Even today, Mdm Zuraidah can retrace the path to her old home by counting the miles backwards.

"I stayed at the eight and three-quarter mile mark, counted from the former General Post Office at Fullerton Building (the zero-mile mark). If you travel along Clementi West Street, you'd arrive at a private residence, Jalan Mas Kuning. Back then, I used to live in the kampong just opposite, located at Lapan Tiga Suku (eight and three-quarter mile mark)."

A short distance down her kampong was a kelong (offshore wooden platform), a signifier that the open seas were just nearby.

Not many of us can boast of a childhood where one can simply walk into the open seas, but that was the case for Mdm Zuraidah, who grew up in the unstructured, unpolished ambience of Sixties Singapore.

Some of her fondest childhood memories are from the December school holidays, when tides ran high. She and her siblings would jump off a bridge straight into the big river leading to the open sea, shrieking in delight.

School holidays weren't for enrichment classes. They were for climbing up mangrove trees, collecting rubber bands to create makeshift slings, catching spiders to make them compete with one another, collecting eels and grasshoppers to sell for profit, making makeshift lanterns out of cans of condensed milk, and carving out rifles from wood, with cherries serving as "bullets".

"In those days, there were no phones, and no distractions. The children were free to do what we liked," she reminisces. "Our parents never told us that we were too young to be playing a certain way."

Of course, not all was fun and games. Mdm Zuraidah's granduncle was the kampong penghulu (community leader), and the thought of him learning about the children's shenanigans struck fear into their hearts.

"If we were climbing trees and we heard the sound of his scooter, we would scramble down," she laughs. "If the neighbours would see us behave mischievously, they'd keep us in line by threatening to report our behaviour to my granduncle."

While Mdm Zuraidah's parents gave her free rein to do as she pleased, their only condition was that she conducted herself in a way that did not embarrass or disgrace the family in any way.

"My childhood taught me that you can have fun, but you must also be disciplined," she shares. That balance between fun and responsibility would become her guiding principle all her life.

With a childhood spent largely outdoors, Mdm Zuraidah was naturally drawn to all the co-curricular activities (CCAs) that took her out of the house – especially track and field and National Cadet Corps (NCC). Besides these, she was also involved in Photography, Mathematics, and Malay Language clubs.

While at NCC, she was chosen for the Cadet Lieutenant Course conducted by the Singapore Armed Forces in 1978, where she got to participate in a myriad of outdoor activities - camping, shooting, and abseiling - and was awarded the Sword of Honour by the then-Chairman of the NCC for being the best female cadet.

She was then selected to attend India's Republic Day Celebration in New Delhi in January 1980 together with three fellow cadets from Singapore's NCC and the National Police Cadet Corps (NPCC).

In attendance were NCC delegates from all around the world including Singapore, Maldives, Sri Lanka, Libya. "My parents were very proud," she beams. She even had the chance to meet the former Prime Minister of India, Mrs Indira Gandhi.

But she had the most fun commanding people. "During the Cadet Lieutenant Course passing out parade, I led the women's marching contingent," she recalls. "This means I was the one giving out the commands!"

This affinity for leadership, and for holding a uniformed position would serve as the crux of Mdm Zuraidah's 34-year career with the Singapore Police Force.

After her 'A' Levels, Mdm Zuraidah started considering her options for university. Since she excelled in Mathematics, she ended up in the Engineering Faculty at the National University of Singapore (NUS).

"During my first year in NUS, I was told that I had the option to choose between doing research, and participating in hands-on work," she recalls. "I didn't want to be stuck indoors, I wanted to go out." So, she chose the latter at the Nanyang Technological Institute (NTI) (now known as Nanyang Technological University), where she studied Civil Engineering.

By the third year of her course, she started to experience a strange sense of inertia. "I just couldn't see myself doing the same thing for the rest of my life," she says.

She considered dropping out, but a friend deterred her. So, she carried on with her studies and graduated as scheduled, but into an economic downturn. She took up a teaching stint at the Ministry of Education (MOE), teaching Science and English to Express stream students. Yet this too, she began to tire of.

One day, she happened to chance upon a recruitment notice. The Singapore Police Force was hiring. "I knew what joining the Force would mean. I had seen what my granduncle experienced, and the adjustments my grandaunt had to make to accommodate his work schedule," she reflects.

At first, her family was apprehensive about her decision. But her mother encouraged her to stand tall. The rest is history.

On the first day of training, an instructor told her that she'd effectively be spending the next couple of decades of her life in the Singapore Police Force. If she couldn't stomach this, she was welcome to leave.

"I couldn't fathom being at the same place for such a long time," she mentions.

Mdm Zuraidah would spend 34 years in the Singapore Police Force. Throughout her time there, she would be rotated around more than fourteen units, in rapid succession. She has spent time at the Traffic Police, Training Command, Airport Police Division, Immigration and Checkpoints Authority (ICA) and headed the Jurong Police Division.

After graduating from the Academy, her first stint was as an Investigating Officer. She was posted to the former Queenstown Police Station, which later became the Clementi Police Division, also known as "D" Division.

To describe the scope of her work as an Investigating Officer as challenging is an understatement. For decades, she had a front row seat to the worst transgressions on display.

Her next stint would be in a unit with fewer tragedies to investigate, but, offered her an intellectual outlet. The Traffic Police was one of the units where she would get to put her engineering skills to the test.

She would study road traffic practices in other countries to see what could be applied locally, and ended up engineering several amendments to Singapore's Road Traffic Act, which pedestrians and drivers may find familiar.

These included an increase in demerit points for speeding, installation of speed cameras, incorporation of child safety seats, and mandatory wearing of seat belts for rear seat passengers. Besides the public, her contributions were noticed by some of Singapore's highest-ranked officials.

"I remember a time when I was conferred the Nanyang Distinguished Alumni Award by NTU in 2014. Then Deputy Prime Minister, Mr Heng Swee Kiat, in his speech as the Guest-of-Honour, jokingly told the audience that if they needed someone to blame for the speed cameras, they should look for me," she chuckles.

