project eggyolk's

PE
P EO
OPPL
LEE II N
N

P R O G R E S S

Caution! This book contains growth, emotions and vulnerability.

Eggyolk’s
Eggyolk’s Note:
Note:
This book is called People in Progress, a human

library to complement the lessons we have learnt in

'Egging you on!'. In this book, we compile and

collate the personal stories and photos

courageously shared by fellow students (anonymous

or named), an embodiment of their courage and

the lessons they have learnt in life.

Recognising everyone as People In Progress, we

asked Hwa Chong students of diverse backgrounds,

gender, CCA, be it J1 or J2, to share their most

poignant instances, significant phase or person in

their life. This can be anything, as long as it is a

story about growth.

In the next few pages, you will witness vulnerability

but at the same time, immense strength and

fortitude. We embrace these weaker moments and

we hope that these stories will tell you two things.

One, that you are never alone. Two, that there will

always be light at the end of a tunnel.

 Story #1

The
The Hole
Hole In
In My
My

Heart
Heart

"Your brain tricks you into thinking that the hole in your

heart isn’t as significant as it really is.

You speak as if it doesn’t matter, the truth is that

sometimes it does; it aches.

You thought that you were never going to have feelings

for a person you’ve never met, but you were wrong.

You often broach the topic first, afraid of creating

awkward scenarios down the road and gaining pitiful

looks.
You brush it off hoping that the attention is no longer on

you, giving yourself a false impression that you are okay

now. But perhaps you aren't.

You don’t understand your own mindset. Feelings of

confusion, slight resentment and curiosity are ever

present, even when you thought they didn’t exist.  

You have always believed that it was okay because you

have so many other people to make up for it. But there’s

a nagging feeling deep down that says otherwise.

You often wonder what it would be like if you did see

him one day.

But it also struck you that you had never thought of a

possibility in which he actually existed and carried out

his role in your life just like how others did for their loved

ones.

Maybe, he isn’t that significant after all.

But, you’ve got to admit, the hole in your heart does

exist. It cannot be easily covered up by plain words of

encouragement, apologies, awkward silences or

glances.
You haven't found a way to mend that hole. You have

never met someone in your life who has been in the

same situation as you. You don’t know if what you are

feeling is normal.

You don’t know what you are worrying about, confused

about or even thinking about.

Perhaps you just want someone to explain it to you, or

sincerely tell you that whatever happens in the future,

don’t be afraid because you will always have someone

to cherish and protect you.

Maybe, that’s the temporary band aid for this tiny hole.”

This is what goes on in the mind of a child who has

grown up in a loving environment. Except for the fact

that she has never met her father. She hopes that this

can help you realize that the simplest things in life that

many take for granted are in fact the most important,

and that you should really cherish what you have, just

like how she is trying her best to embrace and cherish

those who actually exist in her life.

 Story #2

Her First
Her First Love
Love

There was a young girl who loved to dance, it was

indeed her first love. Even before she stepped into the

studio, she twirled and pranced around everywhere she

went, and dreamt only of the stage.

2008 June, 7 years old - She took her first step into a

studio more vast than any she had ever seen before,

mirrors enclosing her, save for a wide expanse of french

windows behind her back. It felt like the studio was too

big for her tiny self.

10 years. 10,000 hours. I danced my way from Primary 1 to

Secondary 4 in the same CCA, with the same teachers,

the same studio, the same people (including more in

Secondary school). Before, during, and after every single

school day, I lived in the dance studio. I lived with it’s

jade green french windows, endless mirrors, and

freezing air-conditioner.

The dance studios were my home, and the people inside

these studios were my family. Like any family, there were

conflicts. Hurtful and demoralising comments made by

instructors - “You can’t even jump high enough because

your butt weighs 10,000 tonnes!” “You can get out if you

do not want to even try (said even when the dancer is

giving 110%).” Petty and trivial fights between dancers,

especially as immature primary school students - “Can’t

believe she took my spot in the studio!” “Could she stop

wearing the same leotard as me? She’s copying me

again!”

And just like any family, we had a lifetime of happy

memories. These people have inspired me in such

profound ways, and shaped me into the person I am

today.
To my 83 year-old dance teacher: I used to fear you at

the beginning of my journey. You were always strict, and

called me out for the smallest of mistakes or for not

putting in enough effort. It used to frustrate me to no

end. I admit I felt so terribly defeated about dance, I

nearly quit. I truly believed I was giving all I had, but in

reality, I had so much more to give.

