The Beginning

I grew up in a 'kampong,' or village, in Singapore, everyone in the neighbourhood seemed to know each other. The kampong was more than just a place; it was an extended family.

Life moved at a pace dictated by the sun and the seasons, a stark contrast to the city's eventual hustle. The landscape was a tapestry of wooden huts with zinc roofs, often surrounded by lush greenery and small vegetable patches. Daily life was deeply connected to nature, with residents waking early to tend to their chickens or a small garden. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke, and the sounds of children playing games on the dirt paths were common. It was a life of quiet self-reliance, where families worked together to manage their surroundings.

The heart of kampong life was its powerful sense of community, a social fabric woven from informal bonds and a profound trust in one another. There were few fences or formal boundaries; neighbors treated each other as extended family. It was common for residents to share not just meals, but also the labour of daily life, from fetching water to helping build or repair a home. Major events like weddings, births, or festive occasions were community-wide affairs, with everyone contributing food, resources, and emotional support. This "kampong spirit" was a culture of mutual support that transcended race or religion, where everyone looked out for one another.

Ultimately, the kampong provided more than just a home; it offered a deep and unwavering sense of belonging. The close-knit bonds meant that every person had a place, a role, and a support system that went far beyond the immediate family unit. The security and comfort of knowing that help was always at hand was a hallmark of this way of life. Although these villages have now largely given way to modern urban landscapes, the kampong spirit—a legacy of communal warmth, open-door generosity, and a shared responsibility for one another—remains a cherished and powerful part of Singapore's collective memory.

As Singapore’s rapid urbanization program progressed, my family was among those relocated, moving to a modern high-rise HDB (Housing and Development Board) flat in the '90s. This transition brought a dramatic shift in community dynamics. Living in these new, enclosed dwellings, surrounded by a wired world, made us feel profoundly disconnected. While HDB estates offered significant improvements in living standards with access to electricity and clean water, the vertical living arrangement created a new social environment. The open, shared spaces of the kampong were replaced by common corridors and void decks. While these were designed to foster interaction, the close-knit ties of the past began to fade. Neighbours often became strangers, defined by their individual units rather than their shared life, marking the end of a unique chapter in Singapore's social history.

I miss those days and the sense of community we had.

This feeling of something missing—that old kampong spirit where everyone knew their neighbours—is why I created StrangerUs. My goal is to bring that back by making it easy for people to meet new people, network, and make friends right in their neighbourhood.

Uniquely Singapore