Five years later, she was transferred to one of the nation's busiest divisions, Central Police Division. Her area of operation included Boat Quay, where she was responsible for the issuance of entertainment licenses for more than 400 entertainment outlets, and working odd hours that would start at 10pm and conclude at 4am to inspect these outlets to check if their operations were in compliance with the licensing conditions and existing laws. She was "on the ground" to observe activities, identify patterns, and work closely with her investigation teams before pursuing any course of action.

"Once, we were at this bar where no alcohol was being served, but water cost as much as a beer, and people were moving around rather strangely," she recalls. "So, when there were signs that drug had been consumed, we took them all into custody." Lab tests revealed that the party goers had consumed ecstasy, a Class A controlled drug in Singapore.

Work like this holds its officers to a certain level of confidentiality.

"Our spouses have to trust us. We cannot tell them where we are going, or what time we'll be back, because our work is uncertain," she shares. Luckily for her, her husband, who had retired from the Singapore Police Force, was on the same page about her unpredictable schedule.

"He knows not to call me, and to not expect any calls from me either," she laughs. "But if he does hear from me or my colleague, it's not because we have good news."

One of Mdm Zuraidah's final assignments was at Changi Airport, as the Domain Commander (Air), Integrated Checkpoints Command. "Whenever people praise our airport, I feel a sense of pride," she shares. "I take pride in saying that I am involved in securing one of the best airports in the world."

A job like this comes with great responsibility. "When things operate as usual, it's great. But when things go wrong, it can be quite disastrous," she mentions. She recalls two acts of terrorism taking place overseas – a series of deadly airport bombings in Brussels and Turkey in 2016.

"Prior to these incidents, I insisted we carry out frequent exercises so we know how to respond should something like this unfold on our own soil," she shares. "Tragedies like this remind us that while the airport is a wonderful place, it remains susceptible to the actions of bad actors."

With this mentality in mind, Mdm Zuraidah was on the ground daily, often at odd hours, to ensure that the staff were alert. Her sense of vigilance remained intact even when she travelled overseas.

"It's an occupational hazard. When I travel overseas with my friends, I tell them to remain cautious. I tell them not to take out their phones or pictures of themselves in the immigration area," she continues.

Mdm Zuraidah's line of work has also made her proficient in crisis negotiations. She recalls an incident where a construction worker had barricaded himself at the top of a platform about ten-storeys high, threatening to take his own life. "The incident was reported to us at about 4AM. We talked to him until about midnight the next day," she mentions.

"We were beyond exhausted after spending hours reasoning with him under the hot sun, and then had to accompany him to the hospital because he was dehydrated. But this was a matter of life and death, and I'm glad we saved him."

Her team received the Commissioner of Police's Team Commendation Award for their work on this case.

Mdm Zuraidah retired from the Singapore Police Force in 2017 at 55. "Once you turn 55, you cannot chase after criminals," she jokes.

Mr Masagos Zulkifli Masagos Mohamad, Minister for Social and Family Development, asked if she would like to return to Yayasan MENDAKI as its Chief Executive Officer (CEO).

Mdm Zuraidah was not unfamiliar with MENDAKI, as she had first taken over its CEO position between 2007 and 2009. This time, she would be assuming the role under slightly different circumstances.

"I took over in April 2020, right as COVID struck Singapore," she mentions. For the next year and a half, she worked virtually, meeting her staff in-person for the first time much later. "People often ask me, what the difference is, between working in the Force and at MENDAKI. I tell them that at MENDAKI, I cannot charge them for disobedience of an order," she jokes.

Mdm Zuraidah was also the first woman to serve as a Council member of the Islamic Religious Council of Singapore, at the behest of the then Minister-in-charge of Muslim Affairs of Singapore, Dr Yaacob Ibrahim.

"I'm glad the Council was ready to hear a woman's voice. To me, it signals that we are equally important," she shares. Currently, there are six women serving on the Council, all hailing from diverse backgrounds – doctors, lawyers and asatizah (Islamic religious teachers).

"It's important for us to demonstrate that we are equally capable," she mentions. "And to create favourable circumstances for even more women to be empowered."

Daisy's first impression of Singapore was that it was "shiny, orderly, and terrifying."

"There are real rules here, which if broken carry harsh consequences. You couldn't jaywalk, or carelessly toss a plastic wrapper onto the streets, or drive when the lights weren't green, otherwise there would be huge fines to pay," she mentions.

Unlike India, where she could talk her way out of almost any situation, she found herself queuing for everything.

And while these rules ensured that life in Singapore moved smoothly like clockwork, Daisy found herself rather depressed. With no major theatre scene in the country, and the Television Corporation of Singapore insisting she sit for a written exam to secure a job as a producer, there seemed to be little in terms of job opportunities.

So, she decided to volunteer, and spend time with her kids. Getting around the country, even with two young children in tow, was smooth-sailing, so she frequently visited Singapore Zoo and Jurong Bird Park.

"I'd heard of entrance exams for medical school or university, but not to get a job at a broadcasting station," she quips. Admittedly, she was a bit thrown off, but passed with flying colours nevertheless.

But then something incredible happened. She attended an audition and was offered the role of Daisy for a local sitcom titled Under One Roof.

At first, the producers did not know what to name her character. "I thought to myself, 'Call me anything you like, but just give me the role', she chuckles. Eventually, the producers settled on her own name, Daisy.

And just like that, Daisy became Daisy Matthews, a single, twenty-something advertising professional who would lend car rides to her neighbour's children, and constantly bicker with her on-screen younger sibling, Michael.

"Suddenly, there I was, playing a character with the same name as mine, in a story that wasn't too far from my own. An immigrant, a mother, a neighbour. Loud, dramatic, and loving. Sounds familiar?" she laughs.

