Call me a calculating prick, call me a snob, call me a typical hyper-rational Singaporean—I honestly don’t care anymore. After turning 30-something, navigating life in this high-stress pressure cooker, and watching my free time dwindle to zero, I started maintaining a strict, mental “Reliability Index” for every single friend and family member in my life. And honestly? It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for my mental health.
The premise is dead simple: I remember everything.
If you are someone who actually puts in the heart for me, if you helped me move house, gave me solid career advice when I was stuck in a toxic job, or just checked in on me when I was going through a rough patch—your index score is maxed out. You are in the green zone. If you call me at 3 AM because your car broke down or you need a character reference for a legal matter, I will drop whatever I am doing to assist you. No questions asked. I will return the favor tenfold because loyalty in this city is rare currency.
But then there’s the other group. The “Chronically Red” zone.
These are the people who constantly ping you when they need something. “Eh bro, you do this and that right right? Can help me look at my stuff and recommend a laptop?” or “Sis, you know about investment right, which ETF should I buy?” They treat you like a free consulting service. But the moment the tables are turned? Crickets.
And the worst part? The help I ask for isn’t even monumental. I’m not asking to borrow $10k cash to fund a business venture. I’m asking for basic human reciprocity. Maybe I’m having a brutal week at work and just need a friend to grab a beer at a quiet pub, or sit down for a quick caifan lunch to bounce some life advice off someone.
When I reach out, the excuses flow like water. “Wah sorry bro, too busy with BTO planning,” “OT today raw,” “wah cannot i need go temple,” or my personal favorite—just getting completely blue-ticked on WhatsApp, only for them to pop up three months later with: “Eh anyway, can ask you a quick question about…”
No. Real life doesn’t work that way. Time is the most expensive commodity in Singapore. Between servicing a mortgage, managing corporate stress, and trying to get enough sleep, I have zero bandwidth left to waste on transactional vampires.
People love to preach about “unconditional friendship” or filial piety to toxic extended relatives who only gossip about your salary during Chinese New Year. I think that’s complete BS. It’s not being a snob; it’s being realistic. If you don’t invest in me, don’t expect me to maintain your emotional liquidity.
From now on, my energy goes strictly to the people who actually show up. If your score on my mental index hits zero, congrats: you’ve been downgraded to “Hi-and-Bye” status. Life is too short to pour into cups that refuse to pour back into yours.
There is a reason I am treating you like a piece of ****, because you simply are.