https://store.epicgames.com/en-US/p/need-for-spirit-offroad-edition-7eee16

sinkies are dumb sheep, slowly losing our identity and still don't realise it   that's why most of the time when my colleagues want to try any new china food, i quietly reject and eat on my own elsewhere

A Chinese expat's candid take about her life in Singapore is making the rounds online.  In the viral post, the woman described how two years here left her feeling like she had taken a step down in life, despite what many assume about working in Singapore. "In what outsiders see as a land of wealth, I’ve been experiencing what a cliff-like drop in social class really feels like," she said.  It is unclear what her age is or what her occupation is. Her tipping point? A late-night moment in the CBD. “I instinctively opened the Grab app. Seeing the surge pricing that felt almost like daylight robbery, I hesitated by the roadside for three seconds, then quietly turned and walked toward the MRT,” she wrote. She then went on to say how she misses her life in Shanghai. “Back then, I’d just call a private car whenever I went out. I’d come home to a freshly cooked four-dish meal. On weekends, I’d drive around Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Shanghai for short road trips and fresh air. Friends and family all thought moving to Singapore meant I’d 'made it'. But only I know the truth. I came here to struggle and tough it out,” she lamented. She also said that in China, owning a BMW, Audi, or Mercedes was normal for the middle class. “Here? The cost of a COE alone could cover a down payment for a home in my hometown in Shanghai. Seeing an ordinary Japanese car priced at S$100K–200K was a slap in the face. In Singapore, owning a car isn’t a middle-class symbol, it’s an entry ticket to the truly wealthy. For regular working people like us, public transport is the only realistic option,” she said. The woman also felt that housing here was pricey, saying the rent she collects for her Shanghai apartment was not enough to rent a master bedroom in Singapore. I used to live in a spacious apartment. Now, I’m squeezed into a tiny condo unit. Every month when I pay rent, it genuinely hurts. That suffocating feeling of cramped living, no amount of shiny CBD office badges can offset it,” she said. As for food, she says her daily meals are mostly carb-heavy hawker food that is oily and salty. If I want a proper meal from home cuisine on weekends, the final bill with GST and service charge feels like I just swallowed gold. Even buying durian now requires serious budgeting. Is this really the 'high salary, high life' people talk about?” she asked. “I worked so hard, thinking moving here meant levelling up. Instead, it feels like I’ve gone back to square one overnight. On paper, the salary in Singapore dollars looks great, but in reality, I’m living like a 'refined poor person',” she added. She also admitted that social media doesn’t help, and seeing friends back home going on weekend getaways, such as camping, taking road trips makes her unhappy with her life in Singapore. “This so-called ‘overseas elite’ identity I have feels like a thin cover that’s about to fall apart under Singapore’s sky-high cost of living. Still, she acknowledged Singapore’s upsides, including safety and stability. “You can leave your bag at a hawker centre seat. But when that “sense of security” comes at the cost of a significant downgrade in quality of life, I can’t help but ask myself: is it really worth it?” she wrote. She ended her post asking if anyone is like her, quietly struggling in “invisible poverty”. If she was expecting sympathy, she didn’t quite get it. Many netizens were quick to push back, with some saying her expectations were simply mismatched. “Does it feel like wearing a brand name but empty pockets?” one commenter quipped. Others were more direct, with one writing: “If the lifestyle doesn’t suit you, leave”. “It's not too late, you can go back now, maybe this is not for you, because people in Singapore don't care about this kind of thing,” another netizen wrote. “If you keep this mindset for much longer, you may get depression. Why not just quit and go back to Shanghai?” asked a netizen. On the flipside, Anna, a Singaporean in her 30s who has been working in Shanghai for about two years, who spoke to 8days, has a different take: The expat isn’t entirely wrong, but she’s not seeing the full picture either. Anna agreed that, although Shanghai is one of China’s most expensive cities, the cost of living is still generally lower than in Singapore, and convenience is hard to beat. “Food delivery can arrive in 30 minutes or less,” she tells us.  But that convenience comes with its own price. “It can be really competitive in China. The pace of work can be more intense than in Singapore, and there’s very little work-life balance,” she added. Anna also pointed out that Singapore isn’t exactly unlivable, and it just depends on how you approach it. “You can still get affordable meals at hawker centres. And travelling to nearby countries is a plus with the strong currency,” she said. “In general, if she is not happy, then just change it,” Anna added.

