Felix CHEONG

You were born in the year Singapore became independent. In fact, just three days before Aug 9. Do you attach any significance to that?

Not so much significance. Salman Rushdie has written about how people who were born in the same year as their country often carry the weight or burden of the country, as though the sins of the country are buried within them.

But I don’t buy that. I feel that it is just a myth, although I always feel sayang (it’s a pity) that I miss the public holiday by three days.

Would it have meant more if your birthday is on Aug 9? How old were you when you realised that 1965 is the year Singapore was founded and also the year you were born?

Probably in primary school. It dawned on me that I missed the mark by a few days. I could have been born on the same day Lee Kuan Yew cried and Singapore became independent.

I am guessing you are somewhat patriotic but confused. What kind of Singaporean are you?

I am patriotic. After all, I did serve my national service. I returned to Singapore in 2002 after my master’s degree in Australia. I could have stayed there to continue studying but I didn’t. I came home.

What was the draw?

Well, partly it was about being a big fish in a small pond. Because over there, I was nobody. I was just a small fish in a very big pond. The market abroad is so much bigger and the pool of talent is so much deeper. Whereas here, in Singapore, I can make a difference. I feel that coming back here is a way of making my mark on the scene.

You wanted to make a difference?

I wanted to make a difference as a writer. And also because my roots are here. My parents were still living here. And also I had a condo in Singapore at that point in time.

So the typical Singapore Dream?

Ya, back then in the 90s, but not anymore. The Singapore Dream has changed so many times over the past 25 years.

How has the Singapore Dream changed for you?

Now that we are of a certain vintage, I am taking it easier. There is no need to chiong (rush) and fight for everything.

I am a little bit laid back although in terms of my writing, I am still going full steam ahead.

Ya, how does one write 30 books?

Ya, in fact in the past four to five years I must have written 12 to 13 books.

I think it is a way of telling people I still matter.

I have been denied so many grants. 

I have received so many rejections from NAC (National Arts Council), NHB (National Heritage Board), NLB (National Library Board); and from publishers, that I decided that rejections actually fuel my soul.

Why do you think you were rejected by these organisations?

I think most of them are thinking, at least from my point of view, that “We have given you enough grants. We have nurtured you from the start. Now it is time we put aside money for younger talents. You’ve had your time. Make peace with that.”

But I am not making peace with that.

I am trying to challenge them by saying, “Don’t reject me. Don’t turn me down. I still matter.”

So I’m writing with a vengeance.

Funny that you used the word ‘market’ earlier. Not many people think of poets and writers as professionals.

I knew I wanted to be a writer when I was 12 or 13.

At that point in time, I had quite a number of short stories that were published in student magazines. 

That gave me motivation to continue writing and to get published.

The publication of my stories also made my mom very proud.

And one reason I wanted to keep writing was to make my parents proud.

What did they do for a living?

My dad was a printing apprentice who became a printer, and later a foreman. He was a printer for SPH (Singapore Press Holdings).

And your mom?

My mom was a housewife who went on to do odd jobs in factories.

Isn’t that a bit unusual, that they were not worried that you weren’t going to be an engineer or a doctor?

My parents never forced me, or any of my brothers to become anything. They said I could do whatever I was passionate about, and it was okay with them.

That is quite rare for your parents, their generation, to think that way. My parents were the same. We were lucky.

Ya, that sense of freedom, letting us find our own path, kind of made me realise what I wanted to be early in my life.

Neither of my folks was very creative, which was strange, that they would eventually produce a son who is a writer.

In fact, nobody on either side of my family was ever a writer. I am the first and only.

What did you study in university?

I did literature at NUS (National University of Singapore).

So the ‘correct’ or expected path for you would have been to become a teacher?

Let me backtrack a bit.

In my JC (junior college) days, I wanted to become a doctor. So I was in the pure sciences class in CJC (Catholic Junior College). But my results were not good enough.

When I applied to NUS, I got a place in pharmacy.

But during my NS days, I decided this was not what I wanted to do.

I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life telling patients: “Here is your medicine, take three times a day. When you finish, come back and see the doctor, OK?”.

My interest at that time was really leaning towards the arts, literature.

Can’t help wondering if you would have given up medical school if you had gotten in.

Thank goodness I was rejected by medical school! They say life throws you curve balls but in this case, it was a straight ball that hit me right in the head and woke me up, that I wasn’t meant to be a doctor. I was meant to be a writer. Every choice I have made since then has led me to where I am today.

I know someone who dropped out of medical school in his final year and went to film school.

Yes, I think your instincts will guide you — provided you have the guts to follow it.

You were in the school band in SJI (t. Joseph’s Institution). Why not LDDS?

I was in the LDDS (Literary, Drama and Debate Society) too — I represented my class in the inter-class debate in Secondary 2. In my second year in NUS I was the Vice-President of the Literary Society. In my first year, I was the President of the Philosophy Society.

I might as well tell you about the Beatles, who are the biggest influence on my writing. In Secondary 1 and 2, I was fanatical about their music, and spent hours listening to their songs and transcribing the lyrics. I bought $2 pirated cassettes at Bugis Street before I could save up enough money to buy my first vinyl record. Something about the words, the images and the musicality of their lines, must have filtered into me.

What were you reading at that age?

I started off by reading poetry.

In the mid-80s, I remember attending an NUS extramural class in poetry appreciation conducted by Max Le Blond, the academic and pioneering theatre director. 

He was the one who introduced me to people like Sylvia Plath, whose “Daddy” poem still resonates with me.

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe

Very dark.

Ya very dark.

He also introduced me to T.S. Elliott.

So that got me interested in poetry.

I developed that interest in NUS and started writing my own poems, and hanging out with people like Kelvin Tan, Boey Kim Cheng.

