If I moved away, I would miss this neighbourhood a lot.
TAN CHEE KIANG | RESTAURANT AND PROVISION SHOP OWNER'We don't close doors, there are no thieves here'By Melissa Lin And Linette Lai,
The Straits Times, 26 Jul 2014
TOWKAY Tan Chee Kiang runs a busy restaurant and a shop in a prime location, serving up fried squid and sambal kangkong to visitors hailing from South Korea to Germany.But the 66-year-old is no boss of businesses in Orchard Road, or even an HDB town centre.
Instead, he owns a provision shop and one of the largest eateries on Pulau Ubin, an isle the size of Tampines.
Born and bred on Ubin, Mr Tan is one of the popular island's last 30-odd residents.
Home for Mr Tan is a single room at the back of the provision shop that has been in his family for nearly 100 years, back when Singapore was a British colony and when policemen wore shorts.
The shop is a short walk from the main jetty, where bumboats drop off visitors, past a dusty road lined with bicycle rental shops and weathered old men whiling their time away.
Here, there are no traffic lights, no shopping malls, no clinics even, but residents are all the happier for that.
"It's quieter, more peaceful and the air is definitely better," Mr Tan said in Mandarin.
"We don't need to close the doors in our homes. There are no thieves here."
A queen-size bed sits in the corner of the room he shares with his wife. The wall is bare save for a framed photograph of his youngest daughter as a toddler.
The corridor that links to the shop is lined with stacks of cartons of canned drinks. A cool, salty breeze blows in from a single window facing the sea.
Mr Tan, the middle child of a family with five children, took over the shop from his father.
His father, who died three years ago at the age of 103, was in his 20s when he moved to the island with his younger brother.
Mr Tan's uncle ferried people to and from the island as a bumboat pilot; Mr Tan's father started the provision shop.
"Nine or 10 years ago, I started this seafood restaurant," Mr Tan said, gesturing at the business adjacent to the shop, now one of the island's largest eateries.
The village of his childhood in the 1950s and 1960s is very different from today's Pulau Ubin, or Granite Island in Malay.
Back then, thousands of people called the island home, working at its granite quarries, fish farms and in agriculture.
"We used to grow some vegetables for ourselves," Mr Tan recalled.
"Neighbours would also grow them, and we would buy some from them."
The wooden "wayang" stage in the town centre, where Chinese opera performances were put up, held fond memories for him.
"They used to have shows here, and there would be a lot of people. Nowadays only a few people watch such shows."
The "theatre" sometimes doubled up as a classroom, when the nearby Bin Kiang School ran out of space.
Mr Tan, who attended primary school there, said the island had many children in those early days.
"The school had six classrooms but sometimes those weren't enough and we had our classes on the stage," he recalled.
There were no cars and villagers went around on bicycles.
The roads were wide enough for only one cyclist to pass at a time; the bridges were so rickety you had to get off your bike and push it across, he said.
But the Ubin quarries started closing down - the last one shut in 1999 - and the islanders begin to move out in search of other livelihoods.
The number of residents on the island has since whittled down to fewer than 40.
The wayang stage now stands silent in the village square and some of the houses scattered across the island are abandoned.
Bin Kiang School closed in 1985 and was demolished in 2000.
Mr Tan's two daughters and a son, now aged between 26 and 38, went to schools on the mainland. They would wake up at 5am to catch the 6am boat to school.
The house he grew up in, opposite the provision shop, was turned into a storeroom.
His children moved into an HDB flat in Tampines, and he and his wife moved into the room in his shop.
Although he bought the flat more than 20 years ago, it was only after his father died that Mr Tan could spend nights at the flat, relieved of the responsibility of taking care of the old man.
But he still prefers his home on idyllic Ubin, where he spends most of his days.
"Living on Ubin is not so hectic, not like on the mainland," he said.
Here, life operates at a different pace.
Crates of beer and other heavy goods are delivered a few times a month, depending not on the traffic on the roads but on the tides.
"If the tides are too low, the boats can't come," he said.
These days, his rest days, Tuesdays, are spent meeting his group of old friends from the island for coffee near his Tampines flat.
He said wistfully of the past: "I had friends everywhere, no matter where I walked to (on Ubin). I grew up here, played here and went to work here.
"But everyone has gone his own way."
In the neighbourhood: In search of a simple life
By Melissa Lin, The Straits Times, 26 Jul 2014
MR SIM Kim Seng, 50, did not grow up on Pulau Ubin but rents a room from his good friend, Mr Tan Chee Kiang. Mr Sim tells The Straits Times about the home he has adopted.WHO HE IS
I am a contractor on Ubin who does repair jobs. I live in a rented room on Ubin four to five days a week, and have been doing so for the past eight to nine years.
I have a daughter, who works as a teacher, and a son studying in university, who live on the mainland.
WHY HE LIKES THE ISLAND
Singapore is very "cramped". On Ubin, there are fewer rules and no traffic lights, zebra crossings, and ERP (Electronic Road Pricing).
I like the air and sunshine here. When I take walks in the morning, there are many surprises. I get to see different animals and birds. It is never boring.