Acting in a show like Under One Roof was a revelation for Daisy. Besides being Singapore's first English sitcom, the show brought together Chinese, Malay, and Indian neighbours who lived in the same HDB (public housing) flat in the neighbourhood of Bishan.

"All these families were under one roof, literally and metaphorically. That, to me, is Singapore – a noisy, diverse, and loving family that argues over dinner, but always shows up when it matters," she mentions.

And it was during those years on the set of Under One Roof, that Daisy felt she was becoming truly Singaporean. "I started to understand what it meant to belong, to adapt, to contribute, and to care," she comments.

And true to her observation, the show was a game-changer not just for her, but also for Singapore. At 8pm every weeknight, the nation would tune in to watch the shenanigans of the Tan, Hassan, and Matthews families.

Under One Roof ran for seven seasons, and was immensely well-received, both critically and commercially. It picked up a slew of awards in the late Nineties and served as a spiritual blueprint for future local sitcoms.

But beyond accolades and applause, the show was the first local portrayal of Singapore's multi-racial society. And, in a manner that echoed its multicultural overtones, the show's Singaporean cast and crew took Daisy under their wing, nurturing her, and introducing her to the nation's cuisine.

For nearly a decade, Singapore saw Daisy as Daisy Matthews, as she nagged, schemed, fed, and danced her way into their hearts. But what people couldn't see offscreen, is that Singapore was irrevocably changing her, too.

"I started speaking a little Singlish (Singaporean creole), with a little Indian twang, of course," she recounts. "I stopped jaywalking (for the most part), I said my lahs (discourse particle used at the end of a sentence) and drank teh o kosong (black tea sans dairy products) from a plastic bag."

Under One Roof may have concluded in 2003, but Daisy was on a roll. She went behind the camera and turned her hand to directing and producing.

Her first stint at producing was for Under One Roof itself; following this she was the executive producer for Mediacorp Studios' English Entertainment Productions Division. Here, she created shows like Living with Lydia, Incredible Tales, Body & Soul, and Mata Mata, spanning the drama, horror, health and lifestyle, and thriller genres.

After being promoted to Vice President at Mediacorp, Daisy led the team behind the local children's television channel, Okto, and grew Vasantham (local Tamil-language free-to-air channel) into a fully-fledged, full-time channel.

Over time, her work with diverse genres and communities led her to the realisation that people were yearning for stories that looked, sounded, and shared a common cultural kinship or affinity.

"I've seen firsthand how the population is changing. There are a lot of new faces from different cultures," she comments. "But unlike a melting pot, we all have our own unique identity, and find strength and unity in our collective diversity."

At present, Daisy is involved in a Singaporean sci-fi comedy titled We Can Save the World!!!. The film recently premiered at the New York Asian Film Festival and is the only fully independent Singaporean entry in the festival's lineup of more than 100 films.

In 2010, Daisy founded HuM Theatre (hum means 'we' in Hindi) to create a space where Singapore's Indian stories could live, breathe, and occasionally break into song. The collective's first show, Ayub Khan-Din's Rafta Rafta (slowly slowly) sold out.

Commenting on the success of the show, Daisy mentions, "The show worked because it was real, not because it was in English, or relatable, or funny (even though it had all those qualities)."

She'd realised that Singaporeans had an appetite for real stories, stories that spoke to the nation's distinctive blend of cultures, languages, and identities.

As a result, the productions that followed continued this tradition of telling stories grounded in reality.

We Are Like This Only, a three-part theatre production chronicling the oft-tense relationships between the Singaporean Chinese and new Indian immigrants, tackled the prickly topics of racism and xenophobia with tact and sensitivity.

Daisy recalls how an audience member, who self-identified as a recent immigrant to Singapore, congratulated her about how apt some of the character portrayals were.

"She told me she felt embarrassed about some of the behaviours highlighted in the show, and felt she needed to do more to integrate with Singaporeans," she mentions. "And aren't realisations like this exactly what theatre is about?"

HuM Theatre's recent production of Train to Pakistan, an adaptation of Indian novelist Khushwant Singh's 1956 work of the same name, was among its most ambitious projects to date. It chronicles the tale of star-crossed lovers forced to separate because of India's partition in 1947.

"To tell a story about a traumatic, turbulent historical event was no small undertaking." she comments. "But at its root, Train to Pakistan is about a love story, and that's what stood out to us.

"Every play we stage tries to make sense of identity, community, and the madness of life. I found the most joy in telling those stories. These productions were conversations. And Singapore made its voice heard during these conversations, loud and proud."

In 2004, Daisy, along with the rest of her family, became a Singaporean citizen. But she'd felt like one long before she'd held the pink Identity Card (IC) in her hands.

"Citizenship to me isn't about paperwork. It's about picking up your child from National Service (NS) camp and crying tears of joy because he is an Officer and was handed the coveted Ceremonial sword upon his commissioning. It's about accepting an award from the Ministry of Culture, Community & Youth (MCCY) and the National Integration Council for my contributions towards integration," she contemplates.

Daisy is a firm believer in the magic of this country, not because it is perfect, but because of its constant striving towards evolving for the better. "Singapore taught me humility, and that being a part of something bigger than yourself means lifting others up – whether on stage, in society, or on MRT escalators during peak hour," she adds, with a wink.

From time to time, she thinks of what her life might have been like, had she remained in India. "Would I have become a Bollywood star, had I stayed? Or did Singapore save me from becoming another middle-aged actress complaining about Mumbai traffic? I will never know," she quips.

Daisy has witnessed Singapore through all its iterations and transformations: "Elections, building of ERP gantries, SARS, bubble tea boom," she jokes.

On a more sensitive note, she points out how Singapore has lent her stability, opportunity, safety, and dignity.

"In this little red dot, I've found more culture, colour, and compassion than I could have imagined."

And now, as Singapore celebrates 60 years of independence, Daisy finds herself reflecting not just on the nation's journey, but her personal one, and how the two are inextricably intertwined.

"I didn't just migrate or assimilate. I grew into the place. I added flavour. I found a home."

