My story.

For as long as I can remember, my mom loved me with a quiet strength. We weren’t the type to say ‘I love you’ out loud- but my mom showed it in all the ways that mattered. In every sacrifice, every gesture, she always put my needs before her own without ever needing to say a word.

Growing up in Singapore, my parents had always dreamed of moving us to the U.S. They longed to give my sister and I the kind of storybook childhood we had only seen in movies- the wide-open spaces, the endless opportunities, the sense of freedom every American kid seemed to have on screen.

For years, we tried to move- but every door seemed closed. Until one day, my parents came up with an idea. My mom applied to study in the states- not because she needed another degree, but because it was the only way to get my sister and I there. She was willing to leave everything behind: a stable job she loved, her friends, her family, and most painfully, my dad. She uprooted her entire life to move to a place she had never known, to study a subject she had no real need or passion for, and to do it all without the comfort of her partner by her side. 

The first few years were incredibly difficult for her. But she carried the weight quietly, never letting her struggles show. She didn’t want my sister or I to worry, so she smiled through all the loneliness, the fear, and uncertainty. It wasn’t until much later that I truly understood how much she had been enduring on her own.

When I turned 18, I had to return to Singapore to serve the military. I was stressed and heartbroken, pulled away from the life I had just started to build. But my mom, as always, showed up. We weren’t the type of family to talk openly about our struggles, but she understood. Without needing to say much, she comforted me through quiet gestures- offering to help pack so I wouldn’t have to do it alone and upset, gently reassuring me that I would be able to come back and visit, or even making small little jokes, like how I better not come back dumber or with a Singaporean accent.

Mid-way through the military, I received the unbearable news. My mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I was torn. After all she had done for me, I couldn’t be there for her when she needed it most. She had always been my pillar of strength, and now, I was halfway across the world while she faced one of the toughest battles of her life.

For my mom, I’m sorry I can’t be there for you while you’re going through treatment. But this initiative is for you, this is my way of telling you that you’re always on my mind, that you are not alone. You’re my inspiration. You’ve taught me how to be strong at my lowest, now I’m telling you to be strong for us once again.