Dear Mr Lian ShihSheng,

      Greetings!

      Was it your decision to award me the literary prize?

      Receiving the news filled me with awe and trepidation. I feel undeserving. In the past six years, I've published very few pieces under my real name. The quantity of my work hardly seems sufficient to warrant an award. Logically, winning usually involves networking – recommendations, endorsements, and votes from selection committees. Strong social connections are essential, aren't they? I'm afraid my social life is a blank page. This isn't false modesty. My main profession, music, keeps me constantly busy, juggling student exams and annual performances, not to mention caring for my elderly mother. This often prevents me from attending social gatherings, seminars, and concerts. My relationships with other writers are largely distant and allienate.

      A month ago, my alma mater, River Valley Chinese Middle School, celebrated its 57th anniversary with an alumni art exhibition. An alumnus, learning I'd self-published some books, went out of his way to obtain copies. He didn't say the usual pleasantries. Singaporeans are direct and sharp, and I didn't take it amiss. He actually said,  “I don't recognize your name at all!” His honest expression made me chuckle. I mention this to illustrate my lack of prominence.

      For someone so insignificant to win an award feels like winning the lottery.

      The day after the notification, I told my printer, Anthony Ng, to gain some insight into layout. He was astonished:  “Wow! With so many established writers, how did you get it?”  “I cut queue.” I joked. Of course, winning isn't a matter of queuing or a lottery draw. It broke a lifelong curse of never having won anything.

      I don't worry about what others think.  Ultimately, we live for ourselves, and I need to come to terms with this. What have I been so busy with? It's time for some self-reflection.

      Writing, for me, is instinctual, like breathing, drinking water, keeping a diary. It's not about ambition or profit. I dug out old articles from clippings, magazines, and online searches. Through writing, I easily reconnect with my past. These past two weeks have been exhausting. Apart from teaching, I've mostly stayed home, quiet and withdrawn, my mind constantly on edge. It's been hard because I wasn’t just reading words; I was rereading the tapestry of my life, the people and events interwoven with time. Without these people and events, these social interactions, these emotional experiences, there would be no writing. Whether it’s been a journey of hardship, ups and downs, or a stroke of luck, it’s all irrelevant now. Those who knew and loved me, those who wronged me—past tensions, tangled relationships—are all gone, leaving only memories preserved in these cherished writings.

      Organizing my old manuscripts required evaluation, selection, and an editor’s perspective. I turned to Yu Ning. Proofreading, retyping lost documents…… I received invaluable help from Tan How Nguan, Ang Chui Yak, Ng Yoke Chuan, An An, Poh Joo Nam, Xu Shuyun, Chen Ting, Wang Tee Mui, Cheng Hoon Leong, Tay Tiong Kin, and Ng Gek Eng.

      Throughout my journey, I've had the support of many teachers and friends. Their companionship and encouragement have kept me writing. Interestingly, hardship and recognition seem to be directly proportional. I used to dwell on negative experiences, feeling dejected. But after attending Master Lingxia’s Buddhist studies, I had an epiphany. He said, “To achieve something, you need guidance from a mentor, help from benefactors, and even the oversight of detractors.” 

      Wow! Detractors! Suddenly, the negativity in the world had a purpose. It even plays a positive role! 

      What more can I say? 

      What more can I complain about? 

      I never cried over setbacks, but her words brought tears to my eyes. I realized every experience, every person, is an opportunity, a lesson, a practice. Why hadn't I appreciated that before? Even if these bumps haven’t broadened my tolerance or spurred me to greater heights, they've enriched my emotional understanding. This realization brought me peace, acceptance, and serenity.

      

      Every year before Lunar New Year, my calligraphy teacher, Koh Mun Hong, gives me a narcissus. This year, it bloomed modestly on New Year's Day, with three flowers. On the second day, nine. Unlike previous years, when it bloomed explosively and faded quickly, this year's narcissus bloomed slowly, continuously, until the Lantern Festival. Its gentle fragrance accompanied me through the entire Chinese New Year as I reviewed my work.

      I'm grateful for this award, not for the elevated status it brings. Winning has allowed me to revisit my journey, rekindling my youth; to pause, reflect, and summarize; and to give thanks for life's blessings.

      At 56, is this my golden autumn? I received an award. Mr. Lian, what were you doing at 56?

      Researched materials reveal that during Singapore's journey to self-governance, you served on the government's Public Commission, acting as a think tank member, serving the Chinese community, even facing deportation from Malaya. In the following years, you published masterpieces such as Gandhi, Nehru, Tagore, and the eight volumes of Letters from the Seaside.

      In the golden autumn, are farmers busy harvesting or enjoying their leisure? I heard that farmers who cherish their land rest it after harvest, sowing sunflower, cosmos, and rapeseed seeds to nourish the soil for the next spring.

      Thank you, Mr. Lian ShiSheng. It is you who have sparked these thoughts.

Thierry Wong

February 23, 2013