The air is heavy, not just because this is Singapore and humidity is forever present. Standing fans whirr gallantly, offering fleeting relief to sweat-streaked rows of visitors as they either bow their heads in silent reflection or whisper among themselves in hushed tones. Tonight, at least, the weather must contend with a strong, pervading atmosphere of grief.
A long, white, pine box bears testament to the sadness. Surrounded on both sides by elaborate wreaths, at its foot is a small altar bearing the picture of a woman, framed by candles flickering in the languid breeze generated by the fans. It is an effervescent photograph, the lady bold with vivacity, cheeks rosy from radiated good health, mouth wide in a winning grin. A pretty woman, frozen in celluloid time.
It does not take much imagination to fully comprehend this scene. A tableaux of grief, of a life cut short, of people left behind trying to make sense of it all.
Yet the mourning location occupies but a corner of this particular HDB complex’s warren-like ground level, commonly referred to as a “void deck.” Swirling all around it as water courses about rocks in a steam, the rhythm of life unfolds: inhabitants scurry from their cars, arms laden with shopping, glancing briefly at the religious goodbye. Some passersby mouth silent prayers: others go about their business with studied indifference, perhaps quickening their pace; all may hug their children or loved ones tighter later that evening as they subconsciously acknowledge the in-your-face frailty of mortality. All are distant, yet all are touched. This is what it means to live in close quarters. This is the HDB (Housing Development Board) lifestyle.
Singapore may have long ago rid itself of its old, Malaysian-styled kampongs (or villages), only to replace them with relentlessly conformist HBD slabs encasing human hives, but the truth remains that the nation’s real soul and heart-- its true identity far away from hollow slogans and tinny manufactured themes -- beats vibrantly. The kampongs have gone vertical.
For the moment related above, at least this humble corner of the urban hive functions as a sacred space. It may not be grand, but it certainly touches the heart, and can inspire the soul. The whitewashed walls take on the qualities of an empty canvas from which the funeral attendees can draw their own mental art. Rather than focusing on a unique or distinctive architecture, like perhaps a conventional funeral parlour, the bereaved family has chosen a space that expresses normality, one that they are so familiar with, that it has blended comfortably into their lives. It is an expression of hope and faith that life will – has to, go on.
80% of Singaporeans live in high-rise buildings, colloquially known as HDB ‘flats.’ Within one collective roof, residents occupy all levels except the ground floor, commonly known as the void deck. It is an open public space, without a particular designated use; usually a stone table or two with benches.
What significance can there be in such an empty space? The very words – ‘void deck’ -- mean that there is, or should be nothing here.
While it is a truism that nature abhors a vacuum, the fact that a void deck is deprived of any specific use, it is, as we have seen previously, incorrect. On the contrary, if one were in a philosophical mood, the void should be thought of as the origination point of Everything, in much the way the Universe was non-existent before God, Creation and the Big Bang filled with wonders to satiate desires booth subtle and gross. Thus, the void deck exemplifies a place of potentiality.
Void decks in HDB blocks were first implemented in the 1970s as a spatial strategy to reconcile cosmopolitan individualism with heartland collectivity -- i.e. the need to create some sort of "gathering space" where once kampongs had town squares or assembly areas. Even though the design of HDB developments have altered considerably over the intervening years, this concept has continued to manifest itself through the retention of void decks as a fundamental design feature. The blank walls, floor and fixtures beyond the structural elements, together with the stone tables and chairs, create a pervasive openness that encourages the hosting of a multitude of differing events. Through the years, the void deck has been providing a platform for everyday activities as well as a stage for social and cultural events.
After their routine morning visits to the wet market, housewives tended to congregate around the stone tables, trading gossip or making casual remarks about favourite drama serials shown on the previous night. Students used it as a space for their homework revision. The elderly sat (and still sit) like sages, deploying chess pieces on a stone table with unspoken tension and intense concentration, executing strategies unfathomable to curious onlookers. The silence was in clear juxtaposition to the vivacious atmosphere created by children chasing each other around the void deck, using the columns as defense against their pursuers. With the onset of a sudden, pop-up thunderstorm common to such climes, incidental passersby could run in for shelter. Or it could just serve as another path that residents from neighbouring blocks wander through. There is no specific function or activity that the void deck is known for. Anyone could walk freely through these spaces without hesitation or fear.
