[Official] Sintua Thread Worldwide Part 1

[Bigbird]

23 hours ago, meng.huat said:

 

 

trust your gut feeling. 

 

 

 

 

People usually like to give the benefit of doubts..  Most of the time people dont want to offend others when it comes to religion or "godly" matters.

 

Even the educated & successful also kanna scam  (Remember MAS snr manager)  on investment!

 

 

23 hours ago, Huat Zai said:

 

 

Real tangkis will tell you to go see a doctor when you're sick, that's what doctors are for, not deities. Real tangkis also don't care how much you donate, for them and the deities they represent, the merit of helping someone is worth much more than the money.

 

Donating smoke and oil money is more for the merit of the devotee than the deity.

 

when i was young Grandma will bring the kids to temple to ask tangki for good grades/health/wealth/everything under the sky!

 

Then given lecture  and got some chop on T-shirt or bathe with flowers and prescription (talisman that need to burn in cup and bring with water)

 

 

Wah piang: when i was a kid i was scared sh!t when going temple when see these people go on trance. 

 

Olden times, people were fearful of these religious representatives and what they represent.  Now, lesser people are a little more cognitive! .... I hope!

 

22 hours ago, Sn00pyPeanut said:

their voices , cutting tongue, hear they said to make judgement , obtain amulet s and go to a few areas to verify the amulet is legit? 
 

You will know how to find a genuine one when you need to.. you can always look out for big day ( god birthday ) and get information about their tua/ temple . 

 

Its not about amulet but more about legitimacy of these tangki(s)!

 

I have seen people who got possessed by "spirits" but i dont know if any noble saint/god would possess someone that curse/smokes/cheat......

 

Yes i also learn from "NK" forum, that there is "Dark side" temple too! 

 

I am not Buddhist or Taoist but i have many friends and relatives who are.  I just like to learn and be more informed on such topics!

 

Edited October 13, 2022 by Bigbird

[Bigbird]

 

Check this site

 

Quote

know somebody who is sick of cancer and was given a ‘death sentence’ by his doctor. He started burning some Fu and now he is well. Even his doctor was surprised that he won over the cancer.

 

There are a lot more stories about the power of the Fu, be it about money, business, personal problems, etc. The Fu has always made magical solutions for seemingly unsolvable problems.

 

https://sanaakosirickylee.wordpress.com/2012/08/15/fu/

 

Interesting!!

 

What do u think?

 

Lets keep this discussion respectful and insightful! 

[meng.huat]

35 minutes ago, Bigbird said:

I have seen people who got possessed by "spirits" but i dont know if any noble saint/god would possess someone that curse/smokes/cheat......

 

u know whats happening. ;)

many children at the playground, some will definitely be naughty.

[meng.huat]

32 minutes ago, Bigbird said:

 

Check this site

 

 

https://sanaakosirickylee.wordpress.com/2012/08/15/fu/

 

Interesting!!

 

What do u think?

 

Lets keep this discussion respectful and insightful! 

 

the claim to cure cancer is too much... 

sick should see doctor.

 

信就好

不要迷

[meng.huat]

tomorrow is 19th day of 9th lunar month.

 

Guanyin ma celebration day.

 

commemorate the day she became a nun

[chamfer]

 

Part of taiwan's sintua scene.

 

For me sintua is considered as chinese folk religion. 

[Huat Zai]

The Mysterious Origins of Deity Altars in Carparks and Hawker Centres

 

All images by Stephanie Lee for Rice Media

In the wee hours before Jalan Sultan’s Textile Centre opens, Zhang Hui, a part-time karung guni man and deity attendant in his 70s, makes his way to an altar behind the strata mall. 

Located between the entrance of the carpark and the garbage disposal area, the altar is adorned with Chinese Taoist deities. A cursory glance reveals two statuettes at the altar, both rotund and male—plump with power and mystical sway. 

“Since 1993, six days a week, sometimes seven if it’s a deity’s birthday, I’ve been in charge of opening up the display and locking up the altar after hours,” Zhang Hui says gruffly. 

I remark on his dedication to such a rigorous schedule. “I get a small token for what I do,” he shares nonchalantly.

After serving the deities tea, Zhang Hui would rest easy until nightfall, when another set of duties elsewhere in the ageing mall demanded his attention. 

The altar Zhang Hui takes care of is just one of the many altars peppered in carparks across the country. They often take up space at industrial sites, bus interchanges, or near residential areas. 

The fact that all these places enjoy intense foot traffic and serve a practical purpose is, perhaps, a happy but curious incident. 

In our constant pursuit of rejuvenation, where buildings are constantly torn down and refurbished, these altars and the practice of using them become unintentional collateral damage. We are a nation alienated from the spiritual nature of our lands, and it shows. 

Mysterious Caretakers

The altar at the Textile Centre’s carpark wants to be hidden. If that’s its objective, it has succeeded.