Singapore has taught Daisy a lot; that small countries can dream big, that diversity isn't a problem to solve, if anything, it's a gift to celebrate; and that food is a love language.

"Seriously, where else do people queue 40 minutes to buy carrot cake that isn't even actual cake?" she jokes.

Ahead of the nation's Sixtieth birthday, Daisy feels like she has lived three lifetimes here: first as an outsider, then a participant, and finally as someone who truly belongs.

"This country gave me roots, roles, and responsibilities," she admits. "It gave my children a safe, clean, and hopeful future. It gave me a second act in the form of a stage, and how to say "can lah" with confidence."

In return, she hopes that the laughter, reflections, and memorable punchlines she's brought to the table will suffice.

"To every young dreamer landing at Changi today, welcome. Your story is just beginning. To every Auntie who still calls me "Daisy Matthews," thank you for your love. And to Singapore, my adopted, beloved, slightly over-airconditioned home, I say this from the depths of my grateful soul: I came for family, I stayed for love. And I grew with you because you let me."

When Adrian was ten, his uncle snuck him into the cinema to view a piece of media rather inappropriate for a prepubescent: Taxi Driver. While he could not grasp the plot, he identified with the feelings right away.

"I felt a whole plethora or emotions: terror, confusion, amusement, stress, euphoria, and rage," he reflects, invariably drawn to magnetic portrayal of the disillusioned misanthrope, Travis Bickle.

He was similarly moved by The Godfather, which he describes as a "jaw dropper", the 1977 American miniseries Roots for its incisive portrayal of enslavement during the days of the American South, and action series Starsky and Hutch.

His formative experiences with theatre, on the other hand, occurred at age fifteen, when he auditioned for a role in his school's production of British period musical Oliver!. Wrestling with the tedium of being a bored teenager, he decided to sign up on a whim. "Being a shy teen, I was also excited and terrified by the prospect of meeting girls in the cast, whom we borrowed from Anglo-Chinese Junior College (ACJC)," he admits, with a chuckle.

He ended up snagging the role of Mr. Brownlow, Oliver's long-lost adoptive grandfather, a move he touts as the beginning of the end. "Discovering theatre turned my life upside down, in the best and worst ways," he admits. "My school grades took a huge tumble. My home life became chaos. I became obsessed with acting."

Shortly after graduating from Keele University in the UK with a law degree, he decided to forego the Bar and devote his time and attention to becoming an actor instead.

His parents were distraught.

"There was wailing and weeping, and a lot of 'What did I do to deserve this?' statements. Clearly, I inherited my mother's dramatic genes," he remarks.

He spent the next ten years painstakingly building up his performing credentials in film, television, and theatre. Such a career move was incredibly risky, and doubly so for Adrian, who was trying to prove himself in a place away from home, and removed from the comfort and luxuries he was accustomed to.

Compounding his struggles were the issues of assimilation and visibility for East Asians, and the fact that the industry, at the time, was reluctant to award East Asian performers any meaningful opportunities beyond the superficial.

After spending more than a decade in the UK, if there's anything about the country's prolific theatre tradition that has left a lasting impression upon Adrian, it would be the way the English celebrate their theatrical and literary heritage.

"The nuance of depth, breadth, colour, and tone contained in its texts, and its incredibly wide range of accents, are all tied up within with its lifestyle and attitude and history," he explains. "Theatre is indelibly tied in with British attitudes, lifestyles, and histories, and it is challenging to keep up with how fast the scene is evolving."

As an outsider who had grown up speaking only "Singaporean English", he felt like a tourist trying his hardest to carve out a livelihood in the British theatre scene. "Never for a moment could I pretend to be a native Brit. There was always a constant pull to return to Singapore, whether for friends, family, food, or work," he shares.

Over the course of his career in the UK, Adrian had the chance to rub shoulders with legendary acting stalwarts. "I had the privilege of working with the late, great Nigel Hawthorne on a TV series called The Fragile Heart," he recalls. "He was a brilliant actor, and a kind, lovely man."

Other actors include Brad Pitt for action thriller Spy Game, and Robert De Niro, whom he met after his run of the musical, Hair, on the West End.

Besides a formative career in film and television, the UK also introduced Adrian to Tracie, his wife of thirty years.

He sets the scene for their encounter rather cinematically. "A drunk, moody actor meets a tall, winsome stage manager after Glen Goei (Singaporean director)'s staging of Into the Woods. Their eyes meet. He's wearing leather pants in 36 degrees weather. She has Nineties hair."

A year and a half after this fateful meeting, the couple got married in London. Glen Goei was the best man.

The fateful call to return to Singapore happened while Adrian was on set with Brad Pitt.

"I was asked if I'd be interested to join this new TV station, as a full-time artist," he recalls.

At the time, he was already a father to two young boys, and the possibility of a better life, professionally and creatively, in Singapore was tempting.

After lengthy discussions with Tracie, the duo decided that the idea of raising their children in Singapore offered advantages that outweighed Adrian's artistic pursuits in the UK. They agreed to living in Singapore for a year, as an experiment.

"Three months later, we were sweating our guts off in 97% humidity," he quips.

Getting accustomed to a new way of life after having been away for a decade came with its own set of challenges. For starters, Adrian found the process of adjusting to his title as a full-time employee of a TV corporation bewildering.

"There were many moments where I asked myself, "What the hell have I done?" he says.

However, he powered through the daily discomfort for the sake of his family. Over the next few years, he performed in TV shows of all sorts: soap operas, variety shows, game shows, dramas, sitcoms, and info-tainment programmes.

Notable shows include the sitcom Ah Girl, for which Adrian bagged the Best Actor in a Comedy Series award, at the Asian Television Awards; a mini-series, Six Weeks, which he helped create and write, and info-tainment food show Yummy King, which required him to speak Mandarin.

MediaWorks would last for less than three years, before being acquired by the state-owned media agency, Mediacorp. In the wake of the chaotic takeover, Adrian was preparing to move back to the UK and start from zero.

