I found Singapore to be somewhat “boring” because I tend to thrive in chaotic environments. There’s a belief I’ve internalized that art flourishes in chaos. When I visited Singapore, I noticed everything was clean, organized, and seemingly devoid of entertainment or artistic expression. However, I realize now that I was mistaken. In my naïveté, I compared it to Manila, as I went there immediately after my trip to Singapore.
In a 2017 Instagram post, I said: “I swear I would never live in Manila, but I have always enjoyed walking its streets and indulging in all of the “beauty” it offers. It is one of the worst capitals in the world, we all know that, but we can’t deny how rich its culture is, and how the dirty tricks of the devil paved the way to its current “magic,” albeit all its turmoils. Unlike a utopia like Singapore, Manila’s dystopia, for me is still the dope (and more inspiring) one.
Part of this absurd notion may stem from insecurity and an unwillingness to confront my shadow as a Filipino, living in denial of harsh truths that are difficult to accept.
When I first arrived in Singapore, I wasn’t particularly stunned. I’ve always viewed it as an accessible ASEAN neighbor, especially since having a Philippine passport makes it challenging to visit visa-required countries. However, entering Singapore was straightforward. Despite its status as a first-world country, I didn’t find it to be elusive or exclusive. It’s not like Japan or South Korea, which seem more difficult to navigate due to the requirement of having saved enough money and presenting my Income Tax Return to prove I can afford to travel there.
Another reason is that Singapore has a more fiscal nature; it is filled with skyscrapers, and even when watching TV, I only see its concrete landscape, cleanliness, and orderliness. I withheld the fact that it is actually a colorful and vibrant place, particularly in areas like the bustling streets of Arab and Indian neighborhoods, or the beauty of its somewhat hidden countryside. As a pop culture and entertainment enthusiast, I can also indulge in music and arts in ways similar to what I have access to in Manila.
Reflecting on my 2017 Instagram post, I notice a lot of contrasts. I romanticized Manila and expressed a love for its chaotic nature, yet I also stated that I would never want to live there. My reasons are clear: high crime rates, traffic congestion, environmental degradation, poor urban planning, and a lack of public transportation. When comparing Manila to several other cities throughout the Philippines, many people would prefer their less populated and cleaner hometowns.
Singapore is the complete opposite of Manila. And by virtue of my shadows or traumas, I romanticized the latter,
Let’s use a metaphor.
Imagine you’re someone consistently dating the same type of person: the chaotic, disorganized, and non-committal musician. You love them deeply because they are raw, exciting, and full of thrilling roller coaster moments, and you find yourself addicted to that excitement.
The world offered you a chance to date someone who is clean, orderly, and disciplined, but not willing to indulge your childishness. Your friends say this person is perfect for you and that their strong sense of discipline will positively impact your life. However, you decided to break up with them because you felt they weren’t the right fit and you don’t enjoy being straightened out or commanded. You still love partying and engaging in exciting activities, and you find them too boring for your lifestyle. You realize you aren’t ready for that kind of relationship.
Choosing a certain type of partner often indicates that you are wired to seek high levels of excitement, similar to how a gambler behaves. In psychology, the types of partners we choose can reflect our self-perception. If we feel “messy” or “childish” within ourselves, being with a more disciplined person may lead us to feel inadequate.
The Price of Peace: Why We Fear the Orderly Partner
Choosing the “orderly partner” or the Singaporean model, represents a surrender. It requires you to show up, be vulnerable, and grow. But it also requires you to be quiet.
If Manila is the chaotic musician who lets you smoke in bed and scream at the moon, Singapore is the partner who has already ironed your clothes for tomorrow and set a 6:00 AM alarm. It’s objectively better for your health, your future, and your stress levels. But in that quiet, climate-controlled apartment, you start to notice the silence. And you wonder: Is it peaceful, or is it just muted?
The Competence Trap
When we call Singapore “boring,” we are often operating from a place of immense privilege. For someone struggling with Manila’s “dystopia”—the gridlock, the crime, the literal inability to breathe the air—boring is a miracle. Boring means the water is potable. Boring means the bus arrives at 8:02 because it said it would.
