Sze Boon reflects on the paradox of building in Singapore — a nation that must renew without forgetting what came before

For our SG60 September edition, we turn our attention to “Built Spaces” — the streets, structures, and shared places that hold the weight of our collective memory while adapting to the demands of a changing city. In this series, we explore the tensions, triumphs, and quiet evolutions that shape the spaces we call our own — and ask what it will take for them to remain meaningful in the decades to come.

Some places survive demolition not because of stone or steel, but because of the memories people have deposited into their walls. For Sze Boon, managing director of Turner & Townsend in Singapore, the South Beach development is one such place.

“When historic spaces are replaced or reimagined without careful consideration, we risk losing tangible links to our past, eroding collective memory, and diminishing the unique character that contributes to Singapore’s identity,” he reflects.

South Beach could have been one more casualty of expedience, but instead it became a rare bridge: four conserved buildings from the former Beach Road Camp and the NCO Club woven into two sleek towers.

The preservation held personal resonance. “My late mother worked at the NCO Club (then known as the NAAFI) as a cook in the 1960s, and it was where she met my father. I also remember visiting the club in the 1980s with my elder brother during his National Service,” he recalls.

These were not abstract footnotes but lived experience — the scent of kitchens, the anticipation of reunions, the texture of everyday Singapore before modernity swept in. Researching the site’s history became a kind of excavation, revealing the Britannia Club, the Singapore Volunteer Corps, and the gradual transformation into the SAF Non-Commissioned Officers’ Club.

“As an active NS officer and advocate, I was deeply moved by the historical significance of these buildings,” he says. That significance was not embalmed in preservation but revived in reinvention — ballrooms, F&B outlets, private clubs that hum with present-day life. Heritage and contemporary purpose coexist in the same footprint.

This, perhaps, is where the deeper questions of building begin to surface — not in the construction of walls, but in the construction of meaning.

Relearning how to build

The built environment industry, by Sze Boon’s own admission, has never been simple. “The sector involves multiple stakeholders — developers, regulators, consultants, and contractors — each operating under different business models and siloed processes throughout the building lifecycle, often without a unified custodian.”

That fragmentation has consequences: imbalanced risk, adversarial negotiations, and the friction of competition without trust.

Covid-19 forced a reckoning. “The pandemic was a turning point for the built environment sector. It exposed the limitations of working in isolation and underscored the need for collaborative problem-solving. Collaboration became essential to support the industry’s resilience and keep projects moving forward.”

This shift towards collaborative contracting — championed by the Building and Construction Authority — is not a bureaucratic update but a cultural reorientation. Contracts now embed early warning provisions and dispute avoidance measures, redistributing responsibility across the value chain. For Turner & Townsend, with its experience in the UK, Australia, and Hong Kong, this was familiar ground. For Singapore, it was a chance to model a more equitable, transparent ecosystem.

Such changes highlight the paradox of Singapore’s urban project: the tension between economic imperatives and intangible value. “For a small country like Singapore, the conservation of our built heritage is an important part of urban planning and development. Of course, we are cognisant that economic imperatives often take precedence.”

The arithmetic of land is unforgiving. Yet it is precisely within these trade-offs — between efficiency and memory, progress and preservation — that identity is forged.

Redevelopment that incorporates conservation requires more than nostalgia. It requires precision. “The schedule and budget must account for works such as the temporary removal of conserved elements, restoration, and new structural work to support preserved buildings,” Sze Boon explains. Heritage is not free; it is costly in time, in money, in complexity. But its return on investment is measured not in profit margins but in cultural permanence.

The promise of transformation

If there is optimism in his vision, it lies not in wistfulness but in the sheer scope of what lies ahead. “Major public infrastructure projects, healthcare facilities (including hospitals and secondary care centres), Terminal 5, key commercial developments such as the Marina Bay Sands and Resorts World Sentosa expansion projects, as well as investments in the advanced manufacturing and life sciences sectors, all present significant opportunities for the Built Environment sector to transform and operate differently.”

The future, in other words, is abundant. But abundance demands transformation. The Built Environment Industry Transformation Map (BE-ITM) sets out Singapore’s roadmap for productivity, digitalisation, and sustainability. “The focus on technology adoption, such as advanced manufacturing approaches like Design for Manufacturing and Assembly (DfMA) and Integrated Digital Delivery (IDD), is reshaping how buildings are conceived and constructed.”

This is the vocabulary of resilience: robotics that patrol sites for safety, drones that survey structures, and AI that accelerates design decisions. Sustainability threads through it all, with the Green Plan 2030 driving a transition towards net-zero buildings and lower-carbon materials. “The BE sector is not merely constructing buildings — it is building a future that is smart, green, and inclusive.”

That inclusivity extends beyond bricks to people. Workforce and talent development, once a marginal note, is now centre-stage. The sector must attract young engineers, digital natives, and problem-solvers who are willing to adapt. It must become not only a profession but a calling — one that marries pragmatism with imagination. 

Play

What we leave behind

And here lies his hope for the next generation. “I hope the next generation of Singaporeans will inherit a built environment that reflects a thoughtful balance between innovative progress and preserved heritage, embodying resilience and adaptability.” They should remember that the infrastructure they step into — digital grids, sustainable practices, master-planned districts — are not accidents but investments.

He lists names that will shape tomorrow’s maps: Tengah, Jurong Lake District, Paya Lebar Airbase, and the Kallang Alive masterplan. These are not simply parcels of land but propositions of how Singapore intends to live, work, and gather. They will demand curiosity, pride, and — most importantly — imagination.

Gardens by the Bay embodies this imagination. “One of my favourite developments is Gardens by the Bay, where I was involved from the inception stage to the completion,” he says. What began as reclaimed land became an icon of futuristic design: Supertrees, biomes, and climate zones captured in glass.

Professionally, it was a project of “many firsts”; personally, it was a chance to watch a city’s fabric transform. Today, when he visits, he takes his two-year-old daughter, hoping she will feel what he once felt — that the built environment is not distant or sterile, but something to be lived in with joy.

The thread that runs through his stories — from Beach Road Camp to South Beach, from Covid-19-era collaboration to future-ready hubs — is less about construction than continuity. Buildings rise, buildings fall, but what endures are the values inscribed into their design: resilience, memory, adaptability, community.

In Singapore, the city is a living archive. Every new skyline is built over the traces of another, every preserved structure an argument for continuity. The work of the built environment is therefore never complete; it is always in negotiation with what came before and what lies ahead.

Sze Boon’s reflections remind us that buildings are more than steel and stone. They are inheritances — gifts from one generation to the next, questions we leave for the future to answer. To walk through these spaces is to be reminded that progress does not erase memory, and memory does not resist progress. The two can coexist if only we are willing to hold the tension.

And perhaps that is the quiet gift of this city: the ability to be unfinished. To see in every structure not a conclusion, but a beginning — a place where imagination and identity meet, waiting for the next layer of meaning to be built.