These days, I see you as my foster grandmother, who has

always been watching out for me since Day 1. Your

words can be as sharp as a knife, or as comforting as

the smell of home cooked food. As a young child, I only

knew how to focus on the segments of your comments I

deemed hurtful, it was only much later that I learned to

distill your words and grasp the meaning behind each

piece of advice you gave. I was simply too full of angst

before, now I only have respect and love for you.

“When there’s a will, there’s a way.” From creating the

dance CCA more than 40 years ago in the courtyard of

our previous campus, cultivating a culture of excellence

for the school’s dance scene, and giving us more than

we can imagine, you are truly a force to be reckoned

with. After all, which 83 year-old grandmother can still

rule on the dance floor, and do ballet at that?

To my ballet teacher: I first met you in Secondary 2, new

to the ballet classes offered by the school, and feeling

awfully out of place. Somehow, you had a special ability

to balance discipline with humour, to lighten the mood

of the class in your own unique way, yet you would

always reign us back in when we get distracted.

You surprised me by throwing me into the deep end and

allocating me a dance on pointe, which I had never

done before. With only a month to choreograph, learn

and clean the item, and with no experience on pointe,

the only thing keeping us sane was your utmost faith in

your students. Mistake after mistake after mistake, yet

you never wavered, pushing us to our limits and beyond

to make us look as beautiful as possible on stage

despite the time constraints. Few would have taken such

a risk on a student like myself, but your confidence made

me unstoppable.

When I entered Junior College and struggled to balance

ballet classes with the whirlwind of school activities, you

never failed to accommodate my new life, going to the

extent of rehearsing with me during your own personal

time in preparation for my ballet exam.

Be it advice on which JC to choose, buying food to

cheer me up, or helping me manage my expectations

when I didn’t perform well in academic tests, you have

gone out of your way to comfort a student who will

forever be grateful for all that you have done.

To my juniors: Our batch was determined to change the

way the game was played. I swore that we would not

intimidate, but rather earn your respect and make your

days in CCA so much happier. In the end, regardless of

your sometimes unreasonable demands, silly fights,

overwhelmingly loud chatter, and mind-boggling studio

shenanigans, you guys have made me the happiest

person alive. Simple things — giving us hugs in the school

corridors, talking gibberish before CCA, and blanketing

us with heaps of jackets while we napped in the studio…

I could not have been more blessed by the

consideration, spontaneity and pure love given by you

lot.
To my batchmates: we were a mess from the get-go, but

I would not have found you without this CCA. To the

people I have grown up with and known for more than

half my life, I’ve seen the phenomenal growth in

everyone, dance and character-wise and learnt so much

from everyone.

Grit — when we danced from Monday to Sunday for

weeks on end and felt our weary bodies and souls

cracking under pressure, seeing everyone power through

burning muscles, countless blisters and open wounds

and multiple injuries, it’s hard not to be motivated.

Courage — to stand up for ourselves, confronting

teachers when we were genuinely disturbed, defending

our batch and our dance family to our last breath,

venturing into unknown territory and initiating large-

scale activities that were previously unheard of. We had

a lot at stake, but we never shied away from trying our

hardest. We believed in what we did, and we believed in

each other.
2017 June, 16 years old - She saw her juniors bearing

flowers to surprise her batchmates, she saw the aunties

who worked tirelessly behind the scenes without

demanding a single cent, she saw her dance instructors

who broke her and made her at the same time. She saw

tears swimming in her eyes, her soul brimming with

nothing but gratitude.  

She remembered the dance studio, how alien it was 10

years ago, and how familiar the smell of old ballet shoes

and the stale stench of the flooring were to her 10 years

later. As she stood onstage for the last time, she took

her final curtsey.

Thank you, for being there back then, and for being here

with me now and always ...

( thankful for the space to share this story too!

remember to always cherish the people who walk the

journey with you, no matter how much they may frustrate

you. forgive easily, love generously. )

Tunes that make me move

tinyurl.com/story2loveyourself

tinyurl.com/story2holdmyhand

tinyurl.com/canibehim

tinyurl.com/kylelandry
 Story #3

Comparison

“Comparison”; This word has been one thing I have been

struggling with for the past few years. In every aspect of

life, there is bound to be someone who is better than

you at something you are doing. If you’re lucky, there is a

lot of distance between that someone and yourself, and

this distance blurs the edges, softens the hurt. Yet, most

of the time in every direction we turn towards, there is

someone within arms length, who makes us feel

worthless.