It still is a place of ultimate equality in a society that aspires to an impossible egalitarianism.
Every human being aspires to posterity, be it grandiose like some great achievement which impacts society or as comparatively humble (but no less meaningful) as watching one's grandchildren grow up. We worry about placing our footprints on the beaches of time. Living in an HDB area takes care of that for us, though it is very likely that we do not realize it. Whether personal or collective, meaningful or insignificant, the void deck inscribes events like a diary, unconditionally documenting the vertical community's biography. Amid the recorded events, there are pages of unforgettable occasions, often relating to an individual’s or a collective's participation and experience in the sweeping, open space.
To humans, sacredness is often all too transitory -- this quality does not reside perpetually in a building. Most of the time, the void deck, like the tower blocks which soar above it, remains latent. Yet, sacredness can be induced in the void deck when the moment arises. Its monotony and lack of character disappears when it becomes the setting for special events. Transformation transpires, metamorphosing the void deck from a neutral space into a symbolic entity. Thus, it is the intense interplay and vigorous negotiation of both the architecture and event that shed light to the meaning of sacred. Synthesis of the physical object and the human subject imbues a space with meaning, hence suggesting what sacred architecture might be. It could serve the immeasurable, paying tribute to a particular dimension that encompasses dreams, memories and experience. It may be the aspiration of a young boy, who sat there during a rainstorm, his mind lulled into furtive peace by the thundering deluge, or the hope and anxieties of a newly-wed couple, or the sorrows of the family dealing with the inexorable death of a beloved kin we visited at the beginning of this piece. All three events seem arbitrary, yet all of them occur in the humble setting of this neutral world.
Being Singaporean is not measured by pride alone in the power of the state’s advanced weaponry or the vastness of its balance sheet. While crucial, overt manifestations of nationhood they are outward, conventional symbols. Rather, the answer of what it means to be Singaporean can be found in far more humble locales such as this. For all the governmental prognostications and exhortations of resilience and diversity, it already exists, and has existed, here.
Before air-conditioned shopping malls crammed full with material, ephemeral, often shallow distractions, the void deck was a favourite hangout for youths. Using slippers and shoes for goal posts, together with structural columns that act as artificial goal posts, the big empty space becomes their chosen location to display their soccer skills. Children from the estate would turn up at the void deck at the same time unanimously, forging strong camaraderie among them over time. Only a few will continue their passion and mature to be professional sportsmen, but more will cherish the time spent together with childhood friends through each day that passed which to the kids might have seemed so ordinary. The intertwining of experiences, memories and dreams crystallize every day's monotony into precious friendships and aspirations, thus making such a place special, sacred. Over the years, the faint soccer ball stains imprinted onto the columns indicate traces of human presence that express the interface between self-awareness and place. In some ways, they are the contemporary equivalents of chalk drawings on a cave etched many millennia ago.
For the Malay community, their wedding ceremonies are often held at the void deck. Malay weddings involve the entire family, distant relatives and neighbours for the ceremony’s preparations in the spirit of community that could be traced back to their village tradition. A few hours’ work is sufficient to transform the usual empty space into an exquisitely decorated area, with the cement floors carpeted and the walls draped with long cloth and colourful flowers. Rows of tables fill the void, awaiting guests to witness the sacred event. Served and servant spaces coexist, with the cooking and dish-washing facilities lined at the periphery of the void deck.
Since kampong days, the Malays have been known for their warm spirit of helping one another. The void deck undergoes a fleeting transformation, allowing them to indulge in such hospitality, bringing back the identity of a community that once thrived in small communal clusters long before the age of concrete, glass and steel. Relatives and friends gather in the void deck, showering their blessings onto the groom and bride. Everyone arrives colourfully dressed with smiles on their faces. The void deck, once so unassuming, takes on great exuberance, accompanied by the traditional Malay drums, with a distinctive rhythm that could be heard several blocks away, as if welcoming the neighbourhood to witness this joyous event.
When our loved ones depart, we wish they could transit smoothly to the other realm. Within the Chinese Buddhist and Taoist community, they believe that the spirit of the deceased could linger around the family before their departure into the transcendent reality. It is for this reason that the rituals of Chinese funerals are conducted downstairs, a space that is near to home, familiar to the deceased, and it spans over three to five days. That even some Christian funerals incorporate this belief structure is a reflection of Chinese culture’s essentially pragmatic nature. Again, the temporal setting of the funeral wake in the void deck creates levels of rupture in the mundane world.
