By Daryl Lim Wei Jie

A version of this piece was first published, in Chinese translation, in the book Streets and Places of Singapore《我狮城，我街道》(Trendlit Publishing (新文潮出版社), 2022).

A black-and-white photograph from The Straits Times, 1951. Two old Chinese women, waters nearly up to their hips, receiving a bowl from a pair of hands. One of them grips this bowl with her right hand, while holding in her left a smaller bowl. The other grins.

The caption reads: Two of the thousand people who received broth taken to their homes in flooded Potong Pasir area yesterday by sampans hired by the Social Welfare Department. The sampan, standing off in deep water, was unable to reach the hut of these women and they had to wade out to get the food.

Potong Pasir means "cut sand" in Malay, due to the many sand quarries that used to be in the area. These sand quarries were abandoned, and filled up as ponds. Looking through the archives, I find countless unfortunate stories of people drowning in these ponds.

A report dating from 1940: a 45-year-old Indian hawker saves a woman and her 10-year-old child from drowning. Another woman unfortunately drowns, and her body is retrieved by another man, a passing labourer.

The hawker tells the papers: When I reached them, I was pulled into the water, but I managed to struggle free. I was told that there was another woman in the pond but I was too exhausted to do anything.

This was a rural area, a kampong, known for growing vegetables. Houses were built with attap and zinc roofs. Even in the 60s, many households did not have electricity, and relied on lamps for light. There was no running water either: going to the toilet meant heading to an outhouse, and using newspapers for toilet paper.

Josephine Chia, a long-time resident who has written much about the area and her childhood here, recalls:

Jambans or outhouses were my bête noire, unpalatable to describe with rats and cockroaches climbing all over your feet where you squatted. And when the buckets had not been collected for days, going to the toilet was a test of your capacity to hold your breath!

Josephine speaks of a distinct sense of closeness and community in the kampong: doors were not closed until dark; children of all races played with each other; everyone celebrated each other's holidays; everyone knew what the latest gossip was. The houses were built so close to each other that if you sat on your doorstep and stretched your legs out, your feet reached the opposite neighbour's doorstep.

The year is 1984. The month is December. The General Election is in full swing. The ruling People's Action Party fully expects to continue its dominance in parliament, as it has for the last 25 years, but the opposition senses blood. A proposal to raise the withdrawal age from the Central Provident Fund (CPF, Singapore's equivalent of a pension fund) from 55 to 60 leads to a firestorm of criticism. The Minister who fronts this policy review is, incidentally, also the Member of Parliament for Potong Pasir, Howe Yoon Chong. The proposal is eventually withdrawn. But stunningly, Howe, who entered Parliament just five years prior in 1979, decides not to stand for re-election.

Chiam See Tong, the secretary-general of the newly founded Singapore Democratic Party (SDP), spots an opportunity to win a second seat for the opposition in parliament. He runs again in Potong Pasir. (He had run against Howe previously, and lost, in Potong Pasir.) He keeps up the criticism of the Government's moves on CPF, and on the affordability of housing.

The ruling party says it expects to win all seats, as it had done in many past elections.

There are some other connotations of "potong".

Potong is a local variety of ice-cream, where the ice-cream is cut into blocks. Coconut, red bean, durian, jackfruit are common flavours.

To potong jalan is to cut into a path. Figuratively, it means to swoop in and seize an opportunity. More specifically: a scenario where someone tries to steal away your beloved. Even more specifically: a form of attack the men of Singapore are most vulnerable to when they are serving their two years of compulsory military service.

Potong stim is to ruin something at the height of anticipation or excitement. But the more vulgar connotation is to interrupt someone at the height of sexual climax.

There's a curry puff stall located deep inside Potong Pasir. It used to be an undiscovered gem. Delicious savoury curry filling in a flaky, buttery fried crust, with bits of tender chicken and hardboiled egg. All for $1.30. I used to buy them to wow guests, and as a treat for my grandparents.

Singaporeans hate it when their secret food spot receives publicity and then it's all ruined. A food blogger featured the stall. Then another. It became a flood. I tried to buy some curry puffs the other day, and they were all sold out. The uncle said, "All gone! You know, people come from Hougang, Sengkang to buy!"

