COMMENTARY: "Back then (in JC), volunteering was merely an extension of one’s CV. Friends around me advised me to focus on my studies." However, for 21-year-old Nur Hazeem Bin Abdul Nasser, who founded a non-profit at the age of 17, he believes in listening to the stories of various people from all walks of life.

In this piece, he reflects on what he has learnt from meeting the less well-off in Singapore. 

Mothership and The Birthday Collective are in collaboration to share a selection of essays from the 2019 edition of The Birthday Book.

The Birthday Book (which you can buy here) is a collection of essays about Singapore by 54 authors from various walks of life. These essays reflect on the narratives of their lives, that define them as well as Singapore's collective future.

"A broken song" is an essay contributed by Nur Hazeem Bin Abdul Nasser, a Yale-NUS College student who is also the co-founder of ALittleChange, a non-profit advocating for active youth citizenry. He has since started a new non-profit, The Signpost project, which aims to nurture relationships and articulate individual stories of tissue peddlers in Singapore.

By Nur Hazeem Bin Abdul Nasser

“You so young, Uncle so old, why don’t you spend time with your friends?”

He stares across the canal, weathered eyelids half-closed. He strums his ukulele to the tranquil tune of “Fly Me to the Moon.” Uncle fishes there every morning for his breakfast while on the lookout for NEA officers.

A gentle morning breeze crosses the pavilion. The sun rises across streets bustling with activity—the typical morning rush. A mother gently pulls her son through the crowd to get to the bus. A young man holds his laptop bag close in a sea of strangers. An old lady pushes her cardboard-filled trolley.

Gold 90.5FM music plays softly from Uncle’s speaker, a precious keepsake from his late wife. She fought a hard battle with cancer before taking her last breath before Christmas.

Now, with no one staying with him, he sings karaoke, goes for his shift job and spends time with his cat.

“But Uncle happy that you come talk to me lah. You very young and already doing very good.”

Uncle continues playing the ukulele, its soulful melody lingering in the air. I am reminded of the times when I was pressured against excessive volunteering. The serene atmosphere of the pavilion stood in stark contrast to the pressures of a Junior College.

Volunteering should never be just as an extension of your CV

Back then, volunteering was merely an extension of one’s CV; friends around me advised me to focus on my studies and my relatives chimed in too. Volunteering presumably did not yield any tangible results—yet grades were permanent. Like parallel strings, our lives should never have crossed.

Yet, it takes just one moment to strike a chord between lives.

I struggled to travel the well-worn path of juggling my CCA commitments and studying for my A-levels. Though time was a scarce resource, I always wanted to continue my relationships with those less well-off than I was. Why should they struggle while I stayed so comfortable with my abundance of opportunities?

“Real change only comes if you study hard enough.”

Don’t waste time on this, focus on your future.”

“You can make a bigger difference when you’re older.”

Voices both near and far echoed all around me. My strings were coming undone. My melody threatened to be drowned… until I felt a tug from a teddy bear.

A story about a nine-year-old girl and her teddy bear

A soft and fluffy brown bear with a red bowtie neatly tucked under its chin. Life softly reminded me that I was not struggling alone.

I had chanced upon a little girl at a nearby trash-bin centre. She was just a little kid, just shy of nine years old, collecting cardboard with her mother. I was there to support a community initiative—an exchange of greetings and gifts to spread the festive cheer.

Yet, just as I was about to leave, the little girl held on to my wrist.

I was confused. Most people would have taken the care package and exchanged goodbyes—gestures of kindness left in passing. Maybe she wanted another gift? I offered her another one and she quickly shook her head.

Still confused, I looked at the mum for an answer. The mum chuckled and said, “Oh, she just want gift exchange.”

The little girl looked at me with her wide eyes, smiling and excited to finally celebrate Christmas in her own little way. Extending her teddy bear to me, she was extremely delighted to finally participate in a Christmas gift exchange.

She didn’t see her less-privileged background as a hindrance to her generosity.

Crucially, she gave me a piece of her story. The dirt marks on the bear’s paw, the lopsided ribbon, the natural wear and tear of a toy and the imprint of her low-income support programme on its stumped tail reflects a piece of her journey.

More than an exchange of gifts, it was an exchange of stories.

Today, the little girl’s bear sits snugly in the corner of my study, reminding me of the stories I have come across and those I have yet to hear. The teddy bear has become part of an intricate tapestry of intertwined narratives that are now a part of me.

Stories I would not have known if the little girl had not given me a part of herself.

Many Singaporeans have vastly different lived experiences.

Somewhere in Singapore, a little girl collects cardboard with her mother.

Elsewhere, a homeless man cherishes his 20-year-old bike with no gears because it was the last gift he received from a friend.

Working two part-time jobs, a mother struggles to spend quality time with her son because of her shift schedules. She worries about his well-being and academic performance.

Somewhere in this tiny island, a boy from a low-income family studies hard to become his school’s valedictorian.

In a typical coffee shop, a bubbly auntie drinks her usual teh-o kosong with her clique of neighbours and talks about free government vouchers and packages.

I want to be able to live these experiences with them, to know their dreams and help fulfil them. Most important, I want to let those with unseen burdens know that they are not alone.

Small efforts amount to something. A little change can make a big difference.

We can start by listening to people around us.

Through a disposable camera, a low-income mother can see her son play football and know that he is not bullied, her initial concerns finally deemed unfounded. With a care package, Auntie quickly sneaks a bite of Wang Wang biscuits and is reminded of her son’s favourite snack. While painting, a little girl cheekily swabs paint on her father, having not seen him all week because of his shift work.

Once, I thought all these efforts did not yield results—a common KPI for most Singaporeans—yet my experiences with these families have shaped me.

They form a crucial part of my own story. All of us stringing stories to create a developing narrative for Singapore. A song riddled with pauses, marred with forced chords, twisted and turned yet still crafted with willing hands and full hearts.

Still strumming, Uncle notices that I was not eating his catch. “Aiyo boy, you very skinny. Please eat, please eat.”

I chuckle awkwardly and gently take a piece, careful not to burn myself from the freshly cooked fish. The fish is slightly bitter and rather bony, yet I realise that this is all he eats. Every morning.

Frank Sinatra quietly echoes in the air as we watch the sun rise over the city and see what spring is like, with stories to warm our hearts.

How do we listen to the stories next to us?

To me, it all starts with listening to an Uncle, his ukulele and their beautiful, broken song.

Have an interesting perspective to share or a commentary to contribute? Write to us at [email protected].

If you happen to be in the education space and think this essay may be suitable as a resource (e.g. for English Language, General Paper or Social Studies lessons), The Birthday Collective has an initiative, "The Birthday Workbook", that includes discussion questions and learning activities based on The Birthday Book essays. You can sign up for its newsletter at bit.ly/TBBeduresource.

Top photo via Mike Coghlan/Flickr, Sandy Millar/Unsplash