2020 has been an eventful year, marked simultaneously by change and stasis. Change in that every day seems to invite new challenges, but static in that our responses have been dulled and numbed by their incessant onslaught. It is a year that will have consequences we have yet to come to terms with – most of which are still in the making. It has been a tipping point for some of the biggest social and political upheavals of our time. Above all, I believe it is a year that demands deep reflection from all of us. Thus, what I write here is not to add to the cacophony of predictions and forecasts about the future, but to share the personal lessons that 2020 has taught me.
Technology
In Singapore, if you tell someone you are studying or working in information technology, you get some mixture of the following 2 responses: 1) “I can never understand how any of it works – you must be so smart!” 2) “Wah, such a lucrative field – you must be set for life”. This mixture of awe and incomprehension roughly sums up how most of us tend to perceive technology, and I cannot help but feel that the common discourse surrounding it is far too narrow and limited. In the public mind, there seems to be little use for technology other than as a financial and commercial tool – to build the next big e-commerce app or online trading platform. Personally, I couldn’t care less. To me, there is no value in technology if our relationship to it is one of dependency and indifference. Digital technology will serve us best only if it is as accessible as books, bicycles or language. I believe that our primary focus at present should no longer be to build the capabilities of technology, but the capabilities of those who use it.
The other criticism I have about technology is its relentless drive to quantify everything. Equipped with myriad sensors, perfect memory and the ability to crunch numbers at a whim, technological devices are helping us make better sense of the world. But in order to do so, they must render aspects of the physical world into quantifiable data – which can then be subjected to statistical analysis and filled into charts, graphs and scatter plots. Useful as this may be, we become conditioned to only pay attention to these numbers, such that metrics are all we know and understand. These are not merely markers that we optimise for at work. They have also become lifestyle and health indicators. In fact, many of us have comfortably made the assumption that deeply personal matters like happiness or success can also be measured in this way. It is well and fine to use data to improve our understanding of the world, but we cannot put faith in it to the exclusion of reason and our better judgment.
Environment
Throughout this year I’ve been asking myself one question: “Am I being too lax with my convictions?” It often seems to me that change is not happening fast enough. But it’s not easy to navigate through the terrain of climate change. Who should we hold responsible for change? Is it enough to simply manage our own carbon footprints (whatever that might mean), or should we work towards collective action? Do we advocate with messages of encouragement or blame? How do we balance conflicting interests?
It is easy to get discouraged when we hear of raging wildfires, crop failures and rising sea levels. It is easy to be apathetic when these phenomena are not part of the lived realities we face. It is also easy to be outraged when people accuse us of doing too little. There are too many paths to pessimism, which is why I firmly believe that the narrative we should be spreading is one of hope. We should focus on our victories and offer encouragement to others. We cannot let arrogance and personal superiority blunt the momentum toward change. Above all, the climate emergency is a test of our capacity for empathy.
Reading
This year, I’ve become less eager to pick up new books. Instead, I find myself revisiting passages and chapters of old ones. Some of my favourite titles this year have been centred around philosophy and personal values – The Bhagavad Gita by Eknath Easwaran, On the Shortness of Life by Seneca, Sum: Forty Tales from the Afterlives by David Eagleman, and Thoreau’s masterpiece, Walden. I revisited older titles like The Little Prince and Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. I have no doubt that these books will continue to play a central role in my life.
Reading too much can be as much of a fault as reading too little. Too often, I’ve whiled my time away browsing through endless selections of articles. We have become content to passively consume knowledge, instead of chewing it down to the marrow. We believe that infographics and summaries can substitute the value of deep reading. We care about the number of titles read, but not the spirit in which we read them – a natural extension of our obsession with metrics. We forget why it is we read in the first place. More books do not necessarily equate to more wisdom. In a world driven by productivity and consumption, one point bears repeating: simplify, simplify, simplify.
Writing
Writing is a cathartic process, one that changes the writer as they put more of themselves into the craft. I take it more seriously now than I ever did before. Looking back on my earliest scripts, I see glaring faults and sentences assembled far too hastily. I was eager to share the thoughts in my mind and did not pay heed to their composition. I realise now that the mark of good writing is rewriting. To obsess over the smallest details, to be unyielding with clutter, and to be patient with the process. William Zinsser’s guide, On Writing Well, has been indispensable in helping me see through the common impediments to clean prose. I publish less articles now, but each one carries more weight.
When I resumed my school term in August, I believed that I could still make time to write regularly. However, the demands of schoolwork made it impossible for me to make any progress on my pieces. I realise now that writing demands much more than a weekly allotment of hours. For me, it demands a certain frame of mind – one that can only be cultivated if I have the mental space to play with ideas, when I am able to collect a wealth of material, and when I am not constantly bound by the pressure of deadlines. Nonetheless, I have resolved to take the endeavour more seriously and to make it a focal point of my life. Good writing can hold a mirror to the world and cast a light on the unrepresented. It can make accessible concepts and ideas that would otherwise be locked in antiquity. It can shine as a beacon beyond its time.
Life
Ambition has played a large role in my life ever since I was young. In every phase of my life, I’ve been driven by the motive to excel in something. I owe it to ambition for pushing me out of my comfort zone and helping me grow. However, it can also detract us from fully enjoying the present, and savouring each moment of life as it unfolds. Being too caught up with ambition is like living in an imagined future, oblivious to the here and now. This year has thrown out many of my assumptions about the future, prompting me to reassess my priorities. But I’ve found that it isn’t such a bad thing. Far from rendering me without purpose, I now feel like I’m living life with both eyes open.
I think that most of us, though we are keen to believe otherwise, do not take ownership of our own lives. It is as if we were handed the keys to a new car without a user’s manual. We are then expected to somehow or otherwise learn to operate it in good manner. Naturally, there are plenty of people – perhaps even in good faith – who are all too keen impose their opinions. But no one else has our unique model and make, and no single piece of advice seems to stand the test of time. And so every day we are confronted with the perennial question: “How will I live my life?“
I’ve now come to realise that nothing takes a greater toll on your life than time that is not spent well – for it is the only real currency we have, and we must spend it no matter what. We think that status and material wealth count for more, but they take a toll on our time as well – we are slaves to our possessions, for once we have them we must devote precious hours to keeping them in good condition, or otherwise flaunting them to others. For this reason, we must be selfish and discerning with our time, and prune away all that is unnecessary.
For those who have stayed content leading unexamined lives, this year will come as a time of reckoning. We can, if we like, continue to follow the same unhelpful narratives. Or we can choose to begin carving out our own paths, through the laborious task of self-reflection.
Emman's journal 