dear singapore

While your birthday candles went out flooding the night with psychedelic peonies, chrysanthemums and willows, the nationalist in me went again into deep slumber, refusing to awaken until August rears its fervid head next year. But, as the last of sparks disappear into the darkened waters pooled in the barrage, I am kept awake by the resounding echo of armoured tanks and steel amphibians parading proud into our collective national consciousness. Our military entertains and astonishes like a conjurer in an Enid Blyton tale; meanwhile, military might on the Korean Peninsula fires artillery rounds into the sea and reignites age-old tensions. The war machine charms, but also provokes.

As the recent spate of flash flooding subsides, and we all heave a collective sigh of relief while hanging up our damp laundry, floodwaters continue rising in Pakistan, affecting the health, sanitation and housing of more than 15 million people and positioning it as the worst disaster to hit Asia, eclipsing the 2004 tsunami and 2005 Pakistani earthquake. With massive amounts of aid needed for recovery alone, it'll be nice to share some birthday money with those who need it the most. It's not throwing a wet blanket on national day — it's reminding yourself that you share this day with the rest of the world too. August 9 belongs as much to the kid who lost his sister in the mudslides, or the teacher who watched his school disappear while the currents caved its walls in. (I also made them up, but you can't rule out personal tragedies so quickly.)

Dear Singapore, happy 45th and I hope you loved the party. I'm sad I missed most of it, but Jimmy Corrigan The Smartest Kid On Earth was completely unputdownable. It's nice to sing and be "thankful for my Singapore," but is that all we can really do? My thoughts are still fuzzy.