Write for SG Event Winners!

The Write for SG event was a collaboration between SIM Writers' Society (SWS) & Singapore Affairs Society (SAS), where we encouraged students to share their stories and experiences in Singapore creatively. With three different topics each for local students and international students, participants used their creativity to express themselves and reflect upon how Singapore and its people has impacted them and shaped their lives.

With nine participants, three writers have managed to stand out and become the Top 3 winners in this event! They are...

• 1st Place: Thamilselvan Naveen

• 2nd Place: Nasifa Fathima

• 3rd Place: Rohit Sreekumar

And after thoughtful consideration, the judging panel would like to give honourable mentions to Tanushri Nyra and Chelsy Anasthasia for their lovely work as well.

Read the works of the Top 3 winners below and find out how they view Singapore and their experiences with this vibrant and diverse country!

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1st Place: Sekolah Sedia! - The Singaporean Childhood

by Thamilselvan Naveen

Before the sun cleared the HDB blocks, the corridor lights brightened the floor, which was the quiet signal for a busy day to begin. My mornings started with a creamy, aromatic kaya toast, which I munched as I headed to the bus stop. There, a long line told me I wasn’t getting a seat today. Time was ticking, and I squeezed into a bus packed elbow to elbow, shuffling all the way to the back. It felt like a race between me and the sun: would it rise first, or would I reach the school hall in time? I tapped out and scurried away.

Just as I slipped into the hall, my teacher exhaled in relief as I made it, just as the clock ticked. The moment my bag touched the floor, a firm command cut through the chatter: “Sekolah, Sedia!” The whole school snapped to attention for the national anthem. By the time our voices rose, dawn spilled through the windows and I knew I had beaten the sunrise by a minute.

After a quick catch-up on the way to class and a few lessons, the best part arrived: canteen break. The canteen aunty knew exactly what I would order. My usual — “less rice, curry sauce, kang kong, sambal potato, and chilli” — was already piping hot, waiting for me to devour. Whether we liked it or not, we also had our serving of vegetables and fruit to nudge us toward healthy eating. With the recent move to centralised kitchens for school canteens, students are surely going to miss the freshly cooked food and the familiar warmth of the canteen aunties who knew us well.

Celebrations often punctuate our otherwise mundane routine. National Day celebrations were a highlight of school life, a chance to learn about and honour Singapore’s heritage through hands-on activities. We turned bottle caps into tiny national flags, and recyclable materials like plastic bottles and cardboard into cheerful mascots. Themes essential to Singapore — sustainability, unity, and care for our home — were woven into the festivities to remind us that every occasion can be thoughtful and green. The morning began with a sea of red and white, the anthem swelling, a moment that felt bigger than the hall. Each year brought the thrill of a brand-new National Day song. My favourite was always “Home,” and the inevitable parodies never failed to make us laugh.

Our fun packs were small but spirited, with temporary tattoos, clappers, and snacks that somehow tasted better on 9 August. The constant upgrades kept us hooked, wondering what the next year’s pack would surprise us with. Every student got the chance to watch the National Day Parade spectacle, cheering for schoolmates on the big stage, admiring artists showcasing their craft, thanking the everyday heroes who serve the nation, and standing in awe of the parade formations and the glorious Red Lions. Those August moments stitched pride, gratitude, and a shared rhythm into us, proof that celebrating as one people teaches us how to live as one every other day of the year.

Growing up in a multicultural society gave me the privilege of understanding, appreciating, and learning from different cultures. While sharing mine, I discovered it more deeply. From food to festivals, the lessons were practical. We tied Thoranam across doorways during celebrations, admired Pongal displays in Little India with decorated cows and sugarcane, and shared traditional foods like Vadai, often called a savoury doughnut, and Murukku with classmates. We also learned about Chinese New Year and the meaning of gifting a pair of mandarin oranges. The roaring, majestic lion dance was a showstopper and truly admirable. We learned about halal labels, traditional foods such as ketupat, and traditional performances during Hari Raya, and we were mindful during Ramadan. Practising greetings in different languages was truly memorable, even with our clumsy accents.

Class outings to the Peranakan Museum, where we learned about minority communities like the Peranakans, turned culture from a chapter into a conversation. We leaned over Kasut Manek bright with beads, traced the lace of the Kebaya, and paused at the long Tok Panjang table we could almost sit at. The beauty of every culture was strongly incorporated into our lessons through our Social Studies projects, and that made learning even more fun. Those small habits, picked up in canteen queues, museum halls, and festive visits, quietly shaped us into more considerate citizens.

Diversity does not inoculate us against prejudice. Racism, often the elephant in the room, does appear, and conflicts happen. That is a human phenomenon. What matters is the response: listen first, own mistakes, and choose respect over defensiveness. Intention matters, but impact matters too, so we apologise, learn, and try again. The goal is not to be flawless, it is to be willing and open minded. Growing up in Singapore taught me that change begins in everyday choices, the words we pick, the jokes we retire, and the seats we make space for.

