SINGAPORE: At its peak in early 2018, shared bicycles were ubiquitous, with the major bike-sharing firms here claiming millions of users each. 

But following the imposition of regulations that capped the number of bikes each company could operate – as well as the dramatic exits of several companies – shared bicycle numbers plunged, and along with them the number of users. 

Yet despite this, the three homegrown firms that now make up the sector are optimistic that bike-sharing has a bright future in Singapore.

Last month SG Bike announced it had completed its takeover of Mobike’s bike-sharing licence. 

The Beijing-based firm had earlier announced plans to withdraw from the Singapore market.

SG Bike is now able to operate a fleet of 25,000 shared bicycles here, making it the largest player in Singapore’s bike-sharing market.

Two other companies, Anywheel and Moov Mobility, were both authorised by the Land Transport Authority (LTA) to operate 10,000 bicycles each earlier this year. 

Between the three companies, the total number of shared bicycles allowed on the streets here stands at 45,000. 

“For me right now, this is really quite surreal,” said SG Bike chief operating officer Sean Tay. “If you told me two years ago that we would be buying over Mobike, I wouldn’t believe you.” 

Taking over Mobike’s operations drastically increased SG Bike’s fleet, which stood at 3,000 bicycles under its previous licence. 

This, he said, places SG Bike in a better position to achieve its goal of making shared-bikes what he termed the “fourth mode of public transport”, after buses, trains and taxis. 

REGAINING USER CONFIDENCE

In early 2018, there were six companies – Anywheel, GBikes, Mobike, oBike, ofo, Share Bike SG and SG Bike – offering about 200,000 dockless shared bicycles in Singapore. 

The wheels came off for oBike in June of that year, however, when the company unexpectedly announced it was shuttering its business here.

The company cited an inability to comply with the LTA’s then-new licensing regime, which would have required it to pay the authorities S$60 in fees per bike and implement measures to deter indiscriminate parking.  

The move left about 70,000 of oBike’s bicycles scattered around the island, with more than 200,000 users owed S$8.9 million in unrefunded deposits. 

Two other companies, Gbikes and Share Bike SG, also shut down their operations in 2018. 

In April this year, ofo’s licence to operate a bike-sharing service in Singapore was cancelled by the LTA, as it was unable to meet the authority’s regulatory requirements.  

This came after the Beijing-based company was reported to be experiencing “immense cash flow problems” late last year. 

READ: Is dockless bike-sharing doomed to fail in Singapore?

READ: Commentary: Lessons from the fall of once-mighty bike-sharing giants

These developments caused users to lose confidence in bike-sharing, said Anywheel chief executive Htay Aung.  

While other bike-sharing companies were able to rapidly expand a few years ago as they were flushed with cash, dumping thousands of bikes in each city they rolled into, the relatively smaller operations of the existing players meant they have had to take a more strategic approach. 

SG Bike – whose majority shareholder is estate upgrading company ISOTeam – first launched in 2017 with a fleet of just 300 bicycles in the Holland-Bukit Panjang area. 

Though its fleet size has grown, SG Bike is continuing with its town-by-town expansion approach, which it says is a more sustainable way of growing its business. 

SG Bike will first begin deploying Mobike’s bicycles in Punggol, before expanding to other parts of the north-east region and then the rest of Singapore.

The easy availability of bikes in a particular area is more likely to fuel demand rather than rapidly deploying them across the island, said SG Bike marketing director Benjamin Oh. 

“When you’re a lot smaller, you’re forced to think in this manner. It made us think about how to be creative and consider the sustainability of the business,” said Mr Tay. 

Anywheel runs on a similar strategy, said Mr Htay Aung, adding his firm does not overspend or deploy more bikes than it feels is sustainable. 

“I never really saw them (SG Bike) as competitors because we are both local startups and both our companies have very similar business models,” he said.

Companies must operate responsibly and prudently to regain customer trust, said Mr Htay.