The altar’s only point of identification is its colour—a distinct and striking shade of red that burns bright against the dreary concrete of the rundown carpark. 

The idols are propped above eye level, protected behind steel gates ravaged by time and rust. Their once ornate robes are faded and frayed at the edges. 

On the table, two censers holding incense sticks are in various stages of being lit or extinguished, filling the air with an earthy scent.

Hunched over, focused intently on folding an array of cardboard boxes and cartons, Zhang Hui rattles off his routine in Hokkein. Our quasi-translator, Ming Wei, a store consultant in his late fifties who works at the Textile Centre, attempts to communicate everything in a jiffy. 

Time is of the essence—they need to get back to work. 

When I ask Zhang Hui to help me identify the different gods on the altar, I’m met with silence. It’s hard to tell whether it’s reticence on Zhang Hui’s part—or that he might not know for sure himself. 

“This is just a job to him,” our translator, Ming Wei, elaborates. Grinning sheepishly, he adds: “Out of sight, peace of mind.”

Murky Origins

Perhaps, more can be gleaned from those who frequent the altar through the years. 

In a starkly-lit room in the mall filled with rows of equally bright and coloured fabrics, I met Ku Gey Nga, one-half of the 80-year-old couple that runs Eng Huat Hock Kee Trading Company.

“Before I even open up shop, I will pray to the deities at the carpark, and I’ll do it again before I close up—every single working day,” says Gey Nga.

Gey Nga explains how the business was passed down to her by her grandmother, just as her Taoist faith was instilled in her since young by the family matriarch. 

“Every time before I leave the house, I will always pray at the altar in my home,” Gey Nga adds proudly.

“My grandson does it too. Like clockwork,” she insists. “It’s already a matter of habit.” 

Despite the decades spent engaged in this routine, the basement altar’s origins remain murky to her. “I think it was a bunch of Chinese merchants in this building that chipped in to build it, but there’s no way of knowing for sure,” she shrugs. “One day, I just started praying, and I haven’t stopped since.” 

She finds the location of the carpark altar convenient—appropriate even. “Here, it doesn’t bother anyone; we don’t want to bother anyone as well.” 

Ku Nga’s husband and business partner, Low Kok Tiong, shares her philosophy on maintaining peace and neutrality. “It doesn’t matter what faith you follow, as long as you treat every situation and person respectfully. Why would you want to start any conflict?” 

He too conducts daily prayers at the carpark. This practice reminds Kok Tiong that “there is more to life than the fixation of running a business and earning a living, especially in growing Singapore.” 

Superstitious Beginnings 

While Kok Tiong offers a pleasantly insightful account, I couldn’t take it as uncontested truth. Further investigation shows that the origins of such carpark altars could very well be rooted in practicality. 

“Carparks are quieter and more 暗 (dim), and there is the fear that malicious spirits will manifest,” Jack Meng-Tat Chia, Assistant Professor of History and Religious Studies at the National University of Singapore, contextualises. “So they are located there to prevent this—and traffic accidents.”

“Chinese religious worship can have a very pragmatic-otherworldly function,” Professor Chia affirms.

For commercial or industrial buildings, “carpark altars are so common that even when the supervisors are not religious followers, most would still allow their employees to erect them so long as they do not impact the perceived image of the company,” says Professor Chia. 

This religious tolerance on behalf of the managers can also be attributed to superstition and cautiousness, a trademark of Singaporeans.

Professor Chia provides two Chinese proverbs in explanation, “There is a belief that ‘拜得神多, 神保佑’, which means the more you worship, the more blessings you will get, so you just want to continue to get these blessings. Some also believe, ‘宁可信其有, 不可信其有’, which means they would rather accept something as true rather than completely reject it.” 

Professor Chia raises an example of how someone of a different faith might approach a carpark altar.

“Business owners can be Christians who don’t quite believe in these shrines, but some may believe in the presence of spirits and choose to add their version of such shrines.” 

“Again, there is a worry there might be bad luck, or it might affect their business if they shift the altars.”

An Unexpected Coexistence

While the supposed beginnings of these altars stemmed from more practical reasons, they are now ingrained in everyday Singaporean life.

“There’s not much to it. It’s just for the safety of people in the area—the car park, the coffee shop, the residents—the list goes on,” Yap Peng Ann explains. The 64-year-old is a drink stall operator at 446 Ang Mo Kio coffee shop and prays at an altar nearby before he starts work.

The deity display is mere metres away from his stall, positioned at the rear corner of the eatery and away from the customer’s prying eyes. On its left is an open carpark. Further down are HDB blocks. 

Unlike the one at Textile Centre, here, the altar is a lofty and formidable aluminium structure, unafraid to take up space. It holds approximately half a dozen gods sitting atop numerous drawers locked shut, its contents unknown.

Due to the exhaust steam produced by the stalls, the deities are covered in a light sheen of soot and gleam slightly with grease. Still, they maintain a deft appearance, draped in black, green, red, and yellow capes. 

