Sunday, November 14, 2004

The Death of an Idealistic Student

I wrote another short story, because I was bored, and I didn't want a depressed post staying as my latest post for quite so long, in case people find out more than they should. Erm, well, it's quite a long short story, and I apologise for getting carried away writing it. Just read at your own pleasure. Don't read also can =P. As usual, the story is purely fictional, and any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Case Study Two

Let us observe a person, whom we shall call C. C is a male junior college student, and in many ways the perfect student. He is faultlessly polite towards his friends, classmates and teachers, friendly and a joy to get along with, gets good results in school, is filial to his parents and an excellent mentor to his two younger siblings, aged 16 and 13. Above all, he has a strong passion for community service and charity. He volunteers at 2 homes on a regular basis, signs up for overseas trips to build houses and schools for children in villages in developing countries, urges his family and relatives to donate whenever there is a charity show or other on television (as is often the case these days), and empties his wallet of coins to plonk gleefully into metal cans on flag days when he is more often the one holding out the can rather than the one being approached with a can. A gentleman, he opens doors for other people and stands up to offer his seat to mothers with infants or young children, pregnant women, elderly people or simply anyone who has trouble standing in a crowded bus or train.

All in all, C loves doing good deeds, although he has never really thought about his reasons for helping others. That, however, is going to change.

One Monday evening, C found himself on a crowded MRT train, on his way home to a flat in Ang Mo Kio after school. Facing the train doors, he stared at his indistinct reflection in the pane of glass set into the door of the train, against the darkness of the tunnel walls, as the train races northward between the Dhoby Ghaut and Somerset stops. The occasional screeching of the train as it turned punctuated the loud whooshing sound of air rushing past the carriages in their high-velocity transit, which fills the interior of the train, overlying the multitude of human voices contributed by several small groups of students and office workers, voices straining to be heard above the surrounding din.

It had been a particularly troubling day for C. Earlier in the day he got into an argument with a friend of his, A, which was not something that usually happened, because C was a good-natured person and was rarely ever perturbed by anything. A was a close friend, though it was rare for A's opinions to match that of C's, because C was a cautious, conservative person who tended to make sure nothing would go wrong before starting on a plan of action, while A was more radical, and acted on his ideas without stopping to consider the possible complications. Both A and C were members of the Students' Council, and they had just been assigned to organising a carnival. Earlier in the day, A and C had met several other members of the organising committee for the upcoming carnival to discuss possible ideas and themes for the event. As usual, A came up with several radical ideas which he promised would be popular with the students, but C was worried about the feasibility of these ideas, as well as whether the teachers would be unhappy with them for messing up the carnival if anything should go wrong.

Thinking of the multiple times in the past when A's plans had gone wrong and he had had to help A clean up the resulting mess, C suggested that the carnival be run in a more traditional manner that the teachers would be pleased with. A did not agree with C's opinion, and insisted that his plan was fool-proof and would give the carnival an added impact. This lead to some debate between A and C, with C calmly listing the problems with the A's plans, while A, getting increasingly agitated, tried to think up of ways to circumvent those problems. In a blinding moment of frustration, C asked A to think of the time in secondary school when they had had to write a play to represent their class in a drama festival and A came up with all sorts of outlandish ideas that he had for the play, which he thought were clever and humourous.

"Remember how our teacher Mrs Toh threw out your ideas for the play, and I had to write a brand new script under short notice," C questioned with a hint of irritation in his voice, "what if this time it's the same? What if your grand master plan flops? I can't keep bailing you out all the time, A. You were lucky Mrs Toh agreed that the play was unsuitable or we would have been a laughing stock. This time it's different. The carnival is a large-scale even that doesn't permit any screw-ups. The entire school is depending on our work." Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind, C knew he had gone too far, and that was confirmed by the steely glare that A fixed on him. He regretted letting his frustration get the better of him, but it was too late.

"Mrs Toh agreed with you? So you thought my play was a laughing stock." A said quietly but menacingly, "Well, I don't need you to do me any more favours, friend. You can organise the carnival as you like it. I'm not going to be part of the organising committee any more. Wouldn't want to owe you any more than I already do. Take this as a repayment for the things you've done for me." Picking up his things, A walked away from the table, leaving the remaining members in stunned silence.

Following the meeting, C was unable to concentrate during any of the classes for the rest of the day. He kept trying to apologise to A for the things he said, but A would leave the classroom hurriedly after every tutorial, giving C no chance to catch up. After a while, C stopped trying.

For the first time in his life, C wondered if the little things he did for his friends to help them had some kind of motive behind them. He had always believed that he was truly happy doing these things to help others, without their knowledge of his help, and yet his words today suggested that some part of himself thought otherwise, that he was actually doing these things expecting some kind of payment in return. If not, why would he occasionally wish that other people were aware of the help he was providing them, and acting like they deserved that help, instead of continuing to make mistakes? How he wished, sometimes, that his help could ensure that the recipients of his aid learn something from their problems, in addition to keeping them out of trouble.