Though personal mobility devices and e-bikes may fulfill some of commuters first-and-last mile transport needs, bicycles remain the most flexible option, said Mr Tay.

And while some of the hype over shared-bikes may have died down over the last two years, there is still an “inherent demand” for bicycles to meet these needs, said Mr Tay. 

“We don’t want the hype. What we are trying to do is create a sustainable business,” said Mr Htay Aung.

Ridership of Anywheel’s bicycles is constantly increasing, he added, though he declined to provide figures.

“I wouldn’t say we are profitable yet, but from our data I believe we could be profitable, hopefully by the second or third quarter of next year,” he said.   

He notes Anywheel is rapidly expanding in Malaysia, where it also offers shared e-scooters, and expects to launch in Thailand by the end of the year.

The company is also expanding into offering power-assisted bicycles – otherwise known as e-bikes – both in Singapore and regionally.

Though there may be regulatory hurdles to offering shared e-bikes, one other option would be to rent them out to delivery companies, he noted, adding it hopes for these e-bikes to be available by March or April next year.

Moov Mobility, the third shared-bike operator here, is planning to launch e-bike sharing operations in a number of cities in the Asia-Pacific region, and also hopes to bring such a service to Singapore.

The company developed bikes, e-bikes and e-motorbikes for sharing, to meet the needs of the regional market, said Moov’s chief executive Sharon Meng. 

Having made its debut here in the middle of this year, rolling out 1,000 refurbished ofo bicycles in the Western part of Singapore, Moov aims to have all 10,000 bikes available islandwide by the first quarter of next year.

Ms Meng – who was previously with Mobike as its Singapore country manager – told CNA it is looking at partnering with other organisations for sponsorship as part of its business sustainability strategy.

“Almost all high quality sharing systems around the world require some combination of advertising, sponsorship and government subsidies to cover the operating cost and ensure that private operators price the service within the reach of the key user groups,” she said.

SG Bike declined to provide information on ridership or profitability, noting its parent company ISOTeam is publicly-listed.

On its part, the LTA has halved the licencing fees for bike-sharing operators, with a full two-year licence now priced at S$15 per bike – down from S$30 previously – while sandbox licences are priced at S$6 per bike, down from S$12.

“The lower fees will reduce compliance costs for operators,” said an LTA spokesperson, adding such regulations and fees are regularly reviewed to ensure they “keep pace with market developments”.

“This supports device-sharing operators in providing active mobility options for first- and last-mile journeys, and contributes to our vision of becoming a more car-lite society.”

The S$30 refundable security deposit firms have to pay for each bicycle deployed – which is aimed at defraying the cost of removing bikes should a firm go bust – remains unchanged.

The Straits Times reported last Friday that in line with the reduced fees, the LTA had refunded more than S$570,000 in total to Mobike and the three existing operators. 

READ: Wheel woes: The rise and fall of Singapore’s bike-sharing industry

Commentary: With Mobike’s impending exit, is it time to give public bike-sharing a shot?

ROOM TO GROW

Observers shared the operators’ optimism. 

Mr Li Jianggan, chief executive officer of startup accelerator Momentum Works, said he still believes there is a future for companies in the bike-sharing space here. 

“The market could easily become profitable for a small number of players running at enclosed places such as towns and parks,” he added.  

“Since oBike and others flooded the market, the sector never managed to develop in a sustainable and profitable manner. Now with the craze over, there is actually a chance.”

With investors no longer willing to pour as much funding into bike-sharing, Mr Li suggested that companies should avoid unnecessary competition. 

Cycling advocate Francis Chu, the co-founder of enthusiast group LoveCycling SG, also believes there is still room for bike-sharing services in Singapore, citing their usefulness for short commutes.

He said companies must ensure their bikes are well-maintained and have enough manpower on hand to relocate improperly parked bicycles, adding more bikes should be made available.

“Right now there are too few bikes to support a reasonable level of service,” said Mr Chu, who himself ran a short-lived bike-share scheme in the one-north area in 2012.

