Why should we be together? - Alice

Lee met Alice at a salsa class. She was beautiful, confident, accomplished. A high achiever at work with many admirers.

Lee pursued her with intensity. He said yes to what she wanted. Made himself available. Prioritised her needs.

She chose him.
Their relationship had a particular rhythm. She focused on her demanding career. He made sure her life ran smoothly. She made decisions. He supported them.
Lee was content with this arrangement. It worked for both of them.

When Chinese New Year came around, Lee brought Alice home for the festival.
Women of the family, including in-laws, gathered in the kitchen to prepare food together for the celebration.
But she sat at the dining table, laptop open, rushing to meet a work deadline.

"Can you bring me some water?" Alice asked Lee.
He did.
Lee's parents watched. Their disapproval was clear. They did not like what they saw.

Sharp comments followed.
About modern women. About respect. About what proper behaviour should look like.
Lee did not know what to say. The tension built throughout the day.

Alice finally closed her laptop. Looked at Lee. Then at his parents.
"I have had enough," she said. "Why should we be together?"

She ended the engagement.

Was I part of the family? - Mei Hua

Mei Hua came from a generation where women were expected to hold the household together, and she took that role seriously. She was a foreigner and left her family-of-origin to set up home here.

For decades, she was the one who organised family gatherings. She remembered every birthday, every anniversary, every celebration. She made the phone calls. Sent the invitations. Planned the menus. Coordinated schedules.

When the family came together, it was because Mei Hua made it happen. She did the administrative work. The logistical planning. The emotional labor of keeping everyone connected.

The family gatherings were warm and full. Uncles, aunts, cousins, in-laws. Everyone laughing, eating, catching up. Year after year.

One day, Mei Hua fell sick. A terminal illness that left her weak and largely housebound.

The extended family stayed away. They had superstitious beliefs around sickness. They worried about evil spirits, about bad luck jumping from her onto them. They feared that coming into contact with her would make them fall sick too.

So they did not visit. They did not call as often. They kept their distance.

Mei Hua, too weak to organise gatherings anymore, stopped doing so. Without her doing the heavy lifting, the gatherings stopped happening.

Mei Hua watched from her bed as the family she had worked so hard to hold together simply drifted apart. And drifted away from her.

Now, in her illness, she had only her husband and her children by her side. All her in-laws had disappeared.

She wondered if she was ever truly considered family.

Am I only worth what I earn? - Lisa

Lisa's father had suffered a stroke.

Her mother spoke to her about caregiving.

Lisa works in the arts industry. She loves her work. Creating, collaborating, bringing ideas to life. The pay isn't high, but it feeds her soul.

Her mother laid out the plan. "I can't possibly care for your father alone. And I don't want a helper in the house."

"Your siblings are earning more," her mother continued. "It makes sense for you to give up your job. You earn so little."

"Employing a helper for your father would cost about the same as what you take home anyway." Her mother's voice was matter-of-fact, logical. "So you've got to give up your job."

Lisa opened her mouth. Then closed it.
Her siblings, both in finance, both with families of their own, would continue their careers. Their higher salaries meant they were too “valuable” to interrupt.

But Lisa, quantified only by salary, was found lacking.

Her mother shrugged, dismissing her silence. "You can always find another job. Art jobs are everywhere."

What does duty really mean? - Giu

Giu is an elderly gentleman in his eighties caring for his even older mother, who is nearly one hundred years old, at home.

Giu is the only living child, unmarried, and lives with his mother. He has done so his entire life.

He struggles to care for her. She is prone to falls.

Although he is retired and often at home, picking her up from the ground each time she falls has worsened Giu's physical aches and pains. His back screams. His knees protest. Some days, he wonders if he'll be able to get her up at all.

His mother has expressed that she does not wish to go to a nursing home. In their culture, elders are cared for at home. It would be a disgrace to send her away. What would people say?

When Giu explained to her that he was also old and in need of care, his mother dismissed him.

"I am older than you!" she said. "You're still young compared to me."
As her son, he was responsible for caring for her until her passing. That was his duty. That was what good sons do.

Giu had heard this all his life.

Giu sits in his chair at night, body aching, thinking:
He’s elderly… and getting frail.
And he is still the child expected to serve.

It’s hard being filial. - Joanne

Kim Choo and her husband expect their daughter, Joanne, to entertain them. Plan exciting travels. Research restaurants. Book hotels. Organise day trips.

When activities don't meet their expectations, they are harsh.

"Why did you pick such a restaurant? The food is terrible."
"Why did you choose this place of interest? I don't like this and that."

Kim Choo and her husband also expect Joanne to listen to their bitterness and resentment toward their siblings. Long phone calls filled with complaints. Joanne is expected to be available when they call.

