Choosing the profession

The choice of the profession was never a hard one, albeit not straightforward. I mean, how many of us tell our parents we want to be a Stock Analyst, a Production Supervisor or a Social Worker. Dreams and aspirations were always in line with the big six: Teacher, Doctor, Lawyer, Fireman, Policeman, and Pilot. Mine was pilot, until copious amounts of television watching and gaming contributed to the 600 degree eyesight I have today. Then I wanted to be a businessman, like my father. But watching his business endeavours bear little fruition, made me realise that I wanted to be something more. I no longer wanted to bother myself with the temptations of monetary wealth, but was now looking to something amazing.
I would be the champion for the greater good, propagator of social justice, and the impetus for positive change in our good citizens in Singapore. I would go the extra mile to lend a helping hand to those in need. I would help the old lady cross the road, and apprehend the snatch thief targeting an innocent girl. I would also leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Yes, I would be a SUPERHERO!
Shamed as I am to admit it, this was the dream that guided me along to my current profession. I was 11, living at my grandmother’s place, aware of the fact that I was staying there due to the financial problems my family were in. Overcrowded in the midst of my cousins and older brother, feeling left out all the same. I had to watch how much I eat, lest I be called a freeloader. I had to behave well, lest I be an ungrateful tenant.
At least being a Superhero allowed me to retreat to the safe refuge of my own world. It gave me sense of confidence I knew I could never maintain in the face of my current social situation. It put me on a pedestal, where I was the centre of attention, which was probably how every tween viewed herself at that age. I was always the protagonist of my Superhero story of course.
I tried to take this Superhero dream into the real world, with limited results though. I started out as the Superhero for the stray cats in the neighbourhood. I would go around armed with cat food, as well as a first aid kit, to make sure every cat in the neighbourhood would be well fed, and taken care of. Any animal abuse would be dealt with harshly by the Cat Man, and cats in need would be saved. However, limited financial purchasing power only allowed me to have a packet of preserved sweetened chewy cuttlefish sticks to feed our feline friends. Upon reflection, the nutritional effects of such cuisine seem dubious, at the very least. And so began this weekly endeavour to feed cats with preserved cuttlefish at the nearby rubbish collection centre. This interest soon petered out with the continuing monotony of the work, and by the lack of perceived gratitude by the cats that fled as soon as I tried to pet them.
My role as Cat man reached its pinnacle of glory one stormy evening near my block of flats, when I rescued a poor wet black kitten, left alone in the drain which was quickly filling up due to the heavy rain. With nary a regard for my white school uniform, I scrambled into the grimy trench, to grasp the kitten from the approaching fingers of death. I remembered being so proud of myself, as I cuddled this poor kitten home. I named this kitten Blue, after its baby blue eyes that looked up at me lovingly after I saved her. This pride proved short lived however, when my mom came home to witness the mess to my uniform, and of course, a dirty mewing kitten greeting her as she came home.
To cut the long story short, the kitten was given to my Uncle who lived in a semi detached house with 14 other cats. It turned out that Blue also had a spinal problem that needed an operation to remedy, which my uncle arranged with the vet. This information imbued me with a sense of purpose and gladness, for I knew Blue would never have survived if left in that urban wild. I also learnt another thing from my Uncle: cats ALL have blue eyes when they are kittens. Blue has had several other kittens of her own, and has since passed on, though her ashes are buried in my uncle’s yard, testament to a deed which I had been so proud of. This was probably the first act of pure altruism that struck a chord for me.
This dream probably explained why I was into comics and fantasy storybooks, even until now. This hobby of escapism probably made it difficult for me to excel in General Paper during my Junior College days, where general knowledge could never be garnered in your monthly Batman comic. Batman, in fact was the first superhero I idolised, ever since I bought an issue of Detective Comics when I was 9. This was a superhero unlike the campy cartoon I was used to seeing on Television (where characters seem to laugh together for some reason or another at the end of the show).
A prominent Social Worker in Singapore (someone whom I respect a lot), Dr Myrna Blake had once presented her article likening the Social Worker to Batman. This was an individual like anyone of us, who trained hard, both physically and mentally to ensure justice was served, and the citizens of Gotham were protected. He was one who emerged from the difficult memories and experiences of his past, and instead directs himself towards positive change to protect the innocent, gratuitous violence notwithstanding. With the right amount of hard work and determination, I could be Batman!
Comic books were an influential part of my life. Contrary to what my teachers and friends thought, comics were an essential modality from which I learned crucial life skills.
So when I stepped into the room, and greeted the members of the panel, they asked my why I wanted to take up the scholarship and become a social worker?
I replied: “I have always wanted to be a superhero”