“She is better than I am in social skills, how am I

supposed to match up?”

“She is so much more graceful than I am when she

dances.”
He can nail the moves that I cannot. When will I ever be

able to reach that level?”

“He even reads these textbooks for fun, who does that?”

These negative thoughts cross your mind and for some,

they may ignite a fire and motivate. For the rest of us,

these thoughts are each a stone, weighing us down one

by one, causing us to sink into a pool of self-doubt.

If you picture the person who has written the above

paragraphs, you probably imagine a girl who looks down

at her feet more than she looks up at the sky. On the

contrary, I’ve been told on several occasions that I come

off as a confident person. The first time someone told

me this, I was confused and shocked. But the more

people said it, the more I considered their words. I

started to dig deeper, and think of the parts of myself

that I could be proud of, the parts of myself that I

wanted to recognize and acknowledge. I started to see

and appreciate my strengths more.

I am not sure what exactly that first person saw in me,

that made him think I was self-confident. But regardless

of his reason, I owe him a huge thank you. Because of

his words, he caused me to gradually consider myself in

a different light. Perhaps you think I'm easily

swayed and even superficial, to simply start deriving

confidence based on someone else’s words and opinion.

Yet, I assure you, there are tons of people, maybe even

those around you, who are lacking the initial assurance

they need to start their own journeys towards self love

and self-appreciation. Indeed, the use of external

sources is unsustainable in the journey to accepting

yourself, but who says it doesn’t help? And why can’t it

spark off a healthy train of thought, that may lead to

deeper, more independent sources of confidence?

I believe that in our society, we dish out too much

criticism, and hold back on the honest, appreciative

words. I was lucky enough to have been gifted those

words from my friend, and have since grown to see

myself in a more holistic manner, instead of constantly

pulling myself down because of the people I think are

better than me. In sharing this story, I hope that you too,

can pass on a kind word or two, to someone you

genuinely would like to encourage or explicitly show your

admiration for. You never know how much change your

actions can cause, and honestly, what’s there to lose?

Make that difference.

And if you are someone like me, who tends to compare

myself to other people in a negative manner, here is

something someone I once admired told me:

“When you see a sunset, what do you do?

“Similarly, if you see someone talented in something that

you are not, someone you wish you could be, just see

them for their beauty instead of seeing what you are

lacking. Just like how you would admire a beautiful

sunset, don’t make it personal. Admire their beauty, and

move on.”

Thanks for reading this, and here is a recommendation

of a really beautiful song called Tell Your Heart To Beat

Again. I hope it’ll accompany you as you reflect on what

sort of positive change you wish to bring into this new

year, and what you wish to leave behind - for yourself

and for those around you :)

 Story #4

My First Relationship

This is a story about me, my hormones, a dude, and

growing. It could change your impression of me, but this

is my truth I’ve chosen to share, and I hope we’ll

remember that it doesn’t define who I am.

I grew up as the ‘typical’ kid with raging hormones – I

met a guy on the first day of P1 and sincerely, from the

bottom of my heart, thought I was gonna marry him.

Hoooo anyway years passed and I continued crushing

and having ideals of what a relationship would be like.

Nice.

          
When I was 15, a senior I had known (crushed on) for

awhile started texting me and expressed interest in

getting closer. Fast forward 1 month, we kinda just slid

into a relationship which went really fast. I didn’t really

feel many of the ‘butterflies in my stomach’ or ‘time

slowed down when we were together’ kind of fluffy stuff

that people always talk about, though I tried so hard to

believe that I did and this was a perfect first

relationship, when the truth was that there wasn’t much

of an emotional connection. There was also always a

closed, private side to him that I never reached –

something else I tried to trick myself into believing was

normal.

So after a month of being vulnerable to a person that I

honestly knew so little about, he decided to end it. I felt

relief at that point as I could sense it wasn’t gonna turn

out well.

          

The more I let it sink in, the further I spiralled. I spent the

next year fighting to believe that I had learnt something

from this, and that I wasn’t completely at the losing end,

and that I was okay with what happened. Snapping

between this forced optimism (or more like stubborn

hope that my first had gone well) and pits of regret and

raw
vulnerability took a lot from me that year as I battled

with my worst episodes of mental health issues too.