The national exams are a rite of passage that every youth in Singapore experiences in their own unique way. Be it PSLE in Primary 6 or O Levels in Secondary 4, these are intimidating, stressful moments that can stretch you and teach lessons far beyond any textbook. Teamwork, time management, and a sense of responsibility all come to the fore. Results differ, with some excelling with flying colours and others falling short of their expectations. Whatever the score, friends cheer one another on and stand together through highs and low. In those corridors and study corners, judgement falls away and lifelong bonds take root. We are taught to accept our outcomes and make the most of them. Every student can pursue different pathways, from A Levels to polytechnic to ITE. The destination is within reach for everyone, but the route is tailored to each student’s style of learning.

If small habits became our love language, isn’t that the Singapore way, steady hands, shared tables, open minds, where could we have learned to belong?

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2nd Place: Singapore, Through My Eyes

by Nasifa Fathima

What can I say about Singapore? I would start with the sounds such as the clatter of plates at a hawker centre, the sing-song “kopi-o, kurang manis,” the quick “sorry, excuse me” as we weave through an MRT crowd.

I grew up learning that food is our first language. At a hawker centre, a Malay nasi lemak stall faces an Indian roti prata shop. A Chinese uncle stirs char kway teow beside them. Everyone queues under the same ceiling fans, trading “auntie,” “uncle,” and tissue-packet seat reservations, also known as “chopping seats” like a shared voice. The world now recognizes that this everyday, shared ritual we have such as eating together, cheaply and well, is cultural heritage worth safeguarding. I read once that hawker culture is literally inscribed by UNESCO as part of humanity’s living traditions. That sounds lofty, but it just means the world sees what we’ve always known. Our common table is where Singapore works.

Home, for most of us, is a high-rise view of laundry clothes waving and dancing in the breeze. Public housing, HDB, isn’t a backup or a fallback here, but it’s the default heartland where void decks host weddings on one weekend and funerals on the next. Most residential families live in HDB flats even today, it’s around three in four, so the lift lobby becomes a tiny neighborhood social network, such as the neighbour who feeds your cat, the primary school child who presses the buttons for everyone. That depth of existence makes us live in thoughtfulness, not just preach it, and that’s one reason the country feels close-knit despite our scale.

Another thread in our fabric is service. Many of my male friends disappeared for a while at 18 and returned with the same haircut and new stories. National Service is mandartory in Singapore and no matter which division you join, whether it is SAF, SCDF, or SPF , you will learn a fundamental lesson "We stay safe because ordinary people show up when it's their turn." People don't really say "duty" out loud, yet I see its subtle mark everywhere. From the first-aid box on a dashboard of a car to the way people naturally jump in to help when they see someone in need.

We are also a people who solve practical problems with brilliance. Water, for instance, used to be our weakness but today, it’s a masterclass. We got water from four sources: local catchment, imported water, desalination, and NEWater which is high-grade recycled water. So even when the weather is bad, water taps stay flowing. NEWater, in particular, is the sort of idea only a small, serious country would adopt such as recycle used water, purify it with advanced membranes and UV, and deploy it for industry (and, when mixed, for drinking) so that life and business never skip a beat. That’s Singapore in a glass. Clear, engineered, resilient.

But below systems and numbers are the little things we do every day that make us human and a Singaporean. The number of languages that greeted us on a single morning, “Good morning,” “Selamat pagi,” “Vanakkam,” “早” shows that we are not one kind of person pretending to be many but we are many choosing to be one. Our National Pledge recited in schools and at ceremonies, in any of our four official languages, commits us to unity across race, language, and religion so that we can pursue happiness, prosperity, and progress together. I’ve come to love that word “together.” It doesn’t promise comfort but it promises company.

Of course, we argue. We worry about housing prices and transport crowding. We debate where tradition ends and change begins. But our quarrels are the quarrels of people invested in a shared home, not visitors passing through. When the rain slants across the skyline and the city smells like wet earth and fried shallots, I’m reminded that love for country isn’t a firework but it’s a habit of cleaning up your tray, giving up your seat, speaking one more language to make someone feel seen.

If you ask me what to look for when you visit, I won’t point you only to Marina Bay’s lights. I’ll send you to a neighbourhood kopitiam at 7 am, when construction workers and office aunties share a table without ceremony. I’ll ask you to spend an evening under the HDB block where kids on bicycles carve circles into the dusk. I’ll tell you to try ice cream from a pushcart vendor, wrapped in rainbow bread, because nothing explains our personality better than practical whimsy.

The Singapore Dream? I believe it’s still relevant but it’s devoloping. Yesterday, it was about climbing fast. Today, it may be about standing steady such as making room for caregiving, for second chances, for greener streets and gentler schedules, keeping our greatness without losing our empathy. We will need more courage, the kind that admits mistakes, listens intently, and fixes what isn’t fair. But if a tiny island can turn water from a weakness into a strength, we can definitely turn success into kindness.

