Freedom: What it means across America, Cambodia, and Singapore

Growing up in Singapore in the nineties, I always felt vaguely stifled.

Maybe it was having my helicopter mum breathe down my neck every time I did my homework. Maybe it was the weekly ‘Civic and Moral Education’ classes throughout primary school, telling me exactly how to be a ‘good’ citizen. Maybe it was the slew of public education campaigns exhorting me to ‘be courteous’ or ‘speak good English’ or ‘reduce, reuse, recycle’.

Critics of Singapore’s press often referred to the Straits Times as a mouthpiece of the government. But, as it was drilled into us through mandatory Social Studies lessons, Singapore’s prosperity was hard-won. We had been lucky to survive our separation from Malaysia, and Singaporeans were not to take our political stability for granted. Racial harmony was tenuous. We had to prevent incendiary speech from tearing apart our fragile social fabric.

Still, it was hard not to compare Singapore’s culture with that of America’s. I grew up glued to the television set, devouring American entertainment. Hollywood movies portrayed America as the land of the free, a place where the First Amendment reigned and people could say whatever they damn well pleased. Taboo topics like sex and homosexuality were discussed freely. The daily juxtaposition of American broadcasting with Channel 8’s conservative family dramas awakened in me a longing to experience the freedom of expression so vaunted in American media.

So when the time came for college, I chose the University of Michigan, an American university known for its excellent psychology programme. I would go to the land of the free so that I could be free. Finally, an education in which students learned for the love of knowledge. Finally, an education in which honest inquiry into the meaning of life was more important than getting good grades.

Over 12 years of formal education in Singapore, I had studied simply for the sake of passing exams. Teachers would give students model answers, which we quickly learned to replicate. We would practice ten-year-series, regurgitating facts and spitting out formulaic responses to canned questions. Sciences and mathematics were seen as the most difficult and valued subjects, which worked out well for me. I always excelled at math and science since they were all about logic and facts, and never required any creativity from me.

But education in America would be different. I would learn for the joy of learning. In my first year of university, I studied subjects like Greek literature, academic psychology, sociology, and other humanistic subjects I never got to study in Singapore. There were no fixed answers to life’s big questions. It was all so exciting. This was the freedom I had longed for!

Then came time to choose a major. When I told my parents and friends I wanted to study psychology, they looked at me askance, telling me that this was a second-rate major and that I would never make any money. Singapore’s siren song of survival and pragmatism still rang true in the minds of my family, friends, and most of all myself. Instead of following my heart, I chose prestige and money. I enrolled in the university’s highly-regarded business school.

In business school, I piled on subjects like economics, finance, accounting, statistics, mathematics, and computing. I was studying to get a job. Not just any job, but the most sought-after job among business undergrads – a job in investment banking. Through countless networking sessions, resume submissions, and face-to-face interviews, I eventually succeeded. By the end of junior year, I had a job offer from a bulge bracket investment bank.

With a job waiting for me in New York City, I coasted through senior year. All I had to do was take minimum credits and maintain my GPA so I could graduate with honours. In my spare time, I ruminated on my choices. I was plagued by the feeling that I had betrayed myself. Instead of fulfilling the desire for freedom that drove me to America, I did what I had been programmed to do: work hard, pass exams, get a job, do as told, fulfil expectations.

Within six months, I knew I hated my job. I hated that I was on call 24/7, that my life revolved around work and my Blackberry. I hated that all anyone cared about was the size of our bonuses and how much fees we would earn from every deal. Every day, my colleagues and I sat in the conference room, eating dinner and complaining about work. We were miserable. Most seemed resigned to it, or had accepted the trade-offs. Sell your soul in exchange for status, prestige, nice vacations, expensive food, and booze.

But I wondered if there was more to life. Was intelligence to be used only for self-aggrandizement? What was the point of having it all if I wasn’t happy? What was I doing with my life? The well-trodden path to success was a lie. Studying hard, working hard, and getting a good job did not fulfil its promise of happiness. Everything I knew was wrong.

Sitting in my COO’s office, staring at my third-year offer letter, I realised I could not continue like this. So two years into my first job, I left, with no clue as to what I would do next. This was the first real risk I had ever taken in my life. My future was a wide-open space, with no guidelines or signposts. Perhaps this was the freedom I had wanted so desperately, but had not allowed myself to experience until a quarter-life crisis blindsided me.

A few months later, I found myself in Cambodia, volunteering with an education NGO. I told myself I was here to learn about responsible travel and entrepreneurship, but really, I was searching for my soul. It was a 180-degree turn. I had gone from being a highly-paid analyst at a Swiss bank in Manhattan, to being an unpaid intern for a tiny non-profit in Siem Reap, on the opposite side of the globe.

Why had I chosen to come here? As a privileged person growing up in relative affluence yet still dissatisfied with life, I craved the idyll of rustic developing towns and villages. I bought into urban legends describing the innocent smiles of children from the Third World. I believed the lore that people with less material wealth somehow had access to bygone virtues corrupted by industrialisation.

