All images by Zachary Tang for RICE Media unless otherwise stated. Equipment support by Leica Store Singapore.
As I try to step onto a community fitness corner’s elliptical machine, Jovan Tang stops me. “You’re wearing a dress—let me do it,” he says decidedly. Just a few hours ago, a senior Whampoa resident had told him this particular exercise equipment at the foot of this MacNair HDB block had a rickety hinge.
I step aside, and Jovan enthusiastically hops on the machine and pedals. His movements are rigid. It’s clear that being on this machine is out of his comfort zone, but he’s doing it anyway.
It’s also clear that the mechanism is indeed janky—the left pedal produces a loud clang every time Jovan pushes it down. He steps off and records a voice memo on his phone before taking photos of the elliptical machine and its surrounding area. He needs those pictures if he wants to summon repairs from the Whampoa Town Council.
Jovan is not a People’s Association (PA) employee, nor is he a grassroots leader. He is simply a 16-year-old Singaporean who genuinely loves serving the community.
It’s surreal to watch Jovan patrolling his neighbourhood, checking on infrastructure and amenities people have personally complained to him about. It’s like watching a teenager satirising what a Member of Parliament (MP) would do—except that there isn’t a single iota of irony.
To put it plainly, Jovan has dubbed himself the ‘middleman’ between residents and MPs, focusing on surfacing residential concerns to Town Councils or in Meet-the-People Sessions (MPS). He says he’s been appointed to jaga the small zone around his neighbourhood, but insists that he strives to help anyone, regardless of where they stay.
His enthusiasm is exactly what pushed him to local social media fame in 2025.
Despite his public social media presence, his personal WhatsApp broadcast channel, and his devotion to serving his community, Singaporeans still don’t know much about who Jovan really is. Or rather, we can’t really fathom his true personality behind all the national unity bluster.
What I can fathom in front of me is an awkwardly tall (maybe 177cm?) teenager who’s not just an active member in the PA Youth Network, but also a thoughtful kid who just wants to solve his residents’ problems.
I can’t help but think: if this is really who he is, why are Singaporeans so uncomfortable with his unfiltered genuineness? Why do we try to dismiss his efforts by calling him autistic or a larper?
Why can’t we accept his passion at face value?
The Whampoa Wonderkid
I catch a glimpse of his iPhone screen: the font size is massive. He grips his phone tightly with his left hand and uses his right index finger to type—all while holding his phone about 5cm from his face.
He’d asked me prior to meeting what he should wear. It didn’t seem to matter much, so I told him to dress in what makes him comfortable. As it turns out, that meant rocking a PA volunteer polo tee, waxy black dress shoes, and khaki trousers.
It’s hard to believe he’s turning 17 in a couple of months.
We head towards Boon Keng MRT station; he oversaw some amenity improvements there, and was excited to point them out to me.
As we walk, he points out other places that used to cause grievances for the residents.
“In the past, the running trail was 凹凸不平 (uneven and bumpy),” he notes.
I ask if he ever ran on the track to confirm its bumpiness.
He slaps his tummy hard; his polo shirt ripples. “Obviously not,” he quips.
For some residential feedback he receives, he doesn’t need to personally empathise before raising it to the Town Council. It’s practical—he verifies a complaint, floats it up to the authorities, they send down inspectors and workers to fix it. Rinse and repeat.
Along our walk, people sporadically wave to Jovan or strike up conversation, flashing him warm smiles. He’s a familiar face here—well-established as an active Whampoa resident. This neighbourhood is his main turf.
“Hi Jovan!” exclaims a mother walking by with her son. The boy scampers over to Jovan in his matching pyjama set, and the teen bends down to the boy’s eyeline. They seem to be familiar. I feel like I’m intruding, so I step aside as they catch up.
Concerned members of the community engage Jovan in one of two ways. His inbox is open to the public, which is where he gets much of his residential concerns. Then there’s face-to-face engagement, which just comes with constantly making rounds in his neighbourhood, being personable, and hosting his own meet-and-greets.
I suspect he might even have an edge over some grassroots volunteers—many of whom are typically working adults and retirees. His interactions are generous—he gives his undivided attention to anyone who’s got feedback. We see him sit next to people more than thrice his age and hear them out without interrupting.
Far removed from the responsibilities of adulthood like work or family, Jovan has more time for intentional exchanges. He has more time to take action and see things through.
The Importance of Being Earnest
I finally feel like I’m talking to a teenager when Jovan interacts with his mum.
He pleads “Eh, stop!” and fidgets in his seat when Mrs Tang tries to share certain memories of her son with me. It’s endearing to see that under that no-nonsense, serving-the-people-always character he embodies, he’s still just a boy who’s embarrassed by his mother’s tales.
And if there’s anyone who can trace the seeds of Jovan’s current bearing, it’d be his mum.
“During his Primary 1 orientation, I told him, ‘Eh, that is your principal.’ Then he went forward, shook his hand, and introduced himself!” Mrs Tang recalls.
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