told you guys to get your kids be hwaker liao, they getting despo every few day spam hwaker Eventually, a single response will suffice for any Singapore-related question, such as, where shall we eat later? Mala hotpot. Where shall we meet? Outside the mala hotpot. Where is the toilet? Beside the mala hotpot. Why do you need the toilet? Too much mala hotpot. And those are just the everyday, run-of-the-mill enquiries. Variations on the same response will soon be applicable for the nation’s existential questions. Why do you think Singapore is losing its identity? Too much mala hotpot. Why did you leave Singapore? Too much mala hotpot. Why do you keep satirising the cultural stereotype of large sums of money arriving from a certain country? Too much mala hotpot. When I first arrived in Singapore in 1996, my first meal was at the square-shaped hawker centre in the heart of what is now the Toa Payoh Hub. It was homemade ginger beef in oyster sauce with a side order of kailan. Sadly, that terrific hawker centre was demolished in the previous century. On the plus side, Toa Payoh now has several mala hotpot options. The same can also be said for Sengkang, Ang Mo Kio, Bishan, Punggol, Jurong, Woodlands and Clementi — and you get the idea. Yes, I searched all of them on Google. Yes, I really do have better things to do. Yes, my wife is already disturbed by my online search history. And yes, you can guess where I’m going with this.   From big ideas to mala hotpot According to recent reports, the Japanese restaurant chain Itacho Sushi is no longer around. Its outlets have been shuttered. Home-grown cafe chain The Providore has also called it a day, closing six outlets, and Australian tea specialist T2 Tea will exit the Singapore market. All of these closures happened in the last month. A new F&B brand in Singapore is like a Timothee Chalamet Oscar campaign. They always look pretty, spend most of the year hyping their product and still end up empty-handed. But even that analogy doesn’t work, unless the Oscar goes to Mala Hotpot (along with almost every other Oscar). The reasons for the demise of so many F&B outlets since Covid-19 have been parroted to the point of parody, making it seem like a comedy skit whenever an ambitious, courageous soul decides to bring a food concept to Singapore. Imagine the current conversation between an F&B proprietor-to-be and a potential investor: “I’m going to open my high-concept eatery in Singapore!” “The country with exorbitant rents, a manpower crunch, an eclectic, evolving mix of cultural backgrounds, nationalities, tastes and palates?” “That’s the one!” “The place where restaurants go down more often than Tottenham’s defence?” “Exactly! It’s an F&B goldmine!” “What’s your concept?” “Plan A is a western vegan pizza-bagel fusion restaurant with rainforest vibes and mini waterfalls at every table.” “I’d rather put my money on Tottenham. Maybe your concept is too niche for Singapore?” “Plan B is a mala hotpot.” “I’ll give you six restaurants.” “In Singapore?” “No, in every shopping mall.”   We only miss them when they’re gone Obviously, I’m aware of my cultural hypocrisy as I gently mock the culinary homogenisation of our shopping malls. I know there’s a McDonald’s on almost every corner, but as I’m now a tree-hugging vegetarian, I have less interest in a burger than Donald Trump has in a map of the Middle East. It’s not about a particular brand, but the consequences. The increasingly bland, utilitarian nature of our shopping and eating experiences cannot be blamed on one particular franchise — and the phenomenon isn’t unique to Singapore either — but its rapid acceleration can be attributed to a couple of uniquely Singaporean factors. First, there’s the “I Miss John Little” syndrome, which I just made up, but affects many of us. We all know the symptoms. A psychiatrist might say, “Yes, Neil, I can see the closing of John Little has affected you deeply, thanks to a close attachment to a store you haven’t visited since 1998, when you inadvertently bought a starchy white shirt that made you look like a malnourished nightclub bouncer. But you did rush to the closing-down sale before penning a heartfelt tribute on Facebook about the death of John Little.” In the psychiatrist’s waiting room, there’d be those suffering with I Miss Itacho Sushi, I Miss The Providore, I Miss Eggslut, I Miss MPH and I Miss That Magazine Stall At Holland Village. (We just didn’t miss any of them enough at the time to keep them going.)   When every mall starts looking the same And second, the myopic nature of our rising rent cycles ensures that only the most reliable of franchises are guaranteed to pay the bills, which means less room for the independent eateries and home-grown, family-run businesses that can still be found across the Causeway. But it does mean extra mala hotpots in our identikit shopping malls, which feel less Singaporean and more like the CGI backdrop of a generic sci-fi movie. At this point, it wouldn’t be particularly surprising if a member of the Fantastic Four stepped through sliding doors, handed us a bowl and asked if we wanted “extra spicy”. Still, the folks at the National Population and Talent Division should seriously analyse the franchise’s business model. If we can learn to breed like mala hotpots, we’d have babies everywhere. https://www.stomp.sg/commentaries/neil-humphreys-dont-bury-singaporean-identity-under-mala-hotpots

