My college ‘life’ in Singapore: PGPR – the prison that I called home

“What kind of a place is this? Why did that man have no front teeth?”

Mom was talking about the security officer who had given my room key. We were at Prince George’s Park Residence.

“Probably because the man is eighty, Mom! I said.” Yes, a bald, toothless man was the last thing I had expected to see at the reception. But why point out the obvious?

There was a three prong security system, designed to keep students isolated… err… secure. The lift needed the transponder to activate. Beyond the lift, there was a metal lock that was again, activated by the transponder. Finally, there was my room door, which was double locked. A disturbing thought suddenly flashed in my mind.

This isn’t a residence, it’s a prison.

The room was on the seventh floor.  The moment I entered the room, a gust of hot, compressed air welcomed me, smelling like sweat and old clothes – remnants of the previous inhabitant. It was a tiny room, about 2 meters by three. The bed was barely big enough to fit one. The room had a low ceiling. I guess it has something to do the Singaporean design of buildings. If each floor has a lower height, you can stuff more floors in the same height. Singapore logic 101. Anyhow, there was a ceiling fan, a wardrobe and a desk.

There were large windows that opened at a forty five degrees to the horizontal. It was designed to keep the rainwater out, but only kept the wind out of the room. Every time it rained, my room developed a small puddle on the computer table. The white walls of the buildings all around reflected sunlight into the room, increasing the temperature by a few degrees. Later in college I would be working with a Microwave resonator; but back then, a Microwave was working on me.

In fact, the room was so hot that I realized that there was no possible way I could spend another moment in there.

I went to the housing office and complained. The toothless man looked at his colleague, and started to cackle.

You think this is hot? It’s not even May yet.

I kind of had the feeling that things were going to go south from here.

Next chapter: The Antisex Equation