15 Singapore: Hot and Humid

THE EMPIRE OF 81

Hotel 81 is proof that people in Singapore do get it on. And they do it a lot, it seems. Choo Chong Ngen, the sole owner of the empire, is filthy rich. As in 2.95 billion Singapore dollars rich. Always follow the money. It will lead you to all kinds of truths about a city. Hotel 81 doesn’t advertise itself as a chain. However, with twenty-four branches scattered around Singapore, it is most certainly the reigning king love hotels. The exterior of every branch of 81 (as affectionally nicknamed by Singaporeans) are coated with an innocently iconic baby blue: nothing is going on here, this naively toned palette seems to say, batting its eyelashes.
Rooms are rented out at $40 (€25) for 2 hours. $15 for each subsequent hour. Everyone needs an ID at the check in. There is no anonymity in Singapore. Everyone is being watched. Inside, the rooms are sparse, but clean. Most of them are windowless. The walls are thin. An attached bathroom, complete with clean towels and soup. White cotton-polyester sheets coupled with a double bed. Sometimes two single beds. Sometimes a side lamp. Sometimes not. A telephone that rings ten minutes before your time is up to remind you to check out. An electric kettle. Two cups and saucers. Complimentary English tea and instant coffee. A small flat screen TV. Strangely enough, there’s always a bad painting hanging in each room. Knockoffs of Keith Haring, Leonardo Da Vinci. Flowers and landscapes in garish primary colours. 81 has the intrinsic ability to host myriad sexual encounters within the labyrinth of rooms, all at once.
This is surely an expression of power enacted via an imperial mindset. Illicit affairs between star-crossed lovers who never become official couples. Lonely men and women who engage the services of sex workers discovered online as badly concealed advertisements for massages. The spontaneity of one-night stands.

HANTU TETEK

You can’t talk about Singapore without mentioning ghosts. Apparently every corner is filled with them. Everyone believes in them. Every other Singaporean has claimed to have at least an encounter with one. I first heard about this particular spirit from a friend who is conducting feminist research into Southeast Asian folklore. She told me that one of the most fascinating mythological creatures that she is studying is the Hantu Tetek. Hantu = Ghost. Tetek = Breasts. The Hantu Tetek is said to be a female ghost who inhabits the tropical rainforests and is only seen at night. The most distinctive feature of the Hantu Tetek is that she has enormous breasts. In some accounts, she is said to murder victims through suffocation, by pressing their faces into her bosoms. According to others, she hides behind trees and uses her polyphonic voice to draw unsuspecting wanderers towards her, killing them by swinging her chest into their skulls, knocking them dead with a single fatal blunt-force blow. What a way to go.

RECLAIMED LAND

Singapore is a tiny island. Singapore is a city-state. Singapore is brand spanking new. Her current status as a sovereign state is a relatively recent phenomenon. It has always, at some point, been a part of larger empires, namely, the kingdoms of Java, England, Japan and Malaysia. Let’s face it. When you mention the words ‘tropical island,’ the next word you think of is ‘beach.’ And what does an island have in abundance of? Beaches. All over the world, beaches are prime locations for picking someone up. The painful cliche of sand, sun and sex hold true in Singapore as well. Changi Beach was an infamous haunt for queer men to engage in a quick tryst. Pasir Ris Beach is another favourite location, but more for straight, vanilla couples. Marina South, a favourite spot for Indian migrant workers and Filipino domestic workers, is littered with camping tents on the weekend. The coast isn’t what it seems. If you look on Google Maps, you will realise that much of the perimeter of Singapore is unusually straight. This is because 13,800 hectares of land has been reclaimed from the sea to form the Singapore that you see today. A project that began in 1965, Singapore continues to grow. Much of the coast that we encounter today was actually a part of the sea. Cruising is literally pushed further and further out into open ocean, and perhaps now, out into the digital cloud.