Joanne works very hard to meet these expectations. She researches extensively. Plans meticulously.
When her parents say she's done a good job, she feels relieved. The anxiety lifts, briefly.
However, criticism comes all too easily. Joanne is anxious and miserable most of the time.

Kim Choo and her husband, however, are happy for a short while when their expectations are met. Then the cycle begins again.

Occasionally, Joanne tries to suggest changes to their dynamics:
"Mum, Dad, is it okay if you check out the travel agencies and make some decisions on where to go?"
"Is it okay if we don't talk about uncles and aunties anymore? Maybe you can talk to them directly?"

Kim Choo's response is immediate. "I carried you for nine months! I gave up my career for you! Because of you, I did not develop myself."

Her husband adds, "I spent so much money on you. Do you know how much food you ate? Do you know how expensive your education is? If it were not for you, I would have lived a stress-free life. I might have gotten myself a sports car!"

Joanne feels the familiar weight settle on her chest. Guilt. Obligation. The sense that she owes them her entire life.

She stops suggesting changes. She continues planning their trips. Listening to their complaints. Being available when they call.

She wonders: When will it be enough? When will she have repaid the debt of being born?

It was big sister duty. - Siew Lan

Siew Lan could only go to school when her younger brother could finally attend school.

The parents reasoned that the older sister could also care for the younger brother if they attended school together. Siew Lan would walk him there, make sure he ate his lunch, and walk him home.

She was seven. He was six.

When her brother entered into higher levels of education, Siew Lan was told to drop out of school to work. She was needed to help put him through school.

Siew Lan’s wages went directly to her brother's school fees, textbooks, and extra tuition.

The parents tried to compensate for her time and labour by telling the younger brother that he should always provide for his sister.

"Remember, Siew Lan sacrificed for you. You must take care of her when you're successful."

The younger brother nodded. However, this was not legally stipulated. It would be done based on the younger son's goodwill.

Her brother graduated with a degree. Found a good job. Got married. Started a family.

She never married. Who would want a woman with little education and barely any savings?

My brother said I was special. - Valerie

Valerie was the baby of the family and doted upon by her grandparents, parents, and siblings. She was a child with a fiery temper and outspoken in getting what she wanted.

Valerie was six years old when her teenage brother began to play special games with her.

She was excited. He made it seem like she was being included in something important, something secret. He gave her "permission" to touch him in private places. It was framed as a precious moment to cherish between them.

In return for giving her such privilege, he said, she would also allow him to touch her in similar places.

These sessions shifted gradually. From touching with clothes on to touching without clothes on. Then lying on top of each other. Eventually, slight penetration.

A few years later, Valerie's brother became partnered. The sessions ended abruptly, without explanation.

Valerie and her brother continued their family life as if nothing had happened. He helped her with homework. Drove her to activities. Acted like the doting sibling everyone believed him to be.

But something inside Valerie changed.
She became secretly ashamed of what had happened. She couldn't name why. And she distanced herself from the bodily sensations she had experienced… something that persisted to adulthood.

I thought ‘return it when you can' was clear enough. - Ming

Ming's business was thriving. Life was good.

When he saw his sister juggling postgraduate education and part-time work to pay her tuition, he offered to help with her school fees. "You can return the money when you have a job," he said.

She was grateful and relieved.

When she experienced harassment while on public transport, Ming offered to help with the downpayment for a car. "You need to be safe," he told her.

Ming also helped his wife's family when his in-laws lost the roof over their heads. He provided the downpayment for an apartment. They had nowhere else to go, and he had the means to help.

Years passed. Ming's business became volatile. The steady profits dried up. Cash flow became tight. He needed to pull back on expenses and shore up his reserves.

Ming reached out to his sister, who had progressed well in her career, and his in-laws, who were now in good financial positions. "I need to ask for the money back," he said. "Things are tough right now."

They were surprised. "We thought you gave us the money," they said. "You never said these were loans."

Ming protested. "I said you could return it when you were able. That implies a loan."

They shook their heads. "It wasn't clear that the money transferred were loans."

They pointed out that they had shown gratitude and appreciation over the years. Gifts, snacks, birthday presents. Hadn't that been enough?

Besides, they argued, Ming was not in sufficiently dire straits. Unlike his in-laws' situation back then, Ming had not lost his apartment. Additionally, Ming's wife was a working professional and should be able to support his basic living costs.

"We have other essential expenditure," they explained. "Family trips. Dining at restaurants. The children's enrichment classes. We don't have spare cash right now."

Ming sat in stunned silence.

