Lately, I’ve noticed something about myself. Whenever Singapore comes up in conversation, whether I’m here or halfway across the world, I instinctively want to explain it. Not just what it’s like to live here, but why we are the way we are.
Last December, I flew to Austria to spend the holiday season with my fiancé’s family. It was the first time we’d all been together for a meal. We gathered around a long table heavy with food. Later that night, we start chitchatting about everything.
Somewhere between stories about travel and family memories, the topic shifted. Someone brought up Singapore’s death penalty for drug traffickers. The air changed, the conversation turned into an uncomfortable debate before I even had time to think.
I tried to explain how policies like that come from our history, our geography, and our vulnerabilities as a small country. Singapore sits at the crossroads of major drug-trafficking routes in Southeast Asia. We don’t have the space, resources, or societal buffer to absorb the damage that widespread drug abuse can cause. The law is deliberately harsh as a deterrent, to send a clear, uncompromising message that drug trafficking is a line you cannot cross here. It’s not about cruelty; it’s about survival for a nation with no margin for error. That they weren’t designed in a vacuum, but to address real and pressing problems. But halfway through, I realised this wasn’t a conversation I could “win.” They weren’t hostile, just rooted in a worldview so far from ours that no amount of explanation could bridge it in one sitting.
My fiancé ,who was still my boyfriend then, actually stepped in. He spoke spoke and defended Singapore alongside me, explaining the same points in his own words to his family. His brother gave a half-smile and said he was “taking sides,” but he didn’t flinch. In that moment, I realised I wasn’t standing alone. I had someone beside me who understood that defending me also meant defending the place I come from.
It reminded me of other policies I’ve defended before. Like how our no-spitting culture came from Lee Kuan Yew’s push for public hygiene, inspired by southern China’s habits and later admired by Deng Xiaoping enough to bring back to China. Or why vapes and shisha are banned but cigarettes aren’t; because we already had systems for cigarettes, while vapes and shisha were newer and easier to curb before they took root. Or even why prostitution is legal in regulated zones; to control it, monitor it, and reduce exploitation and sex-related crimes.
That night in Austria, I understood something I hadn’t before: defending Singapore isn’t about proving someone else wrong. Some policies can only be understood if you’ve lived inside the system that created them. Outsiders may listen, but they may never truly see it through our lens ..and that’s okay (I think).
The dinner ended a little awkwardly, and I’ll admit, it might have left me with a couple of quiet tears. Part of me knew that some might see it as a Singaporean who couldn’t think for herself, who couldn’t defend her country and simply kept quiet. But that wasn’t it. I stepped back because I knew no amount of words in that moment would bridge the gap, and because I’ve learned that sometimes silence is not surrender, it’s choosing not to burn energy where understanding can’t take root yet.
Before the night was over, they found me. One by one, they told me they didn’t mean to hurt me, that they were just learning, and that it was simply a different view. It didn’t erase the discomfort, but it reminded me that warmth can coexist with disagreement.
I’ll still stand up for home, but I’ve learned to choose my moments. Sometimes the most respectful thing you can do is let the conversation end.
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