"I have reason to worry," he says. "If Singapore loses its top talent, all the efforts put in by your parents and grandparents to build a Singapore that we are so proud of today would have been for nothing." I am not worried about the diaspora (Singaporeans outside Singapore) but the erosion of the cultural, customary and Confucian values of Singaporeans.

Although a Malaysian, I was born in Singapore. So all my relatives (and some of my friends) are Singaporeans. And I visit them whenever there is a holiday, wedding, funeral or whatever.

And the more I see them, the more I am bewildered by the way they talk, behave and think.

My first outing, when I am in Singapore, would always be to take my wife and daughter to the temple in Shrewsbury Road where the ashes of my parents are kept.

After we have paid our respects, I would leave the offerings — not the traditional rice, roast pork and Chinese tea but beer for my father and nyonya kuey (cakes) for my mother as these were some of their favourites before they left for the other side.

I would then slip a small donation to reimburse the temple caretakers for the joss sticks and joss-paper whenever they held a ceremony to pray for the souls of the departed.

At one family gathering, as the next day was Cheng Beng (All Souls Day), I asked my relatives if they would like to join me to go to the temple (before the graves at Bukit Brown were exhumed, it would have been to the cemetery).

To my dismay, the hubbub suddenly died down. When all eyes were on my eldest brother, the head of the family, he said: "What is the use of going to the temple? The dead can't see us or hear us. Neither can we see them or hear them.

"So what is the use of bringing food for them and praying before their portraits?" As it would have been rude to admonish an elder brother, and especially in front of younger members of the family, I said nothing.

When the gathering broke into small groups, and I found myself with relatives who were still wet behind the ears, I said: "Hey ... you guys heard the reply when I asked who would like to go with me to the temple?" "Yeah," a teenage nephew said. "Tell us about it." I said that they were all free to believe in whatever they believed in. But they must not assume that what others believed in was a lot of crap.

When I was assured of their rapt attention, I said: "We are not animals. Dogs and cats, for example, do not know or remember who their fathers and mothers are, let alone their grandfathers and grandmothers.

"When we pay our respects to our elders who have died, it is because we remember them and are grateful to them for what they had done for us.

"And that is the difference between animals and us — we should never forget our parents and other elders even if they can not see us or hear us and we cannot see them or hear them." "So what else is new?" another nephew piped.

As they had asked for it, I let them have it.

I said that when there was, for example, a festival, I celebrated it in my house with chicken curry, roast duck, chup chye (10 varieties of vegetables in a stew) and other traditional dishes.

If there was a demand, there would be yee sang (finely shredded fresh fish — tuna is now one of the most popular — tossed into a salad with an assortment of equally finely shredded vegetables).

For dessert, invariably, it would be kuey bakul (glutinous rice cake) sprinkled with grated coconut.

When I was in Singapore, and invited to a celebration, the food was bland. Not one dish was spicy or laced with belacan (shrimp paste), santan (coconut milk) or taucheo (preserved brown beans). Then, when I asked why there was a bird that was a skinhead instead of one that was finger-licking good, I was told that it was the tradition.

"Not ours," I said.

No one said a word. But, from their reaction, I could see that, to them, I was still a sinkek (new arrival from China).

As it would have been indiscreet, I did not tell them about the cultural shock when I was the house guest of a niece.

On my fifth visit, I had just arrived, when, out of the blue, the niece said: "Jee Koo (second uncle on the mother's side) ... why don't you stay with Alan (a nephew)?" Stunned, I said: "Because he has not asked me." I was aware that she meant well. She wanted me to circulate. Stay with other relatives and get to know them better. But that was not the way to put it.

On my next visit to Singapore, when I stayed with a sister, the niece asked me why I was not staying with her like I used to.

"Because you have made me feel unwelcome," I said.

Her husband immediately came to her defence. He said that she did not mean it that way.

"I know," I said. "But she could have been more discreet. Beat about the bush. Asked me if I had seen Alan. Asked me if Alan had invited me to stay with him. If I had said ‘yes' then only say ‘why don't you stay with him'. The way the question was put to me, it was tactless." The husband said: "Singaporeans are not hypocrites. They say what they mean. They do not believe in being long-winded merely to be tactful." On my next visit to Singapore, when we were at a wedding, they ignored me. And they have not been on speaking terms with me ever since.

A grandniece, who was newly married, introduced me to her husband. And I had a pleasant surprise ... he did not utter one unkind word about Malaysia, Malaysians, or the Malaysian government. Instead, he paid a gushing tribute to some of the current events in Malaysia.

When I had my grandniece's ear, I said: "You know what? Your hubby is the only Singaporean I have met so far who does not think poorly of Malaysia." She said: "He is a Singaporean but is from Kajang and all his relatives are still in Kajang." When I rejoined him, I told him what I had said to his wife. Then asked him if he had ever tried to put the record straight whenever Singaporeans condemned Malaysia.

"What?" he said. "And be laughed out of town?" Finally, when I visited a nephew, his son, aged 10, did not greet me.

"Boy," his mother admonished him. "Say ‘hullo' to Koo Kong (granduncle)." To encourage him, I said: "To think that I once had to wash his backside." To my consternation, the nipper said: "That is history and is of no interest to anyone." I do not know if Mr Goh Chok Tong is concerned or worried. But I am appalled