By a stroke of luck, not only was he offered to stay on at Mediacorp, but he also signed his first major performing opportunity with Mediacorp, a 100-episode Mandarin drama titled Portrait of Home.

"Having to do Portrait of Home in Mandarin was retribution for tormenting my Mandarin language teachers all throughout primary and secondary school," he chuckles.

The opportunity to perform in Mandarin on-stage appeared many years, later, in a 2024 Canadian production of Salesman in China, Arthur Miller and Ying Ruocheng's Cold War-era collaboration on a Chinese version of Death of a Salesman.

And this time, he was more than prepared.

After a decade of being a full-time employee of two TV stations, Adrian decided it was time for a change. "I needed to reclaim some sense of autonomy as an actor," he says.

For some time, he and Tracie had been privately contemplating starting their own theatre company where they would have control over their creative voice and artistic vision.

This was in the midst of the 2008 financial crisis: the impetus to get things off the ground couldn't have been more inopportune. "Right in the middle of a global meltdown, when people were losing their jobs left, right, and centre, and long before anyone deemed it fashionable to call artists non-essential, Tracie convinced me that it was time to get started."

Adrian quit his day job and, together with Tracie, they bet their collective savings into starting a theatre company. "Fifteen years later, we now have an adolescent Pangdemonium we are rather proud of," he reflects.

For their first show, the duo wanted to kick off with something that combined entertainment with substance. They settled on The Full Monty, a musical in which a group of steelworkers decide to present a strip act at a local club after witnessing their wives' enthusiasm for a similar show.

"At its heart, The Full Monty is about family, friendship, community, never giving up, and a father going to extreme lengths for the sake of his son," Adrian explains. "There were many parallels in the story, to real-life circumstances at the time."

The Full Monty was a labour of love, with everyone chipping in to play their part: Tracie directed the show, the Pangs' sons took turns playing Adrian's on-stage son, the Pangdemonium team rallied around and supported the production both on and off stage; and Adrian gleefully relieved himself of his clothing every night.

Looking back on their inaugural show, he realises how massive a gamble staging it was, but considers it was worthwhile. In fact, Pangdemonium had planned to restage it in 2020, as a celebration of the company's 10th anniversary, but extenuating circumstances prevented him from doing so.

"A naughty little virus had other plans. And nobody wants to see a 60-year-old man naked on stage, so our strip-by date has long expired," Adrian jokes.

Besides helming groundbreaking work at Pangdemonium, Adrian has also been called upon to perform in projects with a patriotic slant.

Twice he has played the late Lee Kuan Yew in The LKY Musical, staged by theatre company Singapore Repertory Theatre. He also directed Singapore's National Day Parade in 2022, which marked the nation's return to large-scale live performances after a two-year COVID-induced hiatus.

"Singapore and I have a colourful history together. There are certain things about her I have gripes with and, conversely, there are many things about me she'd facepalm about," he quips.

"But at the end of the day, Singapore will always be home. And I wholly agree with our former Prime Minister that air conditioning was the most important invention for Singapore. Perhaps, there should have been a song about that in the LKY musical."

Incidentally, Adrian realises how in the fifteen years since starting Pangdemonium, he's seen how much progress the arts has made in Singapore. Now, he's trying to carve out spaces for fellow actors to have the voice Pangdemonium offered him.

"It's a small community; growing, but still small, and we have to look out for one another," he comments.

As far as younger artists are concerned, Adrian finds their candid approach towards conversations about mental health remarkable, having come from a generation which shied away from acknowledging the issue altogether.

"Creatives, just by nature of their choice of vocation, are particularly susceptible to mental health issues," he shares. "My own job as an actor has enabled me to slip under the skins of different humans in a way that has just made me a little more empathetic towards others."

He's been forthcoming about his own struggles with depression, which he often dubs as the "black dog". In a sobering admission, he states how the condition has been with him his entire life. "I've been facing up to the black dog. He's still here with me right now."

When Adrian contemplates the future of Singapore, he thinks of his sons, both of whom he and Tracie tried to steer towards "proper jobs", but are now carving out their own artistic paths as actors. "You can lead a horse to water, but if they still choose to be an actor rather than an accountant, there's nothing you can do about it," he remarks dryly.

On a more sobering note, he hopes that his children can inherit a more open-minded, gracious, and compassionate Singapore.

"My two boys have certainly grown up in Singapore with a deep appreciation of everything Singapore is. My hope for them is that they also get to experience the world beyond, and make their own adventures, and carve their own paths through life," he shares.

"All I'll say is that we as a people, as Singaporeans, individually and collectively, are survivors."

Growing up, Seetoh lived in a Geylang shophouse, surrounded by hawker fare. He feasted on food from street cart hawkers and whizzed around the grounds of the now-shuttered Happy World Amusement Park.

Attractions and leisure spots were sparse, but he remembers the Van Cleef Aquarium and Katong Park and attending the early iterations of the Grand Prix race.

"Everything used to be more carefree. I used to jump into little rivers to swim and fish," he reminisces, speaking of a time when forests still blanketed most of Singapore.

"Going to the public swimming pools was a family affair, and picnics with pots of curry chicken and bee hoon by Changi Beach was a joy. A meal at the Magnolia Café was a decadent affair," he recalls.

Besides special occasions, daily life in Singapore back then is vastly unrecognisable by today's standards. Paying ten cents for a bus ride in 2025 is unheard of, but was a reality for Seetoh, who still holds onto the physical tickets issued during those times with great fondness.

Even stories of cab rides from those eras sounded unreal. "The car would not move until at least five people had filled the cab, unlike today where you rely on technology to pick passenger up anywhere along the way," he explains.

Nightlife-wise, being invited to a "function" – essentially, the precursor of a discotheque, where the living room of homes would be transformed into dance halls with food galore - warranted bragging rights. "It was a privilege to be invited to one," Seetoh laughs. "How I loved to show off by saying 'I got function this week!'"

