know what problems we want to solve?

Smart, Tasteless People

For 18 years, you have performed excellently, and then suddenly, the script changes in university. Studying to get an "A" and becoming a "jack of all trades" is no longer enough to be considered "excellent." Now, you should "follow your passion" and "create something meaningful."

Of course, there is no time to waste on cultivating passion or a sense of meaning. Time in university is now shorter. Courses are harder, people are smarter, and more motivated. So, you can only adapt to the new script, hurriedly learning how to perform on the new stage.

You sign up for the school's entrepreneurship program and practice the entrepreneurial spirit firsthand. You learn all the trendy buzzwords and all the skills needed for presentations. You post impressive updates on LinkedIn, exaggerating every significant achievement. You help the school meet key performance indicators (KPIs) to prove that the school is nurturing successful entrepreneurs, which is part of the government's push for entrepreneurship development. Once you complete a year-long internship in Silicon Valley (the startup mecca) funded by the school, your resume will gain a shiny badge. Congratulations, you are now a school-certified entrepreneur.

Note the small irony in Singapore that even the birth of entrepreneurs seems to be government-led. This is not a grassroots encouragement for those dreamers but a carefully choreographed dance, with Type-A kids checking off tasks according to a script sent from across the ocean. Even those who perform well enough to barely mimic entrepreneurial behavior execute projects that are unremarkable. "Uber for hawker centers," "Amazon for Singapore," "another tutoring market platform," "another property platform for HDB rentals." Where is the ambition? Why do these ideas always stop here?

Give a Singaporean hundreds of thousands of dollars, and he will build a tutoring center. Localization, derivation, extracting value from existing problems rather than attempting to solve any problems.

Smart, Tasteful, Faithful People

At some point, your taste will elevate. Perhaps a few years into your career, or during your university years, you will realize that you can spot all the nonsense that exists around us.

The problem now is that you have all these brilliant ideas and observations, but they are trapped in layers of self-sabotage. You need absolute certainty to speak up, and even then, every idea comes pre-packaged with corresponding rebuttals. You will avoid conversations that might be questioned; unless you are completely sure, you will remain silent in meetings; in discussions where someone might know more than you, you will take a back seat. Nowadays, there is a widespread phenomenon of shyness in expressing opinions, making even simple expressions hard to avoid.

The primary consequence is that we ultimately miss countless opportunities to do interesting things. When you present yourself to the world, even imperfectly, you allow others to shape your image, your beliefs, and your interests. When someone needs help with something or seeks opinions, the first person they often think of is the one who exists in this world. If you do not write or express yourself, **you exclude yourself and are even undervalued. Our shyness makes us minimize the aspects that attract attention, and this is precisely the small tragedy of *transmission* that each of us experiences every day.**

The deeper tragedy is that this is precisely why we remain stuck in the role of compradors. Not only because our greatest dream is to work for foreign companies or execute others' ideas, but also because we do not believe our ideas are worth existing unconditionally. We have been thoroughly trained to habitually retreat, hesitate, and avoid making mistakes to the extent that we have lost the basic belief in our own observational skills.

I hope we can change this situation. I hope we can face our timidity and mistakes with composure and loudly proclaim our beliefs. The ultimate goal is to give us the autonomy to act, to no longer serve as compradors, but to start taking control of our own destinies. But the autonomy to act first requires the autonomy of thought—a firm belief that when you see something, it matters, and you will express it without apology.

Without this fundamental belief, we will always be compradors. We understand everything but have no power to decide anything.

Smart, Tasteful, Faithful, but Will-less People

I deeply fear becoming someone who can only survive within the Singaporean system, afraid of being over-specialized to thrive only in this environment while withering away elsewhere. I believe I am smart enough to do what I want; I have taste and can discern what is important; I even have enough confidence in my observational skills to dare to write this perhaps overly embellished article for the world to read.

But do I have the will to take action? How much time have I spent pondering these questions, having endless lunches and coffees with friends, all agreeing that "some things must be changed by some people"?

I gradually realize: you cannot wait for others to change Singapore. Everything you enjoy now—even that behemoth regarded as a god, the government you curse when you fail and pray to when you need—exists because some people spent their entire lives building it. If you despise the status quo, either take action yourself, or stop pretending that complaining can solve the problem.

Doing anything difficult requires sacrifice, especially when the alternative—a comfortable Singaporean life—will almost certainly make you happier. But I hope to stop dreaming of the good life that others long for and start dreaming of the hard life that I would enjoy experiencing. In such a life, I am no longer a Singaporean living an easy life, afraid to commit to anything, but rather someone who believes in their ability to create anything they can imagine and ultimately bring it to fruition.

My first 22 years were spent following a predetermined path: attending the right schools, having the right ambitions, pursuing the right goals. In university, like everyone else, I burned all my summers interning at big tech companies to eventually land that coveted position everyone dreams of. I had everything that every outstanding Singaporean dreams of: a high-paying job that allows you to live comfortably outside of work.

But I turned it down and went to San Francisco to try my luck. I traded my final year of university—those carefree times of partying and enjoying life with friends—for weekends working in a strange city. There, I was alone, knowing very few people. I had a beloved partner, and I knew we would spend our lives together, but I chose to be separated from them by an ocean for the next few years.

I write this not to perform, not to earn your admiration for the sacrifices I made for "struggle"—braver people than I have given more for less reward. Instead, I write this because I am proud of the only time I was brave in my life: I encountered that "comfortable Singaporean" on the road and then killed him.

Empty talk is useless; you have no reason to believe me. But when I return, I will create something worth trading ten years of my life for.

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