C C Z H

It has been a while since I wrote, O-Levels sure take away a large chunk of your time, don’t they? The examination I have dreaded for as long as I can remember is finally drawing to a close and freedom beckons, its silvery doorway already in sight. Almost two weeks have passed since the beginning of this battle, and what a ride it has been. From being paralysed with anxiety during the English papers to wondering what in the heavens was going on during the Additional Mathematics papers, this fatigued warrior is yearning for a break.

To say I’m exhausted would be an understatement, but then again, national examinations are a rite of passage aren’t they? Every Singaporean teenager gets a sip from the chalice of pressure and a bite off the bread of suffering. However, it really depends on how much we choose to consume. Some of us overeat and crumble under the immense pressure, while some of us starve ourselves and leave the war empty-handed. Emotions run raw during this period, and every ounce of it is painfully apparent on our faces. Shivering in fright under a canteen table is commonplace, and so is frequent bowel movement, which I hesitate to elaborate on.

When the time comes we’ll see whether our labour bears fruit. After all, not everyone emerges as champions. Whether we live up to our lofty ambitions or not, life goes on. Time waits for no one, the second hand will always continue to run laps around the clock. That being said, we’re far from the end of the line, in a world full of towering trees, we’re still seedlings, still very much in the race to touch the sky. Life still has many tricks up its sleeves, many challenges to hurl in our direction, this hurdle is only one of countless more to come. No matter the result, we have emerged stronger, braver and more resilient, and I think that that is the greatest reward of all.

CCZH

Be perfectly honest with yourselves, when was the last time you felt truly happy? You probably already have an answer in your head, but hold on to that thought for just this moment and hear me out.

I like to think of happiness as a trader, for it’ll give you some happiness, but in return, it’ll take away some you already have. That is why I can’t remember the last time I was truly, one hundred percent happy, because apart from the good, there’s always something lurking in the shadows, weighing me down. This is not to say I’m an unhappy person, in fact, I am one of the more cheerful chaps you’ll come across. My question is how much happiness do you need to have to feel truly happy? I can hear your chuckle, no, this isn’t a lame attempt to play with words, but rather a genuine, heartfelt query. I know for a fact that it is virtually impossible to have everything going right in your life, therefore there’s always going to be that gap, or rather brick wall, between you and reaching that elusive one hundred percent happiness. The happiest people I know don’t always have the smoothest of lives, so how is it possible for them to smile so radiantly? The answer is simple, they are contented with what they have.

Without being stereotypical, I can divide the elderly people that I know into two broad categories, the discontented and the contented. The discontented constantly moan about their seemingly horrible lives, their physical pain, their children, their lack of branded goods for example. I struggle to comprehend why, at their old age, they live with so much unhappiness and regret. I don’t want to say this too early, but if I were to live to their age, I’m pretty sure that I’ll be counting my blessings instead of the other way around. This brings me to the contented elderly. I admire them, I truly do. Their golden years are filled with positivity, they wake up every morning and thank God for each new day. I think this is beautiful, it warms my heart to see them smile and it teaches me so many lessons. I hope I’ll follow in the footsteps of the latter rather than the former.

Having applied a more positive attitude towards life, I can now proudly say that I am a happier person. No longer am I weighed down by rocks of sorrow, for I have left these burdens behind. Instead I fill my backpack with fluffy clouds, clouds of innocent satisfaction. With all that weight lifted off my shoulders, I am now free to run, to run and embrace what the future holds.

CCZH

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”

This is a beautiful quote, it really is. Ronald Dahl’s last line in his last book is unforgettable, and even today I find myself living true to his words. Every time I find time, I find myself staring into the distance, just admiring the beautiful world around me. True, Ronald Dahl’s quote has way more depth than just to be an admirer of the universe, but I think that this is a good start.

As I grow older, mind you I’m still very young, I find that life is losing its magic. In my early days I remember staying up on Christmas night to catch Santa, only to be more than slightly disappointed to see a familiar man by the name of “Dad” walk in with two oversized socks in his hands. What a great way to discover the truth. Also, every family outing would be like an adventure, be it shopping or visiting a tourist attraction. My youthful eyes would glitter with innocent joy as I stood amazed at giraffes and sharks, and my mouth would hang agape as I ascended to dizzying heights in a cable car. What a childhood, a childhood that I have my parents and grandparents to thank for.

Which brings me to my point. Life is losing its magic, its becoming bland, monotonous, even boring at times. And this kills me inside, what happened to all the excitement? I’m never one to feign emotion, when I’m happy or angry, its painted on my face, hell, I might as well have a sign on my face to display my mood. Over the last year, many people have been telling me that I don’t smile. And its painfully true, because I simply cannot find anything that’s worth smiling for.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

CCZH

Red and white. Green and bright. Singapore, so small yet so big in our hearts. She is the oyster that nurtures the pearl that I am (cough). A shining beacon of progress, Singapore, just fifty years after its independence, now stands proud among giants. Obviously, I’m far too young to say I played any part in that, but I can say, with my chest puffed out, that I am well and truly Singaporean. Hundreds of plates of hainanese chicken rice later, I still feel as patriotic as I was in Primary School. It was in Primary School that we were taught to sing national day songs. I still remember our high pitched voices reverberating in the school hall, filled with passion and innocent joy. It was in the hall that we promised to “stand up for Singapore” and “reach out for the stars”. I say unashamedly that I still have a CD filled with national day songs that I sing along to when the mood permits. So, happy 50th birthday Singapore, you’ll always be my home.