THE INVISIBLE MANUSCRIPT

It is 1999. Twenty-one years ago, a book of poems by an unnamed author was circulated and read amongst a small group of readers in Singapore. It was photocopied on A4 paper, which was then folded and stapled along the spine into an A5 format. The words ‘The Invisible Manuscript’ laid on the cover. The unnamed author posted on an online gay news list SiGNeL and diligently sent out hard copies of the book to whoever requested it, free of charge. He also gave out copies to trusted friends.
In 2012, Math Paper Press published The Invisible Manuscript and the author was publicly revealed to be the prolific poet and playwright, Alfian Sa’at.

The book begins with a dedication, in itself, a heartbreak.

For K— / Because you could not bring / yourself to love me / Because I could not bring / myself to hate you / This book was born.

A quick glance across the contents page reveals poems with titles such as: ‘Making Love in Army Bunk Beds is Wrong,’ ‘The Kiss,’ ‘The Wrestling Manoeuvre,’ ‘This Room,’ ‘Suspense,’ ‘Sexbuddy,’ ‘Husbands,’ ‘Once Again, Over the Phone,’ ‘6 Notions of Intimacy,’ ‘The Open Relationship.’ Even as a young man, Alfian Sa’at never held back.
The poems reveal a series of piercing journeys into intimacies and longings. Set against the backdrop of Section 377A of the Penal Code in Singapore, a policy that criminalises sex between consenting adult males, poems like ‘The Bunk’ complicate the erotic relations between body, state and military-industrial complex by locating a virginal sexual encounter on a bunk bed during the mandatory two-years of national service.

The Bunk

You were my first. / I did not deserve you but / you probably thought the bunk / was too lonely at night. / Sometimes when I kissed you / I would open my eyes to find / that yours were already wide open. / Staring at what? Sometimes when / I said tender things I think shadows / moved across your face that said / what your silence did not. / Who cares if I didn’t come? / Stop, you said, stop, don’t / jerk me off too hard. When it was / over we said good night. / Yes, the night was good but where were you? / You were inside my mouth / and you stole all the words / I had saved for night like those. I held you. You held back. / You were always holding back.

THE WET SEASON

There is a certain sensuality in the air that is hard to describe when monsoon rain hits Singapore in the afternoon. And when it rains, it pours. You’ll feel as if it’s the end of the world. The impending rain is operatic, to say the least. Lightning and thunder strikes, not once, not twice, but on repeat. Over and over. One minute it’s dry and out of nowhere, large drops fall from a cacophony of dark clouds overhead. The island is drenched. Everything is soaked, all at once. Everything stops. You cannot help but indulge in the tactility of all the forces of nature rushing at you, all at once. There is no running from it. The latest film by director Anthony Chen, Wet Season (2019), explores the intricacies of a secret affair between a secondary school student and his Chinese language teacher. Incidentally, the actor who plays the student played the son of the actress who played the teacher in Anthony Chen’s previous film Ilo Ilo (2013). I digress. That is another story for another time. The monsoon rain is a central part of this film; there is no music to be found. Only the sound of droplets beating as the hearts of the protagonists pulsate, their desires for each other escalating like the weather around them, ending up, lost in the ocean of impossible desire.

THE VERTICAL CITY

Known to most as Little Thailand, the Golden Mile Complex is an architectural milestone in Singapore’s extremely short history. A shopping mall cum marketplace like no other, the exterior of the building is unforgettable. Staggered, terraced platforms explicitly inspired by rice terraces endow the megastructure with a majestic, yet austere facade. Designed by Gan Eng Oon, William Lim and Tay Kheng Soon in the late 1960s, the architects collaborated on envisioning the building as a way of coding the future. It is perhaps fitting that Golden Mile Complex has evolved into what it is today; an unwieldy mix of inhabitants and markets all compressed into layers and layers of urban complexities. You know a building is great when a politician calls it a vertical slum. As in a megacity, there are varying degrees of eroticisms unfolding simultaneously. An ecosystem of desire. At a night out at the Thai Disco, 1 will find you in the company of a platoon of Thai performers (including representatives from all genders) on stage singing and dancing to an accompanying live band. A quartet of women belts out sad love songs in a small makeshift karaoke, their bodies swaying to the flashing fragments of light from the flatscreen. There is a tipping system at play. You can purchase sashes that range from $10 to $500 that will grant you an exclusive interlude with a performer at your preferred spot. Massage parlours offer everything from foot massages to something more titillatingly. There’s something for everyone in Little Thailand.