Despite losing his S$39 deposit to ofo, photographer Lim Yong Teck said he would still be interested in using shared bicycles. 

“I’d be worried if I lose a lot of money, but in this case I think (bike-sharing) is great for commuters,” said the 30-year-old. 

“The bikes do make getting around to places a little bit more convenient, and quicker.”

All three firms see room to grow in the Singapore market, and hope to expand their fleets further in the future.

“The three of us combined, with 45,000 bikes, that’s way below what the market demand is,” said Mr Htay Aung.

SINGAPORE: Singapore’s first luxury confinement centre Kai Suites will be launched next year.

Styled as an integrated wellness haven, this new facility will feature hotel-like rooms, butler services, “Michelin-style” meals, an aesthetic clinic and a hair salon. Even with rates starting at S$12,000, it seems to have ready takers.

Upmarket confinement centres are not new — they have long been established across Asia, including Taiwan, China and South Korea.

In 2015, Mandopop star Jay Chou was rumoured to have booked the entire sixth floor of a luxurious Taipei confinement hotel for his wife at an estimated cost of S$96,800.

Importing this concept offers Singaporean women more options. However, some balked at its hefty five-figure fee.

READ: Meet the man behind Singapore‘s first luxury post-baby confinement service

It also begs the question: Should one of the most difficult month in women’s lives be framed as an indulgence to be enjoyed with accessible “aspirational lifestyle experiences”.

Probably not. Having recently given birth to my first child, my personal experience has been that the first month after delivery is no “luxury staycation” — no matter how many fancy dinners or glamorous blowouts you throw in.  

But while this lavish centre may seem a bit excessive for most, the idea that new mothers need confinement support and dedicated care is certainly not.

THE ORDEAL OF CHILDBIRTH

Natural birth is a traumatic experience lasting an average of eight excruciating hours for many first-time mothers. During this time, the cervix expands to 10cm, and the vagina stretches and sometimes tears all the way to the anus.

The alternative, Cesarean section, which I underwent, takes an even greater toll. My gynaecologist had to cut through seven layers of skin, fatty tissue, connective tissue and my uterus to extricate my baby. Throughout the entire experience, I lay fully conscious and shivering uncontrollably from the epidural.

It was like living through a silent horror movie.

READ: Commentary: Why an extreme fear of pregnancy and childbirth plague some women

Unlike most major surgeries, I did not have time to sleep and recuperate. One hour after my operation, I was handed my baby to breastfeed. Thus began a long marathon of sleepless nights and two-and-a-half-hour sleep-wake cycles.

Most women struggle with breastfeeding. Research conducted in 2013 by the Health Promotion Board (HPB) suggested that while 99 per cent attempted to breastfeed their babies, only 28 per cent of infants were exclusively breastfed at the two-month mark.

I was among the mothers who struggled with breastfeeding. I exhausted every breastfeeding position — cradle, cross-cradle, football — as if clumsily learning a ballroom dance while nursing a 10cm wound. My baby simply would not latch.

READ: Commentary: Quit telling women breastfeeding is an optional lifestyle choice

When I was not trying to breastfeed her, I was expressing, bottle-feeding, soothing her to sleep and trying to catch 45-minute naps in between.

By the end of my first week, I was so depleted that I cried all the way to my lactation consultation session. My sheer exhaustion amplified this irrational belief that I was failing my baby. This is commonly known as “mum guilt”.

POST-NATAL SUPPORT MAKES A DIFFERENCE

I am not alone in this experience. About 79 per cent of women experienced some form of mum guilt, according to a recent study by non-profit group Focus on the Family Singapore.

Even celebrities such as Pink are no exception. “I put way too much pressure on myself, I think we all do,” the singer admitted to Entertainment Tonight.

Accompanied by hormonal changes and a lack of support, this sense of guilt, inadequacy and isolation may even spiral into post-natal depression. More than one in 10 Singaporean women suffer from it, according to SingHealth.