I sank into self-degradation alone as there wasn’t

anyone around me with a ton of related experience and

advice that I'd needed so badly. It’s hard when you’re

the first among your friends to dive into a ‘relationship’…

and it turns out to be so much less than ideal. I had

become the girl no one ever wants to be. But after 2

years of failed attempts at believing a false and hopeful

truth about him/myself/what happened, this is the truth

I have now:

1. I wasn’t and am not okay with what happened

2. I was hurt badly – the negatives outweighed the

positives in this experience

3. My self-worth is not dictated by this, and I didn’t let

myself down.

4. This is not my fault.

Simple and straightforward as these points sound, they

took me rounds of “okay, this is how it is”, “wait no I’m

still angry at this”, and finally “maybe this is the truth,

and it’s ugly” to stop creating a hopeful falsehood for

myself to believe, and accept that I was indeed flawed

and this was a mistake. It took me 2 years to stop

imagining myself to be someone stronger than I was, but

I guess that really let me have a peek into my core

beliefs and what values I lived by.

I don’t think I’ll ever let myself understand why he did

what he did, and I can’t forgive him for what he’s done,

but that’s okay. I know this doesn’t define him as a

person, just as it doesn’t define me. I guess we’re both

just human, with needs that are sometimes met in uglier

ways. (but still, @ this guy, cuddling with your girlfriend in

front of me in the common room was very not cool)

I’m still occasionally tempted to stare at his unchanged

Instagram profile picture and wonder if karma has

gotten to him yet. Sometimes when life hits hard, we’re

not able to be as strong as we hope and really - all we

need is a quick block on Instagram and deleting a

contact, to protect ourselves from clinging onto things

that only hurt.

I don’t know if this has made me a better person, or if

life would have turned out differently if not for this

mistake. To everyone out there who hasn’t had a go at

finding love/have been hurt similarly before... maybe

everything happens for a reason, or maybe not?

I’m thankful that life gave me the chance to find love

again this year – to give myself another go at finding the

same trust in someone.

We are all works in progress, and we define what each

experience means to us. Perhaps in another 2 years I will

view this very differently again, or maybe some things

will make more sense than they do now. To anyone

reading who’s needed this, I hope this has been the

voice that I needed but didn’t have.

(I couldn't think of an outro so here’s a suggestion from

the loml)  yaboi out *mic drop*

Here's some feelgood vibe-y music:

tinyurl.com/story4dodie

tinyurl.com/story4wod

tinyurl.com/story4dodie2

tinyurl.com/story4chainsmokers

tinyurl.com/story4human
 Story #5

How
How do
do we
we live?
live?

At a young age (around 8-10), I began questioning the

concept of death and the purpose of life. I would usually

ask myself such questions: What would happen to my

soul after death? What purpose am I living for? Even

after doing a google search, the answers I received

were unsatisfactory and on the contrary caused me to

worry even more. Thinking about this regularly gradually

caused me to fear death and made life seem pointless

at times since I was going to have to leave this world

behind sooner or later anyway.

At the age of 15, I attended my first Outward Bound

Singapore course which lasted a total of 5 days and 4

nights. Outdoors and nature is special to me as being

immersed in it truly speaks to my soul. It strengthens one

physically, mentally, spiritually and creates a sacred

understanding that speaks out to everyone specifically.

If given an opportunity, please do go out and explore! :)

Back to the topic, during the course, my instructor asked

me a question that spoke to me. He said “If today was

your last day, would you be satisfied with it? For all we

know, tomorrow, your life may end and is this how you

would like it to end?” Truly, our lifespan may be long, but

it can also be so fragile. Some may live till a ripe old

age and yet some won't even make it to see tomorrow.

There is no point fearing death because it may come

sooner than expected and I still will not have the

answers. Instead, why not ensure that before I sleep, I

sleep knowing I will not regret whatever I have done and

am ready to face whatever the future holds.

Through this, I decided to live each day as if it was my

last and cherish all I have in this world. I guess such a

mentality does have its pros and cons. A "You Only Live

Once" mentality an be a risky one, but I believe it is

about how you choose to live that one time.

I harbour the mindset that there are no next times. So

for whatever that is on my to-do list, I finish it to the best

of my ability, for I do not know what the future holds.

I guess the next turning point in my life would be during

my solo during my Classic Challenge Course(CCC).

