The illusion of owning

In Singapore, we like to think we own things. We buy a flat, get a car, settle into a neighbourhood. We call it ours. But if you look closely, almost nothing here truly belongs to us, at least not forever. Everything in Singapore has an expiry date. Your home, your car, your neighbourhood, even the place you rest after you die. It is a country built on leases, and once you see it, you can't unsee it.

Your home is borrowed

Over 80% of Singaporeans live in HDB flats. We spend decades paying off the mortgage, renovate the place, raise families in it. We call ourselves homeowners. But what we actually hold is a 99-year lease. When that lease runs out, the flat reverts to the state. No compensation, unless your estate is selected for a government redevelopment scheme like SERS or VERS. The value of the flat, on paper, drops to zero. HDB surrenders the land back to the state, and the flats get recycled into newer ones for future generations. This is not hypothetical. In December 2020, 191 terrace houses at Geylang Lorong 3 became the first residential properties in Singapore to be returned to the state after their 60-year leases expired. Residents had to vacate. The land was reclaimed. And it gets harder long before the lease actually ends. Once an HDB flat crosses the 40-year mark, with about 60 years remaining, CPF usage becomes restricted and bank loans tighten. Buyers hesitate. Resale prices drop. The "asset" quietly becomes a liability. Private property is no different. Since the government stopped granting 999-year leases, virtually all new private residential land in Singapore is sold on 99-year terms. Same clock, same countdown.

Your car is rented from the state

Singapore's Certificate of Entitlement system, introduced in 1990, means you don't just buy a car. You bid for the right to own one, for exactly 10 years. The COE is essentially a temporary licence. When it expires, you either renew it (at the prevailing quota premium, which can be eye-watering) or deregister the car, which means scrapping it, exporting it, or selling it off. The government designed it this way on purpose. As former Minister Yeo Ning Hong explained when the system launched, granting entitlement in perpetuity would turn cars into investment assets, which was "obviously undesirable." So they put a timer on it. In a country where COE premiums can exceed the price of the car itself, you might spend over $100,000 just for the right to drive something for a decade. Then the clock resets.

Even death has a deadline

This is the part that really gets me. In Singapore, even the dead are on a lease. Burial plots at Choa Chu Kang Cemetery, the only public cemetery still in operation, are limited to 15 years. After that, the graves are exhumed. Remains are either cremated or reburied in smaller plots. The land is reclaimed. The National Environment Agency oversees the entire exhumation process. It is methodical and regulated. But the message is clear: the land is too scarce, even for the dead. Columbarium niches, where cremated ashes are stored, come with their own leases too. Government niches typically run 30 years. Private ones can go up to 99 years. A handful of temples offer freehold niches, but they are rare and expensive. So even after you die, the place that holds your remains has a countdown.

A nation of temporary holders

When you line it all up, something striking emerges. In Singapore, the concept of ownership is more like an extended rental agreement.

None of these things are truly yours. You are paying for the right to use them, for a while. But this is not unique to Singapore. Most of the world operates on some version of this principle. Leasehold systems exist in Hong Kong (50-year leases), Canberra (99-year leases), and across the UK. Freehold, in the absolute sense, is rarer than people think. Singapore just makes it more visible. More honest, perhaps.

What it actually means

I don't think this is necessarily depressing. It can be, if you are counting on your flat as a retirement nest egg and the math doesn't work out. That is a real and serious problem for many older Singaporeans. But philosophically, there is something clarifying about living in a place that does not pretend permanence exists. Buddhist philosophy calls it anitya, impermanence, the idea that all conditioned things are in a state of flux. You do not need to be religious to recognise the truth in it. We cannot take anything with us when we die. Not the flat, not the car, not even the plot of land we are buried in. Singapore just happens to encode that into policy. Maybe the real question is not "do I own this?" but "what am I doing with the time I have it?" A 99-year lease on a home where your family grows up is not worthless just because it expires. A 10-year COE on a car that takes you where you need to go still has value. A 15-year resting place still offers dignity. Ownership was always an illusion. Singapore just doesn't let you forget it.

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