And I won a few competitions–consolation prizes–but that gave me the incentive to carry on.

I guess you breezed through university since you were studying something you like. Then after that?

After that I was bonded to SBC (Singapore Broadcasting Corporation). I was their scholar. In my final year at NUS, my honours year, I applied for their scholarship. For a one-year scholarship, I was bonded for two years and I had to sign a three-year contract.

And what did you do at SBC?

I started as a research writer and became a producer later. First it was with Sunday Morning Singapore, which you might remember.

And after completing the bond?

I stayed in SBC for three years and then left to join CNBC as a studio director. I was there for 7½ years.

I was also writing poetry on and off.

In 1997, I managed to finish my second manuscript.

My first manuscript was rejected by Landmark Books, and I destroyed the bloody manuscript. Threw it away.

What was your first manuscript about?

It was a poem about this and that. I can’t remember.

So you destroyed the whole thing and wrote the second one. Wow.

Ya. And that was eventually accepted by Landmark Books and it was published in 1998, together with the first collections by Gwee Li Sui and Alfian Sa’at.

And now three of you are all titans in the local scene.

It has taken us 25 years to become stalwarts of the scene.

How would you describe that journey, now that you are near middle age?

There have been a lot of ups and downs.

Ups in terms of winning the Young Artist Award in Literature in the year 2000.

Do you remember who nominated you?

My editor at that time, Winnie Wong, from Ethos Books. She had nominated me.

I got the award and at the same time, I was also a recipient of an NAC bursary to do my masters in creative writing at the University of Queensland.

Were you bonded for that?

The only bond was that I had to come back and work in Singapore, which I did.

Twenty-five books later, have you run out of ideas?

Thirty books actually.

Are you one of those who is a keen observer of life? What do you write about?

All kinds of topics and whatever fascinates me. For example, I am currently writing a graphic novel.

Is that a childhood thing? Are you going back to what you missed in childhood?

No.

Because it is a medium that so-called serious writers haven’t gotten into, I feel that it is an area where I can make my mark.

In novel writing for instance, there are already so many pretty young things out there already.

I want you to educate us. What is a young adult novel?

A young adult novel is one that is pitched at young people between the age of 13 and 18.

And what are the topics that concern young adults? Falling in love?

Falling in love, dealing with mental health, sexuality, the process of adulting and so on.

Problems with their parents?

Yes, problems with their parents. And problems with finding themselves.

You are not a parent yourself?

I am. I have a son who is 29.

Does he give you inspiration? Do you write about things that you talk to him about? Or things that you have observed in him?

Not really. Although I did write two teen detective novels for him and that was in 2006 and 2007.

What does he do now?

He is a corporate lawyer with Sembcorp.

Anyway, back to what I am writing now.

My current project is on koro. I don’t know if you have heard of the koro epidemic. 

In 1967, there was a strange occurrence of mass hysteria in Singapore. More than 500 men claimed that their penises shrank (retracted) into their bodies.

Koro is the Malay word for the head of a turtle.

Google it. It is a very fun fact about Singapore.

I am now into exploring the fiction possibilities of quirky things that happened in Singapore. 

Your wife is also in the creative industry. Asking for trouble or a perfect partnership?

Not so much trouble as a trampoline. We bounce ideas off each other and we’re each other’s cheerleaders. She’d give me the lowdown if something doesn’t work in my stories. We challenge each other. We go to exhibitions, concerts and dance performances — they are good opportunities for date nights.

Do you also write about the more factual stuff? You are not a social commentator?

Yes I am in a way. I did publish a graphic novel about Dr Goh Keng Swee which was released November 2023.

It was factual but there was also an element of fictionalisation.

In your book Singapore Siu Dai, you were mocking the behaviour of some Singaporeans. Is humour important to you?

Humour runs through a lot of my writing. There is always some kind of dark humour or light humour, whether it is in a situation a character finds himself in or the language he uses.

What does your son think of you as a writer?

He does read some of my works.

Is he proud of you? Does he go around telling people ‘my dad is a famous writer’?

No. That’s not his nature. He does give me feedback on whether the work works for him or not. He tells me if it doesn’t work.

Do you get into arguments with him?

No. I don’t. He is a lawyer, for God’s sake.

What’s one thing you like about Singapore?

Everything works here. Phones, buses, trains. Turn on the tap and there is clean water. It is efficient, it is effective.

But is it also boring?

As you age, boring is good. Too much excitement is not good for the heart.

What’s one thing that you don’t like?

You know this sounds exactly like the scholarship interview I had with SBC?

In the panel of assessors was a person I found out later to be George Yeo, the former minister. I didn’t realise at that time that it was him. He was a board member of SBC.

But after I read his book, Musings, in which he said that he was on the board of SBC, and that he used to sit in on scholarship interviews, I realised that he must have interviewed me for the scholarship.

So he asked the same question — ‘what’s that one thing you don’t like?’?

He asked me to name three things that work in Singapore. He also said, “Name me three things you don’t like about Singapore”.

He has his agenda. I don’t. And I just need one.(laugh)

I suppose we can relax a lot more. Especially with our political system. It is such a small country, so obviously it is easy to hold everything together, and tightly. But at the same time, that takes away some of the, hmm, liberty, the excitement.

But you just said that boredom can be good.

Boredom can be good. Obviously you don’t want protests at every street corner.

So when Singapore turns 100, you won’t be around. Predictions? What will it be like, especially in the field you are most interested in? What do you think writers in Singapore will be writing about?

(laugh) That’s for the writers of the future to say. Not for me to say. I don’t think I have a crystal ball that can see the future.

More freedom? Less freedom?

I don’t want to comment on that.

How would you like to be remembered?

I suppose as someone who has done his part for his country and for the literary scene. Someone with gentle humour, who has a way with words, with language.