The male deities sport long black beards; a few wear scaly metallic armour. There’s an ombre effect on them, where the green scales lighten and darken at certain spots.

A towering, balding figure with a lengthy white beard grasping a staff sits front and centre. 

The back of the display is wallpapered entirely with a sprawling red and gold poster. It is embellished with traditional Chinese words expressing the Christian equivalent of a ‘hallelujah’.

“There’s nothing really remarkable about their presence, and it seems like they have always been here for ages,” Peng Ann yells out to me over the hubbub of a dinner crowd. 

“I don’t have much of a relationship with the altar. It’s just like that; what else do you want to know?” he shouts hurriedly. “People working around here pray to it, then we will do other things.” 

Pointing to a niche near the ceiling of his stall, a makeshift deity makes itself visible only to the keen eye. Getting as close as I could to the stall, it was difficult to perceive any distinct detail from the dark silhouette. 

When I wondered aloud how and why he chose to place a deity so high up, he shot me a toothy grin. “Now, that one is just for my stall. The big one outside, that one I don’t know who put it up or why. But I know he’s long dead.”

Worship FOMO

There is one last location to scout. Perhaps Boon Lay Place Market and Food Village can shed some clarity as to why two altars can be placed in such close proximity to each other. After all, there are not one but two deity displays, each on opposite ends of the market. 

They are relatively small compared to the altar at the Textile Centre—almost diminutive in comparison to the altar at 446 Ang Mo Kio coffee shop. 

At Boon Lay Place, the altars are nearly entirely decked out in metallic silver, save for the deities and the red lights illuminating them. And instead of full-sized red and yellow Chinese lanterns, one of the altars has more miniature lanterns strung up above it, held flimsily together by red fairy lights. The Taoist god of prosperity, Tua Pek Kong, sits centre stage.

Collective prayer sessions would be conducted on the first and fifteenth day of every lunar month. These are attended by devotees and believers, although some who don’t practice the Taoist faith join in too. 

“Since everyone else here does it, I’ll just do it. There’s no harm in doing it,” one stall owner of the Buddhist faith explains.

Professor Chia says that this practice can be recognised as inherently Singaporean. “It’s common in Singapore to see this interesting hybrid of Buddha, Taoist gods, and Hindu deities. Even a type of local Malay God known as the Datuk Keramat will be [on the altar] .”

“Sometimes, Muslims and Hindus will pray to these shrines too, even though it is not considered canonical or orthodox.”

However, multiculturalism appears not to be the only Singaporean element at play. 

The Boon Lay Tua Pek Kong Temple, featuring the eponymous deity, is only metres away from the two altars near the market. Is this a case of double the god, double the blessings?

The temple attendant of the Boon Lay Tua Pek Kong Temple explains the deity in the temple “blesses the overall vicinity—the car park, the vendors, the market, everything.” 

So, why put up an altar for the same god a stone’s throw away, I ask?

“What belongs to the temple is the temple’s. This is ours,” the stall owners chimed in.

“I think it can represent the kiasu-ness of Singaporeans and Singaporean culture,” Tan Hong Jun, a 23-year-old student walking past the altar, suggests. “There’s a desire to feel secure and cover all the bases.” 

Don’t Stop Believin’

Hong Jun tells me that although he was raised Taoist, he has not decided if his family’s faith suits him. Still, he observes the Hungry Ghost Festival with little to no emotional connection. 

Hong Jun can be taken as an example of the young and undecided who remain unsure about religion and tradition. As Professor Chia posits, “there are more anglo-phones who no longer see themselves aligned with traditional Chinese culture or worship or view them as very relevant anymore.” 

“Of course, I think these shrines are likely to be around,” he offers when I ask about the future of such neighbourhood shrines. “But it depends on whether the younger generation will continue to believe in these gods or if they want to maintain the shrine.”

Gey Nga expresses a similar uncertainty. “I don’t know about young people, whether they’ll learn about this practice or even if they want to. I just know I will continue praying to the deities for as long as I can.” 

Carpark altars are adaptable to a variety of needs. Whether you seek prosperity, peace of mind, or just a desire to keep with tradition, there seems to be something for everybody. 

“Everybody needs something to believe in,” Gey Nga intones.

“Sometimes it just happens to be religion—any type of religion. Society can be in disarray, and as humans, we need something to hold on to, wherever we find it.”

 

https://www.ricemedia.co/the-mysterious-origins-of-deity-altars-in-carparks-and-hawker-centres/

[The_King]

https://www.ricemedia.co/the-mysterious-origins-of-deity-altars-in-carparks-and-hawker-centres/

 

 

In the wee hours before Jalan Sultan’s Textile Centre opens, Zhang Hui, a part-time karung guni man and deity attendant in his 70s, makes his way to an altar behind the strata mall. 