As the decades rolled on, he would be introduced to a new flavour of nightlife that took hold at Mohammad Sultan Road, where he'd travel from club to club, with cups of wine and whisky in tow. Names like Fire, Warehouse, Thumpers, and Studebakers shaped his formative party years.

His go-to food haunts included seafood at Punggol End, where he sampled, in his opinion, one of the nation's finest chilli and pepper crab, the Whitley Road Hawker Centre, Albert Centre Market & Food Centre's hawkers, delicious sarabat stalls along Waterloo Street, where Indian rojak was born.

"These are some fragments of our old lifestyles that are definitely worth preserving," he mentions wistfully.

Besides inheriting his father's culinary sensibilities, Seetoh also acquired his penchant for photography. He'd entertain himself with his father's old camera, the Spy Minolta and the Miranda SLR, pretending he was a photojournalist.

In an era where every job idealised staff with university degrees , he eschewed them to apply for an Advertising Art and Photography course at the now-defunct Baharuddin Vocational Institute.

Fast forward two decades, and Seetoh was now working as a photojournalist for The Straits Times and had a front-end seat to Singapore's ever-expanding skyline. "The tallest building I photographed was the OCBC Centre. It looked like an old Casio calculator," he says. "It took my breath away."

Besides glittering buildings, he was also assigned to cover national projects that would come to be of immense historical importance. During his coverage of the Clean River project, he chanced upon Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew taking a bumboat ride at the newly cleaned river.

"The then-chief photojournalist asked me to dive underwater and look for fish, and I gladly obliged," he laughs.

Food photography, owing to its inherently anthropological nature, spoke the most to Seetoh, who would invariably end up pursuing a prolific career related to it.

"Local food is what taught me to know who I am."

As the nation's culinary landscape underwent its inevitable transformation, Seetoh took it upon himself to be its attentive, adoring witness.

He speaks fondly of dishes cooked with firewood, which greatly lent to the richness and earthiness of the food. "Back then, many hawkers cooked over charcoal, because it was natural and sustainable," he recalls.

The fading of these cooking styles from public consciousness also means that younger generations miss out on crucial aspects of their culinary heritage.

"I remember having mud-baked chicken at a kampong eatery, which has mostly likely got sold 'en bloc' at some point. No one cooks in this style anymore because the law prevents it," he mentions.

Other simple gastronomic experiences he yearns for include the elderly hawkers peddling wares (typically bread and fried Chinese fritters) from their bicycles and makeshift food stalls. The hawkers riding from estate to estate would go around selling fresh grilled kaya toast, which Seetoh and his friends would feast on, usually with Horlicks or hot beverages steeped in condensed milk.

This rich tapestry of culinary experiences inadvertently shaped his personal and professional identity, leading him down a path of self-discovery.

Seetoh knew about the "silk road' of food in Singapore like the back of his hand. It cemented his connection to the new nation that had been coming into its own since the late Sixties.

So strongly did he resonate with Singapore's then-budding food culture, that he took it upon himself to preserve and document religiously, believing it to the last bastion of local identity and culture.

His connection to food and the culinary arts started from the comfort of his home. His father, who emigrated from Guangzhou, was immensely passionate about food, and took his young son out on culinary excursions galore. His mother, who leveraged her Cantonese heritage and stellar kitchen skills to whip up a storm of scrumptious dishes, also strongly imprinted on his culinary sensibilities.

"I'd drop everything and fly home if I knew my mother was making her classic threadfin fish head fry, complete with kicap manis (soy sauce), caramelised onions and chilli," he reminisces. "I can still prepare it today."

The first time he read a food guide – First Stops, penned by a former Straits Times colleague and food columnist Margaret Chan – provided him with much needed clarity about his own food journey.

"I came to realise that heritage food needs to be preserved and protected."

Once photography went digital, Seetoh's views on the art form changed. "I felt like this would erode the craft I had enjoyed practising, and was quite successful at," he admits. However, instead of hanging up his camera lens for good, he saw the glimmer of a new opportunity.

"I started Makansutra because I want to feed folks affordably and meaningfully," he comments. "However, ours is an especially challenging brand. We had no role models or heroes to emulate, and we'd run into a wall every time we'd think of ways to capitalise on the deliciousness of our heritage."

The newly launched Makansutra guidebook, released in 1997, did impressive numbers. "The first issue sold about 9,000 books. I couldn't help but compare it to the Hillary Clinton memoirs released around the same time, which sold a million copies," he remarks, dryly. "Later, I learned that selling 5,000 copies in Singapore, meant 'going platinum', for a local production."

Later editions of the guidebook sold 30,000 copies, until he decided to go digital a few years back. As the project started gathering considerable traction at the turn of the century, Seetoh deliberated on what the next steps should be. Ultimately, he decided that positioning Singapore's food culture and heritage as a lifestyle would be Makansutra's niche.

Over the years, the Makansutra franchise has expanded into eateries, hawker centres, television shows, food festivals, conferences, and more. Guidebooks covering neighbouring cities like Beijing, Bali, Penang, Malacca, and Jakarta have also been released.

He even served as consultant for legendary chef and documentarian, the late Anthony Bourdain. And as of 2022, Singapore's food hall concept now lives in New York in an establishment named Urban Hawker.

When Seetoh thinks of the future of Singapore's food culture, he's not just concerned about Makansutra eateries. "My advice would be to keep spinning compelling stories and narratives that compel our leaders to pay attention to this food legacy, that feeds the nation meaningfully and visibly, and belongs to the masses," he advises.

At the heart of Seetoh's work is his desire to preserve Singapore's hawker heritage.

He witnessed firsthand how the country grew at breakneck speed, and how the local populace came to love hawker food. As Singapore's hawker culture took on a distinct shape, international flavours and brands came calling.