Singapore’s governance is built on a specific pact: The Competence Trade-Off. The state provides a high-functioning, safe, and prosperous environment, and in exchange, the citizens agree to stay within the “OB markers” (Out-of-Bounds markers). The question is no longer “Does the system work?” (it clearly does), but rather: How much friction does a soul need to remain a soul?
The “Pruned” Garden
I used to believe that art only thrives in chaos—the “dirty tricks of the devil” I mentioned in my 2017 post. In Manila, art is a weed; it grows through the cracks of broken sidewalks, fueled by desperation and a lack of permission. It is wild, offensive, and urgent.
In Singapore, art is an orchid. It is heavily funded, curated, and placed in magnificent structures like the Esplanade. It is beautiful, but it is managed. This leads to the “Soft Authoritarian” dilemma: Can a culture truly innovate if it is afraid to offend? Can a society be “artsy” if dissent is seen as a breach of social order rather than a vital sign of life?
How Much Disagreement is “Efficient”?
The “Soft Authoritarian” model suggests that too much contestation—too many voices, protests, and media cycles of outrage—is a waste of energy. It is “inefficient.” And yet, a working system that tolerates no disagreement eventually becomes a monologue.
If we treat a nation like a corporation, Singapore is the most successful CEO in the world. But a nation isn’t a company; it’s a living, breathing collective of human “shadows.”
The Shadow of the First World
Perhaps my resistance to Singapore, and my romanticization of Manila’s mess, is my own fear of the “straight line.” We call Singapore boring because it reflects a mirror back to us: it shows us what happens when a society actually solves its problems.
When the survival struggle is over, you are left with yourself. You are left with the silence. And for those of us addicted to the “thrill” of the chaos, that silence is the most terrifying thing of all. We realize that the “magic” of the mess was just a distraction from the work of actually building something that lasts.
The problem isn’t that Singapore is boring. The problem is that it requires a level of maturity that my “chaotic musician” heart is still learning to embrace. But I still have to ask: in a world of perfect order, is there still room to be human? Or do we all eventually just become part of the architecture?
The Problem with Calling Singapore “Boring”
Ultimately, the problem with calling Singapore “boring” is that it reveals more about our own dysfunctions than it does about their governance. We use the word “boring” as a defense mechanism. It is a coping strategy for those of us coming from places where the “excitement” is actually just a lack of safety, and the “soul” is often just a romanticized byproduct of systemic failure.
When we cling to the “chaos” of a place like Manila, we are often just clinging to the familiarity of our own survival instincts. We are like that person who can’t stay in a healthy relationship because they’ve mistaken high cortisol for high passion.
But there is a second, more uncomfortable problem with the word.
If “boring” is the visible result of policy discipline and total efficiency, we have to ask: At what point does a city stop being a home and start being a product?
Singapore has solved the physical problems of the 20th century—housing, transport, safety—with terrifying precision. But the “Soft Authoritarian” trade-off suggests that the price of this perfection is a flattening of the cultural texture. If you prune a tree perfectly, it will never fall on your house, but it may also never grow into a shape that surprises you.
The Mirror in the Skyscrapers
Perhaps we don’t hate Singapore because it is dull; we hate it because it is finished.
In Manila’s dystopia, the story is still being written. There is a sense that anything could happen—a revolution, a collapse, a sudden burst of genius in the middle of a flood. There is “magic” there because there is room for the unexpected. Singapore, by design, has eliminated the unexpected. It has traded the “dope” thrill of the gamble for the guaranteed return on investment.
So, is Singapore boring? Yes. In the same way that a hospital that works perfectly is boring. In the same way that a bank vault that doesn’t get robbed is boring.
The real question isn’t whether Singapore can produce more “soul” or “chaos.” The question is whether we—the observers—are brave enough to admit that we want the safety of the “orderly partner,” even if we spend our whole lives complaining that they don’t play the guitar.
We call it boring because we aren’t yet ready to face the responsibility of a life where the system actually works. Because once the trains run on time, you no longer have an excuse for being late to your own life. And that is the most terrifying “order” of all.
