All images and edits by Yee Jia Ying for RICE Media.
Whenever Caliversity gathers, heads turn. At first, the public’s gaze is drawn by sheer disbelief—participants as young as nine and as old as 60 hoisting themselves into muscle-ups and handstand push-ups in neighbourhood fitness corners.
But the real surprise comes not from the gravity-defying feats themselves, but from the bodies performing them.
These are not the sculpted, centrefold-ready physiques you might expect at a public fitness gathering. Physical diversity is the motif here—thin and stocky, lanky and round, men and women alike. Their shared rhythm of acrobatic movement makes strangers pause, stare, and sometimes smile.
What they’re watching is calisthenics, where feats of strength are honed from nothing more than your own body and a bit of gravity. But beyond the viral handstands and muscle-ups lies a heartland story—where a pair of unlikely mentors show that core strength can be built alongside the core values that hold neighbourhood communities together.
All You Need Is Gravity
Caliversity began a few years after two young calisthenics enthusiasts—Ng Cheng Wee, 24, and Daemon Chan, 25—met by chance.
Their paths crossed in 2020 at a fitness corner in Woodlands, close to both their homes.
“My friend actually approached Daemon thinking he was me, and that’s how we started talking,” reveals Cheng Wee.
What began as a casual conversation soon grew into friendship and a shared vision. The pair started creating calisthenics content for social media in 2023 under the portmanteau ‘Caliversity,’ eager to showcase their progress and connect with like-minded enthusiasts.
Both had spent their student years obsessed with calisthenics. First, because it looked cool. Then, because it made them feel alive.
“Honestly,” Cheng Wee admits with a grin, “I started calisthenics to impress my crush.”
Daemon laughs, adding: “That’s how most of us start—for the show. Then you realise the real rewards.”
Today, Cheng Wee works as a financial consultant, while Daemon creates content full-time. Their careers couldn’t be more different, but both give them the flexibility to do what they love most: train, teach, and show up for Caliversity almost every day of the week.
Determined to take their passion for the sport beyond social media, they held their first official session in November 2024 at a public gym in Sembawang. It was, by all accounts, awkward.
“We didn’t even know what to do,” recalls Daemon. “We just announced the session online, and waited at the gym, wondering if anyone would show up.”
One by one, curious parties approached and asked, “Are you Caliversity?” And that was how it began.
From those hesitant beginnings, word spread fast. What started as two friends holding a community class has since grown into a nationwide rhythm.
Today, Caliversity meets six days a week across the island—in Jurong West, Bukit Panjang, Punggol, Redhill, Tampines, and Canberra—ensuring that almost anyone in Singapore has a session they can attend nearby.
It’s not hard to see why Caliversity has built such a following. Cheng Wee and Daemon are jovial by nature, but meticulous about form. They’re easy to approach, yet sharp-eyed with every rep—a natural pair of senseis to the hundreds of initiates, many of whom are teenagers.
Surprisingly, every Caliversity class is free. No strings attached, no sales pitch. Just two friends, propelled by their love for calisthenics and the joy of sharing it with others.
The diverse crowd that gathers around Caliversity is not accidental.
“We don’t just want fitness to be accessible. We want it to feel welcoming, no matter your age, size, or ability,” says Daemon. “That’s what makes calisthenics so special.”
The results are fascinating. There’s something magnetic about seeing varied bodies flipping, balancing, and lifting in residential fitness corners where most people come only for a light stretch.
As Cheng Wee and I talk, I find myself distracted. A teenage girl, cheeks flushed red, grips the parallel bars. Her hair is messy. Her body is trembling. Against all odds, she kicks herself up into a handstand.
Nearby, a wiry boy, barely 16, strings together muscle-ups on a pull-up bar so effortlessly that it looks like gravity has forgotten him.
“For most people, when they first see calisthenics, they think: that’s cool, but I could never do that,” Cheng Wee says.
“The truth is, anyone can. That’s what makes it beautiful—you don’t need expensive equipment or a perfect body. Just patience, and a willingness to try.”
Spotting Each Other, On and Off the Bars
Not everyone watching Caliversity videos online reacts with admiration. Parents sometimes directly message the founders, alarmed by the sight of children dangling upside down or vaulting over bars.
The underlying concern: Isn’t it dangerous for kids to attempt these moves?
Cheng Wee shakes his head gently. “I’ve been learning calisthenics for over 11 years, Daemon for about seven. We’re using our own body weight, not heavy loads that could injure joints or stunt growth.”
“The most we’ve seen are cuts and bruises,” Daemon adds. “Wherever you train—whether outdoors or in a gym—safety should always come first. And it’s our job to teach that.”
The pair emphasise proper form over rep counts or flashy physiques. During Caliversity sessions, they move from person to person, offering tips and cheering others on.
Daemon notices a teenager forcing pull-ups with misaligned scapulas and rushes over to correct him before habit—and injury—can take hold.
What worries Cheng Wee more is the opposite trend: young people chasing shortcuts.