READ: Commentary: The year of trials and tribulations, as the parent of a newborn

READ: Commentary: How much does age matter in starting a family?

It is not uncommon for new mothers to compromise self-care and self-fulfilment. Suddenly, enjoying a morning cuppa, blow-drying one’s hair, and eight hours of sleep can feel like guilty indulgences.

However, for the very same reasons, carving out me-time is vital during this intensely stressful period. Sometimes, a nourishing meal, uninterrupted rest and personal grooming can make a world of difference to mothers’ well-being.

Good confinement nannies function as dedicated caregivers for overwhelmed parents. Their role is to lend an extra pair of hands to help with bottle feeds, diaper changes and baths, and offer useful infant care tips along the way.

READ: Commentary: Miscarriages affect 1 in 6 pregnancies – but is rarely caused by anything the mother did

They also see to the daily needs of the mother, making healthy teas, cooking nutritious food, preparing herbal baths, and nagging her to blow her hair dry — things that she may have completely overlooked under the fog of severe sleep deprivation.

While fathers in Singapore are entitled to two weeks of government-paid paternity leave to help with infant care, after this, most will return to full-time work. 

Nannies give both parents more breathing space to ease into their new roles, juggle their multiple duties, and enjoy as much precious bonding time as possible.

THE CHALLENGES OF HIRING A NANNY

Although they offer sorely needed support for new mothers, live-in confinement nannies are not affordable for all. Most charge S$2,500 to S$4,000 for 28 days of round-the-clock care.

This excludes the two red packets at the start and end of their stint, as well as the cost of confinement food and herbs — probably another S$600 to S$1,000.

For some, this might amount to more than a month’s wage, adding to the financial challenges of raising a baby in Singapore.

Many confinement nannies also need a room of their own because they stay with the family throughout.

Dollars and cents aside, booking a confinement nanny can require more lead-time than reserving a table at world-famous Michelin-starred restaurants.

The general guideline is to book six months in advance. However, my first choice was fully booked seven months ahead.

READ: Confinement nanny trade turns professional to tackle diminishing job appeal

Another problem is that many freelance nannies function by word-of-mouth recommendations and are highly unregulated. A few of my friends have suffered overbearing or insensitive nannies during the most vulnerable month of their lives with little recourse to seek redress.

In June this year, Channel 8 actor Joshua Ang also publicly decried his nanny for cutting the teats of milk bottles to enlarge them so that the baby would drink more milk faster, causing his one-week-old infant to suffer from overfeeding and a lung infection from milk in his lungs after just one week of being born.

In such cases, Ang’s advice is sound: Always trust your parenting instincts. Always check on your child. A confinement nanny is not a silver bullet to the amount of work a newborn requires.

READ: Commentary: When parenthood comes knocking, life’s never the same again no matter what route got you there

These horror stories also make a case for established but pricier confinement agencies or a centre like Kai Suites, where one may expect more training and accountability.

Indeed, from cost to quality control, each option presents its own set of benefits and challenges. Perhaps the best option for each mother is simply the one she can afford and that meets her primary needs.

What is more important is that mothers do not feel guilty about seeking confinement help, forgoing breastfeeding for a full night’s sleep, or indulging in a luxurious dinner or manicure when they need one — even without a S$12,000 budget.

After all, motherhood is the ultimate endurance sport, with no clear end in sight. It really makes sense to top up the tank for the long haul.

Annie Tan is a freelance writer, and the mother of a spirited one-year-old who fires up her imagination and inspires her to find her inner child.

SINGAPORE: When Yap Zi Yang saw the score ‘140’ on his Primary School Leaving Examination result slip, he was crushed.

“Study so hard, also fail,” he said. “I just wanted to give up.” 

And give up on himself, he did. 

Just barely making it into the Normal (Technical) stream at Bedok Green Secondary School, he skipped classes three times (or more) a week to stay home. When he did bother to show up, he was often splayed out in his chair at the back of the classroom, fast asleep. 