During the 3 days of solo, I had gotten so close to nature

and realised the beauty of this world. I guess a better

way to summarise it would also be that I realised how

insignificant our presence in this world is. As I sat in the

shelter reflecting, I realised that we humans are just part

of nature itself.

The world runs itself and us humans are just part of the

system. We are as, if not more vulnerable than the other

species. While other animals and beings are naturally

inclined to tell weather conditions and possible natural

disasters with great accuracy, we humans are unable to

do that; not instinctively at least. So, compared to other

animals, I do not feel we are more superior because we

are more “civilised” or “smart”. We are but another

existence on Earth and in this eco-system. Like all other

animals, every day is a battle for survival so being human

is not going to be that easy too.

Through this takeaway, I realised the role of us in this

world. Put it crudely, to me, its mainly for survival. To see

tomorrow. However as morbid as it may sound, we can

find joy in it too. To continue living is hard, that is why

we must find purpose in it. To know what and who we

are living for. Only then is there purpose and happiness.

This is going to differ for person to person and is going

to change over time. Mine did, but I am going to

continue to keep finding it. Only then, can I say this life

has been a meaningful one.

If I make living sound like a war, then a war it is, but I

want to fight a battle rejoicing at the victories and

losses, and not surrender doubting my decisions.

 Story #6

What
What I
I

Weigh
Weigh
I have danced for as long as I can remember. Even

before starting dance lessons at age six, I would run

around and twirl while listening the old Chinese songs

my grandparents liked to play at home, without any

technique whatsoever, happy to simply move to the

music.

Being introduced to Chinese dance is one of the best

things that has happened to me, because this art form

has shaped my passion into something tangible, given

me an outlet for my creative energy, and a defined

purpose in my life. And for eight blissful years, it was just

that.

At 15, my body began undergoing visible changes.

Puberty, like for every other girl, came in the form of

developing curves, and — in my case — weight gain.

Being told by my dance teacher that I had to lose

weight (for the first time in my life) came as nothing less

than a shock. You must understand that Chinese dance

embodies artistic beauty, and a large part of that is

conveyed through the dancer’s appearance. It is similar

to ballet in this aspect: both traditional dance forms of

dance place a lot of emphasis on physical form. Simply

put, the standard to achieve is tall and slim, because

such dancers look better on stage.

Normally, physical appearance would not have mattered

so much to someone with a personality like mine. But

because I have given so much of myself to this art form

— the countless hours invested, the pain and the stress

weathered — it feels like an inseparable part of my

being. I wouldn’t be me if I weren’t a Chinese dancer.

So much of my self-worth was based off my success in

dance. Thus I began to see myself through the eyes of

my dance teacher, and I didn’t like what I saw.

Standard dance attire is a skintight leotard and tights. It

became a weekly horror to have to put every line of my

body on display in that, and a deep wellspring of

insecurity. I hated looking at myself in the mirror, and I

couldn’t even watch videos of my rehearsals because

the sole thought at the forefront of my mind was loud

enough to drown everything else out: I look so fat.

As my body continued its development, the weight gain

did not stop there and it affected me more than just

dance-wise. I became hyper-conscious of the way my

uniform felt tighter, my cheeks looked wider. I was not

comfortable in my own skin, I didn’t like taking pictures,

and the persistent unhappiness felt like a heavy weight

against my chest. My self-worth dropped like a stone.

Even now, I still face weight fluctuations that I seem to

have little to no control over. I still haven’t fully accepted

my body for the way it looks. But at some point, after

having my weight mentioned to me countless of times, I

came to the conclusion that this is my body, and this is

the body I will have for the rest of my life. I could choose

to go to bed at night feeling bad about the way I look

and wake up in the morning with only disgust for myself,

or I could make peace with my body, going to bed and

waking up feeling at ease, with that pressure off my

chest.

I’m en route to complete acceptance of my body — it is

taking time. I still suck in my stomach reflexively when my

shirt brushes against my skin and sometimes I look in the

mirror and frown. But I’ve chosen to view my body with

all the positivity and love I can muster. As a dancer, I’m

putting all my focus on strength, technique and

expression, instead of things that don’t matter so much.

This is a story about self-acceptance (for all who need

it). I hope you love and cherish the one body you have,

and please, please, please, know that beauty truly

cannot be confined to a single standard, least of all by

appearance.
As human beings, there is so much more to us than just

our looks alone, so why should we base our self-worth

off of that?