Located between the entrance of the carpark and the garbage disposal area, the altar is adorned with Chinese Taoist deities. A cursory glance reveals two statuettes at the altar, both rotund and male—plump with power and mystical sway. 

“Since 1993, six days a week, sometimes seven if it’s a deity’s birthday, I’ve been in charge of opening up the display and locking up the altar after hours,” Zhang Hui says gruffly. 

I remark on his dedication to such a rigorous schedule. “I get a small token for what I do,” he shares nonchalantly.

After serving the deities tea, Zhang Hui would rest easy until nightfall, when another set of duties elsewhere in the ageing mall demanded his attention. 

The altar Zhang Hui takes care of is just one of the many altars peppered in carparks across the country. They often take up space at industrial sites, bus interchanges, or near residential areas. 

The fact that all these places enjoy intense foot traffic and serve a practical purpose is, perhaps, a happy but curious incident. 

In our constant pursuit of rejuvenation, where buildings are constantly torn down and refurbished, these altars and the practice of using them become unintentional collateral damage. We are a nation alienated from the spiritual nature of our lands, and it shows. 

Mysterious Caretakers

The altar at the Textile Centre’s carpark wants to be hidden. If that’s its objective, it has succeeded.

The altar’s only point of identification is its colour—a distinct and striking shade of red that burns bright against the dreary concrete of the rundown carpark. 

The idols are propped above eye level, protected behind steel gates ravaged by time and rust. Their once ornate robes are faded and frayed at the edges. 

On the table, two censers holding incense sticks are in various stages of being lit or extinguished, filling the air with an earthy scent.

Hunched over, focused intently on folding an array of cardboard boxes and cartons, Zhang Hui rattles off his routine in Hokkein. Our quasi-translator, Ming Wei, a store consultant in his late fifties who works at the Textile Centre, attempts to communicate everything in a jiffy. 

Time is of the essence—they need to get back to work. 

When I ask Zhang Hui to help me identify the different gods on the altar, I’m met with silence. It’s hard to tell whether it’s reticence on Zhang Hui’s part—or that he might not know for sure himself. 

“This is just a job to him,” our translator, Ming Wei, elaborates. Grinning sheepishly, he adds: “Out of sight, peace of mind.”

Murky Origins

Perhaps, more can be gleaned from those who frequent the altar through the years. 

In a starkly-lit room in the mall filled with rows of equally bright and coloured fabrics, I met Ku Gey Nga, one-half of the 80-year-old couple that runs Eng Huat Hock Kee Trading Company.

“Before I even open up shop, I will pray to the deities at the carpark, and I’ll do it again before I close up—every single working day,” says Gey Nga.

Gey Nga explains how the business was passed down to her by her grandmother, just as her Taoist faith was instilled in her since young by the family matriarch. 

“Every time before I leave the house, I will always pray at the altar in my home,” Gey Nga adds proudly.

“My grandson does it too. Like clockwork,” she insists. “It’s already a matter of habit.” 

Despite the decades spent engaged in this routine, the basement altar’s origins remain murky to her. “I think it was a bunch of Chinese merchants in this building that chipped in to build it, but there’s no way of knowing for sure,” she shrugs. “One day, I just started praying, and I haven’t stopped since.” 

She finds the location of the carpark altar convenient—appropriate even. “Here, it doesn’t bother anyone; we don’t want to bother anyone as well.” 

Ku Nga’s husband and business partner, Low Kok Tiong, shares her philosophy on maintaining peace and neutrality. “It doesn’t matter what faith you follow, as long as you treat every situation and person respectfully. Why would you want to start any conflict?” 

He too conducts daily prayers at the carpark. This practice reminds Kok Tiong that “there is more to life than the fixation of running a business and earning a living, especially in growing Singapore.” 

Superstitious Beginnings 

While Kok Tiong offers a pleasantly insightful account, I couldn’t take it as uncontested truth. Further investigation shows that the origins of such carpark altars could very well be rooted in practicality. 

“Carparks are quieter and more 暗 (dim), and there is the fear that malicious spirits will manifest,” Jack Meng-Tat Chia, Assistant Professor of History and Religious Studies at the National University of Singapore, contextualises. “So they are located there to prevent this—and traffic accidents.”

“Chinese religious worship can have a very pragmatic-otherworldly function,” Professor Chia affirms.

For commercial or industrial buildings, “carpark altars are so common that even when the supervisors are not religious followers, most would still allow their employees to erect them so long as they do not impact the perceived image of the company,” says Professor Chia. 

This religious tolerance on behalf of the managers can also be attributed to superstition and cautiousness, a trademark of Singaporeans.

Professor Chia provides two Chinese proverbs in explanation, “There is a belief that ‘拜得神多, 神保佑’, which means the more you worship, the more blessings you will get, so you just want to continue to get these blessings. Some also believe, ‘宁可信其有, 不可信其有’, which means they would rather accept something as true rather than completely reject it.” 