“Some push themselves too far, or even use performance-enhancing drugs, just to look good on Instagram. That’s dangerous. The least I can do is show them that training smart, not recklessly, is how you get strong.”
Between sets, conversations unfold, and the laughter filling the air turns these gatherings into part workout, part social catch-up.
Each session is meant to last two hours, but it rarely does. Caliversity classes almost always conclude over shared meals nearby, the kind where no one’s in a hurry to leave.
For all their experience and expertise, the co-founders have no official certificates to prove it—because none exist. Calisthenics still lacks a governing body or recognised framework.
One day, they hope to help change that, so the sport can officially enter schools and inspire kids the way it once inspired them.
From Core Strength to Core Values
As requests poured in from Instagram followers asking for sessions nearer to their neighbourhoods, the pair happily obliged. Six random, once-quiet fitness corners across Singapore hummed to life with bodies in motion and the buzz of neighbours training side by side.
“My son was thrilled when I told him he could learn calisthenics tricks at Caliversity,” says Victor, 55, who introduced his 12-year-old during his second training session.
“When kids find something they truly enjoy and focus on it, they spend much less time on their phones.”
For Joel, 24, Caliversity became more than just a fitness outlet—it was a way back to purpose. He discovered the group a few weeks after recovering from minor back surgery.
“Many of us have made new friends here,” he shares. “Caliversity gives us a reason to head out instead of staying home playing video games.”
Caliversity is, in essence, a free, grassroots way for kids today to reclaim the joy of playing and socialising in their own neighbourhoods—something that’s quietly fading in an age of iPads and online gaming.
In place of the void deck soccer games and block catching afternoons that once defined growing up in Singapore, Caliversity has revived that same communal spirit. Only this time, through workouts fuelled by core strength and mutual encouragement.
Just like how no one told us to bring footballs to void decks, Caliversity reminds us that community doesn’t need to be engineered. Sometimes, it simply needs passion and an accidental idea.
What began as an open training group slowly turned into a family. Dozens of teens now look up to Cheng Wee and Daemon—not just as coaches, but as big brothers.
Teens being teens, they pepper the duo with personal questions about life, love, and everything in between. All too often, the kids confide in them.
Yet none of it feels inappropriate. Cheng Wee and Daemon have grown into their roles as responsible older siblings, finding purpose and identity in the process.
“Kids copy us, whether we realise it or not,” says Cheng Wee. The weight of this responsibility, Cheng Wee admits, has made him more mindful of how his actions shape the community’s values.
He eats cleaner and fits in at least four workouts every week despite his busy schedule. Young eyes are constantly watching him at Caliversity meetups and on social media.
“Even on days when Caliversity finishes late and only fast food restaurants are open, I try to show how we can make healthy choices even with limited options. I want our participants to know that self-improvement begins with cultivating small habits.”
Daemon feels that mantle too.
“I’m just a regular guy who likes to monkey around. But when you have all these young eyes fixed on you, you realise that every word and every action matters.”
Between teaching perseverance and good form, the duo are subtly imparting lessons in accountability and discipline. But Caliversity meetups are anything but rigid.
As chaotic as these sessions can get, they’re filled with touching moments too. At one point, a teenage girl darts up, asking which flavours Cheng Wee and Daemon want for their bubble teas.
My heart melts. For a moment, the fitness corner feels more like a family gathering than a workout. The sun is dipping, the scheduled training session comes to an end—but no one leaves.
A preschooler has clambered onto the bars with her new friends hovering close to keep her safe. A passerby in his fifties joined spontaneously; he’s listening intently as Daemon explains a movement.
“I feel like we’ve been given the opportunity to guide young people to do more good and less bad,” says Daemon.
“It’s a responsibility that we can’t take lightly.”
Pull-Ups, Not Put-Downs
Not every interaction is cheerful. During one session, I spot a primary school boy smoking a cigarette on the other side of the park.
Cheng Wee frowns. “I hope he learns to make better choices.”
He tells me of a teenager who once showed up to a workout session vaping. Instead of scolding him outright, the co-founders earned his trust, talked him through their disappointment, and waited. A week later, the boy returned, pulled the vape from his pocket, and tossed it in the bin.
Moments like these remind the founders why Caliversity matters. Not every participant says thank you, but their smiles and enthusiasm speak louder than words.
As their trainees grow stronger, Cheng Wee encourages them to share how they overcame obstacles, so that, in guiding others, they too can learn leadership and selflessness.
Caliversity began with two friends who simply loved a sport, but somewhere along the way, it became more than impressive Instagram-worthy manoeuvres. It became a refuge where physical strength is not measured in abs or biceps, but in kindness and community.
Daemon and Cheng Wee have no plans to monetise their sessions; they’re content watching the communities they’ve nurtured grow across Singapore. They’ve seen what calisthenics can give people: not just strength and mobility, but self-worth and a found family. And that, they believe, is worth more than any fee.
