Darren is 26, just graduated from NUS, and supposedly a “responsible adult” now that he has a corporate job. But give him three towers of Tiger and a few shots of tequila at Clarke Quay, and he reverts straight back to being a blur secondary school kid. It was 3:15 AM on a Tuesday night, and Darren was standing outside the taxi stand looking like a total clown. He patted his pockets—left, right, back—and the realization hit him like a hangover. His iPhone was gone. Probably left it in the Grab on the way to the club, or maybe it fell out of his pocket while he was busy “vibing” to some techno track he won’t remember tomorrow.
No phone in Singapore is basically like being stranded on a desert island. He had no PayNow, no Grab app, and exactly zero dollars in his wallet because everything is digital now. He tried to act sober and approached a random guy at the smoking corner to borrow a phone. He had to dial his house landline from memory—the only number he actually knows because his mom has had it since the 90s.
His mother picked up on the fourth ring, sounding absolutely triggered. “Hello? Who is this? So late already still call.”
“Ma… Darren here. I lose my phone at Clarke Quay. Can come fetch me or not? I no money for taxi.”
There was a long, loud “Tsk” over the line. “Wait there. Don’t move. If I reach and you are not there, you sleep on the street.”
Forty-five minutes later, her silver Honda Civic pulled up to the kerb. Darren scrambled into the front seat, and the lecture started before he even pulled the seatbelt across. The car smelled like those pandan leaves she keeps in the back, which really didn’t help with his nausea.
“26 years old, graduate already, still like this,” she started, immediately hitting the accelerator to get onto the high way. “Every time go out with your useless friends, must drink until lose things. You think I your personal Grab driver? I tomorrow morning must go market, you know or not?”
“Sorry lah, Ma. The phone just slipped out only, I think.”
“Sorry no use. Tomorrow you go Singtel yourself and queue. I’m not helping you settle the replacement SIM card. And don’t you dare puke in my car, I just sent it for grooming last week. You puke, you pay for the cleaning.”
The whole drive back to Punggol was just her blasting him about how his cousin Kelvin is already getting promoted and buying a BTO, while Darren is still out getting smashed on a weeknight. Darren just kept his head down, staring at the ERP gantries and the streetlights, praying the car wouldn’t hit any more bumps.
When they finally reached the HDB, she didn’t even park properly before telling him to get out. But as soon as they walked into the flat, she headed straight for the kitchen. “Go shower. You smell like a brewery. I heat up the bird’s nest soup for you, it’s on the table. Eat already then go sleep.”
Darren might have a degree and a job, but at 4 AM in his mother’s kitchen, he was just a fresh grad with no phone, no dignity, and a very expensive lesson learned.