Author: eigen moomin

Compiled by: Deep Tide TechFlow

We are the descendants of those brave souls who, whether fleeing from war, seeking refuge from famine, or simply pursuing a better life, gave up everything they had to migrate to this island.

They established a well-functioning nation, a place that tamed chaos and provided us with an orderly life. This kind of life allows us to go about our days methodically, without needing to take any truly brave actions. Of course, you still need to work hard, but we have also become the first fully "self-tamed" immigrant nation. We extinguished the ambition that once drove our ancestors, filled with hunger and dreams, to cross oceans in pursuit 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-designation has changed with the times. From the initial "entrepôt," a trade hub connecting the wealth of China and India, to "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 trendy 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, replaced by a new "boss"; he may look like us, but we are still just his workers.

As for those local small "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. Identify the new policy directions the government is enthusiastic about, start a consulting firm, and promise to deliver on these buzzwords. Apply for government grants, do no substantive work, and simply 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 long provided the correct judgment on those who made their fortunes from land.

Our smartest talents never create—they are too smart to know that this path is too risky! We Singaporeans are smart enough to understand that the safest way to invest is to observe what others are doing and 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 issue lies in culture. It has always been about culture. I could quote the names of thousands of economists and commentators, cite hundreds of minds smarter than mine, but in the end, it all boils down to that simple word: culture.

The Smart Ones

Our education system is ruthlessly unforgiving, 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 life in Singapore (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 uncertain future. It artificially restricts what could be a colorful life to the pursuit of academic excellence, with the ultimate goal of becoming a professional in a field that requires excellent credentials to reap rewards.

Perhaps you are among the 1% who have 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 about 50 people like you. Half of them 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 diligent enough; 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?

The Smart, Tasteless Ones

For 18 years, you have performed excellently, and then suddenly, the script changes when you reach 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 scarcer. 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, part of the government's push for entrepreneurship development. Once you complete a year-long internship in Silicon Valley (the holy land of startups) 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: even the birth of entrepreneurs seems to be government-led. This is not grassroots encouragement for those dreamers; it is 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 a few hundred thousand dollars, and he will build a tutoring center. Localize, derive value from existing problems, rather than trying to solve any problems.

The Smart, Tasteful, Faithful Ones

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 by 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 if 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 think of is often 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 of being noticed, which is precisely the small tragedy we each experience every day.

The deeper tragedy is that this is the core reason we remain in the comprador role. Not just because our greatest dream is to work for foreign companies or execute others' ideas, but 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 point where 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 courage and loudly proclaim our beliefs. The ultimate goal is to gain autonomy in action, no longer acting as compradors, but starting to take control of our own destinies. But autonomy in action first requires autonomy in thought—firmly believing that when you see something, it matters, and that you will express it without apology.

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

The Smart, Tasteful, Faithful, but Will-less Ones

I deeply fear becoming someone who can only survive within the Singapore 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 also have taste, able to 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 certain 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 certain people spent their 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—comfortable life in Singapore—will almost certainly make you happier. But I hope to stop dreaming of the beautiful life that others desire and start dreaming of the arduous life I would enjoy experiencing. In such a life, I am no longer a Singaporean living a comfortable life, afraid to commit to anything, but someone who believes in my ability to create anything I can imagine and ultimately bring it to fruition.

My first 22 years of life followed 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 in internships at big tech companies, aiming for that coveted position everyone dreams of. I had everything every excellent 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—the carefree time spent partying and enjoying 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 sacrificed more for less. Rather, I write this because I am proud of the only time I was brave in my life: meeting that "comfortable Singaporean" on the road and then killing 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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