THREE PENISES AND AN INFINITY POOL

Marina Bay Sands. You hate it, you love it. The dual response comes from the offensive vulgarity of the three towers, topped by a floating cruise ship. Like a recurring Freudian nightmare, it’s absolutely impossible to run away from. Wherever you are on the island, it seems to be in your line of sight, somewhere on the horizon.
Much like late capitalism. Well, they are pretty much the same thing. How did Moshe Safdie go from ‘Habitat ’67’ in Montreal to Habitat Three Penises and An Infinity Pool? The three phalluses that dominate the Singaporean skyline houses one of the world’s most lucrative casinos. Not to mention everything that surrounds the industry of gambling. Decadent parties on the open roof on the 70th floor go on alongside the recurring nightmare of the monstrous estate; a three-headed hydra breathing laser light shows and overpriced vodka. This is Las Vegas, packaged in a pretty pink Asian wrap, and sold back to our collective American sensibilities as programmed by Hollywood. There’s something for everyone, a little sex, a little filth and a massive hangover.

THE PEEP HOLE

Up until the 1970s, the majority of marriages in Singapore were conducted via secret deals between a matchmaker and the parents of the young adults who have been deemed ripe for wedlock. Hidden within the architecture of houses of rich affluent Peranakan families, is a clever device that allows for daughters to have a small peek into their future. The matchmaker would arrange for the parents and their beloved son to turn up for tea. They are ushered into a ceremonial room where they would meet and discuss the prospective union. However, the young woman in this equation – the woman who is about to be married off – is not allowed to be present. She hides upstairs, right above the meeting room and a small piece of the floor can be removed so that she is given a glimpse at whoever she is marrying. It is also rumoured that other peepholes exist within these houses for parents to spy on the newlywed so that they know they are having sex (and in turn, having children). Imagine an entire house of relatives watching each other. A domestic peepshow. A house designed for voyeurism.

FRUIT PORN

You smell it before you see it. Reaching your nose from a mile away. Dubbed ‘The King of Tropical Fruits,’ durian divides opinion like no other. The people who love it are completely in lust with it. The people who hate it avoid it like the bubonic plague. A food critic once compared the strong pungent smell to blue cheese. But honestly, the scent is in a genre of its own. I can’t explain the odour to you but my grandmother once told my sister that if she didn’t want to be sexually harassed by an ‘ang moh’ sailor, she should rub durian on the back of her ears. Instant Eau Decoloniser. Toxic male repellent. Get the hell away from me. Durian is officially banned on public transport, airline cabins and hotels in Singapore, Hong Kong and Thailand. The dark green thorny exterior conceals what lies within it. The word ‘durian’ is derived from a Malay word ‘duri’ meaning thorns. There is no other fruit that produces such a deep schism between shell and content. It has a strong cult following not only in Singapore but across South East Asia. The yellow, soft slimy flesh of the durian is wrapped around a hard, oval seed. You pick a single lump up with your fingers, tearing the flesh from the pit with your teeth. Taste buds salivating from the bitter-sweet creaminess. It is rich, delicious and unique. There is nothing like durian. It is simply heaven.

THE SINGAPORE GIRL

Developed as an icon for Singapore Airlines (SIA) in 1972 by international ad man Ian Batey, the Singapore Girl is a hyper-sexualised representation of the Asian woman. Wrapped in a traditional Malaysian tight-fitting Sarong Kebaya that leaves nothing to imagination, the ongoing existence of the Singapore Girl is a subject of constant debate in mainstream press. For instance, The Straits Times has gone as far as to state: ‘To remove the Singapore Girl icon from SIA is like removing Mickey Mouse from Disneyland.’ Of course, women are not mice. It is insane that I even have to type that sentence. Nevertheless, this is the kind of bizarre rhetoric that has surfaced. My argument for the eventual removal of the Singapore Girl is that she is so abstracted from reality. Many women in Singapore are highly empowered, both in the workforce and also within other societal structures. It is not uncommon to have female CEOs in Singapore. Why are we still hanging onto a sexist relic from the 1970s to market our national airlines, and in turn misrepresent our female citizens as gentle, unquestioning, subservient creatures who dance to whims of men?

