2023 Christmas story: The weight of a snowflake

Icy Plaza, Tiong Bahru Mall’s newest attraction, opened the weekend before Christmas, hoping to capitalise on the Yuletide spirit. But the Snow City rival was empty – its tickets too expensive for families initially eager to experience a White Christmas.

Management, concerned the attraction would not last, fussed about on marketing campaigns, deals, and offers, which distracted them from noticing one of their cooling units had been set up incorrectly. Instead of sealing and chilling the Build-A-Snowman area, it was funnelling a wave of frigid air towards the exterior-facing filtration unit, blowing snowy winds into the third floor of the mall’s carpark, creating what could be classified as “a notable blizzard” in a 1 sq m zone.

Ranjit, a waiter at one of the mall’s three Italian dining establishments, was taking his one break during his Christmas Day shift. He stood at the third floor of the mall’s carpark, soaking in the serene view of the terrace houses baking under the Singapore sun.

When returning to the restaurant, he slipped while squeezing behind the boot of a BMW X1. From the ground, he reached for the patch he fell on and his finger stung on contact.

Just as Ranjit was about to contact the mall’s maintenance staff, a single snowflake wafted in the humid air and landed on his nose. It dissolved instantly. It was the first time Ranjit had seen snow.

He called Stephanie, the restaurant’s assistant manager. Stephanie stood in the Zone until her hair became brittle. Then she knelt down, rolled a tiny patch of snow into a little ball and tossed it at Ranjit. Thus commenced the world’s smallest snowball fight. 

The Lims, like many, deemed Icy Plaza’s Deluxe Pass too pricey. They had come so their youngest son, Hector, could look through the glass and imagine the snow on his fingers.

While his father reparked the car, Hector wandered towards Ranjit and Stephanie, rollicking in their miniature patch of winter. Ranjit offered him a snowball – Hector watched as it melted in his hand, its remnants trickling down the lines of his palm. He beamed at Ranjit, who grinned back.

The Lims found Hector shivering, accompanied by only Stephanie, since Ranjit had returned to the shift he was already two hours late for. Hector’s eldest sister put her hand near the vent and the skin on her knuckles tightened under the dry air. She called her friends, the parents called theirs, and soon a line was trailing down the ramp.

There was no squabbling in the queue. People waited patiently yet excitedly, and nobody spent more than a minute in the Zone. The public-spirited nature of the crowd could be attributed to how bitterly cold the 1 sq m area was. But there was also an undeniable spirit of amiability among the queuers: Everybody would get their turn, if they waited.

But at noon, a bevy of inspectors representing several agencies cut the queue. The National Environment Agency was checking for harmful chemicals, the Ministry of Manpower was assessing if it was a workplace hazard, and the Singapore Police Force was investigating if this was an unlawful public gathering.

After each of them had stood in the Zone, their concerns subsided, their churlishness swept away by the cool breeze.

At four, the next wave of inspectors came. Singapore Tourism Board sought it as its newest local attraction, the Ministry of Trade and Industry hoped to siphon its energy, and the Ministry of Culture, Community and Youth wanted it to support a national ice-hockey team.

But their ambitions too gave way in the face of the arctic gust. After their minute was up, each inspector ambled to the back of the queue, now spilling onto the main road. 

The line was still there when Ranjit finished his shift. It still continued when he joined the line at the other side of the crosswalk. It still trailed behind as Ranjit re-entered the carpark. And it was still there, when, for the second time that day, a single snowflake drifted onto his face.

It was so small, but Ranjit swore it had a weight. He swore that the snowflake, despite its almost microscopic size, bore him above the city, floating above its towers, skyscrapers and clouds, watching from the sky as the nation became as tiny as the snowflake.

On Boxing Day, many came to the carpark hoping to catch a wisp of the wintry air. But Icy Plaza’s management had fixed the issue. The Snowmen were saved. The Zone dissipated instantly. Icy Plaza closed within the financial year. The carpark for Tiong Bahru Mall was never as full. And every year, Singaporeans would remember the nation’s first and only free White Christmas.