Eventually, a single response will suffice for any Singapore-related question, such as, where shall we eat later? Mala hotpot. Where shall we meet? Outside the mala hotpot. Where is the toilet? Beside the mala hotpot. Why do you need the toilet? Too much mala hotpot. And those are just the everyday, run-of-the-mill enquiries. Variations on the same response will soon be applicable for the nation’s existential questions. Why do you think Singapore is losing its identity? Too much mala hotpot. Why did you leave Singapore? Too much mala hotpot. Why do you keep satirising the cultural stereotype of large sums of money arriving from a certain country? Too much mala hotpot. When I first arrived in Singapore in 1996, my first meal was at the square-shaped hawker centre in the heart of what is now the Toa Payoh Hub. It was homemade ginger beef in oyster sauce with a side order of kailan. Sadly, that terrific hawker centre was demolished in the previous century. On the plus side, Toa Payoh now has several mala hotpot options. The same can also be said for Sengkang, Ang Mo Kio, Bishan, Punggol, Jurong, Woodlands and Clementi — and you get the idea. Yes, I searched all of them on Google. Yes, I really do have better things to do. Yes, my wife is already disturbed by my online search history.   And yes, you can guess where I’m going with this. From big ideas to mala hotpot According to recent reports, the Japanese restaurant chain Itacho Sushi is no longer around. Its outlets have been shuttered. Home-grown cafe chain The Providore has also called it a day, closing six outlets, and Australian tea specialist T2 Tea will exit the Singapore market. All of these closures happened in the last month. A new F&B brand in Singapore is like a Timothee Chalamet Oscar campaign. They always look pretty, spend most of the year hyping their product and still end up empty-handed. But even that analogy doesn’t work, unless the Oscar goes to Mala Hotpot (along with almost every other Oscar). The reasons for the demise of so many F&B outlets since Covid-19 have been parroted to the point of parody, making it seem like a comedy skit whenever an ambitious, courageous soul decides to bring a food concept to Singapore. Imagine the current conversation between an F&B proprietor-to-be and a potential investor: “I’m going to open my high-concept eatery in Singapore!” “The country with exorbitant rents, a manpower crunch, an eclectic, evolving mix of cultural backgrounds, nationalities, tastes and palates?” “That’s the one!” “The place where restaurants go down more often than Tottenham’s defence?” “Exactly! It’s an F&B goldmine!” “What’s your concept?” “Plan A is a western vegan pizza-bagel fusion restaurant with rainforest vibes and mini waterfalls at every table.”   “I’d rather put my money on Tottenham. Maybe your concept is too niche for Singapore?” “Plan B is a mala hotpot.” “I’ll give you six restaurants.” “In Singapore?” “No, in every shopping mall.” We only miss them when they’re gone Obviously, I’m aware of my cultural hypocrisy as I gently mock the culinary homogenisation of our shopping malls.  I know there’s a McDonald’s on almost every corner, but as I’m now a tree-hugging vegetarian, I have less interest in a burger than Donald Trump has in a map of the Middle East.  It’s not about a particular brand, but the consequences. The increasingly bland, utilitarian nature of our shopping and eating experiences cannot be blamed on one particular franchise — and the phenomenon isn’t unique to Singapore either — but its rapid acceleration can be attributed to a couple of uniquely Singaporean factors. First, there’s the “I Miss John Little” syndrome, which I just made up, but affects many of us. We all know the symptoms. A psychiatrist might say, “Yes, Neil, I can see the closing of John Little has affected you deeply, thanks to a close attachment to a store you haven’t visited since 1998, when you inadvertently bought a starchy white shirt that made you look like a malnourished nightclub bouncer. But you did rush to the closing-down sale before penning a heartfelt tribute on Facebook about the death of John Little.” In the psychiatrist’s waiting room, there’d be those suffering with I Miss Itacho Sushi, I Miss The Providore, I Miss Eggslut, I Miss MPH and I Miss That Magazine Stall At Holland Village. (We just didn’t miss any of them enough at the time to keep them going.) When every mall starts looking the same And second, the myopic nature of our rising rent cycles ensures that only the most reliable of franchises are guaranteed to pay the bills, which means less room for the independent eateries and home-grown, family-run businesses that can still be found across the Causeway. But it does mean extra mala hotpots in our identikit shopping malls, which feel less Singaporean and more like the CGI backdrop of a generic sci-fi movie.  At this point, it wouldn’t be particularly surprising if a member of the Fantastic Four stepped through sliding doors, handed us a bowl and asked if we wanted “extra spicy”. Still, the folks at the National Population and Talent Division should seriously analyse the franchise’s business model. If we can learn to breed like mala hotpots, we’d have babies everywhere.