RIOT!

On most days, you can be certain that the only riot you ever witness in Singapore is the RIOT! drag show hosted by Becca D’Bus.
Yes, RIOT! is a drag show, but Becca D’Bus is more much than that. She is a tour de force in fashion design, with one outfit more outrageous than the next. Her plus-size build and height of 1.85 metres mean she has larger than life presence, felt by everyone around her. Becca D’Bus has one of the sharpest political minds in Singapore. She understands that a drag show doesn’t begin and end with a performance in a nightclub. It begins and ends with her politics and her body, which she uses to marvellous effect. She can often be spotted travelling in public transport across Singapore dressed in fabulously exuberant attire, as well as engaging a Grab (we don’t have Uber in Singapore) or GoJek driver in conversation. A reliable and unmistakable attendee at Pink Dot (Singapore’s annual LGBTQ parade at Speaker’s Corner in Hong Lim Park), in 2016 RIOT! partnered with the celebrated French choreographer Jérôme Bel for his production GALA. This porousness opens the idea of drag up to all kinds of slippery engagements, and many stares. RIOT! plays monthly at the Hard Rock Cafe. If you’re ever in Singapore, this is something you don’t want to miss.

SEX ON A STAIRCASE

Owning a car in Singapore will cost you more than anywhere else in the world. A simple, run of the mill Toyota Corolla will set you back at least 95,000 euros. This includes the cost of the car, various insurances, and a COE (Certificate of Entitlement), a document that allows you to own that Toyota Corolla for ten years. Singapore is infamous for this. And it works to keep excessive amounts of cars off the streets; you hardly experience gridlock traffic. Sure, we have rush hour, but you can pretty much get wherever you need to get to without any worries. If you’re ever into late night walking like I am, you will discover an entire ecosystem of cars in secluded carparks. Especially the carparks found in National Parks. Fogged up windows, headlights turned off, car engine running. Owning a piece of real estate is equally expensive in the Lion City, where it ranks number two after Hong Kong, with 680 euros per square feet of space. Shanghai comes in third, New York at seven, and Amsterdam is nowhere on this top ten list compiled by CBRE. Another hot favourite for public sex are the staircases that are found in public housing buildings. Known as HDB (Housing and Development Board) Blocks, there are no gates around these estates, and you can easily find a corner within these staircases.
There have been numerous sightings of public sex over the years, and there is a lot of speculation as to where this fetish for exhibitionism comes from. Across staircases in Bukit Merah to Yishun to Toa Payoh to Bishan, nobody really knows for certain why Singaporeans love to get it on pressed up against a fire escape.

THE CIRCUIT BREAKER

Forbidden fruit almost, always tastes better. You can be sure when you tell someone they cannot do something, the desire to do that thing is immediately heightened. Between 3 April and 1 June 2020, in response to the escalating COVID-19 pandemic, a lockdown was implemented in Singapore. The official name of the lockdown is ‘The Circuit Breaker,’ as opposed to ‘A State of Emergency’ or just plain old, in your face ‘Lockdown.’ The Circuit Breaker implementations are severe. Everyone has to work from home. You absolutely have to wear a mask the second you are out of your home. All cafes and restaurants and street food stalls are only allowed to provide food on a takeaway basis. All bars and clubs are shut. All massage parlours are shut. All brothels are shut. You are allowed to exercise outdoors alone. All gyms are shut. All swimming pools are shut. You can’t meet up with your friends, your family members. There’s absolutely nothing you can do but sit in your apartment, work and sleep. Last but not least, you can’t meet your lovers if you don’t already live under the same roof. This situation effectively criminalises all sexual activity between individuals who don’t share a dwelling. Overnight, sex has become exciting again. Imagine an entire city turned into clusters of secret meetings. There’s absolutely nothing hotter than that.