Over time, he began to notice that rapid rates of economic development ushered in something unsavoury. "The original, traditional flavours of our forefathers have been lost in translation over the decades," he explains, disheartened by how glittery brand labels and dizzying new trends have hijacked conversations around cultural and culinary identity.

Singapore today, which openly welcomes all types of international cultures and businesses, is all about the "new", he notes, lamenting the loss of what once was. "Social media algorithms have been dictating to us what we should be, and the newer generations are the most influenced by this," he says.

He points out that while diversity is the main strength of Singapore's culinary scene, its traditional processes need intentional protection.

"Nobody blinks an eye if someone of a certain race eats the food of another race. Even our Muslim friends are now offering halal versions of Chinese and Western fare. You won't find this easily in other non-secular countries," he explains. "This tight fabric of ours, if held together, will lend us resilience during difficult times. We need to cement our local food identity in our hearts and minds before it becomes an afterthought"

Seetoh has spoken at length about issues like rising costs, unrealistic customer expectations, and manpower shortages, the latter being a major issue for emerging and heritage brands.

"It's awful to see ageing hawkers engaging in bone-breaking work: washing, prepping, cooking, cleaning, serving, and more. Government agencies have given us bigger, cleaner hawker centres, but no one is looking after the culture from behind the counter."

The sustainable continuity of Singapore's food industry is another pressing issue. "We must ensure that our food industry is sustainable and viable. If not, a new generation of hawkers will shun this space," he warns.

But beyond these considerations, Seetoh mentions that building a sense of belonging is a must, above all, especially in the face of relentless progress. "As we en-bloc away our past, we wipe out social memories and childhood affinity for our land."

"We are a unique nation – small in size, yet we punch above our weight in the world," he continues. "This makes us very vulnerable to outside influences, especially as we careen towards a more expensive future. We must actively protect and celebrate our history and heritage."

Trishaws zooming around the neighbourhood, food sellers peddling their wares with bamboo sticks, children hunched over a game of marbles, crowds gathering at Sungei Road Flea Market in search of vintage treasures.

Some of Yan's fondest memories include crowding around her neighbour's black-and-white TV to watch shows with her cousins and friends, playing under the landlady's house on stilts, and visiting the lively night market along Jalan Kayu Road in search of trinkets, toys, and delicious food.

"There was a real kampong (community) spirit. Everyone knew each other,” she reminisces. "We didn't have much, but there was a community and closeness among our families and neighbours.”

Shortly after her maternal grandmother's death, her family moved to a detached house at Jalan Kayu, its architecture a far cry from the brick and concrete homes of today. "The top half of the house was made of wood, while the bottom half was brick, complete with a zinc roof,” she explains.

In their new home, the family reared chickens, while neighbours kept pigs and ducks in the yard – yet another sight seldom seen in modern houses.

Over the years, Jalan Kayu would undergo an urban facelift that would render it unrecognisable to its bygone residents. "The neighbourhood is now filled with landed houses, gyms, and childcare centres,” she marvels.

Yet, the shophouses stubbornly persist, coming alive amidst bustling eateries. "The famous Thasevi roti prata shop, from where my father used to buy food, is still operating to this day,” she mentions.

These idyllic scenes would no longer be a staple in Yan's life either, once she moved to a HDB flat, something she considered to be a big step up. "Running water, electricity, and proper toilets – these are things we didn't take for granted back then,” she shares.

Born in 1956, shortly after the conclusion of the second World War, Yan conjures up images of a Singapore that is studied about in the pages of a history textbook.

Major shifts informed the socio-cultural and political landscape; the first being former Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew's well-televised devastation over Singapore being officially separated from Malaysia in 1965. "The image of him crying became one of the more enduring moments in our national history,” she says.

Another such moment was the introduction of National Service (compulsory military conscription) in 1967. "It was a big change for families, especially mothers who wept as they sent their sons off to serve,” she reminisces. "But it was necessary to build up Singapore's defence and independence.”

But the most monumental shifts for Singapore came in the form of technology and infrastructure. "Over the years, this country has progressed so quickly from kampongs to HDB flats, from quiet streets to a busy, modern cosmopolitan city,” Yan observes. "My children have never had to worry about electricity, clean water, sanitation, or transport.”

Naturally, technological advancements necessitate a certain pace and rhythm of life, one that she is still getting accustomed to. "Things are more competitive, more advanced and fast-paced. We must constantly adapt to new technology and ways of life,” she mentions. "But my children have had more chances and opportunities than I ever did. For that, I am glad.”

Over the decades, other transformations have caught her sharp eye: Demographics-wise, an inflow of people from other countries living and working in Singapore which, in turn, has resulted in a multi-cultural society and adventurous taste buds, a wider range of education options catering to people's strengths and preferences, and greater support for active ageing – the last being something of which Yan is an enthusiastic proponent of.

"I started modelling at 63, because it keeps me active and feeling young,” she shares. "I've had the chance to meet and learn from so many younger people, about makeup, skincare, and even how to manage my Instagram account!”

When Yan entered the workforce for the first time, technologies like shorthand and typewriting were all the rage. "I had to pick up new skills on the job, like operating a telex machine, which I'd never seen before,” she reminisces.

At her public relations job, where she started out as a secretary and worked her way up to becoming an account director, she once again was expected to grapple with the latest technology of the times: electronic mail.

"I come from the Silver generation, so these things were never part of the world growing up,” she says, with a laugh. "Keeping up has been equal parts rewarding and challenging.”

While these changes were occurring at dizzying speeds, Yan leaned on certain philosophies in which to ground herself in. "We're never too old to learn new things. It's okay to start from scratch, no matter your age.”

While Singapore was undergoing its own transformation, Yan was experiencing a reshaping of her own. The most exciting evolution in her experience came about in the form of her modelling career, which took off almost accidentally.

Her trademark silvery locks caught the attention of a boutique owner at a retail fair. The owner approached her to model her tie-dye t-shirt collection, and Yan readily agreed. The rest is history.