Professor Chia raises an example of how someone of a different faith might approach a carpark altar.

“Business owners can be Christians who don’t quite believe in these shrines, but some may believe in the presence of spirits and choose to add their version of such shrines.” 

“Again, there is a worry there might be bad luck, or it might affect their business if they shift the altars.”

An Unexpected Coexistence

While the supposed beginnings of these altars stemmed from more practical reasons, they are now ingrained in everyday Singaporean life.

“There’s not much to it. It’s just for the safety of people in the area—the car park, the coffee shop, the residents—the list goes on,” Yap Peng Ann explains. The 64-year-old is a drink stall operator at 446 Ang Mo Kio coffee shop and prays at an altar nearby before he starts work.

The deity display is mere metres away from his stall, positioned at the rear corner of the eatery and away from the customer’s prying eyes. On its left is an open carpark. Further down are HDB blocks. 

Unlike the one at Textile Centre, here, the altar is a lofty and formidable aluminium structure, unafraid to take up space. It holds approximately half a dozen gods sitting atop numerous drawers locked shut, its contents unknown.

Due to the exhaust steam produced by the stalls, the deities are covered in a light sheen of soot and gleam slightly with grease. Still, they maintain a deft appearance, draped in black, green, red, and yellow capes. 

The male deities sport long black beards; a few wear scaly metallic armour. There’s an ombre effect on them, where the green scales lighten and darken at certain spots.

A towering, balding figure with a lengthy white beard grasping a staff sits front and centre. 

The back of the display is wallpapered entirely with a sprawling red and gold poster. It is embellished with traditional Chinese words expressing the Christian equivalent of a ‘hallelujah’.

“There’s nothing really remarkable about their presence, and it seems like they have always been here for ages,” Peng Ann yells out to me over the hubbub of a dinner crowd. 

“I don’t have much of a relationship with the altar. It’s just like that; what else do you want to know?” he shouts hurriedly. “People working around here pray to it, then we will do other things.” 

Pointing to a niche near the ceiling of his stall, a makeshift deity makes itself visible only to the keen eye. Getting as close as I could to the stall, it was difficult to perceive any distinct detail from the dark silhouette. 

When I wondered aloud how and why he chose to place a deity so high up, he shot me a toothy grin. “Now, that one is just for my stall. The big one outside, that one I don’t know who put it up or why. But I know he’s long dead.”

Worship FOMO

There is one last location to scout. Perhaps Boon Lay Place Market and Food Village can shed some clarity as to why two altars can be placed in such close proximity to each other. After all, there are not one but two deity displays, each on opposite ends of the market. 

They are relatively small compared to the altar at the Textile Centre—almost diminutive in comparison to the altar at 446 Ang Mo Kio coffee shop. 

At Boon Lay Place, the altars are nearly entirely decked out in metallic silver, save for the deities and the red lights illuminating them. And instead of full-sized red and yellow Chinese lanterns, one of the altars has more miniature lanterns strung up above it, held flimsily together by red fairy lights. The Taoist god of prosperity, Tua Pek Kong, sits centre stage.

Collective prayer sessions would be conducted on the first and fifteenth day of every lunar month. These are attended by devotees and believers, although some who don’t practice the Taoist faith join in too. 

“Since everyone else here does it, I’ll just do it. There’s no harm in doing it,” one stall owner of the Buddhist faith explains.

Professor Chia says that this practice can be recognised as inherently Singaporean. “It’s common in Singapore to see this interesting hybrid of Buddha, Taoist gods, and Hindu deities. Even a type of local Malay God known as the Datuk Keramat will be [on the altar] .”

“Sometimes, Muslims and Hindus will pray to these shrines too, even though it is not considered canonical or orthodox.”

However, multiculturalism appears not to be the only Singaporean element at play. 

The Boon Lay Tua Pek Kong Temple, featuring the eponymous deity, is only metres away from the two altars near the market. Is this a case of double the god, double the blessings?

The temple attendant of the Boon Lay Tua Pek Kong Temple explains the deity in the temple “blesses the overall vicinity—the car park, the vendors, the market, everything.” 

So, why put up an altar for the same god a stone’s throw away, I ask?

“What belongs to the temple is the temple’s. This is ours,” the stall owners chimed in.

“I think it can represent the kiasu-ness of Singaporeans and Singaporean culture,” Tan Hong Jun, a 23-year-old student walking past the altar, suggests. “There’s a desire to feel secure and cover all the bases.” 

Don’t Stop Believin’

Hong Jun tells me that although he was raised Taoist, he has not decided if his family’s faith suits him. Still, he observes the Hungry Ghost Festival with little to no emotional connection. 

Hong Jun can be taken as an example of the young and undecided who remain unsure about religion and tradition. As Professor Chia posits, “there are more anglo-phones who no longer see themselves aligned with traditional Chinese culture or worship or view them as very relevant anymore.” 