The things I took for granted vanished. I lived in a spartan room, with no internet, no air-conditioning, no stove, no fridge, no hot water, and no washing machine. All I had was a bed, a toilet, a rattan shelf, a broom, a dustpan, and whatever belongings I had brought in my regulation size carry-on luggage. Every day, I cycled to work on my rusty second-hand bike. I hand-washed my clothes. If I wanted internet, I had to cycle into town. Several times, as I showered, worms would emerge through my bathroom tiles. Once I felt something crawl on my foot while in the shower, looked down and saw a centipede. I became well-acquainted with lizards, frogs, and other creepy crawlies.

For a while I felt happy. The freedom of being away, the pleasure of doing something other than finance. I made local friends easily and immersed myself in my new environment. But the exhilaration that came with novelty quickly faded.

The reality of living in a developing country was that choice was limited. Public education was appalling. There was no public transport system. Farmers struggled to provide for their children as harvests were irregular and depended on the weather. Children could not attend school as they had to help their families with farming duties. There was no health insurance. Family savings could be wiped out by a single member falling ill. Job opportunities were scarce as foreign investment was minimal, and industry only just developing. There was little trust in a government seen to be corrupt.

Under Siem Reap’s touristy facade, there was hardship. In people’s eyes I saw gut-wrenching helplessness. In people’s conversations I heard resignation far deeper than the ubiquitous ennui afflicting denizens of the developed world. Of course, there was also hope, happiness, self-reliance, and determination. In difficult situations, humans have been known to fight, persevere and triumph.

I did not find freedom in the way I imagined. Not in America, and not in Cambodia. I realised that my shackles had always lain inside me. If I did not learn to free myself, my cage would follow me wherever I went, even to the land of the free. In the end, I returned to Singapore seeking the very path I left to pursue: the path of truth and self-discovery.

In Cambodia, I realised how little I needed to survive. How many precious hours do we squander doing work that does not serve us, simply to afford luxuries and other things we think we need? How much time do we waste on activities that numb and distract us from the lack of fulfilment in our lives? We do not need ostentatious food, a big house, or many possessions. What we need is to live our truth, to do work we love, and to express our soul’s calling.

Freedom is not a geographic location, and cannot be given to us by anyone or any government. We can choose how we want to live. Living in Singapore does not mean that we have to join the rat race, engage in a paper chase, or conform to the Singaporean Dream (work hard, get married, work hard, buy a HDB, work hard, have kids, upgrade to condo, work hard, take care of grandkids). In fact, Singapore provides the perfect seeding ground for all dreams. A stable political climate, a prosperous economy, a safe social environment, and efficient public systems: What more could a citizen ask for?

All my life I have chased external achievements, trying to prove that I am somebody, trying to be enough. I tried to be approved, to be loved, to be appreciated, to be acknowledged. It was a never-ending chase for applause, praise, attention, wealth, and status. That was my trap. I went all around the world searching for home, only to find that home was always within me.

Today I realise that I am enough. I do not need a job title or status or wealth to make me feel validated. All I need is myself. Freedom is accepting myself for who I am, and welcoming each and every experience life brings. Freedom is the joy of knowing I no longer need to prove myself to anybody. I don’t have to be anything more or anything less than who I am.

Freedom is knowing that I have the ability to live any life I want, because I am responsible for my choices. I can choose a path that serves my soul, no matter where I am.

Freedom of expression is for all of us, not just for the media. Freedom of expression is about having the courage to pour my heart and soul into work that matters, and do what makes me feel alive.

Freedom is having a quiet breakfast, doing the dishes, and cooking a meal. Freedom is getting off the bus one stop earlier to enjoy an evening walk. Freedom is cuddling on the bed with my partner. Freedom is singing at the top of my lungs, not caring how silly I sound. Freedom is in all these precious little moments.

With my freedom, I choose a life that makes me happy, that serves my highest good and serves my growth. I choose a life brings me joy and that allows me to shine. I choose a life in which I can use my gifts to serve others. I choose to honour myself and live in integrity with who I know myself to be.

Above all, I choose me.

Ten years after setting off to America in search of that elusive freedom, I finally found freedom right back where I started. I left for America wide-eyed and idealistic, wanting to study psychology, not knowing the realities of the world. A reality in which my chosen profession pays little in money, but pays huge rewards spiritually and emotionally. Ten years ago, I denied myself my passion, giving in to my fears. I can no longer run from my calling. I love serving people. I love speaking with people, uncovering their truths. Ten years later, back in Singapore, I am a coach. And I’m done running away from who I am.

Freedom lies in realising that we have a choice. That in each moment, we have a choice about who we are and who we want to become. We have a choice to choose our heart’s calling or give in to fear. We have a choice to accept or reject reality. We have a choice to appreciate what we have been given, or complain that we do not have enough. In the moment to moment choices lie our freedom.