I think most people would agree that purpose in life is very important. I am definitely one of them. But there was a time in my life when I felt completely aimless. I couldn’t see a way forward. I had ended my previous role and there were no new prospects in sight.
So I was in that kind of in-between space, which some people take as an enjoyable break, but others—like me—find it extremely demoralising.
All I could do was wait, an empty plot of land on the Taman Jurong Community Centre property, hoping for the next good thing to come along. At least, I was hoping it would be good. While I waited, the only remnant of my old life—which had been demolished and cleared away—was a solitary wall. It was scrawled with graffiti, and for some reason, there was a hole in it.
After what felt like forever, one day, some humans came along. From the vibrations of their voices, I could hear they were excited. They were looking around within my perimeter and talking. I didn’t know it then, but this would be the new beginning I had been waiting for.
Some time later, construction began. I thought it would take place in the centre of my perimeter, but instead, the construction turned out to be of a tiny structure just outside my perimeter boundary. Disappointment crushed me. I’d been hoping something new would be built on me, something that would give me the much-needed purpose I craved.
Each day, I saw machines arriving and going about their business. The machines brought in three of the containers humans use for shipping their objects across the ocean. Once the containers were parked on the site, the people began taking them apart. At first, I couldn’t understand why they were doing this, then I realised they were fitting the dismantled parts together in a new shape.
Shortly after the three containers had been put together to form a structure that looked like a cube with a slanting roof, one day, a large group of people turned up. All of them disappeared into the cube structure. As I eavesdropped on their discussion through the vibrations on the ground, I learned about their desire to engage communities in meaningful ways. They spoke of doing impactful activities in the space, such as using part of it for a pottery studio, and for after-school learning and literacy programmes. Someone there was a former inmate, now a champion for rehabilitation programmes. I was touched by the passion of this group of humans to make a difference.
When they left, I observed their faces were all smiling. Again, I sensed the excitement in their voices. I tried to be happy for all those who would benefit, and for this small plot of land containing the tiny structure, that now had an important purpose. I tried not to dwell on my own disappointment. Yet, I couldn’t help wishing it would be my turn for something meaningful to be built on me, and to start the next chapter of my life. Then, I realised I was making a terrible assumption—that I would have another chapter in my life. What if just lying here with this solitary graffiti-marked wall was to be my fate till the end of my days?
One morning, the rumbling vibrations of machine engines woke me up. Through my sleep-rimmed eyes, I saw an army of machines rolling into my perimeter. Some of them were carrying the same type of shipping containers I’d seen before. What was happening? I watched, hardly daring to hope.
Over the next days, I counted more than 15 containers being unloaded. Then the humans got extremely busy. They arrived early each morning, pouring out of trucks, wearing yellow and white hard hats. Some of them would get into the machines and make the machines do this and that around the site. Some of the machines seemed to be in charge of taking the containers apart, just like they had done before with the tiny structure. Slowly, I watched the dismantled containers being reformed into new shapes. Over time, the containers took on a new life, in a different configuration. It was difficult to contain my excitement. Just as the containers were taking new shape, I was beginning to believe that now, so was I.
As they gathered each day to work, I listened to the humans talk. I began to recognise their faces and eventually even learned their names. Also, listening to their discussions informed me about their plans for me. The building they were creating within my perimeter was the result of what they called a ‘partnership’, between three of their human organisations. The organisations were Tasek Academy and Social Services, a social service agency that is a registered charity with Institute of Public Character status, the Swiss sewing machine company Bernina International and Potato Productions, a family of companies working for social impact through technology and creativity.
These partners wanted the building to be a space for the human community living in my vicinity, and for the rooms to be used for activities like art and craft, pottery and what they called a ‘makerspace’. This was a term I hadn’t heard before. What is a ‘makerspace’? But as I continued to eavesdrop, over time I learned that a human ‘makerspace’ is a place where they come together to experiment and work on projects involving making things using 3D printers—I also learned that this is a human technology related to making objects from designs generated by a computer, created by building the material layer by layer—and human hand tools like pliers, hammers and screwdrivers.
When I look at what has emerged from the empty plot (except for that one solitary wall) based on the ideas, passion and tireless work of a group of dedicated humans, I can’t help feeling amazed. It is very moving to think that when a group of people come together, ignited by a shared objective to make a difference and contribute something good to the community, something can exist where there was nothing before. I know this is only the beginning, and I am looking forward to what each new day will bring in my new and now-purposeful life.
