From a fishing village to a global powerhouse in under half a century, Singapore’s meteoric rise is certainly one for the books. Multiracial, multiethnic and multicultural, the demographic make-up of this little red dot is about as diverse as it gets. So, when it came to deciding not only how the nation would communicate with the rest of the world, but also how to facilitate communication within the country, there wasn’t a clear-cut solution.
English, Mandarin, Malay and Tamil—four official languages course through the nation of Singapore. But among the four, there is a clear hierarchy. “To move things forward after independence, we needed a language that would connect with the rest of the world. Hence, English was chosen,” says Tan Ying Ying, associate professor of linguistics and multilingual studies at Nanyang Technological University.
Simply put, English was the language that provided the most linguistic capital. It allowed us to be a competitive force on the global stage. As a nation built on the pursuit of efficiency and progress, we embraced it with open arms. But what was the cost of doing this?
While English took on the role of the nation’s lingua franca, to anchor ourselves in Asian values and retain a connection to our heritage, the bilingual policy was introduced. All students had to learn another language—be it Mandarin, Malay or Tamil—also known as their ‘mother tongue’. But the assignment of one’s mother tongue proved more arbitrary than expected.
In Singapore, instead of learning your actual mother’s tongue, you are told what your mother tongue is
In Singapore, students are assigned their mother tongues based on ethnicity, which often does not reflect the language they had been speaking from early childhood. “It’s a strange label to be using because it defies the linguistic definition of what a mother tongue implicates,” Tan points out. “In Singapore, instead of learning your actual mother’s tongue, you are told what your mother tongue is.”
Inadvertently, a paradox was born. While Mandarin was chosen to represent the Chinese population, a large majority of the community did not speak it at the time. Instead, Hokkien, Teochew and Cantonese dominated households.
Similarly, for the Indian population, while more than 50 percent spoke the Tamil, there were others who communicated in other languages, such as Malayalam, Punjabi or Hindi. The election of representative languages stemmed from a place of pragmatism instead of a natural evolution. And as Tan aptly remarks: “When it comes to social engineering, any kind of controlled planning tends to have strange outcomes.”
Being the primary instructional medium in schools and in the workplace, English has become the language most Singaporeans feel comfortable conversing in. “Are we still multilingual? Yes. Are we functionally multilingual? Maybe not quite so,” Tan puts succinctly. We may sprinkle a few foreign words when ordering food or brandish our Singlish proudly in conversation, but to be functionally multilingual is a whole other playing field.
Are we still multilingual? Yes. Are we functionally multilingual? Maybe not quite so
Languages shape the way we view and interact with the world; it broadens perspectives and fosters connection. “If you learn a language just to pass exams, even if you pass them with flying colours, you still won’t be using it in your daily lives,” Tan notes. Instead of sharing an affinity for a language meant to foster connection to one’s cultural heritage, many in turn begin to resent the language as well as the culture. It’s not unlike how a humanities student may resent biology or calculus, although for the average person, knowing another language surely will come in handier than photosynthesis.
For digital creator Sharlyn Seet, speaking Chinese poorly was the norm growing up. “Back in school, I remember being proud to be what we call ‘bananas’—yellow on the outside, white on the inside. For some reason, it was seen as cool not to speak Chinese properly,” she reflects. Similar to many of her peers, Seet didn’t grow up speaking Mandarin at home. “Mandarin felt like just another subject to pass. It didn’t feel like something useful or relevant, and most of us treated it like a hurdle,” the 23-year-old adds.
As she found herself traversing the world for business and leisure in recent years, she quickly realised how the Chinese language, which she once deemed boring, was not only an asset, but one containing a million folds of culture and history. When Seet first visited Shanghai in 2024, she felt a growing frustration due to her handicap with the language. “I could understand what the locals were saying, but I couldn’t express myself back. It felt stifling,” she recalls. “As someone who’s ethnically Chinese, I started to feel a quiet shame.” Instead of retreating further, she took it upon herself to change what she had once accepted as the status quo.
The second time around, Seet discovered that learning the language did not have to be as gruelling as she once thought. “In school, learning Chinese was results-based. Everything revolved around tests, memorising model essays and regurgitating phrases. It wasn’t about developing a relationship with the language,” she explains. “Relearning Chinese, I felt like I was reclaiming something that I had unknowingly dismissed for years. I started appreciating not just the people but the traditions, stories and values that shape our community.”
Language acts as a window; it allows you to better connect with the people and its culture, modern or historic. “Right now, we observe people picking up Korean simply because of K-pop’s influence,” Tan observes.
Often, the sole driving force behind learning languages is personal interest and motivation. There’s no denying the boom of Korean and Japanese in the younger generation, largely due to the rising popularity of their respective cultures. And there’s no doubt this includes those who may have shuddered at the thought of a language exam when they were in school.
As I relearnt Chinese, I started appreciating not just the people but the traditions, stories and values that shape our community
Beyond an increased appreciation for her culture and heritage, Seet recognises the pragmatic value in having another language at her disposal. “I see a clear return on investment, both in business and in everyday life.” If cultural capital is the end goal, having more is always better than having less, is it not?
But as a working adult, Seet recognises the difficulties in carving out the time to sustain a consistent learning journey. “As an adult, it really is about how much time you’re willing to invest. Watch Chinese dramas, listen to music, travel or just try reading signs on the MRT,” she suggests. “Small everyday moments can spark curiosity and build confidence over time.”
Seet acknowledges the irony of her situation. “My mother often pokes fun at me for paying money to relearn something I could’ve acquired growing up,” she shares. However, Seet knows that it was a journey she had to embark on to reach where she is now. “She’s not wrong, but I’m finally doing it on my own terms,” she proclaims contently.
Besides being able to converse fluently without trepidation, Seet also cites the less conspicuous benefits she has come to reap. Understanding Chinese memes, unlocking a new arena of inside jokes, and catching subtle meanings in song lyrics—she has only just begun to tap into the wealth of riches that lies beneath the surface.
Order your copy of the July/August ‘Home’ issue of Vogue Singapore online or pick it up on newsstands now.