Since that fateful shoot, Yan has racked up an impressive resume of brands, and an even more impressive Rolodex of Singapore's most celebrated creative minds – many of whom would later help with FFC.

For a model, courting names like Harper's Bazaar, H&M, Singapore Tourism Board, Onitsuka Tiger, Tatler Singapore, and Health Promotion Board are no small feat, let alone a model of Yan's age.

Her first fashion shoot for a magazine – the Harper's Bazaar 20th anniversary shoot - marked a personal milestone moment. "I arrived at the studio not knowing what to expect, feeling a little anxious and completely out of my depth,” she admits.

However, the staff on set – makeup artist Grego and photographer Gan - helped her feel at ease.

During the shoot, Yan would be dressed in iconic luxury brands like Celine, Bottega Veneta, and Yves Saint Laurent, a feeling she describes as surreal. It also marked the first time a senior model would grace the cover of a major fashion magazine in Singapore.

"It was an incredible honour, and a moment that proved age is never a barrier to breaking new ground,” she smiles.

Another fashion publication shoot Yan recalls fondly was Tatler Singapore's Asia's Most Stylish shoot. "When the show's Fashion Director, Adriel Chiun, reached out to invite me, I thought he had contacted the wrong person,” she laughs.

"But he replied with confidence saying that he hadn't, a moment that felt both humbling and empowering.”

Yan says visibility for senior models in widely-heralded publications like Tatler Singapore, sends out a powerful message.

"Age should never be a barrier to style, confidence, or visibility,” she says. "When we dare to step forward, we show the world and ourselves that there is a lot to celebrate at every stage of life.”

As someone who has made waves in an industry that traditionally prizes youth and youthfulness above all, Yan points out how Singapore is conservative when it comes to senior models being in the spotlight.

"Every time I get to step out and be seen, it helps open doors for other senior models. My hope is that one day, a senior model from Singapore will be chosen as an international brand ambassador,” she notes.

One of the most recent and meaningful shoots remains the one with silk scarf maker Studio Qiling's Melissa Tan, a breast cancer survivor who walked the runway at Fashion For Cancer 2024.

Describing the photoshoot as 'unforgettable', Yan worked closely with some of Singapore's foremost creative sartorial heavyweights – celebrated photographer Darren Gabriel Leow, master hairstylist Leong Lim, makeup artist Cheryl Ow, and Adriel Chiun of Tatler.

Bringing all these people on board, and orchestrating an event with the scale of FFC, is no small feat. However, Yan has pulled it off repeatedly and successfully since 2023.

Shortly after returning to Singapore following the fated birthday trip to Kyoto, and with a vision in mind, she got to work. She reached out to the network she'd built up over the years – clients, makeup artists, hairstylists, stylists – many of whom she'd worked with on previous shoots.

The response was overwhelming. "What followed was a beautiful coming together of people, all volunteering their time, skills, and hearts to bring the inaugural edition of FFC to life,” she mentions.

FFC is an entirely community-run event, and is a prime example of the magic that can materialise when people come together for a purpose greater than themselves. From social media to video production, every aspect of the event is run by volunteers.

"People's passion and sincerity is what makes FFC possible,” Yan emphasises.

Exciting names in local fashion and communications, have pitched in to assist with FFC, including the likes of In Good Company, Charles and Keith, Moss and Lupine, Daniel Boey, and PR agencies Profound Concepts and APRW Marketing Agency. All came on board in quick succession, their magnanimity setting off a chain of goodness via their referrals.

The very first FFC runway show opened on August 25th, 2023, a day Yan describes as one rooted in kindness, collaboration, and belief in a good cause.

And while Yan may have plenty of external help at her disposal, her family remain indispensable when it comes to running FFC.

"My husband, Richard, manages the FFC website and also keeps track of donations, ticket sales, and expenses; my brother, David works behind the scenes to raise funds for our beneficiary,” she mentions.

Yan takes pride in her approach to selecting the people who walk the runway at Fashion For Cancer.

"Each potential model is invited to meet with us so we can share the heart behind FFC - our mission, the challenges we face, and what we hope to achieve together,” she elaborates. "It's important that both sides feel comfortable and aligned as this isn't just a fashion show – it's an emotional and empowering journey.”

The models, a diverse group of cancer survivors, come from all walks of life. Including younger survivors is important to Yan, as she wants to bring attention to the fact that cancer can affect people at any age. "Ultimately, we're looking for people who walk with pride, and embody the courage and resilience that FFC is all about.”

This year's FFC edition will have a familiar figure grace the runway – Minister of State for Culture, Community and Youth of Singapore, Baey Yam Keng. "By having Minister Baey walk the runway, and share his personal cancer experience, we hope it will inspire other men to speak up and find strength in community,” Yan explains.

Looking ahead, Yan hopes that FFC can grow into a nationwide event, on par with initiatives like Purple Parade or the President's Star Charity.

"My second goal is to build a strong, compassionate community around this cause, one where people volunteer their time, talent, and resources to stand behind survivors and patients,” she shares.

Across decades, Yan has witnessed a kaleidoscope of changes taking place – both within herself and to the country that has grown alongside her.

"I'm truly grateful that Singapore is a safe and stable place for my children and grandchildren to grow up in. We're lucky to live in a country that is well-governed, peaceful, and united, with people of all races living together in harmony,” she shares. For Singapore, her aspirations are rooted in a vision advocating for a strong, caring, and united nation. "I hope we can celebrate our diversity, and build a more compassionate society.”

Besides people, Yan's empathies extend towards the environment. "There needs to be stricter laws against animal abandonment and abuse. We need to peacefully coexist with our environment, and be more responsible towards our pets and wildlife,” she asserts.

And as far as Yan's dreams for herself are concerned, they all centre around staying physically and mentally healthy. "I want to inspire seniors to step out of their comfort zones and stay active. Our willingness to learn is what keeps us vibrant and engaged.

"Above all, I hope Singapore remains a place where everyone feels valued, safe, and proud to call home.”