By Koh Shin Robbie (26A01A)
Identity is not a monolith. In our own self-identity lies many markers at play that, when met with the social conditions of today, create unique lived experiences for each of us.
Whether we recognise it, these experiences are presented to us in all facets of our lives, across space and time—from the railways of Seoul to HDB void decks, even to the streets of 1960s Singapore. It is then often through such unseen little snippets of life that one’s expression of identity takes shape. Across the various panels in this year’s Singapore Writers Festival, this theme became apparent.
Literature in the Singaporean Experience
Literature is often used as a platform to express one’s identity, but what captures the Singaporean identity? In the beginning of popular Singaporean literature, the works of writers such as Edwin Thumboo often adopted formal registers, shining light on the history of Singapore, such as our colonial experiences. This then evolved, with the publishing of Arthur Yap’s poem “2 Mothers in a HDB Playground” in 1980 pioneering the incorporation of Singlish lexicon, and becoming part of a rising trend of spotlighting intimately local mundane experiences.
As shared by Cheng Him, author of the poetry collection “Bo Beh Zhao”, it is often tempting to separate society from oneself.
“Remember that you yourself are a part of Singapore, and by extension what reflects Singapore must be honest to the self.”
Cheng Him
With this in mind, Cheng would touch base with personal experiences in his years of adolescence and troublemaking in school, as well as growing up in a Buddhist Chinese family, expressing such experiences through each of his poems. As a result, “Boh Beh Zhao”, through the lens of its main character Ah Seng, delivers such experiences in an authentic and honest manner. The poems do not shy away from using extensive Singlish grammar and vocabulary. Rather, these unique sentence constructions mirror life far more intimately.
This highlights the role of Singapore’s unique linguistic legacy in our ability to express, as poet Heng Siok Tian would further expand. A product of the Singapore education system’s bilingual policy, Heng grew up in a Teochew-speaking family. To her, the coexistence of English, Mandarin Chinese and Teochew meant the intertwining of different worldviews. In works such as “Your Teochew Proverbs”, the injection of Teochew vocabulary employs its nuances sensitively to connect key emotions and ideas in an empathetic manner.
Expression in Voice and Action
Through the experiences of characters or speakers in each work, unique lived experiences behind their creation are represented to audiences. To playwright Faith Ng, this creates a mirror for the audiences themselves to have their experiences seen and heard. Looking at the role of Singaporean theatre in exploring and shaping society, Ng highlighted how theatre was capable of placing focus on the common man, as opposed to figures of authority more commonly depicted in mainstream media.
Playwright Stella Kon would further add that theatrical works are able to adeptly navigate the space of OB markers (Out-of-Bound markers that denote socially sensitive topics) to amplify unheard voices. In her play, Emily of Emerald Hill, this meant presenting the voice of a Peranakan matriarch. For Ng’s play The Fourth Trimester, a scene of a young mother pumping breast milk was explicitly included, using such deliberate stage direction to normalise day-to-day duties of motherhood, and thereby challenging the considerable attention and judgement such acts garner in a more conservative society like Singapore’s.
To Zulfadli Rashid, playwright at Teater Ekamatra, a company seeking to create a stage for minority voices, theatrical works have become a medium for minority experiences to be articulated to audiences, from the emotions of non-Chinese speakers in a Chinese-dominant society to the representation of women in an arts scene where men remain the focus of presentation.
“My craft is to lend a voice to such things. Singapore society has priorities all over the place. It is not a bad thing, or a good thing, but sometimes I hope we can slow down and just enjoy what we have achieved so far and give respect to what the people before us have achieved for us.”
Zulfadli Rashid
Beyond representation, the expression of identity and experiences invokes change. In an emphatic live reading of her translated poem “Hysteria”, South Korean poet Kim Yi-deum shed light onto the stories of harassment experienced by women in subways. Conveying such emotions of distress and discomfort, Kim’s voice was among the many that bolstered modern feminism in South Korea—a movement that saw tangible change through the introduction of female-carriages on some subways.
The Necessity of Expression
While intense emotion can be a galvanising device, inspiring a deep sense of empowerment and reform, it may burn the individual no less when handled inadequately.
In many Asian cultures, the family unit has played a unique role in one’s expression. As teacher-turned-author Anittha Thanabalan shared, the expression of rage at figures of authority such as one’s elders is often suppressed. To her, this creates certain behaviours that follow one to adulthood due to an inability to properly express intense emotion—or in modern terms, ‘crashing out’.
The role of social media in today’s expression of identity is undeniable, with platforms such as Instagram and TikTok playing pivotal roles in one’s expression of emotion. However, such avenues are being increasingly closed off. As highlighted by Australian young adult fiction author Ellie Marney, social media platforms have become mediums to incite intense emotion in us, using algorithms to present content that provokes the strongest reactions in audiences.
These rising tides are being met with a more hostile online landscape now, where every comment is recorded forever, resulting in an increasingly suffocating Internet. Once a liberating space of expression, it has manifested into an isolating pressure cooker, where individuals are left to tread carefully or risk censure.
As doors close on the space for one’s expression, poet Pooja Nansi aptly compared the role of poetry with four key metaphors in her keynote:
As a light, poetry serves as a lens into the lives of other individuals, adopting a new view of the world. Poetry is also a thread, connecting the experiences of individuals together, shaping a voice for communities. It is also a drawer, allowing us to draw onto our own experiences, allowing us to hold on and stow away our experiences healthily. Poetry is a door too, allowing individuals to imagine possibilities in the face of the constrictive present.
The role of the arts in the expression of identity cannot be understated, creating an ecosystem of healthy articulation and awareness, as individuals are provided the means of vocalising their lived experiences, whilst being enriched by the diversity of identities at play.
Closing Thoughts: Art and the Future
Hearteningly, the capacity of art forms such as literature to empower and educate is being increasingly recognised in Singapore. Beginning from the development of our youths, educators such as Khaziah Yem have used traditional Malay arts such as pantun and syair to captivate students in their mastery of the Malay language, defying the traditional educational space’s exam-focused mindset of language mastery, to evoke more intimate connection with aspects of the community’s shared heritage. Literary works of Singaporean authors, including some names mentioned earlier, now form a component in the secondary school English Literature syllabus, granting students an introduction to a wide repertoire reflective of Singapore’s diversity, and encouraging them to find their voice too.
Identity is everywhere, and shall continue to be as such. Authored by Victor Savage and Brenda Yeoh, Singapore Street Names: A Study of Toponymics identifies that even street names play a role in expressing the local identity. Across each checkpoint in Singapore’s history, original Malay streets had adopted British colonial names, before a brief resurgence of ‘lorongs’ and Malay names during our merger with Malaysia, and eventually to the ‘pinyinisation’ movement of dialect-based names during language reforms. Individual communities used street names to impose their identities too, with streets such as Waterloo Street adopting informal alter egos of ‘si ma lu’ or Fourth Road by the local Chinese community.
The next time you cross the road, remember that identity is everywhere—especially in the undistinguished—so embrace your voice, and the many others around you.