But lately, he had come to realise that most people were blissfully unaware of the things he did anonymously to help them solve their problems, and did not seem to learn anything from their mistakes. He knew that to tell them of their mistakes would require him to tell them how he had helped them. He desperately wanted them to know about their mistakes, that they could learn from these mistakes. Yet, he could not tell them, because he did not wish for them to know about his help, since that would suggest that they should be in some way grateful to him, which was something he did not wish, since he believed that he desired no remuneration for his efforts, only that the people he helped be wiser. He now knew, however, that without getting into trouble, people would not learn from their mistakes, but he could not stand by and watch his friends get themselves into difficult situations and not help, when he had the ability to.

Staring at the black glass in the MRT door, his brows knitted as he argued the point in his mind. If he was able to help others, then he felt a moral obligation to help them, and it made him happy, as well, knowing that he had helped someone. However, if the person that he had helped went on to make the same mistake, was that person still worth helping? How could he decide which person was more worth helping, when he was only a 17-year old student? Was a pregnant woman more worthy of help than a young woman carrying bags of groceries, when he was equally able of giving his seat to either? Who was he to say which was more deserving, and if societal norms tell us that the pregnant woman is more deserving, how can we be sure that those norms are correct? What if the young woman with the groceries was 4 weeks pregnant but did not know it? Would it not be equally dangerous for her, if not more? How can we tell, by our eyes alone, who is worth helping? If we help one person, do we not have an obligation to help every other person, if all people are equal? If people are not equal, then what defines a person as being more deserving than the next of the help of others? Were people worth helping if all they did was to expect others to help them, and did not show any effort on their parts to not depend on others?

And what if other people whom you want to help do not want any help? C was suddenly reminded of an incident that had occured the previous Wednesday, when he had rushed forward to pick up a pile of notes a student he did not know had accidentally dropped on the stairs. The student fixed him with a glare when he gave her the notes he had picked up, and thanked him coldly, before saying that she could well have picked up the notes herself since she was not handicapped in any way, and he could take his fake gallant-knight-to-the-rescue tactic somewhere else, since she was not buying it. He was left confused by her words, as he had meant no disrespect for her abilities and had only wanted to help. He had completely forgotten about that incident, but now it returned to haunt him. What disturbed him even more was the flicker of glee he had felt when he saw the student drop her notes, an inexplicable feeling of Ah, great, there's someone I can help.

He was filled with waves of doubt about his so-called charity to other people. Why was it that he had felt that tinge of happiness? Had things progressed to a point where he was happy to see someone else in trouble so he could rush in and help them resolve their problems? What happened to the sense of fulfilment he felt when he did something good? Was he so addicted to that sense of fulfilment that he could not wait for a chance to help others, to be elevated by the satisfaction of helping a fellow human being in need? He refused to acknowledge that it was so, because if that was the truth then he was a monster for experiencing happiness when someone else was in trouble just because he could help them. He refused to believe it. He refused to think, even, that there might be some deep dark motive behind his charitable deeds and his innocent desire to help others, that he might be doing it because of some misguided self-righteousness, or because he subconsciously believed that doing these good deeds could somehow ensure that he would receive the good he had done in return, or that someone might notice all the charity he had selflessly done and something good might come out of it. He dreaded to think that he might be some deluded evil monster behind the friendly charitable student that everyone believed he was, and that, up till today, he thought he was.

What is the use in helping others, if not for your own good? a voice in his mind whispered sinisterly. Look at all the other people who help others. Do you think that all of them are pure of heart, that they do it hoping for nothing in return? Look at the charity programmes, they always offer prizes of condominiums and cars to the people who donate. Don't you think some people might be wishing in their hearts that they win something, despite their outward denials, their proclamations that the prizes don't matter? Even you want something. You want others to be grateful to you, despite all your unwillingness to acknowledge that fact. You want them to thank you profusely while you humbly say it's nothing and get embarrassed by their earnest gratitude, but deep down inside you are pleased, so greatly pleased. You cannot deny the feeling anymore. I know you feel it, the strange voice whispered, almost with glee, You think your acts of charity are so noble, that you're doing them for the good of others and not yourself. Do you feel that way now? Do you? There is no selfless charity, C. Man is made to be selfish, to think of their own needs above others, because only in that way does he continue to survive.

He could not shut it out. He could only shake his head helplessly.

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C stood on the platform at Ang Mo Kio station, dumbly staring at the train as it pulled away from the station, accelerating and disappearing into the distance. He thought he saw someone lying on the tracks, but he blinked and the body was gone. He turned stiffly and descended on the escalator, still staring into space. As he walked out of the MRT station, he felt a tap on his elbow, and looking down, noticed an old man by his side.

"Excuse me, boy, but do you know how to get to the bus interchange from here?" the old man asked in Chinese.

"Sorry, don't know."

Avaris / 11/14/2004 06:57:00 PM

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