Gratitude

Some of us are fortunate with money, some with a great family and a set of friends who stand by, and many others who receive help and support from unexpected quarters.

Following my article, I was touched by the responses I received—calls and messages expressing concern and empathy. To all those who reached out, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I use the term "empathy" rather than "sympathy" because many of you have faced similar challenges and understand the depth of what I’m experiencing.

The icing on the cake was when I woke to a warm Sunday morning here, in sultry Singapore. Immediately, my thoughts were preoccupied on what needs to be done at the hospital today, even I succumbed to my vice and habitually looked up my mobile phone for any missed calls and message.

One of them was from our CEG89 family. He had left a message to connect when OK. I did not know if he had anything specific in mind. We connected. He was effusive in praising the openness of my writing. When someone talks from the bottom of his heart, you would always feel that. I felt that, right at that very moment. His gesture, devoid of any need for recognition, reflected his true character and the values he upholds. It reminded me of the importance of appreciating the goodness in people and valuing their sincere efforts. His thoughtful words, amidst his own busy schedule, left a profound impact on me.

This experience taught me a vital lesson about the value of human connection and the strength it can provide in times of need, in this era of social media, where personal touch is receding faster than the ice sheets of the Arctic pole. It reaffirmed my commitment to reach out and offer a moment of happiness to others, no matter how fleeting. Today, I resolve to continue this practice, recognizing the immense fortune of being surrounded by kind and compassionate individuals.

In our shared journey, let us all remember to acknowledge the goodness in others and to extend our support whenever we can. Life, despite its challenges, is enriched by the connections we foster and the kindness we show.

The old article:
The Quiet Resilience The sultry air of Singapore clung to my skin like a persistent embrace, an unwelcome reminder of my perpetual discomfort. A half a century behind my bald head, life had wrung me out, leaving me a hollow shell, teetering on the edge of despair. The past few years had been a relentless barrage of calamities: a near-fatal illness that had drained both my body and other issues related to work and on the personal front, and the ever-looming burden of an aging mother who relied on me for her every need. My mother, once the vibrant pillar of our family, now lay confined to her bed, blind and paralyzed for over the past eight years. The weight of her care pressed heavily upon my shoulders, both emotionally and financially. Our apartment felt suffocating, every corner echoing with the reminders of my dreams I had long forsaken. Today, the crescendo of my burdens came to a head. I was forced to admit my mother to the hospital again, her fragile health deteriorating faster than I could manage. The hospital was a labyrinth of sterile hallways and beeping machines, a world away from the bustling streets of our neighborhood. As I navigated this cold maze, I felt a familiar knot tighten in my stomach—the anxiety of seeing her through this, for the umpteenth time and facing yet another medical bill. In the midst of this quagmire, a figure caught my eye. An elderly staff, perhaps pushing close to his 70s, was pushing my mother's wheelchair with a gentle determination. He appeared like a full-time employee on contract. His face was lined with the marks of time, yet his eyes held a serene kindness. He maneuvered my mother with a care that spoke of years of experience, treating her not as a burden but as a cherished individual. "Thank you," I mumbled, my voice barely rising above a whisper. I fumbled in my wallet and pressed a few crisp bills into the man's hand, ignoring his "it's OK lah!" mild protests, a pitiful offering for his unwavering compassion, or so I felt. He accepted it with a gracious nod eventually, his weathered hands closing around the money with a quiet dignity. As I watched him disappear down the corridor, a strange emotion welled up within me. Here was a man, aged and weary, yet giving of himself without complaint or expectation of reward. His selflessness was a stark reminder of the strength that lay within the human spirit. It had turned out to be a long day at the Rx. I had to ignore the begging eyes of my mother not to leave her. I had gathered myself at last, thoroughly drained out – physically and emotionally. Back in the stifling confines of my apartment, I found myself lost in thought, as the aircon was quietly humming away, to give some external cool. The television droned on, its flickering images failing to capture my attention. Early dinner saw the avaricious me hogging like I had just returned from Somalia. My eyes wandered over the TV, whose volume I had muted. My jaws were attacking the carbohydrates on offer. The coziness of the sofa gave me a strange feeling of comfort and luxury, almost making me forget the eventful day. But two contrasting images kept flashing within, even as the mastication continued. One – me, sitting on a couch in aircon, eating my meal (and hopefully digesting it too), and taking all of these “luxuries” as given. And yet complaing about all that is seemingly bad in life. The other- the elderly helper at the hospital, his quiet resilience a beacon in my darkened world. At near 70 he still had to eke out a living, by working at a hospital. The rapidly alternating flashes had resulted, soon enough, in one man’s problem pale, in comparison with the other’s. A million sperms swim towards the egg. Only one wins. I decided here and now – whether I win the egg or not, I am born a spearm and so, shall continue to swim.