The road is the same but every time you take a walk, it is a different experience.
When you say "hi" to people here, they respond. But if you do that on Orchard Road, people will wonder what you are doing.
WHAT HAS CHANGED
Pulau Ubin used to be like an "orphan" last time, nobody cared about it. Now, more people are interested in it and there are tourists of all nationalities who visit.
Schools also hold their camping trips here. But most of the young people who lived here have left.
WHAT HASN'T CHANGED
The nature here. On the mainland, the floors are made of concrete.
The people who live here, if their feet do not touch the soil, they are not used to it.
Is it inconvenient to live here? No, as long as you get used to it and live a simple life, it is okay.
ABDULLAH OMAR: HAWKER'It took me 3 years to buy my pushcart'By Melody Zaccheus And Pearl Lee,
The Straits Times, 2 Aug 2014
GORENG pisang hawker Abdullah Omar can rattle off the 15 types of bananas commonly imported from Malaysia into Singapore.Of the lot, the 66-year-old said Singaporeans are crazy for pisang raja - a sweet and creamy breed which complements the deep-fried fritter's savoury shell.
It is this in-depth knowledge about the fruit and his customers' taste that has made him one of the more popular goreng pisang sellers in Singapore.
His stall has been listed in travel magazines and got him featured in a 2013 exhibition and book titled Not For Sale: Singapore's Remaining Heritage Street Food Vendors.
Mr Abdullah picked up the tools of his trade as a young boy from his mother, who used to sell goreng pisang in Jalan Eunos, a Malay settlement village.
By the age of 18, he decided that he wanted to set up a stall of his own. To start out, he needed $500 to buy a pushcart, which was a big sum in the mid-1960s.
"It took me three years to save money from the commission I made helping my mother and a curry puff man to promote their stalls. My friends also chipped in," he says.
For almost a decade from 1969, Mr Abdullah plied his trade outside Rex Theatre. Each fritter was sold for 10 cents.
While business was good, it was also illegal in those days and he always had to be on his toes.
He says: "Ministry of Environment officers used to chase illegal hawkers like us away. Each summon was $20... That was a lot of money in those days."
These days, he starts work at 11am and ends at 6pm, selling 30kg of the snack every week at his stall, Noor Asian Food H.S. Abdullah, in Tekka Market. The stall was allocated to him by the Government.
With the onset of old age, Mr Abdullah's eyesight is failing him. He could do with more days off, he admits, but says that he continues to operate his stall for the sake of his customers.
"I wouldn't want a customer who has come all the way from Jurong to leave empty-handed and disappointed," he says.
"It's not the recipe that is particularly special but the technique. The oil must be at the right temperature," he says, adding that he also takes into account customer feedback.
Today, his goreng pisang sell for between 60 cents and $1.20 each. He makes about $1,100 every month.
Keeping the stall running and slaving over a hot stove have taken their toll on Mr Abdullah.
"I'm not as strong as I used to be," he says.
He handed over the frying of the fritters to his wife, Madam Samijah Bakri, in 2005. And it is unlikely that their four grown-up children, who all hold professional jobs in various industries, will join the trade.
After work, the husband- and-wife pair return to their home, a three-room flat in Marsiling where they have lived for 30 years.
Mr Abdullah and his family moved into their flat in 1984 - after spending the previous decade living in a four-room rental flat nearby. It was a move that many of their friends had thought was "crazy".
He says: "Friends thought we were crazy to want to live in such an ulu place."
Back then, Marsiling was a rural area cut off from urban Singapore. It was home to farms, hilly terrain and even a jungle.
"It was inconvenient to get around. Getting out of the estate required us to take an illegal shortcut through the jungle on motorbike... We would encounter snakes and monkeys along the way," he says.
Today, the jungle has been cleared and replaced by tall concrete buildings filled with amenities such as coffee shops, hair salons and bakeries.
"It's a quiet and nice neighbourhood. Everyone is friendly with each other," he says.
The couple trust their neighbours, who are Chinese, enough to leave their keys with them.
"We have known them since we were here in 1984," chimes in Madam Samijah, 62, who shares her homemade kueh with them.
Their children have urged them to move to a newer flat. But for Mr Abdullah, Woodlands is home.
"If we get a new place, we will be in debt again. And we don't want that," he says.
Every night after dinner, Mr Abdullah - who understands Mandarin, speaks a smattering of Hokkien, Cantonese and Teochew and is fluent in Malay and English - reads the Malay newspaper to his wife as her eyesight is weak.
At 11pm, they watch the news together in quiet companionship.
He says: "We want to know what's going on in the world. We think we're having it hard, but in comparison, our lives are good."
In the neighbourhood: Baker went to school here, did his NS here - now he works here too
By Melody Zaccheus, The Straits Times, 2 Aug 2014
ANOTHER long-time Marsiling Rise resident is Mr Leoh Teck Chye, 46. He tells The Straits Times what he loves about the area.WHO HE IS
I'm a baker and I've lived in Marsiling Rise for decades. I grew up in Block 131, and I now live with my wife in Block 104, Woodlands Street 13, just seven minutes away from my childhood home.
