Unifying (Part 1)

Sample 1:
I stayed silent, watching as the Secondary Three boy I was tutoring frown intensely, as if he were subject to immense injustice. 

"Why do we always talk about gay rights?" He finally asked.

Not knowing how or why a simple comment about gay rights had now seemingly inspired a personal response in him, I sought to weed out his opinions. Searching my memory, I recall him cringing when I gave an example of how new beliefs can override the old, similar to America's recent legalisation of gay marriage.

"I suppose you're against homosexuals?" I asked.

"Yes. I mean...", he was searching words now, but settled for the basest of them all. "They are freaks of nature, don't you think so? Only heterosexual relationships are natural. Only humans have deviated from it."

"Ah. Are you sure that 'heterosexual relationships are natural'? Monkeys engage in homosexual behaviour too." I pointed out.

"But... it's against humanity. It's still abnormal. Don't we need to ensure continue the family line?"

"Need? In this day and age? Anyway this does not justify your argument that homosexuality is "wrong". Try persuading me on the validity of your view." I prompted, recalling my responsibilities as a tutor. 

"I don't  know. Urgh, if I ever have a son and I find out that he is gay, I would throw him out of the house." He spat out vehemently. 

I was slightly taken aback by the sudden turn in this conversation, but made a concious note to correct his thinking professionally. 

"That is fallacious, and I believe I have already taught you how to identify faulty arguments. Let us explore a scenario. Suppose you have a son who chooses to do arts over the sciences. Would you disown him then?"

"No? But this is... this is... false analogy. It is not the same," he replied.

Trying hard not to grimace at this misuse of the terms I've taught him, I simply answered, "No, it is not false analogy. You would not condemn your own flesh and blood merely because of his predisposition towards a certain field. Moreover, it is in the name of love. I do not understand why people condemn love, and not realise it comes in different forms. Would you rather prefer war?"

"No... I ... " He was yet going to try at a pointless rebuttal.

"You wanted to be a politician, didn't you? If you ever rally for a cause against gay rights, the first person against you would be me." I added, with all seriousness.

He made slight sounds of protest, and uttered a childish reply-- one that signalled defeat.

"I will read all the law books in the world and I would one day out-argue you to prove you wrong." 

Ah. I've forgotten that he is still an immature sheltered boy of 15 years. 

I sighed, then proceeded, "Reading all the law books in the world won't do you any help. I'm on the side of reason and logic, and that's what will always triumph. Now, now, let us continue the essay discussion. We'll revisit this argument at a later date." 

But it is indeed this sort of intolerance, immaturity, and lack of empathy that repeatedly causes the world to burn.

I then made a mental note in my head to not merely focus on tackling O level essay questions, but on a larger theme uniting the following weeks of lessons: Value Judgements and Moral Judgements.
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Sample 2:
A long day of work during the weekend had finally ended. I returned home with two packets of food, one for my mother and the other for myself. As the key turned I saw a silhouette in the doorway, only to be greeted by my mother, pale and weak.  

Within the next few minutes, I familiarised myself with the details of how her health had deteriorated. I was out of touch with circumstances as I lived on my own during the weekdays. My father, despite being in the know, failed to show concern whatsoever. I tried ringing his cell but received no reply. It hadn't bothered me at all, because I was used to his absence whenever something crops up. But he did eventually call back, and I ordered him to come back immediately in a somewhat offensive manner, as I vaguely guessed at his dishonesty when he frantically constructed an alibi as counter to my questioning of his whereabouts. 

As soon as we arrived, the hospital did the necessary checks, and proceeded to put her on drip. My father, in his usual boorish manner, paced up and down the walkways of wait with his slippers, dragging his feet and announcing his presence wherever he went. His appearance of supposed anxious concern was all too much to handle, and I diverted my attention to reassuring my mother that she would be fine.

I stood close to her bedside, quiet. My arm was rested near her head, so that she could lean on my shoulder, and that would in turn give her some warmth in this chilly, sanitized hell.

She suddenly spoke,"You haven't been willing to come close to me for a long time. You would always run away."

"Not when you have hurt and neglected me thus far, Mother." An internal reply was formulating and swimming within my head. I kept mum. But it was undeniable that bitterness could indeed be tasted in my throat when I was bombarded by sorrow. 

Yet there was no resent on my part. (Why should there be?) Only recently had it come to my attention, that an overwhelming sense of pity, almost palpable, was overriding all sense of affection I had or could have for her. Correspondingly, the helplessness I felt in being unable to lift her from the abyss of depression laid out the path that I could only leave, and flee for my life by choosing to live alone, before I became another slave to despair. 