“I felt like I had no future,” he said. “I just took one day at a time.”

Directionless, low on self-esteem, and resentful of the way he thought his peers in the Express stream looked down on him, Zi Yang lashed out.

“We targeted the smaller students. Sometimes I would take their bags and throw them on the floor. 

“Our teachers always said Express students don’t look down on us,” he added. “But we just felt like they did.” 

Shafik Said knows how students like him feel. “When you’re in the Normal stream, you kind of are compared,” said the senior youth worker with Children-At-Risk Empowerment Association (CARE Singapore). 

You tend to believe you are way less capable than others. You aspire to less.

Each time he walks into a class and asks “how many of you think being in Normal Technical means it’s the end for you?”, Shafik said, “a few of them will raise their hands”.

MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

But there was more to Zi Yang than the rebellious, couldn’t-care-less side he showed in school.

When the school bell rang, 13-year-old Zi Yang, instead of hanging about with his friends, would head straight home, where he’d help his mother around the house and care for his ailing father.

A seamstress, Madam Chin Bee Ching had been taking on more work making curtains ever since Zi Yang’s father suffered a mild stroke in 2014 and could no longer work as a taxi driver. 

Zi Yang looked up to his dad. When he was younger, they’d go for supper together, just father and son, at the coffee shop near their home. Over prata with egg, they’d have heart-to-heart conversations about everything.

“My father was one of the closest people to me. I would talk to him about things that I went through, sometimes he would talk to me about his issues. He understood me,” Zi Yang, now 17, remembered. 

In January 2015, the month Zi Yang entered Secondary 1, his father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The man he looked up to rapidly wasted away before his eyes. 

“He couldn’t even hold a spoon himself. Sometimes in the morning, if I needed to feed him, I’d stay home,” said the teenager who, without anyone asking, became his dad’s main caregiver.

Instead of going to school on some mornings, he’d help his dad down to the void deck, where the older man loved to sit and enjoy the breeze. It was there that Zi Yang’s father put on his young shoulders a responsibility that he holds close to his heart to this day. 

“To my father, boys must always support the family,” Zi Yang said. “He told me to start to think about how to help my family.” 

Three months after being diagnosed, his dad died. Zi Yang lost not just a father, but a confidante.

“My father would sleep in my room,” the teen said, “So after he left, it was like there was no one sleeping beside me.” 

“When he passed away I couldn’t take it. It just hit me very hard.”

A CHANCE TO BE MORE

For a whole month, Zi Yang stayed away from school, shut up in his room most of the time.

But his father’s words kept coming back to him. Seeing how his mother was working hard to make ends meet for himself and his older sister, he returned to school and started to buck up in class. 

“He wanted to take care of the family,” his mum Bee Ching, 53, said. “He would help me with the housework.” 

The three of them moved in with her father, and Zi Yang’s grandfather became the disciplinarian the boy needed in his life. “If I skipped (school) again, my grandfather would really cane me, so I didn’t dare.” 

With the renewed effort that he was putting into his studies, he was pleasantly surprised when he discovered that he had a flair for Mathematics. 

When you solve a question and get the correct answer, wow, it’s like, mission accomplished.

As the months passed, Zi Yang’s ‘U’ grades turned to ‘A’s, and by the end of Secondary 2 he’d topped his class in Math. 

“His results were quite remarkable for a Normal Technical student,” recalled Hafiedz-ul Tamrin, who was his Design and Technology teacher. As a result, Zi Yang was offered a transfer to the Normal (Academic) stream – he was one of only two students in the school given the rare opportunity.

WATCH: The mentor who helped a teen believe in himself (6:33)

His form teacher encouraged him. But doubts assailed Zi Yang. With the move up, he’d have to repeat an entire academic year, with a class of strangers no less, and he’d have to take on three additional subjects. He feared he’d falter and fail. 

“I might get demoted, and I didn’t want that feeling,” he said. 

His mum, however, refused to let him pass up the chance to do better – especially when she believed her son was capable of anything he put his mind to. 

