We dream of bravery...
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We dream of bravery...
But bravery comes from fear.
I wish I were brave enough to…
Haven’t we all said something similar in our lives?
I wish I were brave enough to travel the world / quit my job / leave my husband / start a business / start therapy / learn to dance / etc / etc / etc.
But bravery doesn’t come from wishing.
Many people have called me brave.
They’ve told me that I’m brave for quitting my job and traveling the world. They’ve said they admire my courage in charting my own path and carving out my own niche in the world. They’ve called me gutsy for venturing out into the world on my own.
Yet, I don’t think I’m brave for doing any of those things.
You see, courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to move forward in spite of it.
I do not think I’m brave because none of those things scared me.
Quitting my job, traveling the world, following my own path in life - none of those things really made me scared. Sure, they may scare someone else. That’s why people think I’m brave - because I do things they are scared of.
But for me… honestly, the alternative seemed scarier. Staying in a job that I didn’t enjoy? Being trapped in a country where I felt I couldn’t be myself? Following the trajectory that everyone else follows just because?
Uff, those things still scare me.
But what I did, what I have been doing for the past 10 years?
Sure, many of those things were challenging, and I’m not saying that I walked through the last 10 years without feeling any sort of fear at all, but those big things? They didn’t instill fear in me.
So doing those things doesn’t prove that I’m brave.
Bravery looks different for different people. Being brave means something different for me, and it will mean something different for you. Be brave anyway.
As I write this, I’m organizing a virtual event in solidarity with oppressed people around the world.
My allegiance is always to the oppressed, even when their shackles look different from my own. I recognize that all our struggles for liberation from our oppressors are connected.
The genocide in Palestine. The dislocation of local families in Batam. The violence and displacement of millions in Sudan. Haiti, Kurdistan, Iran, Ukraine, and so many regions in the world navigate crisis upon crisis, with or without coverage from Western media sources.
We are all connected, and we must speak up and take action against injustice and oppression wherever it may be happening.
Of this, I am clear.
Of this, I am unshakable in my belief.
Yet, the fear creeps in.
You see, I am a citizen of Singapore and currently in Singapore.
Most people are familiar with Singapore as a clean and safe city-state but that comes at a price. Singapore has very strict laws in place “preserving public order and the safety of individuals” which necessitates permits for any kind of public assembly or procession. People have even been arrested for taking a picture of themselves holding up a sign of a smiley face. Human Rights Watch has commented on the ever tightening restrictions placed on the freedom of speech in Singapore.
In this context, it is unsurprising that there is a climate of fear in Singapore when it comes to speaking up for things you believe in - even around something as innocuous as organizing an event in solidarity with the oppressed people of the world.
I have found nothing in the statutes of Singapore that speak to the (il)legality of this, yet, the fear remains.
What am I so afraid of? What are we all afraid of?
//
In 2020, inspired by the fervor of the General Elections and some race-related incidents coming to light in Singapore, I wrote a piece about my reflections and experiences of how the race issue plays out here.
I remember agonizing about the piece before publishing it. I sent it to several trusted friends to proofread and remove anything that might offend the powers that be. Some of them read it, said it was good — and in the same breath, told me not to publish it, that it was too risky.
It was terrifying, to be honest. I felt sick to my stomach with fear and contemplated simply deleting the entire article and pretending I had never had any thoughts about it at all. But I remained convinced (still, to this day) that we need to be having conversations about race in Singapore, so I eventually published the piece.
Nothing happened.
Nobody reported my article, I think very few people actually cared about it. Some people engaged in meaningful dialogue about some of the things I raised, some others responded and said they had no idea about the lived experience of minority races in Singapore. And some people reached out to thank me for writing it.
I could have let my fear stop me from publishing the article - but then, it would never have reached those few people who felt seen because of what I wrote.
If I only ever made a difference to one person, it would have been worth it.
//
Three years later, I am again in a situation of feeling this intense fear at potentially doing something that could get me in trouble with the powers that be.
I don’t see why it should, and I have been assured by friends with similar perspectives that I’m on the “right side of the line”.
