tossyturny

Background: Upbringing, Worldview

My parents immigrated to Singapore from China some 30 years ago in search of a better life. Both of them are professionals, and have attained prestigious degrees from prestigious institutions in Shanghai.

The attitudes of the masses in China 30 years ago are very different from the outlook on life of the youth there today. 30 years ago, there was an air of desperation that seemed carved into their bones. The handful of opportunities shared amongst a large population meant that each individual had to be exceptional in order to climb the social ladder. Therefore there was great emphasis placed on academic achievement. Failing academically was no different to being sentenced to a life of poverty and servitude. While I have not experienced such intense academic pressure first hand, having been brought up in the relatively abundant and safe society in Singapore, I inherited some of this anxiety from my parents, this fear of being left behind.

This is of course a gross oversimplification of why Chinese people excel in academics. There are other cultural and historical reasons that cause the Chinese to be partial to academic performance. The Chinese have always had a system of education and examination historically and those who perform well get to work as government officials and are considered cultured and educated, and being well educated was considered a great virtue and looked upon favourably.

I come from a family of engineers and scientists who carried with them the same veneration for education. Both my parents work in Universities in Singapore, holding appointments and conducting research in their respective fields. Family members on both sides were also involved in academia in China. Under their influence, I grew up watching nature documentaries just as often as I watched cartoons. I was also a curious child, and would often stop to watch snails crawl and crickets chirp (sometimes to the frustration of my parents who were often in a rush to be somewhere).

I saw beauty in science, and delighted in learning about the natural world. I remember picking up a picture book in kindergarten that had vibrant illustrations of planets and the sun. It was a book about space. I fell in love with the beauty of the gas giants, and decided there and then that I would be an astronaut when I grew up. This dream of being an astronaut hovered in the back of my mind, until I reached my teens.

Tension, Disruption: My first time acknowledging Death

There are many instances in my life, where it felt like I had gained consciousness. It’s a sense of clarity that slowly encroaches, until you can no longer ignore what you are newly aware of.

On a random day when I was 12 or 13 years old, I realised that I was going to die. I had understood that death was inevitable but the certainty of it all did not register in my head until then. And the moment it clicked in my head that I too will be put in the ground one day, I started feeling this existential dread that I could not get rid of.

With my very empirical and scientific way of understanding the world back then, I figured that I would find a way to cure death. I began reading up on the scientific literature that was relevant to life extension. I read about the usage of CRISPR-cas9 gene editor as well as the observation of the shortening of telomeres with age. I had decided then and there that I would no longer be an astronaut. I would try my best to study human biology and come up with a way to prevent aging. After all, I had simply reasoned with myself that, if I managed to secure 300 years of life, I could just be an astronaut later on after spending my “first lifetime” discovering how to reverse aging!

And so I had immediately rationalised my dream of being an astronaut away.

Second Contact: Death of a dear friend

When I was 17, a friend that I had grew up with had passed from cancer. I had known him for 7 years at that point. I used to head over to his house to play this trading card game called “Duel Masters” with him and a bunch of other kids when I was much younger in primary school. We would always play with the cards on his bed. I remember there being 7 or 8 pillows on the bed, which was really funny to me at the time. After playing with the cards we would head down the street to buy some boba tea. In those days bubble tea shops were mostly still unbranded. His favourite was blue coral ice blended, whereas mine was blue coral milk tea.

Nearing the end of our primary school education, he contracted bone cancer. We were told that he noticed a sharp burning pain in his shoulder, but thought of it as a muscle issue and ignored it, hoping that it would go away. It did not go away. When he was diagnosed, aggressive oncological treatment began immediately, and the rest of us no longer saw him in the classroom. We were told that he would be taking his PSLE (primary school leaving examination) in the hospital.

The other kids that we used to play with fell out of contact over time. I lost contact with him as well, and life moved on. I found out that we went to the same secondary school when I saw him in the hallway one time. And then he disappeared again for another two years.

By the time I saw him again, his body was a shell of what was once there. He had lost all of his hair, and there were stretch marks everywhere because the cocktail of drugs that he took caused his body to retain water and balloon up to the point where his skin tore. There was a missing chunk taken from his shoulder, visible from his silhouette in the school uniform, and he was now bound to a wheelchair. We reconnected immediately and started talking again because we joined the same CCA (co-curricular activity). We both happened to enjoy playing the guitar.

He had kept up with most of his studies despite being heavily drugged on chemotherapy. I could see him suffering but I have never once heard him complain about his predicament. He had the tenacity and vigour that was not seen in many of his age. I gained a lot of respect for him during that period of time. After about a year of playing the guitar, we both performed on stage representing the school in this major concert called the Singapore Youth Festival. It was one of his bucket list items. He passed not long after.

Having the honour of meeting this friend has taught me many things about life. But most of all, he showed me what it meant to live with dignity regardless of how devastating circumstances can be.

Third Contact: Death of Family

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