“If he wants to get something done, he can do it well,” she said. “(But) he always needs someone to push him.”

And so, she insisted on the transfer, which Zi Yang took without much confidence. For the first few months, he struggled.

That’s where Shafik came in. 

NOT ‘JUST ANOTHER TEACHER’

The 30-year-old youth worker had been assigned as mentor to Zi Yang’s entire class in Sec 1 as part of The Scaffold Programme. 

Developed by the National Council of Social Service (NCSS), the pilot programme in 11 mainstream schools sees youth workers working with teachers and families, to help students from the Normal stream build their confidence and set future goals.

The programme targets lower secondary students who – due to factors like poor self-esteem or family troubles – might be at risk of dropping out during the transition from Primary 6 to Sec 1, and from Sec 2 to Sec 3.

Shafik was uniquely suited to understanding how these students felt: He himself had been in the Normal (Technical) stream, and like Zi Yang, had at first seen only a bleak future for himself.

“I was ten times worse than Zi Yang,” he laughed, recalling how he’d bullied other students, sometimes even teachers, and got into fights and bad company. 

“I remember the first time when CARE Singapore mentors came, they asked ‘where do you see yourself in 10 years?’ And I said, ‘Boys’ Home’.”

But then, a youth worker came into his life under CARE’s Uth Power Programme. Giving advice and encouragement over even the small things – like publicly praising Shafik for how well he’d mopped a floor – the persistent mentor convinced him he had something worthwhile to offer.

The “naughty” teen eventually became a student council leader. “(The youth workers) had this belief in me, which allowed me to really believe that I could achieve a lot.” 

And so, after he earned his Nitec in Aerospace Technology from the Institute of Technical Education, Shafik decided that what he really wanted to do with his life was to help troubled youths. He joined CARE.

To help someone like Zi Yang, though, required first getting past his walls. The mistrustful teenager thought of him as “just another teacher”.

But when Zi Yang was absent from school for several days with a high fever, Shafik and another youth worker went to his home to check on him. It made an impression. 

“I felt like they really cared about me and my family,” Zi Yang said.

And Shafik, on that short visit, saw something in Zi Yang at home that gave him hope that the boy, who sometimes acted like a gangster in school, had potential in him yet.

I saw how he loves his mum a lot. That’s when I knew the boy has a heart.

THE ZEN OF POOL

Playing pool became Shafik’s way of getting through to Zi Yang.

The school’s clubroom had a pool table, and when he found out the teenager couldn’t play, Shafik offered to teach him. He used the game to patiently impart life lessons – for instance, turning it into a metaphor for achieving goals. 

You had to plan out your moves, and aim before shooting, he told Zi Yang over the clacking of balls. The den, with its cartoon-doodled walls and foosball tables (Shafik was proud of the fact that Zi Yang had helped to decorate it), became an informal counselling room abuzz with laughter. 

“He is a very good person to talk to,” the teenager said. “A very good friend. He understands me very well.” 

In his big-brotherly way, Shafik was filling the void Zi Yang’s father’s death had left. He regularly got feedback from the boy’s teachers. He and another youth worker checked in often with the teenager and his mother.

And, when a frustrated Zi Yang was struggling with the switch to Normal (Academic) classes – he’d sit at the back “stoning”, as he put it, not understanding what the teacher was saying – it was Shafik who reminded him why he was there.

“We told him that the new environment will challenge him,” Shafik said. “If you’re too comfortable in your environment, you won’t grow.” 

And by now, Zi Yang had found a goal to shoot for. 

During a Scaffold Programme session in Sec 1, his class was tasked to set their future goals. 

“I didn’t even have a goal then,” said Zi Yang. “Mr Shafik told me to just write down what interests me most. I like to do things with my hands.” 

He’d spent some time in his grandfather’s car workshop, and was fascinated by auto mechanics. So that’s what he put down as his goal: To become the owner of a car repair business. 