And as I was acting out this plethora of emotions in my head, my father had returned. He proclaimed loudly and proudly that he had paid $300 deposit for my mum being transferred to the observation ward, but conveniently missed out the fact that she would eventually pay the rest of the amount herself, which amounted to a few thousands. 

Then the poor woman was moved to her ward, where she was subject to watching her husband, the supposed love of her life, looking at the television and the telephone by her bedside greedily. She was entitled to a four-bed air-conditioned ward, which was expensive indeed, if she was not under subsidy by the company she slogs her guts out at. Her husband, also referred to as my father, switched on the television, disregarding that the time was 12am, and that he was supposedly taking care of a patient. After I had told him to switch off the television, he proceeded to use the telephone to ring up my brother, which made my mother all the more disappointed that her son was not concerned for her. After accomplishing his aim of making a point that my brother was useless and uncaring, he finally decided to head home.

I need not remind the patient how her choices of marrying such a man had resulted in circumstances today. But she would resist, as always, by arguing that their finances were tied together and hence divorce would be a silly proposition. Mixed with a fervent want of a complete family to make up for her history of having a womaniser for a father, as well as her belief that divorce would mean ultimate failure as a lady, she foraged on into a sunset of epic self-denial. 

And I had no more place in that landscape, watching darkness in my room after a happening day, revising moments of my mother recounting her childhood days when she was neglected by her mother and slapped for no reason whatsoever. 

I had not faced physical violence by her; I was not living in poverty; my father was dutiful in paying the bills and driving us around (which he frequently claims credit for). Why then, would I have a tinge of resent breeding in my heart? 

My mother's fixation on my father and brother was well-established and well-reasoned. One was her "true" love, while the other was a child whom she had spent most time and effort on, but had gone awry, turning out to be an aimless individual void of a sense of responsibility towards the family. 

Like me, she had struggled. She too had struggled to be the pride of her family despite being taunted and derided by her own mother. She too had dreamed of a mother who is dependable and resilient and gentle and kind.

Not realising, I dream too. 
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Sample 3:
"Well, either way, I am against marriage." I thought it would be wise to put forth my stand before he could possibly launch into preaching about the sanctity of marriage. 

By fate, the both of us had been eating dinner together, and somehow we started talking about our own families, despite having known each other for only half a year. 

"I don't believe in marriage either." That reply did finally make me notice that he was different in some way. I waited in anticipation as he continued, "Don't you think that the nature of compromise should be valued? It is beautiful in that it can keep two people together for years." 

"No. It is exactly because marriage is founded on this mechanism of barter-trading-- i.e. if you do a favour for me, I should return it. That is the source of much unhappiness, namely when this trading equilibrium is tipped and skewed to one party giving."

"Sure, you can see it as trade; but I prefer to see it as compromise." He replied quietly. 

"And from your own life experiences at least, you can conclude that children have to eventually carry the burden of their parents. Marriage forms families, which more often than not, involve children. Not everyone is suited to be a parent. Let me put it this way. If your parents had not gotten married, nor had a child, would you have to shoulder the responsibility to now juggle schoolwork and give tuition to help with the family's finances? Moreover, you're taking a double degree course, and it is exhausting for you. Your mother and yourself have to be the breadwinners of the family, all because your dad did not want to upgrade himself. That isn't fair." I paused. He took time to digest what I'd said. I realised that I had probably hit home ground, and he would most likely take offence at my statements. 

Somehow, I hoped he would be as irked by my cynicism as I was by his idealism. 

"Yes, I get what you mean, but since we're already born into this world, we just have to make do with what we have. For me, I feel lucky to have my mother as my role model. She's inspiring, works tirelessly, and can basically handle everything. Whenever I am tired, I think of how tired she is too, and hope that I am lessening her burden by working part-time."

I was amazed that he was not the least impatient with my incessant questioning. He continued.

"I believe that life hands us cards when we're born. You may not have come from a family with a conducive environment, but those aren't the only cards we are dealt with. As far as I know of, you're hardworking, and that's a card you have to use to your advantage. Don't be so quick to judge this world, I believe things will definitely turn out better for you." 

I could not recall what words I had rebutted in protest, but I do remember being won over by his conviction, such that I could only reveal that I am but a jaded idealist, unfortunately now converted to a cynic.