The news read: Singapore will be reclaiming about 193 hectares of intertidal habitats and seagrass meadows off Changi Beach to build a second aviation logistics park by 2030. I had anticipated this, but reading it in finality still stung.
The area slated for reclamation is no ordinary stretch of coast. Conservation biologist Debby Ng described the seagrass off Changi as the lushest she had studied in years, teeming with Halophila spinulosa—a fern-like seagrass at risk of extinction in Singapore. These meadows are the nurseries of the sea, supporting crabs, clams, rays, cuttlefish, sea stars, and shrimp. For so long, Changi has been one of the last accessible places on Mainland Singapore where peple could encounter the magic of our shores - through intertidal walks, beach cleanups, and other recreational and cultural uses.
Intertidal exploration was how my own environmental, cultural, and emotional reconnection to the ocean began. Treading carefully, life seemed to teem everywhere we looked. In the reefs, seagrass meadows, as well as rocky and sandy shores. With Singapore being near the coral triangle, in our waters live diverse marine creatures — from dolphins, turtles and eagle rays, to a staggering array of beautiful invertebrates from octopus, nudibranch, sea stars and ascidians.
I have guided on Singapore’s shores for the past four years. These have been some of the most fulfilling moments of my life as an educator—seeing children and adults alike marvel at the flexibility of an octopus, the dexterity of a cuttlefish, the quiet elegance of a ray, and the surprising diversity hidden beneath the sand. These moments build empathy, curiosity, and stewardship. They spark wonder and connection. They sow the seeds of care. During the COVID-19 lockdown, many of us living in Singapore turned to outdoor places. Places like Changi became our refuge. These small and fragmented environments offer rare and irreplaceable opportunities for people in Singapore to reestablish relationships with the sea. They helped us stay sane and tethered, and reconnecting with the natural world.
This upcoming reclamation is part of a slow, relentless process that has gradually erased Singapore’s intertidal zones, coastal ecosystems, and the memories tied to them. Singapore has already used land reclamation to increase its landmass by nearly 25-percent, which led to the loss of over 95% of our mangroves, 60% of our coral reefs, and many of our natural coastlines. Because so much of this destruction happens incrementally and behind barricades, reclamation doesn’t make the headlines in the same way as wildfires or sudden natural disasters.
Much of it falls under what environmentalist Rob Nixon calls slow violence—a kind of harm that unfolds gradually, invisibly, across time and space. Reclamation is one such violence. It leaves no immediate wound, but it accumulates. It displaces, silences, and forgets. We forget that Singapore is not just a city—it is a nation of 64 islands. The recent Hari Orang Pulau festival was a celebration of our living islander heritage, yet the sea has been pushed further from both our shores and our collective consciousness with each reclamation project.
I understand the environmental mitigation measures, and the economic rationale of building a second airport logistics park. Yet I feel my heart squeeze, when I think back on the connections and conversations during guided walks, exclamations and excited chatter, moments of serenity and solace, every salty breath taken, walking between sand, sea and sky. It’s sad to know that these shores won’t ever look – or feel – the same again. It’s sad that future generations who grow up and play and learn about nature in Singapore including my children – if I should have any – won’t get to experience Changi beach in much the same way.
Changi, I've spent countless pre-dawn days, scorching mid-mornings, soothing late evenings – and every hour in between – in your waters. You have awed me time and time again. I wish we knew how to develop more gently, and grow and progress without bulldozing wonder. I wish you didn’t share the same name as our “world class airport”. I have so many entangled thoughts but at my core, I wish it wasn’t like this. And I wish we could still return to you decades and decades to come – to experience the same awe, wonder, fascination and giddy excitement – over and over again.
As I reflect, I find comfort in art. I am inspired by advocates, artists and writers who continue creating even when their work may not necessarily shift the outcome. We create not always to win, but because to witness, to feel, and to speak. It is part of a larger and longer story of humans always trying to capture the emotions and express the tenor of their times, to bear necessary witness to pain. Therefore I write because this story matters, and there is power in holding presence and awareness. Changi deserves to be remembered and mourned, for our relationship with the sea is again being severed.
Posted 04/09/2025