Singapore is a promise kept daily by ordinary people. If you stay long enough to see beyond the gloss, you’ll find a nation that trains itself to be decent in close quarters, to feed everyone at the same table, to secure tomorrow with clever, unshowy work. We may be small, but we take care to be enough for one another, and for anyone who chooses to call this place home.

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3rd Place: A Singaporean Childhood

by Rohit Sreekumar

The alarm made its usual din, waking me up from its racket. I moaned and groaned as I got up from the soft cocoon that was my bed. I looked at the window, the sky painted a mix of orange and blue, the trees swaying along the wind. I left my room and headed to the toilet where I brushed my teeth and showered. The water droplets turned to cool air, shooting me awake. Back in my room again, I wore my usual school uniform. A white shirt and a pair of navy-blue shorts. I hooked my arm underneath the bag straps and brought it out of my room and set it on the sofa. I sat on a chair and on the table in front of me was a bowl of cereal. My fingers wrapped around the metal spoon and brought a spoonful of the KoKoKrunch into my mouth. The chocolate mixed with the sweetness of the milk melted on my tongue.

After breakfast, I sat on the sofa and wore my cloudy white socks and black shoes. I then picked up my bag and wrapped the straps around my shoulders, its weight tugging me down a bit. I walked to the door and left the house.

Outside, I walked towards the lift lobby, to the staircase, where the trees swayed along the wind, the sky growing even more blue, and grown-ups making haste to reach their workplace. The cars zooming through the roads and traffic lights. The rocks crunched underneath my shoes as I crossed. I heard the old people laugh and chat as they sipped their Kopi O at the hawker centre as I stepped along the rocky footpath of the Alexandra Park.

I reached the school and walked past the green back gates, making haste for the open field in the middle of the school. As soon as I made it, I stood behind my class, hands on my sides and my legs tucked in, eyes fixated on the Singapore flag. The prefect loosened the ropes as the speakers blared the national anthem. The flag slowly made its way to the top as the song reached its encore. The wind blew the nylon, revealing the red and white bicolour and its crescent and stars donned on the top.

A few minutes later, my hand travelled to my chest, on my beating heart. My mouth recited the pledge as loud and clear as I could.

As the morning assembly ended, we headed to our respective classrooms, and the first period was Math. I groaned as I slumped my face on the table. Math was my least favourite subject as I have always kept struggling with the questions. The numbers, the operations, they feast on my mind like a savage. I sighed as I tilted my head to the clock, praying for it to go by fast and hit recess. The maths teacher made his entry like an actor going on stage. He had a polo shirt on with jeans that stretched down to legs. A belt was wrapped around them, tightening it. I sighed once more as I watched him drone on and on about equations.

During the lesson, my friend, John, was sitting right beside me. He

whispered,

“Round of Chopsticks?”

I smirked and said,

“You know it.”

His two index fingers and so were mine. I smacked his left index finger and then he smacked mine. So now we had our middle finger and index finger on our left hand brought out. I smacked my two fingers on his side, making them four. It was a fatal mistake. He smacked his four fingers on my right hand which had its own single index finger pointing out, ultimately making it five and I lost the game eventually. I grumbled in defeat as I turned to focus on the lesson at hand while John was shooting me his smug look of victory.

The bell rang, signalling recess. Like birds freed from cages, my classmates fled the classroom, all running down to get the school’s canteen. Completely forgetting about the game we were playing, I leaped from my chair to join the crowd, leaving John dumbfounded and confused as he tried to look for me in the large crowd

At the cafeteria...

Like a cheetah to its prey, I ran to the stall. The auntie behind the counter gave me a smile as she asked what I would like to order. I’ve always ordered my favourite: Chicken Rice. She chuckled and turned her back towards me, grabbing a spoonful of rice and placing it on the blue plate. She then wrapped her hands with a pair of transparent plastic gloves, took the chicken and placed it on top of the rice. With a pair of kitchen tongs, she took a few slices of cucumbers and placed them beside the rice before handing the plate to me. I took the bottle of soy sauce and drizzled it all over the chicken.

I sat opposite my two good friends, Nigel and Jason. They were both shoving down Pola snacks to see who could eat the biscuits the fastest. I laughed at their antics as I watched them struggle to chew it. Eventually, Nigel won, and I cheered, laughing at his victory.

Turning my attention back to the food, I scooped a spoonful of rice and chicken and wrapped my lips around the spoon. The softness of the rice, the succulent juices of the chicken, and the saltiness of the soy sauce wrapped around my tongue like a warm embrace.

As I finished the last of my chicken rice, I looked around. The chatter, the laughter that bounced off the walls. It came to me that I did not need anything.

I had everything I wanted. Life was good, even if mathematics was not.