“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.” ― Gabriel García Márquez
Nestled behind MRT tracks along a busy road in Ang Mo Kio is a modern building clad in brown, wood-like panels that juxtapose the concrete and tar of the nearby thoroughfare. Is it a condominium? A community center? Nothing on its facade reveals its identity except for the words “Ren Ci”. Only those familiar with the name would recognize this building as a nursing home. The brand’s Chinese name translates as ‘benevolence’, in accord with its vision of providing ‘Holistic care with loving kindness and compassion’.
With better healthcare and higher standards of living, we are living longer and healthier lives. As of 2019, there are almost 600,000 Singapore residents aged 65 and above (data.gov.sg, 2019), with this number projected to increase to 900,000 by 2030 (Teng, Hock, & Ser, 2011). Besides posing policy challenges, issues of ageing and death produce tensions in our social fabric. I argue that infrastructure (both physical and invisible) play a key role in shaping the social infrastructure with regards to the way our elderly age as well as how the Singapore society perceives ageing and death.
“I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me.” ― William Butler Yeats
Ageing is more than skin deep. Enervated, our muscle tissues erode, our senses wane and memories dissipate. To promote wellness within an ageing population, the health of the aged should be of purview. Infrastructure needs to be in place to create spaces that encourages healthy ageing among the elderly.
The 2010 Population Census shows that Singapore’s older estates generally have a larger population of senior citizens. According to the Department of Statistics, in 2019, mature estates like Outram, Ang Mo Kio, and Toa Payoh had the highest proportions of residents aged 65 years and over. In these places, approximately one in five residents are aged 65 years and over. As the needs of the population change, spaces must change too to cater to the needs of older citizens. Earlier this year, Ang Mo Kio saw its first gym for seniors, set up by ActiveSG, a national movement for active living run by a statutory board under the Ministry of Community, Culture and Youth (Teo, 2019; Sport Singapore, n.d.). The gym features equipment catered to older users, designed to put less strain on the user’s joints. Approaches like this to promote wellness amongst the elderly reflects Singapore’s neoliberalist views and the government’s emphasis on self-care, where every individual is responsible for their well-being. However, further state-level intervention is still required to carve out spaces that would cater to the needs of our elderly citizens who cannot live independently or require medical attention.
The state emphasizes the responsibility of the family unit in the provision of care for its elders, evident in the Maintenance of Parents Act passed in 1995 (Singapore AttorneyGeneral's Chambers, n.d.). Guided by filial piety, Singaporeans generally commit to a sense of duty towards their elderly. Hence, in many cases, nursing homes are the last resort families turn to for the provision of care for their elderly, even if the family is unable to provide adequate care for their loved ones at home. The stigma towards nursing homes as “places of dread” informs this decision for most Singaporeans — a missed opportunity to provide a conducive space for the last juncture of life.
“Unbeing dead isn't being alive.” ― E. E. Cummings
Devastating diseases make up scars in the timeline of humanity. Maladies such as smallpox and bubonic plagues once wiped out civilizations but are no longer a threat in our world-class city. However, our evolving lifestyles remain a prelude to novel diseases, biological and social alike.
Growing up, I had the opportunity to volunteer at a nursing home in the area on multiple occasions. Though young at that time, my impression of it remained strong. For this essay, I returned to the nursing home, with the hope that time would have allowed for progress. I am appalled that the home remains true to my memory. I was greeted by the same drab, murky green facade and I walked right past the counter, with the staff not lifting their head to question my purpose. It was as if nothing in the building was worth protecting. Just beyond the counter, I could see residents on the ground floor, all dressed in identical loose gowns, pink for the ladies and blue for the men, all lined up along the walls, gazing upon an empty courtyard. Some watched me peculiarly and I managed a weak smile. The air smelled of disinfectant, and the disinfectant seemed to have void the area of not just bacteria life but life in general. Walking down the corridor, I observed the aged lying on their beds and, for the lucky ones, staring out the windows, waiting for the day to pass. Built to the Ministry of Health’s (MOH) minimum requirement of 6 square meters per patient (2002), the rooms are devoid of privacy and personality. Nothing speaks of home! I could not bear to be in that space.