Scrolling through Chibird brightens the worst days:

http://chibird.com/
 Story #7

Checkpoints
Checkpoints

It will soon be 10 years of me doing the same sport.

Constantly, many people tell me how lucky I am because

of the achievements I have attained in this sport. But all

this glory is never without some failure.

When I was 10, it was the first year I took part in a

National Track and Field competition. Thankfully, I did

much better than I expected and people started to

praise me. It felt like I had the world in my hands. In the

subsequent years, I did equally as well and even came

close to holding a record. Then, that was one of my

proudest moments.
Soon, in my first competition in secondary school, i was

defeated. Not by one place, but by many. One moment I

was right there on the podium, but the next I wasn’t.

From there, I was told that I would never make it, that I

was not good enough. I started to think that my choice

to continue this sport was wrong. I started to believe

that my past achievements were solely based on the

fact that I was naturally bigger and stronger. As we all

grow older, other people grew too, and became

stronger. Until one day, their strength overtook mine. It

also hit me at a later stage that I had lousy throwing

techniques. In the case of many of my competitors, their

hard work and effort paid off at training with better

throwing techniques that benefited them at

competitions. As a result, I was less confident, and more

afraid of losing in subsequent competitions.

When I came to JC, I was initially sceptical about

continuing this sport after all the setbacks I had faced.

What good will it do for me to continue this sport? Will it

be any different from my secondary school? Yet, it was

as if a part of me told myself that maybe it would be.

With nothing much to do during the holidays, I decided

to compete 1 last time in my sport as the school didn’t

have enough people to fill in the spots.

With the advice and help from a senior, I trained hard

during the holiday. But I wasn’t alone. Together with my

batchmates, we trained harder, pushed each other and

as one of us would say, “[work] harder than all our 4

years combined”.

For my first competition in 2018,  I improved much more

than I could ever imagined. In my subsequent

competition, I managed to throw a distance I never

imagined I could. In that moment, I was really happy. I

felt joy, different from what I felt when I was younger.

That throw also allowed me to qualify for an overseas

competition, something I only dreamt of going into

secondary school.

With the experiences I gained over the years, I realised

the amount of hardwork and determination one must put

in to succeed. It wasn’t as easy as my young self

imagined. I believe that what is meant to be yours will

be yours. But in order to get there, we have to prove our

worth by working hard. Things may always seem

uncertain at some point in time, some people’s earlier

than others, but as long as we keep believing, and keep

trying, one day, we will get there. Giving up will get us

nowhere.
Thinking back, I would never have been able to reach

where I am today without my friends and family backing

me up when I was beating myself up because of all the

setbacks. They are always there supporting me and

telling me not to give up.

Today, people may believe that I have succeeded as I

have reached my goal. But life is a journey with no limits,

that was just a checkpoint. I always believe that one

should be content but never satisfied. Even with all my

current achievements, I will still continue to strive and

achieve greater heights and of course, give back to

those who have supported me throughout these years.

No matter which checkpoint you are at, even if it may

seem like everything is spiraling down and you are

getting nothing out of it, remember, just like mountains,

there is always a peak and a base. But after every base,

there will be a next mountain for you to conquer. The

next uphill climb will be tough but the view will be worth

it. Climbing alone, would make you feel like giving up,

but there are friends who are willing to walk that path

with you, pushing you. So don’t ever give up! And one

day, you will eventually reach the checkpoint.

These are the people who were there when I was at my

lowest, pushing me like no one would because they

never gave up on me and believed wholeheartedly in

me. If there's one thing they taught me, it's that I should

never give up on myself.

 Story #8

You are never alone

You alone

Sharing your feelings to someone close to you may seem

like an impossible feat at times if certain events or

situations are too sensitive to be shared, but in other

times, perhaps it doesn't hurt to pour it out to others.

My teenage years were never easy. Not because of

academics, but rather it was something that happened

to me that made it hard for me to cope with my feelings.

It was an emotional attack. At the age of 14, I began to

exhibit sudden jerking motions and noises that were

uncontrollable. Initially, i brushed it off as a cold or flu

whenever I had to defend myself from the persecution of

the people around me. But these symptoms didn’t stop,

neither did they get better. It grew to become

something ubiquitous in my daily life; in school, at home

and in public. No matter where people around me would

give me a disgruntled look each time I did that motion. I

particularly remembered one day during my Design and

Technology class, where my symptoms grew to be so

severe, that my teacher at that time punished me by

sending me out of class. I felt humiliated. I did not know

why this was happening to me, for words cannot

describe my condition.