I gave because I thought we were family. - Ammera

Ammera was a single lady in her forties when she befriended a three-generational family. She began to have family meals with them regularly. The warmth of their home filled something in her life.

She saw the little grandchildren as her own nieces and nephews. The elders became like parents to her. They welcomed her presence, and she felt like she belonged.

One day, the family was in turmoil.

One of the sons had borrowed a large sum from illegal sources. His business losses were mounting and he was unable to recoup them. The debt collectors were relentless. The family was frightened.

In desperation, he reached out to each sibling for help. And to Ammera.

Ammera hesitated. This was a significant amount of money.

The patriarch of the family noticed her hesitation. He approached her privately.

"You're financially comfortable," he said gently. "A successful professional with no familial responsibilities. We've been like a family to you, haven't we? And family should help one another."

The words landed heavily. They had been like family to her. Could she really say no?

Ammera handed over a significant sum from her savings.

After some time passed, Ammera began to ask about repayment. She needed to rebuild her savings.

The borrower would always say the same thing: "I don't have any money to spare right now."

Weeks became months. Ammera brought the matter to the patriarch of the family, hoping he could help establish a repayment schedule.

He shrugged. "There's nothing I can do about it. You'll have to speak with him directly."

Then he added, almost casually, "You loaned the money willingly, after all."

Ammera felt something shift inside her. When they needed her, she was "family." Now that she wanted repayment, she was just someone who made a voluntary loan.

She realised she had never truly been family.

Isn't this my duty as the eldest son? - Daniel

Daniel was a good-looking man in his twenties and the heir of his family business. He was dating a woman seriously and looking to settle down with her. Life felt full of promise.

Then disruptive technologies hit the industry. The Huang family business, built over many years, lost its competitive advantage. Orders slowed. Profits dwindled. The future looked uncertain.

Around this time, a lady from another family business took an intense liking to Daniel. She made her interest clear to him, to her family, to his family.

Her father spoke to the elder Huang. He made an offer: If Daniel were to marry his daughter, he would give considerable sums that could keep the Huang business afloat. Perhaps even help it modernise and compete again.

Daniel's parents sat him down. They explained the business situation in detail: The debts, the declining revenue, the employees who depended on them. Then they presented the offer.

"You're the eldest son," his father said. "The family heir. This is your duty."

His mother added gently, "This marriage could save everything we've built."

Daniel thought about his girlfriend. The life they had planned together. The future he wanted.

But he also thought about his family's legacy. The employees who would lose their jobs. His parents' life work crumbling.

Although Daniel did not have affections for the lady, he felt obligated to save his family business.

Daniel broke off with his girlfriend and married the lady.

Years later, the business stabilised. His wife seemed content. His parents were relieved.

But Daniel would sometimes wonder: Whose life was he living?

Am I being ungrateful? - Fay

Fay was looking to purchase a car due to her job's travel requirements. As a rookie in a sales position, her income was volatile and she had little savings. A car loan from a bank seemed risky.

Her sister offered a solution. "I can lend you the full sum without interest."

Fay was relieved and grateful. No interest meant she could manage the repayments even when sales were slow.

After purchasing the car, her sister informed Fay of an additional arrangement.

"I'll be using the car on weekends," her sister said. "Consider it a token of appreciation for the loan. You'll remain fully responsible for the upkeep of the vehicle, of course."

Fay felt something tighten in her chest. "Wait, that wasn't part of our agreement. I need the car for work trips that sometimes fall on weekends. And if you're using it, shouldn't you contribute to petrol and maintenance?"

Her sister's face hardened. "I'm doing you a favour by lending you money interest-free. This is the least you can do."

Fay tried to discuss it with their father, hoping he would see the unfairness.

Instead, her father sided with her sister. "You should be thankful to have a car given your current financial position. Your sister is being generous. Don't be ungrateful."

Fay realised she was trapped. The "interest-free loan" came with a price after all. Just one that wasn't disclosed upfront.

I am doing all I can to help. - Kevin

Kevin was a respectable man. He was known to be fearless and would stand up for injustices he saw on the streets and at work.

With his colleagues, he was generous with his time, words, and help. With his relatives and family, he went out of his way to be present. Sometimes he would travel over an hour at the drop of a phone call to tend to their needs.

With his muscular appearance and his unapologetic speaking style, he appeared strong and invincible.

What was not obvious to the untrained eye was that Kevin was sensitive to perceived accusations that he was not enough. That he wasn't doing enough. That he wasn't good enough.

His closest ones learned, consciously and unconsciously, to move him to act through expressing distress and helplessness. Disappointment. Veiled criticisms. "I thought you would be here for me." "I guess I was wrong about you."