My favourite bak chor mee stall in Potong Pasir is not yet well-known. Let's hope it stays this way. The queue's already quite long enough. The balance of dressing of the noodles is just right, spicy, vinegary and savoury – the secret's lard, of course. To top it off, the auntie usually calls me shuai ge (handsome guy).

19 December 1984. Three days before polling day. Lee Kuan Yew, our founding Prime Minister, in his signature lunchtime rally at Fullerton Square, publicly compares the grades of Chiam and the ruling party's candidate in Potong Pasir, Mah Bow Tan. He urges voters to think carefully about their vote:

"Mah Bow Tan, age 16, took his 'O' levels – six distinctions, two credits. Mr Chiam, age 18 – 1953 I think – six credits, one pass … It's what's inside here (tapping his head). And you better search your inside here before you cast your votes."

This doesn't have the desired effect. On polling day, Chiam emerges victorious, taking over 60 percent of the vote in Potong Pasir, a sensational swing of nearly 20 points against the ruling party. The Prime Minister's Office also apologises to Mr Chiam – they got it wrong: he had seven credits, not six.

I'm part of a Facebook group called "Living in Potong Pasir". It has 1,800 members. Residents post about giving away stuff they no longer need, and these are readily snapped up. Some residents post photos of sunsets in Potong Pasir, often featuring the iconic blocks with sloping roofs. There are reviews of new hawkers who have set up shop in the area. These incite fierce debate.

It was there that I learnt about a Malay auntie (or makcik in Malay), a hawker who struggled as Singapore underwent lockdowns due to the pandemic. The original post was written by a taxi driver. He regularly drives the auntie, who has difficulty walking, to her food stall in a coffee shop in Potong Pasir. She's a real sweetheart: insisting on keeping prices low for the elderly, giving food and money to the poor and donating leftover food to the mosque.

But it seems she can't make ends meet in these tough times, as business has suffered. Sometimes she doesn't make enough to cover the day's rent. Other days she doesn't even have a single customer. She owes the taxi driver fare money, a debt which gradually builds up.

She hasn't had it easy at all: she's a widow and one of her sons died in an accident, leaving behind a grandson in her care. Her daughter's had her pay cut due to the pandemic. The taxi driver hopes everyone will support her by buying her food.

It works. The post goes viral. The next day, the makcik's food is sold out by noon. There are advance orders for the following days.

Even as the opposition faced its own internal troubles (Chiam ended up being expelled from the SDP, which he founded), Chiam continued to hold Potong Pasir election after election, receiving nearly 70% of the vote in 1991. This was even as the Government promised housing upgrades and estate improvements throughout the years, in exchange for voting in the ruling party.

A tagline eventually emerged for Potong Pasir and found its way into signboards: "Potong Pasir: My Kind of Town". It conveyed quiet obstinacy and pride, much like Chiam's brand of politics.

The Sri Siva Durga Temple is quite the landmark, with the gleaming gold of its gopuram, the tower above the entrances of Hindu temples. If you say "Potong Pasir Indian temple", I think most residents will know where you mean.

A major deity in the temple is the Hindu goddess Durga. Key to the worship of Durga is the 10-day festival of Navarathri, usually held around October. The festival commemorates the slaying of the buffalo demon Mahishasura. Mahishasura was given the power of invincibility by the god Brahma, who promised "no man or god" could kill him. With these newfound powers, the demon then proceeded to terrorise the world.

Of course, there's always a catch with these promises. To defeat Mahishasura, the Trimurti – the gods Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva – joined forces to create the goddess Durga. Each time, Mahishasura changes forms, and each time Durga defeats him. Finally, on the 10th day, the goddess kills him in his final form, the buffalo, and beheads him. This 10th day is known as Vijayadashami, and the priests commemorate the killing of Mahishasura by building a bonfire. It signifies the victory of light over darkness, and the utter defeat of evil.

There is a curious thing I've noticed about the temple. Often, across the road from the temple, I will spot a Chinese person facing the temple and holding their hands together in prayer. It's something I've noticed not just in Potong Pasir, but all over the island.