As time passed, my condition began to gain traction

amongst the student population. Soon, I was being

called names that were incriminating. Even my closest of

friends had joined in on the name-calling bandwagon.

At that point in time, I felt helpless, because it seemed

as if i was left on my own. It did not help that my family

wasn’t as understanding as I hoped, my parents at that

point in time, couldn't accept that I was special, and

continued to reprimand me for behaving in such a

manner. Sometimes, they left me so heartbroken, that I

had to leave them for a few hours to spend some time

on my own. I specifically remembered one night, staring

off into the night sky watching planes land at the

airport, I wished I had someone that could empathize,

relate with me, someone that I can talk to.

It took some time before I could regain the trust towards

my parents. I hesitated a lot as I knew they would

definitely have trouble understanding my feelings and

perspectives. Approaching them about this matter

would be a leap of faith, but finally, I managed to

gather all my courage to discuss how I felt about myself.

It was definitely challenging at first, but fortunately, we

were able to understand each other, that they wanted

the best for me, but I still wanted someone to

understand me. In the end, we agreed upon seeking

some professional advice and decided to arrange a

consultation with a specialist.  

Eventually, I was diagnosed with Tourette’s Syndrome, a

rare condition that affects roughly 1 in 200 youths. Its

signs and symptoms perfectly matched what i was

dealing with, sudden noises and fidgeting movements,

called tics. These symptoms surface in youths as young

as 8 years old but tend to improve as they mature. To be

diagnosed with this condition, gave me a sense of

closure to my problems, to know that I was not alone in

this because there are others like me out there in

society. However, I am most grateful for my parents, for

being able to resonate with my feelings when I shared it

with them and for being supportive of me on my road to

recovery.
Just know that there will always be people there for you.

a great song to lift your spirits!

tinyurl.com/story8breathin
 Story #9

You can do

what
what I cannot
cannot

It has taken me a long time to accept that I may not be

good at everything.

It was not as though my mother had enforced upon me

some colossal familial pressure to excel (in fact, she’s

the one that convinces me to “just sleep” a day before

the exams). It was not as if i was subjected to a great

deal of comparison with my cousins or peers, and it

would be myopic to simply attribute this to our

“competitive Asian education system”.

If I had to attribute my insecurities to something, I guess,

it would be the blessing of knowing many extremely

talented people in many disciplines.

“And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously

give other people permission to do the same.”

On paper, it may seem like a noble way to lead our lives,

but I can’t bring myself to believe it. I remember hiding

my exam papers during a paper check to earn myself

the “right” of comforting a friend who did not do as well.

I remember being excited about something that I had

achieved, only to hold those words behind my lips. I

remember seeing how my own light had blinded a

friend. But more than meagre sense of guilt (that may be

easily misconstrued for a humble brag), I couldn't help

but feel a sense of solidarity, because I’m no stranger to

being blinded by someone else’s light too.

In Secondary 2, I went for a lead role in a production,

competing with another fellow peer of mine. On

hindsight, I really admire the grit and will that Secondary

2 me had, and even wished that i had kept all of that

fervour till today. I would act for hours in front of a

mirror, going so far as to record myself on my laptop as I

acted, before reviewing it and repeating the entire

process about a million times (a conservative estimate).

But I was told that I had missed the role because my

physique did not suit the arduous demands of a wushu

choreography, while my peer fit the requirement to a

tee.

It may seem like a minute matter, but Secondary 2 me

was devastated to say the least. Acting was all I'd ever

known, my greatest source of pride, and to be told that

you were not as good as someone else (especially

because of something I could not control), sucked.

Really sucked. And I contemplated giving up.

But I’m glad I didn’t give up. It was only after that did I

dabble in script writing and crew work, which ultimately

led to me finding my niche and passion in backstage

work. And on hindsight, I’m glad he did the role, because

Secondary 2 me wouldn’t have been able to play the

role as well as he did.

But life has a warped way of imparting you “maturity”

just when you thought you had learnt to accept ‘being

second’ is okay. Coming to JC only opened my eyes to

more talented “first”, reminding me that I could be

“second” in ways that previously never even fathomed.

But I think at this point, even though my ego begs to be

fed, I am proud to be second. At least to someone I call

my friend.