They lavished him with praise and love when he availed his time, energy, and resources. "You're amazing, Kevin. What would we do without you?"

Although he was exhausted, he did his best to fulfil everyone's expectations. He pushed himself harder. Slept less. Gave more.

But no matter how hard he tried, his efforts were never enough to meet the unending needs. There was always another crisis. Another call. Another person who needed him.

In his frustrations, he would sometimes erupt in intense anger. Vulgarities would fly. His voice would boom, filling the room with a rage that scared those around him into silence.

Afterwards, the guilt would settle in. He would apologise. Promise to do better. And the cycle would begin again.

Kevin, the strong one. Kevin, the helper.

Kevin, who was slowly burning out from the inside.

Was I set up to disappoint? - Sony

Sony and Junior were same-age cousins who had been competing over their performance in school and sports in subtle ways. Neither spoke about it openly, but both felt quietly happy whenever they did better than the other.

Over a family dinner, Junior shared exciting news. He was completing a major in computer science and planning to enter a hackathon with some friends. His eyes lit up as he talked about the project.

Sony, who was a beginner to the world of artificial intelligence, felt a spark of curiosity. "That sounds interesting! Would it be okay if I connected with your friends casually? I would love to learn more about what you're working on."

Junior hesitated for just a moment, then smiled. "Sure, I can set something up."

He didn't want to appear unhelpful, especially in front of the family. But privately, Junior didn't want Sony in this social circle. This was his space, his expertise, his friends.

When Junior contacted his friends, he framed the introduction differently. "My cousin Sony is quite knowledgeable in AI. He's interested in exploring being part of the team."

The meeting was arranged.

Sony walked in expecting a casual chat, a chance to learn from people who knew more than he did. Instead, Junior's friends launched into technical questions, expecting expertise.

"What's your experience with neural networks?"

"How would you approach this algorithm challenge?"

Sony stumbled. He tried to explain that he was just starting out, that he had hoped to learn from them. But the damage was done. The disappointment on their faces was clear.

Junior's friends walked away thinking Sony had overstated his abilities. Sony walked away humiliated, unsure what had just happened.

Later, when Sony asked Junior what went wrong, Junior shrugged. "I just told them you were interested. Maybe they misunderstood."

How much do I owe him really? - Wei Hao

When their father was involved in an accident and was no longer able to work, Wei Jun stopped schooling and took on full-time work. He helped put his younger siblings through school, including Wei Hao.

Wei Hao was grateful for his brother's sacrifice. He knew Wei Jun had given up his own dreams so that Wei Hao could pursue his.

But Wei Jun was difficult to get along with. When Wei Hao didn't do well in school, Wei Jun would put him down. "You're not good enough. You need to try harder." When Wei Hao did well, Wei Jun would dismiss it. "You were just lucky this time."

Wei Jun had a bad temper. Wei Hao felt like he was walking on eggshells around him, never sure what might trigger an outburst.

"Don't forget what I've done for you," Wei Jun would say, his voice heavy with expectation. "You're indebted to me." He used this reminder as leverage, a way to get Wei Hao to do what he wanted.

During Wei Hao's growing-up years, their interactions were limited to the family home and family activities. Wei Hao's financial dependence meant he couldn't create distance even when he wanted to.

In adulthood, they met mainly at their parents' place during festive periods. Polite. Cordial. Surface-level.

When their parents passed on, they barely spoke. The tie that had held them together… the obligation, gratitude, shared family gatherings… had loosened. And Wei Hao realised he didn't want to tighten it again.

How does honouring my elders look like? - Ying

Ying had been separated from her mother's family for two decades. After her parents' divorce, her father had taken her back to his hometown in Malaysia. There had been no meaningful communication with her mother's side since.

When she found a job in Singapore, she decided to visit her mother's family to pay respects. It felt important to reconnect, to bridge the gap that time and distance had created.

As Ying spent time with them, her uncle's words cut deep. He criticised her job. "That's not a real career." He picked apart the flat she rented. "You're wasting money on that place." Even the way she cooked wasn't right. "Who taught you to cook like that?"

Each visit left her drained. The sharp remarks would replay in her mind long after she left his flat.

A relative noticed her discomfort and pulled her aside. "Your uncle is retired and quite lonely, you know. It would be good if you visited him more often. Keep him company."

Ying hesitated. "But every time I leave, I feel so low. His words are really harsh."

The relative waved her concern away. "That's just how old people are. He's behaving like a normal elderly person. It's the responsibility of the younger generation to show compassion and understanding to our elders. You've been away for so long. This is your chance to honour the family."

Ying felt the weight of expectation settle on her shoulders. Was she being selfish? Disrespectful? Should she just endure it for the sake of family harmony?