This morning, my eight-year-old daughter spontaneously decided to pick up a Singapore flag and wave it at the TV screen.

Joseph Schooling, you did that.

After standing for Majulah Singapura, she declared that she would one day be an Olympic gold medal winner, because she lives in Singapore. And Singaporeans win gold medals now.

Joseph Schooling, you did that.

Across a tiny island, a nation stopped and held its breath for 50.39 seconds, too nervous to move, too scared to let go.

But a hand touched the wall first in a Rio swimming pool, a Singaporean hand, releasing its grip on more than five million people. And we exhaled.

And then we roared.

The cheers drifted from apartment to apartment, from coffee shop to coffee shop, from quiet hope to giddy reality, creating a spiritual daisy chain of celebration from one end of the country to the other.

Joseph Schooling, you did that.

Across the world, myopic media agencies and western-centric commentators are learning to prefix "Olympic champion" with "Singaporean" for the first time.

It's no longer that guy standing next to Michael Phelps. It's the Singaporean guy. The guy. Our guy.

The guy who beat Michael Phelps, the guy who lifted his hand to the scoreboard and called for the final results. Bring it. Bring it home. Bring it to the Little Red Dot. Singapore is on the golden map now, in our time, for all time.

Joseph Schooling, you did that.

Back in Singapore, a young country understood, really understood, that sport knits a multicultural and multiracial fabric like nothing else.

Rallies, community events and impassioned speeches have a role to play, but athletes carry the flag to parts of a nation's psyche others cannot reach.

Singaporeans watched the 100m butterfly final because they had to, they were compelled to, by the proud patriotic soul that is buried deep within even the most cynical of citizens. For 50.39 seconds, nothing else mattered beyond the athlete, the race and the flag.

Joseph Schooling, you did that.

On social media, a photograph continues to be tweeted, shared and idolised.

It's an image of an aspirational kid standing next to a sporting colossus, an awe-inspiring slab of lean muscle, a perfect swimming specimen beside a wide-eyed, cherubic kid.

It's man and boy. It's Michael Phelps, the Olympic god, and Joseph Schooling, the daydream believer.

It's an image familiar to millions and forgettable to Phelps, just another happy snap with another dumbstruck fan, another day at the office for the greatest Olympian of all time.

But this kid was different. This kid didn't merely idolise. He aspired. He saw more than a superstar. He saw a destination, a pathway, a role model and an end goal. Most of all, he saw victory.

Now the torch is passed, others will come. Girls and boys will stand beside the man for photographs. When they look up, they will see what a prepubescent Schooling saw when he posed with Phelps. They'll see a gateway to glory, with one crucial difference. They'll see stars, but not stripes. They'll see a Singaporean.

Joseph Schooling, you did that.

Today, an entire country walks with a spring in its step.

One hundred metres for a man proved to be one giant leap for Singapore.

Schooling's butterfly effect will be felt for days, weeks and years to come. Kids will swim, run, jump and throw further and faster, thanks to Schooling.

Parents will hopefully acknowledge the value of incorporating a practical work-life balance for their children, thanks to Schooling's remarkably supportive and understanding family.

Most of all, Singaporeans will never forget. Everyone will remember where they were the day they walked with giants.

Joseph Schooling, you did that.

And, this morning, a hopelessly emotional 41-year-old man had to explain to his daughter why he was crying.

Joseph Schooling, Olympic gold medallist and proud owner of the greatest moment in Singapore's sporting history, you did that.