As Singaporeans are holding their breath, awaiting this year's election results, I can't help but recall a specific incident from the previous election season in 2015. I was a student at National University of Singapore back then, new to the country, my only goal that day being 'how to optimize that public holiday in the best possible way for my studies'.
Even back in India, I did not concern myself with the politicians around me and their impact on our day-to-day lives. Well, naturally, I was from a well-off family. My father had always provided enough (and more) for me to bother myself about which leader's policies would have a worse impact on my existence. Despite being a student of economics, the only politics I was exposed to was something that's good enough for "research/knowledge", to either complement my thesis or build stronger understanding of certain economic concepts. I had never had an emotional opinion about a political party back then.
On September 11th 2015, I was sitting at Starbucks within my campus and going over the assumptions of Solow Model. After a 9-hour study session, I decided that I deserve a Dark Mocha - Grande. I walked up to the counter, like any other millennial, eyes glued to the phone, waiting in line to make my order. I was however, perhaps the only person in the line without any headphones on.
I suddenly heard someone call out to me from behind the counter, though it was not my turn yet.
"Hey, Ma'am!" his voice quivered in a whisper. I looked up to find a middle-aged man, worry spread across his face like a box of spilt rice scattered on a clean floor. His eyebrows looked as though they were perpetually folded inwards. Just watching him alone made me wonder what bad news he might bear.
"Yes, Uncle?"
"Can you please tell me the results?"
I wondered, quite stupidly, why he wanted to know my macroeconomics grade. I nodded in a perplexed manner.
"The elections..is the counting done?"
"I don't know, uncle"
"That phone...check...please"
I fiddled with my phone, still surprised of being approached this way. I did not even notice that it was my turn to order. The student behind me took his headphones off and asked roughly - "hey you done ordering ah?"
Uncle immediately disappeared into the room reserved for Starbucks staff. The girl at the counter, a part-time student, asked me what I wanted to have and rolled her eyes as uncle came back. I got out of the line and he hastily followed me to the pick-up counter -
"hey! Please... please... it's time already, Ma'am"
He swiftly ran back to the room with 4 used cups he had just picked up from the counter. I walked away nodding, with my phone and my drink... one representing a source of information he didn't have access to and other representing my 'reward' for the day. Both representing privilege.
I sat back in my chair and took the first sip of my drink. My gaze was arrested by the look he carried on his face as he went around the coffee house, clearing tables. I watched his eyes contract from time to time and at one point I saw him mumbling something to himself. It felt as though his life depended on how the evening turns out.
I took my phone out again and opened the polling page. I walked up to him after he finished clearing the last table and showed him my screen so that he could make sense of it. (I didn't know what GRC was... and frankly, I didn't care)
"NO!!" his eyes widened. "Ma'am, I am not supposed to look at the phone on duty please."
The stress on the word 'please' each time started to make me feel uncomfortable.
"Okay, uncle. What do you want to know?"
He told me his GRC, and asked me to check who won. I searched through the list and gave him the verdict. His eyes lowered for a few seconds, almost dramatically, flickered and rose towards me again. He nodded - "Thank you, Ma'am."
He walked away; his anxious pace replaced by a slow waddle. It looked like he was limping, as though I had wounded him. He moved to the billing area, taking the place of the student who just finished her shift. "Next, please?"
I walked back to my chair and continued sipping my drink. The next twenty minutes was quiet in my head as I sunk myself into absorbing the entire experience. What amount of privilege blurs your ability to understand the extent of what a fellow human is going through? At what point do you realise that your story is barely a fraction of representation of the entire population? Despite being under the same roof, you can be worlds apart.
I packed my notes and walked out of the almost empty coffee house. I tossed my cup in the bin and from the corner of my eyes, I caught uncle cry as he closed the counter.
Even back in India, I did not concern myself with the politicians around me and their impact on our day-to-day lives. Well, naturally, I was from a well-off family. My father had always provided enough (and more) for me to bother myself about which leader's policies would have a worse impact on my existence. Despite being a student of economics, the only politics I was exposed to was something that's good enough for "research/knowledge", to either complement my thesis or build stronger understanding of certain economic concepts. I had never had an emotional opinion about a political party back then.
On September 11th 2015, I was sitting at Starbucks within my campus and going over the assumptions of Solow Model. After a 9-hour study session, I decided that I deserve a Dark Mocha - Grande. I walked up to the counter, like any other millennial, eyes glued to the phone, waiting in line to make my order. I was however, perhaps the only person in the line without any headphones on.
I suddenly heard someone call out to me from behind the counter, though it was not my turn yet.
"Hey, Ma'am!" his voice quivered in a whisper. I looked up to find a middle-aged man, worry spread across his face like a box of spilt rice scattered on a clean floor. His eyebrows looked as though they were perpetually folded inwards. Just watching him alone made me wonder what bad news he might bear.
"Yes, Uncle?"
"Can you please tell me the results?"
I wondered, quite stupidly, why he wanted to know my macroeconomics grade. I nodded in a perplexed manner.
"The elections..is the counting done?"
"I don't know, uncle"
"That phone...check...please"
I fiddled with my phone, still surprised of being approached this way. I did not even notice that it was my turn to order. The student behind me took his headphones off and asked roughly - "hey you done ordering ah?"
Uncle immediately disappeared into the room reserved for Starbucks staff. The girl at the counter, a part-time student, asked me what I wanted to have and rolled her eyes as uncle came back. I got out of the line and he hastily followed me to the pick-up counter -
"hey! Please... please... it's time already, Ma'am"
He swiftly ran back to the room with 4 used cups he had just picked up from the counter. I walked away nodding, with my phone and my drink... one representing a source of information he didn't have access to and other representing my 'reward' for the day. Both representing privilege.
I sat back in my chair and took the first sip of my drink. My gaze was arrested by the look he carried on his face as he went around the coffee house, clearing tables. I watched his eyes contract from time to time and at one point I saw him mumbling something to himself. It felt as though his life depended on how the evening turns out.
I took my phone out again and opened the polling page. I walked up to him after he finished clearing the last table and showed him my screen so that he could make sense of it. (I didn't know what GRC was... and frankly, I didn't care)
"NO!!" his eyes widened. "Ma'am, I am not supposed to look at the phone on duty please."
The stress on the word 'please' each time started to make me feel uncomfortable.
"Okay, uncle. What do you want to know?"
He told me his GRC, and asked me to check who won. I searched through the list and gave him the verdict. His eyes lowered for a few seconds, almost dramatically, flickered and rose towards me again. He nodded - "Thank you, Ma'am."
He walked away; his anxious pace replaced by a slow waddle. It looked like he was limping, as though I had wounded him. He moved to the billing area, taking the place of the student who just finished her shift. "Next, please?"
I walked back to my chair and continued sipping my drink. The next twenty minutes was quiet in my head as I sunk myself into absorbing the entire experience. What amount of privilege blurs your ability to understand the extent of what a fellow human is going through? At what point do you realise that your story is barely a fraction of representation of the entire population? Despite being under the same roof, you can be worlds apart.
I packed my notes and walked out of the almost empty coffee house. I tossed my cup in the bin and from the corner of my eyes, I caught uncle cry as he closed the counter.