Next, Shafik guided him in planning how to get there step by step. “What would you need to open a shop? Which course should you study In ITE? Which ITE offers that course?” he pressed.

The job, of course, would only be a means to a more important end for Zi Yang – taking care of his family. “My goal is to let my mother travel around the world. That’s her dream,” he said simply.

A WORK IN PROGRESS 

In Sec 3, Zi Yang made more strides when he was elected as a student leader. He was also appointed logistics head for a camp jointly organised with CARE. 

“Having a leadership role helps a lot in allowing students to see their own potential,” Shafik pointed out.

More than 2,000 Normal stream students have gone through The Scaffold Programme, and Zi Yang is not the only one showing results of the intervention.

“About half of the students showed academic improvement,” said Tina Hung, NCSS’ deputy chief executive officer. The students were also “better able to build social relationships and set future goals.”

Zi Yang’s teachers and schoolmates too have seen a difference in him. “He tries his best to pay attention,” said his teacher Hafiedz. “He’s putting effort into his daily work.” 

His friends quipped about how he used to walk around looking like a scary “ah beng”. But now, said classmate Marcus Ng, “he will approach me when he sees me struggling with Math. He’s quite a good teacher, I really understand when he teaches me”.  

Said his mum Bee Ching: “A few months ago I went to the school … The canteen aunties told me that Zi Yang has turned out to be a very good boy, not like the rebellious boy when he first came in.”

Reflecting on where he’d be without Shafik and The Scaffold Programme, Zi Yang said: “Maybe I wouldn’t even graduate from secondary school. Maybe go to Boys’ Home.” 

Shafik, nonetheless, describes Zi Yang as “still a work in progress. There is still doubt in him. What he needs is just that extra caring adult, to assure him that he is more than what he thinks he is”.

“We believe that there is always a success story in in every child – no matter how rotten you think you are, there’s always a star in you,” he added. “You still can achieve more.”

This story by CNA Insider was done in partnership with Gov.sg. 

From 2020, Bedok Green Secondary will be one of 28 schools piloting full subject-based banding, where students will no longer be streamed into Express, Normal (Academic) or Normal (Technical) courses, but will take subjects at different levels according to their abilities.

NEW CLARK CITY, Philippines: Singapore’s young swimming stars continued to make their mark in the SEA Games, with debutant Darren Chua the headline act with a gold in the 200m freestyle on Saturday (Dec 7). 

On the fourth day of competition at the New Clark City Aquatic Complex, 19-year-old Chua beat Malaysia’s defending champion Welson Sim, clocking 1:48.26 for a new personal best.

This is Chua’s third gold in the Games, after wins in the 4x100m freestyle and 4x200m freestyle relays.

“I wasn’t expecting anything. I was pretty nervous getting into this race, it was one of the hardest race I’ve ever swam,” Chua told reporters.

“I was expecting a podium finish, but it didn’t matter if I got first, second or third. I just wanted to swim my best – that’s it.”

In the women’s 400m freestyle, 16-year-old Gan Ching Hwee also clocked a personal best to clinch a silver medal.

Eighteen-year-old Maximilian Ang too set a personal best as well as a new national record with a time of 2:13.96 in the 200m breaststroke, taking home the bronze medal.

“After today, I’m beginning to see some of the depth come through,” said National Training Centre head coach Gary Tan.

“These guys are all young up and coming, so we’ve got a good depth of kids coming through. (I) just hope we can keep building on that.”

It was also a day to remember for swimmer Quah Ting Wen, who she won the women’s 50m butterfly with a Games record time of 26.50.

Later in the evening, Quah joined forces with younger sister Jing Wen, Cherlyn Yeoh and Amanda Lim to win gold in the women’s 4x100m freestyle relay. They also set a new Games and national record.

Singapore’s swimmers have now won 14 gold medals. 

Follow Mediacorp’s coverage of the 30th SEA Games and get the widest Team Singapore coverage with four LIVE channels on Toggle. Go to toggle.sg/seagames2019 for details.