“Of course, I think these shrines are likely to be around,” he offers when I ask about the future of such neighbourhood shrines. “But it depends on whether the younger generation will continue to believe in these gods or if they want to maintain the shrine.”

Gey Nga expresses a similar uncertainty. “I don’t know about young people, whether they’ll learn about this practice or even if they want to. I just know I will continue praying to the deities for as long as I can.” 

Carpark altars are adaptable to a variety of needs. Whether you seek prosperity, peace of mind, or just a desire to keep with tradition, there seems to be something for everybody. 

“Everybody needs something to believe in,” Gey Nga intones.

“Sometimes it just happens to be religion—any type of religion. Society can be in disarray, and as humans, we need something to hold on to, wherever we find it.”

[The_King]

WTF, i double post. my eye cock

[chamfer]

 

[Sn00pyPeanut]

On 10/28/2022 at 8:45 PM, The_King said:

WTF, i double post. my eye cock

thanks for sharing though it was lengthy. 
 

i am part of the young population that he mentioned. I feel relieved to have an altar at home too , at least it brings comfort and not so obvious answers (yet seems like a hint or guided pathway) from gods. 
 

 

Edited October 30, 2022 by Sn00pyPeanut

[Rainowar]

On 10/14/2022 at 12:57 AM, Bigbird said:

 

People usually like to give the benefit of doubts..  Most of the time people dont want to offend others when it comes to religion or "godly" matters.

 

Even the educated & successful also kanna scam  (Remember MAS snr manager)  on investment!

 

 

 

when i was young Grandma will bring the kids to temple to ask tangki for good grades/health/wealth/everything under the sky!

 

Then given lecture  and got some chop on T-shirt or bathe with flowers and prescription (talisman that need to burn in cup and bring with water)

 

 

Wah piang: when i was a kid i was scared sh!t when going temple when see these people go on trance. 

 

Olden times, people were fearful of these religious representatives and what they represent.  Now, lesser people are a little more cognitive! .... I hope!

 

 

Its not about amulet but more about legitimacy of these tangki(s)!

 

I have seen people who got possessed by "spirits" but i dont know if any noble saint/god would possess someone that curse/smokes/cheat......

 

Yes i also learn from "NK" forum, that there is "Dark side" temple too! 

 

I am not Buddhist or Taoist but i have many friends and relatives who are.  I just like to learn and be more informed on such topics!

 

太上老君小儿收魂符

[The_King]

Tekong ghost stories 

---

If you believe every army tale you’ve ever heard, every army boy who has gone through Pulau Tekong probably has his fair share of Tekong ghost stories. Shaking beds, ghosts along the corridor, women’s voices in the toilet … BMT has become more than just a test of fitness.

Here are 12 scariest Tekong ghost stories that are guaranteed to make your hair stand on end. Thank goodness I’m not writing this at night.

---

1. The screaming woman of School 4

---

Image credit: IlummyX

Like most Tekong stories, this one takes place during the dreaded guard duty. At the end of their shift, the recruits were waiting outside the guardhouse to sign off for the night. Out of nowhere, a woman’s scream could be heard from within the buildings that made up the coyline. This continued for several minutes. 

The interesting part of the story is that his buddy did not hear anything at all despite being next to him. This story however, did not end with him as there have been several recruits from different batches who have experienced the same thing. 

---

2. Field camp encounter 

---

Image credit: MINDEF

Field camp is one of those events in BMT that recruits dread the most  – living in the forest surrounded not only by your comrades but also the endless waves of mozzies is sure to be an unforgettable experience. In this story it’s not the doings of mother nature that’s got our recruit shaken up – it’s something way scarier.

While digging his shellscrape, his shovel hit a rock that was embedded in the soil. It is unknown what this rock actually was, but there was speculation that maybe it was a headstone of a grave that was once there. 

 

After this happened, when our recruit was taking a break he noticed that he was being watched from his peripheral vision. There was a woman with long hair that covered her face, slowly moving closer to him.

Shaken, he looked away and uttered the words “Sorry if I offended you, but I am here just to serve my nation like everybody else. I will be gone in 3 days time. Please leave me alone.” And just as she appeared, she vanished, never to be seen again.  

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3. The tale of the disembowelled recruit

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Image credit: Unsplash

Route marches are a common occurrence when you’re in the SAF – but what happened in this story is anything but common. As the recruits were trekking through the Tekong wilderness, that was when a headcount was performed. In the midst of counting, they realised that one person was missing. That was when a search party was activated to look out for this missing recruit. 

This was when they discovered the missing recruit, his field pack items were neatly displayed on the mud, and his body hung limply from a tree. His internal organs, intestines and all, were torn out forcefully and lined orderly beside the tree, in “stand-by-bed” manner. This gut-wrenching tale is on the mind of everyone doing guard duty on a Thursday night.