CCZH

I would like to believe that we are all born with an hourglass within us, and the sand within it starts to trickle down the moment we emerge into this universe. Every one of us has a different amount of sand in our hourglasses, and eventually, when the last grain of sand joins its fallen comrades at the bottom of the hourglass, our time is up and we go to a better place. I don’t know how much sand I have left in my hourglass, it may be a mountain or I may be down to my last handful! And it is what I do with this sand that will define whether my life was one well lived.

Inevitably, the mountains of sand in my hourglass would be reduced to a tiny mound. By that time, even if my spirit is strong, the shell which protects it from the elements would already be worn out; cracks from illnesses, holes from words that pierce and pale from the exhaustion of life. I picture myself sitting on a porch, the stars above me twinkling cheekily and the frigid night wind tussling my bone-white strands of hair. I would know deep inside that I would not see many more nights, perhaps fewer than the amount of fingers I have on my hands. But yet I would smile, beaming, almost glowing with satisfaction, for I know I have lived a life with no regrets. To leave this world knowing that I have used every last grain of my sand to its fullest. That would be the greatest achievement.

(EXTRACT FROM MY COMMONWEALTH ESSAY 2015)

CCZH

It was a cool and somewhat tranquil Saturday evening, and I was in a rather sombre mood. Many people tell me I’m too young to be a grumpy old man, but feelings like this – you can’t erase like a chalkboard. I’ll let you in on a secret – when I’m in a bad mood I like to drink Perrier Lemon. I’m obviously underage to consume any sort of alcohol, so the bitter taste of Perrier Lemon is an ideal substitute to keep my mind off troubles. Call me lame – whatever.

I took a train to Chinese Garden, with my choice of “poison” rather exuberantly stowed in an ice bag. I like dressing up – don’t get me wrong – but I was careful not to overdress. I heard Park Dwellers are an extremely judgemental species. In my sky-blue tee and rather floppy jogging shorts, I strode excitedly into the gardens. I was eager for some silent self-reflection. It was a relatively quiet day, the Park Dweller population seemed to have emigrated. I found myself a clean wooden bench under the shade of a tree – which arced majestically downwards, its leaves rustling in the aromatic evening air. Yes, even air has its distinct characteristics.

The bench overlooked the central lake, but not the sun. I deliberately chose a bench facing away from the sunset. However beautiful, the piercing rays of the sun were an unwelcome distraction – a mildly painful one. I sat there, staring at the rippling orange water – for what seemed like hours. I thought about life, my studies, my friends, my family.

It’s laughable really, how hard each of us tries to make our mark in this world. We study so hard, we frantically build our relationship bridges, we endure sleepless nights deliberating on our imperfections. All for what? When our day comes, we’ll fade away. However memorable our lives, we’ll all turn into stories. Stories that live in the minds of our loved ones. Stories that could bring a smile to a face or lead to a torrent of tears. Stories that could bring songs of praise or choirs of resentment. Stories that would inevitably fall to the test of time, fading away into the great library of forgotten history, locked away by the guardsmen of space and time. So what is the meaning of life?

This is the meaning of life. We are the authors of this great story. It matters not how many people get to read it, or how long this story is passed down. We write this story for ourselves, with the ink of life. One day the ink would run dry and the final chapter to our story would be written and signed. But till then, the ink can be used to write countless adventures, tales of joy, sorrow, anger, danger, love. Tales that would fill the pages of the book of life. We don’t have anything to prove at all! We share this book with those around us, and we can use our ink to write in the books of others. The ink in our books and the stories that they tell, they’re not just our own! Countless others have spilled their ink in our books, their stories and ours entwine, creating new chapters. It’s beautiful. That’s what life is for, for us to not only fill our own books but the books of others too! And when the time comes, we’ll pass down our books, hopeful that the tales of the old would serve as a guide to young blood, to aid them as they start writing their own books. It all comes full circle. It’s a cycle, a beautiful one, and all of us have our part to play in it.

Satisfied that I had done my fair share of thinking, I checked my watch – and promptly let out a shrill of distress. It was a quarter past ten. Getting off the bench. I rushed back home to the sight of my rather irritated family members gathered in the living room. I placed my bag on the table and went to take a shower – and was interrupted my a rather alarming shattering noise followed by a rather familiar name being shouted repeatedly. Wrapping myself with a towel, I rushed out to see my ice bag lying open on the floor – and a smashed-up bottle of Perrier Lemon lying cheekily in the middle of a puddle of water.

Damn. I forgot to drink my “poison”.

CCZH