But still, the fear remains.
Yet, there is no certainty around this. While the laws I have read do not immediately make me think there is anything wrong with what I’m doing, they are also (purposefully) written in such a broad and ambiguous way as to be open to interpretation — something the authorities have used to their advantage.
When the law is ‘do not do things that upset the delicate balance’, just about anything that causes a ripple can contravene it. Even if the ripples are caused by a rescue boat hauling us to shore.
So still, the fear remains.
It is intensely uncomfortable. I don’t know about you but my fear feels like a weight in my stomach. It tightens and eases, a kind of fist that clenches and sends sharp stabbing pains shooting through my stomach. My breath is shallower, my heart seems to have retreated towards the back of my ribcage. I feel lightheaded sometimes, and my vision blurs.
Fear is an intensely uncomfortable sensation. I understand why most people try to avoid it at all costs.
That's why fear is a powerful tool, often used to control and motivate people, and to keep them “in their place”.
The “object” of fear is external, but fear itself coms from within. That’s what makes it so hard to explain, particularly in complex situations. But always, it requires individual effort to overcome.
When I decided to go ahead with this virtual event in solidarity with oppressed peoples around the world, I admitted to a friend of mine that I was (am) scared — quaking, even as my belief that we need to be in solidarity with the oppressed remains strong — and she kindly reminded me:
Bravery comes from fear.
It doesn’t just take courage to mobilize for humanitarian causes or speak up on issues that have typically been suppressed.
We need to be brave in other areas of our lives too.
It takes courage to end “good” relationships. My relationship with my ex was falling apart for weeks before it “officially” ended. Neither of us had done anything wrong - there was no cheating, or abuse, or anything you might associate with the end of a romantic relationship. We could have possibly continued on as we were - nothing quite wrong, but not quite right either, and many people co-exist in relationships like this for years. His bravery allowed him to recognize that our relationship wasn’t working and to end it — even though he knew it would be difficult and painful for both of us.
It takes courage to set boundaries, especially with people we love. For me, it’s with my parents and in my family dynamic. Telling my father he say certain things to me was terrifying, and so was saying ‘no’ to my mum — but I’ve done it (in small ways). Always walking away with my palms sweaty and heart pounding, but proud of myself for choosing bravery in my own little way.
Choosing to call our racist or misogynistic comments in a “friendly” group chat takes guts. But when we do it, we imbue a part of our bravery in the people watching, so that one day, they might also speak up against injustice when it happens.
In all of these situations, whether organizing a solidarity event or standing up to parents or ending a relationship or something else, fear is a very real part of it.
The fear that you will face legal or financial repercussions, the fear that you will be ostracized, the fear of violence, the fear of solitude, or something completely different and/or irrational — it’s all real.
Indeed, bravery is not the absence of fear, but the ability to move forward in spite of it.
So we feel the fear, and we do it anyway.
But we must also find ways to care for our tender and vulnerable hearts, to keep them safe from this fear that can spread into our very being.
Leaning on friends helps. So does hugging your loved ones. Be vulnerable about feeling afraid. Ask for support.
We can be brave together.
So despite the fear, I’m opening my heart and asking for my friends and people who care to sustain me and hold me (and my fears) as I put together this event.
I remind myself that my fear may be great, and there may be severe repercussions. But in no way is that comparable to the thousands, millions of people around the world who are suffering, dying. My discomfort pales in the face of their displacement, devastation, and death.
There is no way that I cannot take such a small risk to maybe make a difference to someone’s life. I simply cannot justify it to myself.
And so, stomach clenched, heart pounding, and palms sweaty, I will do what scares me.
//
If you, my friend, are dreaming of bravery, I’d like to invite you to consider that … perhaps the time is now to feel the fear and do it anyway?
Whether you wish you were braver to travel the world, or quit the job you hate, or leave a relationship that no longer serves you, or stand up for something you believe in, something completely different - what if you felt the fear and did it anyway?
What would the world look like if we all showed up a little braver today than we did yesterday?
Who would we be if we were more courageous now than we were before?
What could we do?
What will you do?
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