Don’t Paiseh: How Singlish Can Build Empathy

Jialat this image quite paiseh

I use “paiseh” a lot. Probably too much. And I suspect I’m not the only one. Paiseh (歹势) often means embarrassment, shyness, or awkwardness. It’s a Swiss Army knife of emotional expression, quick and easy to address minor frictions in any social situation without making a big deal out of it.

Running late for a meetup? Paiseh, I woke up late. Need someone’s help with something? Paiseh, need to trouble you. Your friend eyeing the last piece of sweet and sour chicken? Don’t paiseh, I let you take.

Linguists often praise Singlish’s efficiency in expressing a wide range of emotions with just a few words. But strangely, despite this, words like paiseh, while common among friends, aren’t always used in public. More often than not, people don’t say anything at all. They squeeze through the moment, both literally and figuratively, hoping it passes by quietly without anyone acknowledging the awkwardness. And this silence is where the real issue lies, and where more Singlish, not less, could actually help.

The Silent Ambiguity: The Cost of Things Left Unsaid

In high-context societies, most of the communication relies heavily on non-verbal cues and shared norms. Every gesture, tone, or unsaid assumption can carry meaning (think Japan or South Korea). It’s even trickier when both parties are caught in the middle of a high friction social exchange where both sides are highly emotional or vulnerable. Navigating this on a daily basis can be incredibly stressful and both mentally and emotionally exhausting. What a minefield.

It’s understandable then, in high-context Singapore, why some might believe staying silent is the safer choice. After all, if I don’t say anything and I don’t acknowledge anyone, then I avoid the risk of committing some faux pas. I don’t have to confront the awkwardness, and I’m not putting myself in a position where I might say the wrong thing or create more trouble. Perfectly logical.

But often the result is an emotional vacuum, where the tension or awkwardness isn’t quite acknowledged, but neither is truly overlooked. The ambiguity of silence places the onus on the receiver, making them guess what we’re feeling, thinking, and what our intentions are.

More importantly, when we leave things unspoken, we lose out on opportunities to build healthy civic norms and instead replace them with unspoken shame and negative judgments about the people around us. This worsens the more we avoid using simple emotional expressions and leave things to the void.

Life doesn’t happen in extremes. It exists somewhere in the middle, where small emotions take center stage. It is within this spectrum where there is the greatest room for misunderstanding. And this is exactly where words like paiseh shine. They offer an easy way to acknowledge those small but real feelings without over-dramatizing them, creating a smoother path, seeding common ground, and reducing misunderstandings.

Paiseh as a Low Cost, High Impact Empathetic Bridge

The beauty of paiseh is that it conveys so much with so little.

To the uninitiated, paiseh may appear synonymous with “sorry.” And while it’s true both acknowledge a mistake and convey an apology, paiseh goes much further. When you say paiseh after making a mistake, you’re not simply expressing regret over an action, you’re signalling that you recognize the emotional impact the situation has had, on both yourself and those around you.

Paiseh is also more personal than the word “sorry”. Where “sorry” may come across as generic, paiseh instantly taps into a deeper in-group sense of solidarity. When two people from Singapore use paiseh with each other, they are not just communicating information, they are leveraging and affirming a shared identity and cultural commonality. This creates a sense of belonging and mutual trust, turning a simple word into a linguistic shorthand for what it means to live in Singapore.

Paiseh can also take on a whole different role, not as an apology, but as a way to pre-emptively acknowledge someone’s hesitation. Like saying to a friend, “Don’t paiseh, my treat” you’re really telling them there’s no need to feel bad. When used this way, paiseh shows you’re tuned in to someone’s emotional state and helps dissolve any awkwardness or obligation they might feel.

At the heart of it, paiseh conveys a deeper, more engaging connection, one where you’re both acknowledging the moment at hand and sharing in the awkwardness or discomfort together.

In other words, you’re showing empathy.

So What?

I get it, sometimes silence feels safer. It’s easier to not say anything at all than to risk saying the wrong thing. And frankly, I still default to this from time to time. But if we want to build common civic understanding and mutual respect, we can’t do it through silence. That’s why I’ve been using words like paiseh more intentionally.

So, the next time you accidentally cut someone off, bump into someone on the escalator, or simply wish to express the discomfort you feel, fight that instinct to ignore it or hope it passes. Instead, try leaning into it. And if you have trouble thinking of what to say, starting with paiseh might go a long way.

But eh paiseh for troubling you to read this.