As in the example which opened this blog post, whenever a void deck is surrounded by canvas, one is informed that someone living in the block has passed away. A tented enclosure set up hides the coffin from view. Throughout the next few days, family members partake themselves of the different rituals, as a form of reverence to their beloved departed.
Regardless of religion, during the wake in the void deck, family members perform specific rituals, in bid to express their filial piety and pay tribute to the deceased. Participation in these rituals establishes a connection that mediates between the mortal and divine world, bridging what seemed to be too big a gap. These traditions and beliefs might seem superstitious and meaningless, yet in such moments of immense grief, the proximity of the void deck provides the setting for a period of transition. It allows one to transcend from an actual physical space into the intangible realm of the soul and mind.
For HDB residents the events that are played out coincide with significant episodes of a person’s life, focusing on the relationship between human life and architecture in which it is housed, involving the use of the void deck as the communal stage. This explains why participants get a mix of personal and collective experience when they reflect upon their enactment in the ritualistic events that occur there. As discussed, the ubiquitous permissiveness of the void deck allowed us to reach into our personal realms of consciousness.
However, in today’s evolving urban context, much like the changes evinced in the Bukit Brown cemetery, the special quality and functions inherent in the usage of void decks is being compromised. In order to overcome the challenge of land scarcity, and still fulfil the policy of public housing for its ever-increasing population, Singapore's authorities have opted to build smaller HDB units, which results in the latest configurations of flats standing on reduced plots of land. Subsequently, it suggests hints of much more physically constrained void decks, as they must follow the dimensions of the allocated HDB plot. In addition, other uses such as car parks are infringing closer onto the periphery of the traditional void deck space compared to older estates. Such developmental trends suggest that, in the not-so-distant future, void decks will be reduced to becoming purely transitional spaces, without the malleable scope they currently fulfil.
This would be a great loss.
Safe and cost-effective public housing may be the priority then in land-scarce Singapore, but we have progressed and matured as a culture. Local governments should do more than simply ensuring affordability (though that is important) -- it should also be a matter of quality of life and preservation of living culture. Both the quantity and the quality of new living spaces should be considered in a balanced manner. Rather than employ past precedent and adopt a familiar, top-down approach, a bottom-up strategy can also be integrated. Feedback from end users are equally as important as to how the space is perceived initially by architects, bureaucrats and other theorists who may not actually have to live in such developments. Perhaps public housing can be designed in a way that it is not only well-crafted in the physical living space, but also speaks of sensitivity and sensibility towards the sacredness.
Can there be another way of creating public space inside the void deck? Perhaps different configurations can be explored, resulting in entirely unexpected yet welcome outcomes. Maybe the columns could be lined around the periphery of the housing block, thus creating an uninterrupted void at the core of the void deck, which will then increase its options in terms of its transformation. We do realize that these proposed ideas would be extremely costly and time consuming. However, it is important to remember that a large percentage of the population lives in this environment, and that it is only right that a fair amount of rigor and attention has been assigned to it. After all, building housing may be quite an expensive investment, but to lose an integral element of cultural identity (and hence, national cohesiveness) could be priceless.
In the constructed jungle that has covered much of Singapore, under massive trees of concrete, glass and steel, different racial communities, each with a diverse set of beliefs and culture, strive to live harmoniously in a collective space, forming a microcosm of society. Like the spaces beneath huge, overhanging branches, void decks stand testimony to the graciousness exhibited by the nation's citizens, preserving its unique identity in a shifting world. Void decks qualify as a sacred space, and remains genuine to the fundamentals of the best intents of social architecture.
Moreover, they represent the very soul of representative egalitarianism in modern Singapore. The memories of this type of living resonate in the winding corridors of one's mind. For many of us, it is these that have crossed time and space to bring us back from other countries.
Singapore lives within these enclosures. Those in power seeking to create a definable national identity must think carefully about how to preserve their uniqueness. Not everything is about watchwords like 'disruption' , 'growth', glitter and glitz. A country can be great by the power of its soul and the depth of its heart.
As Singapore rightly celebrates 52 years of incredible advancement and progress, let it also reflect on preserving the unique pass to build for the future.