I struggle with confidence, and yet i am proud to have a

friend that is more charismatic than me, and continues

to champion the green cause with the gifted (and loud)

voice of hers.

I find that sometimes people find it hard to open up to

me, and yet I am proud to have a friend that can

connect instantly with anyone, and that he continues to

support his friends through all their tough times.

I struggle to keep my energy up all the time, and yet I am

proud to have a friend that exudes such jarring positivity

24/7 that you have no choice but to smile.

“You can do what I cannot”

…and i’m slowly realising that that, is okay.

 Story #10

Follow
Follow Your Heart
Heart

Like many, I enjoyed reading as a child, but stopped in

secondary school partly due to lack of time, and partly

due to lack of interest. I was a ‘normal’ guy who spent

his time playing games and screwing around with

friends. However, in secondary 3, I picked up a book ‘The

Alchemist’ by Paulo Coelho at some book fair, and fell in

love with it. I finished the book in one sitting, reminiscing

about my younger days when I read books for fun, not

just being forced to do so in school. I began to go to the

Library more, and read a lot. Outwardly, I was still the

same chill guy, but inwardly, my interest for reading was

growing by the day, and I started to value things like

games less and less. My friends noticed this and simply

went along, but there was a distance between us as we

couldn’t connect on our old topics such as games.

Reading became a one man affair, and occasionally I

wished for someone to share it with.

Coming to JC, I saw a CCA called Library club. It

sounded like the perfect cca for me to read and

perhaps, meet others who enjoyed reading as well.

However, the rumours and negative image of the CCA

made me avert it. I ended up in another CCA and was

planning to enter OESC, falling back on my Scouts

experience in secondary school. By a twist of fate, I met

the Library Club President at the orientation of the CCA

and chatted with her about Library Club. On hindsight,

this was the affirmation I needed and I ended up

swapping CCAs to go to Library Club. This, though, was

practically social suicide, as there was a certain

judgement people placed on me whenever I said my

CCA and almost all my friends started laughing at me. I

clearly remember one time when my friend asked me

what CCA I was in, and after I told her, she replied

‘Eeee, damn loser sia’. Feelsbadman. Later on, I got into

OESC as well and was asked to drop my second CCA.

Despite the social suicide, I had grown to enjoy the

Library Club CCA for the reading it allowed me, as

well as the notion of promoting reading to the school.

Hence, I didn’t quit.

In the end, I dove deeper into the rabbit hole and ran for

EXCO in Library instead of OESC and committed myself

to the CCA. Why did you do that? Many ask. I don’t have

a good answer for a seemingly irrational decision, but I

guess it was passion and love for reading that made it a

clear choice. Don’t get me wrong, I love OESC and the

outdoors, but I guess in my heart there’s an

irreplaceable spot for reading.

Today, if you face a similar conflict of wanting to do

something but is socially stigmatised for it or is perhaps

dissuaded by many, I urge you to be BOLD and go for it.

Back then, something in my heart told me Library was

the CCA for me. I didn’t listen. Luckily I met the president

who made me join Library Club. Not everyone is so lucky,

you might just miss it. Take it from me: the intrinsic joy I

reap from doing what I love is priceless and beyond

words.

Shameless plug for Library Club instagram:

instagram.com/hci_library_club !!
 Thank you for reading! If you too, have a story to

share, feel free to go to tinyurl.com/eggyolkpip for

more information.

Sometimes, all a heart desires is someone who would

listen without judging. We promise not to judge.

You can also contact us on Instagram

@project.eggyolk. We hope you've enjoyed the

stories and don't forget - this is only a preview! Look

out for Volume 1 and Volume 2 coming soon.

Project

Eggyolk
 Bibliography

Brandon Woelfel. 2017. Photography. Online. Retrieved

from: http://www.brandonwoelfel.com/photography-

1/w9vrciia6wxnjvme3i3xqr532v57mp

Boom Sports Academy. 2016. Track. Online. Retrieved

from: https://boomsportsacademy.com/wp-

content/uploads/2016/11/track.png

Nikita Gill. 2018. What I Weigh. Wild Embers: Poems of

Rebellion, Fire and Beauty. Online. Reproduced in full

medium of book. 

Thought Catalog. 2017. To the daughter who lost her

dad too soon, Allow yourself to find peace. Online.

Retrieved from:

https://thoughtcatalog.files.wordpress.com/2017/02/2

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