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4. Tekong’s legendary 3-door bunk 

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Image credit: API

 

Army boy or not, everyone would have heard this iconic story about a bunk on Pulau Tekong with a third door. Many recruits look out for it when they enlist, but few, if any, ever see it. Let’s just get it out there: this bunk exists.  It’s hidden among the empty bunks that recruits pass on the way to field camp or on the way to Rocky Hill Camp. 

So, back to the guy whose guts were removed. The story goes that his spirit became extremely bitter towards his bunkmates, especially his buddy for not looking out for him. Every night without fail, he would come back to the bunk and haunt everyone with the usual rattling of cupboards and scratching of nails on the walls.

It wasn’t long before the higher-ups in BMT finally engaged a Taoist priest to perform some rituals to get rid of the spirit. The priest suggested adding a third door to the existing two, in order to make the spirit leave. Till today, that bunk is the only one with three doors – every other bunk in Tekong has only two.

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5. The little girl learning how to count

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Image credit: CMPB

Many believe this is a story sergeants made up to get recruits to go to bed on time. 

It’s rumoured that on certain nights, a young girl and her grandmother strolls among the bunks, counting the number of sleeping recruits. Maybe this is how the ghost community teaches their children basic Maths. Counting slowly, the voice of the girl becomes increasingly loud as she nears your bed. 

Never peep. The temptation is real but remember: curiosity killed the cat, and curiosity will kill the recruit too. Some have witnessed the eerie counting, telling of a shadow over their faces when they attempt to open their eyes… 

 

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6. The little boy and his bouncing basketball

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Image credit: Unsplash

If you ever thought you heard sound of a basketball bouncing late at night while catching some shut-eye at your bunk, it’s not just your imagination.

Grandma doesn’t like to show favouritism, so she brings her grandson out on other nights too. This little boy has a basketball in one hand, and his grandmother’s hand in the other. He’s looking for a playmate, but his grandmother is telling him not to wake up the tired recruits. Don’t let him catch you awake, or he’ll ask his grandma “why this kor kor not sleeping?” 

The basketball drops, and your heart beats as loudly as the thuds of the basketball. You open your eyes and he’s inches from your face. No one has lived to tell how much fun being his playmate was. 

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7. The case of the missing toilet buddy

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Image credit: Unsplash

This is one of those typical stories that happened to your friend’s brother’s girlfriend’s cousin. In the middle of the night, a recruit’s buddy – let’s call him Thomas – woke him up to go to the toilet. Grumpy and half-awake, the recruit followed Thomas to the cubicles and waited outside. 

10 minutes passed, then 30, then an hour. Finally, there was a flushing sound. The recruit looked into the toilet, all ready to give his buddy a piece of his mind for taking so long, only to be greeted with the sight of 10 empty cubicles. Then, it hit him. Thomas was on MC.

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8. The “gifted” recruit of Bed 12

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Image credit: BMTC

 

It is said that every batch, one Bed 12 recruit of the Jaguar Company will be “gifted” with the ability to see “things”. Many people scoff at this rumour, until they are the ones assigned to Bed 12. 

The spirit of a young boy will be seen on the top of the opposite bunk, playing with a towel and grinning evilly at the Bed 12 recruit. 

If you’re the one ‘lucky’ enough to be put in Bed 12, good luck bro.

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9. The Cupboard of Secrets

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Image credit: Flickr

This story starts with the recruits noticing an unoccupied bed in their dorm. Then, they find notes in their cupboards, warning them not to open the cupboard beside the empty bed. Nothing much happened otherwise… until nightfall.

Everyone was sleeping soundly when suddenly, the cupboard beside the empty bed shook violently, and terrified screams can be heard from within. All the recruits jumped up in fear, everyone huddling together and backing away into a corner. Frantic scratching sounds are heard from inside the cupboard. Someone, or something, was trying to get out. 

After a long moment of trying not to pee in their pants, the recruits decided to suck it up and get back to bed. They have already been warned that Tekong wasn’t the “cleanest” place. But every night, without fail, the cupboard shakes and screams will be heard. Generations of men have passed, but not a single man has tried to unlock the cupboard’s secret.

 

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10. The one who watches you as you sleep

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Image credit: IMDB

Think you have more space to yourself when there are unoccupied bunk beds? Think again. Ask around and you may have heard stories of recruits finding strands of long hair and red lipstick on unoccupied bunk beds. Did someone sneak a girlfriend in for hanky panky? Or is it something else? 

Bella loves it when Edward watches her sleeping, so yay for you if you like that sort of thing because someone’s going to be watching you, all night, from that unoccupied bed. 

Many will believe it’s a hallucination – the woman with long black hair, red lipstick, pale face and bloodshot eyes. Who would blame them though, that’s the typical description of any mainstream female ghost. But when they find the strands of long hair during area cleaning and red lipstick on their pillows, they’ll know it wasn’t just a dream … 

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11. The real reason nobody wants to do night duty

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Image credit: Flickr

Night walks are all romantic and cute, until you have it in Tekong.  Any boy assigned to night time Guard Duty better have all his good luck charms ready, because he’s gonna need them. There are many different ghost stories regarding night patrol, and this is one I heard: 2 recruits were patrolling the area when they decided to venture into the forest. Asking for it, I know. 