WHY HE LIKES THE AREA
I grew up here and studied at Woodlands Primary School.
I even did my National Service at the Yishun and Sembawang camps. These days, I work at a bakery nearby.
After spending nearly 30 years in this neighbourhood, I'm really attached to it. When I got married in 2006, I decided to buy a resale unit that's only a stone's throw from my old home, where my mum still lives.
It was a no-brainer - I didn't have to consider other estates because I'm so comfortable with this one.
HIS GROWING UP YEARS
When my family moved from a kampung in Kranji to our HDB flat here, I missed the fun of catching guppies in longkang (drains) and spiders in trees.
I learnt as a kampung boy that if the leaves of the coconut tree were sticky, a spider was probably hiding in between.
I played marbles with friends at the void deck of the new flat, but I still missed the wide open spaces I used to run around in.
WHAT HAS CHANGED
Woodlands has come a long way since its rural days. There were few bus services then, and it was hard to get around. The feeder bus would take a very long time to come.
It's different now. The MRT station and bus interchange are nearby, so getting around is more convenient.
WHAT HASN'T CHANGED
I'm familiar with the stallholders here - all the hawker uncles and aunties. I know the two neighbourhood doctors too. Sometimes, I stop by to chat after work. There is a strong sense of neighbourliness, and I would never think of living elsewhere.
VIOLET NEO: BEAUTY QUEEN AND NAVY VOLUNTEER'One medic kept a calendar of me for three years,' says beauty queen and Navy volunteerBy Lim Yan Liang And Lee Jian Xuan,
The Straits Times, 5 Aug 2014
A RADAR plotter, a beauty contestant and a trainee amateur pilot at one point, Madam Violet Neo was always a bit of a rebel as a young woman.In 1963, the self-professed tomboy and youngest of three children saw a newspaper ad and decided on a whim to join the fledgling Singapore Naval Volunteer Force, the predecessor to today's Republic of Singapore Navy.
Once a week after work, the 18-year-old would take a bus to the naval base in Woodlands. With a group of secretaries and bank officers, she learnt to march and fire a Browning T-bolt rifle.
"They brought us down to the rifle range to practise," recalled Madam Neo, now 69 and a housewife. "I remember the rifle recoil was like a mule's kick."
That same year, she was mobilised for full-time duties as a trained radar plotter when Indonesia embarked on Konfrontasi, or "confrontation" against the formation of Malaysia with the merger of Malaya, Singapore, Sabah and Sarawak. She was later deployed as a clerk in the Central Manpower Base at the old Kallang Airport.
But the tomboy also blossomed into a stunner.
Against her parents' wishes, she later signed up with a modelling agency, trading her military uniforms for midriff-baring outfits to become a pin-up model in ads for Fraser & Neave and ICI Dulux, commanding an impressive pay of $300 per hour.
"An officer told me that one of the medics kept a calendar of me on the wall for three years," she said with a laugh.
It was again this adventurous spirit that took Madam Neo to the Miss Singapore Universe contest in 1968, where she placed second. She represented Singapore at the inaugural Miss Asia Pacific International in Philippines that year, where she won the Miss Friendship award.
"It was unforgettable - I sang the National Anthem on stage and I met Ms Imelda Marcos," she said of the Philippines' former first lady, a fellow pageant queen.
In 1970, she made headlines for being Singapore's first woman to learn flying at Seletar Airport, though the hobby did not take off.
"I stopped after four lessons - I found out I preferred having my feet on the ground," she said.
Madam Neo mellowed only after she married her husband, Mr Martin Tay, in 1970. He was a fellow army clerk she met during her volunteering days.
Leaving the runway behind, she settled down in a four-room flat, where she still lives, raising her three boys, Nicholas, now 34, Noel, 37, and Dominic, 42.
She remembers being one of the first few residents at Yishun Ring Road in 1995. "I much prefer the old Yishun. It was quieter, less crowded then. The MRT ended at Yio Chu Kang and we didn't even have a proper bus stop then and everything we needed, we got from a small wet market."
But while she has made a life and home for herself in Yishun, her happiest days were spent growing up with her two siblings at a terraced house on Still Road.
Playing by the verandah back in the 1950s, they would often see a train of elephants pass by their home, led by a mahout.
Invariably, at least one would find their mother's sugar canes irresistible, make a detour onto the lawn and tug a few out of the ground as a juicy treat.
"We would see the elephants break the sugar cane before tramping off," she said with a chuckle. "My mother got so fed up, she dug them all up and planted flowers instead."
It was also a time of fresh produce: Madam Neo remembers an Indian man who would go door to door with his cow selling milk that was squeezed on demand.
Hawkers slinging big pots of piping hot pig organ soup and wheeling kolo mee carts would call out their wares from the road.
Today, her perspective on life has changed somewhat.
"Now, home to me is family, where my children are. The place doesn't matter so much," said Madam Neo, whose husband died of lung cancer this February.
She now spends her days at home cooking for her children sometimes, and tending to her hibiscus plants and pets: She has two mixed-breed dogs, seven hamsters and four tanks of fish.