I've never really gotten to the bottom of this phenomenon. One thought that comes to mind is that the Hindu pantheon has some overlap with the traditional Chinese pantheon, such as the monkey god Sun Wukong/Hanuman. At some level, then, perhaps the practitioners of Chinese traditional religion recognise the Hindu deities as part of their pantheon.

Reading the work of Vineeta Sinha, a sociologist, she says that there's a temple in Yishun that houses both the Taoist deity Tua Peh Kong and the Hindu deity Muneeswaran, "both of whom are considered primary deities and defined as brothers, sharing many qualities and treated as equals". Another temple in Changi, the Loyang Tua Peh Kong Temple, is described as a "multi-faith" temple, and houses the Hindu elephant god Ganesha, along with a keramat (a shrine) of a Malay holy man, Datuk Kong – a figure who has been co-opted into Taoist worship.

Sinha concludes that there is considerable 'mixing and matching' going on: some Hindu and Taoist believers exercise significant liberty by participating in rituals and taking up beliefs meaningful to them, across a range of traditions.

I am reminded of the ubiquitous caifan stall in Singapore's hawker centres, where one can pick and choose dishes to go with rice. (My ideal set is: brinjal, sambal kangkong, steamed egg and sweet and sour pork ribs.)

When I was thinking of getting my own place, I found myself, almost unconsciously, entering the showroom of an upcoming development in Potong Pasir. I looked around for just half an hour, and made my mind up soon after. I didn't visit any other showrooms.

I used to come to Potong Pasir quite often – a good friend lives here. Even as a schoolboy I could feel there was something quite different about it. It was less flashy and hadn't received the full suite of upgrades many other estates had. But there was a certain stillness, a lightness in the air. A sense that it was at peace with itself, and the paths it had chosen.

Nearly 80 percent of Singapore residents live in public housing, built by the Housing Development Board. But one can only get access to public housing if one is married or older than 35. For many Singaporean couples, the proposal to ballot for a public flat together often precedes or even substitutes the actual marriage proposal.

As a gay man, my aim had always been to move out and get my own place before 35.

My parents and I don't talk much about it. They've never expressed a desire to meet my partner. I have learnt not to resent it. It is a sort of accommodation that works for us, though it sometimes still stings. Like when my brother's girlfriend turns up at family meals, readily accepted as part of the family.

Yet they were really supportive about me moving out, and were involved in every step of the home-buying and moving process. They introduced me to the contractor that renovated our family home. My mum texted me links to videos and articles about possible loft designs. They accompanied me to get furniture for the place. And they lent me money to buy the place.

Asian families love talking about property, sometimes to an unbearable degree. But I have learnt that property can sometimes be a way of expressing love. 

In the 2011 General Election, Chiam decided to expand his ambitions and left Potong Pasir to contest another seat. His wife, Lina, stood in Potong Pasir. This backfired. Chiam failed in his bid, as did his wife. The ruling party recaptured the seat after 27 years, by a margin of 114 votes. On the night of the result, crowds gathered, defiantly cheering as the Chiams returned to Potong Pasir. By morning, as the Chiams toured the constituency to thank their supporters, this had turned to tears.

The new Member of Parliament, Sitoh Yih Pin, was careful to try to preserve aspects of Chiam's legacy. In 2019, he told a newspaper: "When we upgraded the park in front of blocks 136 and 140, I gave strict instructions to preserve Chiam's plaque and his two lions at the entrance. Today they are still standing proudly there".

But change will come, as it always does. Potong Pasir is now fringed by new condominium developments, and the area is distinctly more upmarket. Three new cafes have opened up.

I am part of this change, it has to be said. I moved to Potong Pasir on 3 April 2019. It's a small studio apartment, and the boxes almost took up the whole floor space. I took three days off work to unpack. At the end of it I was completely exhausted, but also exhilarated.

The first thing I bought for the apartment was a hardy money plant for the bathroom, from an auntie who sells houseplants just next to the nearby coffee shop.

Now I have over a hundred plants, and the place is a veritable jungle.

My partner lives nearby, and comes over during the weekend.

Although Chiam's slogan is no longer on the banners and billboards, it comes readily to mind. Potong Pasir, My Kind of Town.

Afternote, January 2023: For this year's reunion dinner, my parents invited my partner to join us, for the first time.

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