 

Soon, they came across an abandoned playground neither of them has seen before. The air was still, the night was cold, and the only sounds heard were the crunching of leaves beneath their every step. Then there was a creaking sound. The roundabout started to turn, faster and faster. Without a second glance back, the 2 men ran for their lives back the way they came. When they retraced their footsteps the next morning, the playground was nowhere to be seen.

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12. Kena confinement

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Image credit: BMTC

The ultimate scary story of all time. Extra Confinement. All alone in Tekong.
‘Nuff said.

[Huat Zai]

 

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[chamfer]

@classyNfabulous

 

If u are interested in sintua stuff.

 

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[Huat Zai]

‘Illegal makeshift shrine' along Science Centre Road given deadline to vacate by Dec. 12

 

The caretakers of a shrine along Science Centre Road in Jurong have been given an ultimatum by JTC, National Parks Board (NParks), and the Singapore Land Authority (SLA).

 

 

 

The three government agencies said the shrine's caretakers have been issued a "final notice" to vacate the site by Monday, Dec. 12, in a joint statement issued on Nov. 29.

"Illegal encroachment on public land"

 

According to the statement, the shrine occupies a site located on public land, and is an "illegal encroachment".

The site of the shrine is part of the Jurong Lake District Masterplan, and is required for "land preparation and infrastructure works", said the three agencies.

The agencies' statement described the shrine as being located "on a roadside green verge along Science Centre Road".

According to images on Google Maps street view dated May 2022, there is a structure located near a heavy vehicle parking area along Science Centre Road.

Mothership understands that this is the shrine requested to vacate the site.

The structure comprises plastic sheets held up by metal and bamboo poles, and appears to have several sections, including a washing area.

 

Screenshot via Google Maps street view.

There are also multiple potted plants, as well as furniture at the site.

Screenshot via Google Maps street view.

The shrine apparently contains statues of various deities.

Screenshot via Google Maps street view.

Multiple extensions of initial deadline

The final notice by the authorities comes after previous engagements with the caretakers, with an initial deadline of Dec. 13, 2021 set for the site to be vacated.

Between end-2021 and January 2022, the deadline was extended multiple times, after reasons such as Covid-19 restrictions were cited by the caretakers.

The agencies said in their statement that Dec. 12, 2022, has been set as the "final deadline".

They noted that the date is "a full year after the very first extension deadline was granted."

Timeline of events

The authorities' statement outlined the following timeline of events:

• Jul. 28, 2021: The agencies engaged the caretakers, and requested them to relocate the shrine. The engagements continued into August 2021.
• Aug. 19, 2021: An advisory was issued, requesting the caretaker to vacate the site by the end of the month. The caretakers appealed to the authorities.
• Sep. 14, 2021: The agencies held a "joint engagement" with the caretakers, who shared their difficulties in searching for a new site for the shrine. An extension of four months was granted, and the caretakers agreed to move by Dec. 13, 2021.
• Sep. 28, 2021: The caretakers told the agencies they would not be able to meet the December 2021 deadline due to Covid-19 restrictions.
• Oct. 6, 2021: The agencies requested the caretakers to provide details of the challenges they were facing. The caretakers did not show any documentary proof.
• Dec. 13, 2021: The agencies granted another extension to the caretakers, and informed them they had to vacate the site by Jan. 13, 2022.
• Dec. 25, 2021: The caretakers appealed to NParks to allow the shrine to remain at its current site. The request was rejected.
• Jan. 3, 2022: The agencies reminded caretakers to vacate the site by Jan. 13, 2022.
• Jan. 5, 2022: The caretakers requested an extension of the deadline so they could seek legal advice.
• Jan. 19, 2022: A third extension, till Feb. 13, 2022, was granted at a meeting between the agencies and the caretakers.
• Nov. 29, 2022: Final notice issued to caretakers, with a final deadline of Dec. 12, 2022 set for the site to be vacated.

What happens if the Dec. 12 deadline is not met?

 

"The government has provided the caretakers ample time to look for alternative sites for the shrine and to facilitate its removal. However, despite the multiple extensions and engagements with the shrine’s caretakers, the illegal shrine remains on site," said the statement.

The statement then outlined what would happen if the Dec. 12 deadline is not met, saying that "agencies will have no alternative but to issue formal enforcement notices under the State Lands Encroachments Act and the JTC Common Property Rules to compel the caretakers to vacate the site."

However, the agencies added that they "will continue to provide the necessary assistance to facilitate the removal of the shrine with due respect and sensitivity."

[Huat Zai]

 

[chamfer]

 

[chamfer]

 

[chamfer]

 

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