We Will Survive

We're gonna die!!!

Not quite what I hope to learn first thing in the morning, but that's exactly what my sleepy eyes are reading, this very moment.


It's around noon in Singapore (around 11am where I am in Myanmar), but already, panic has descended.

The ominous prediction - in caps and bold no less - was supplied by my sex bunny friend Stanley.

This morning though, my friend was in no mood for sex.

In fact, sex was strictly off the table - and on any counter top, mattress, back of car seat, what have you.

There will be strictly no exchange of body fluids for the time being.

Stanley's ding-dong is closed, please come back another day.

"We're gonna die. WE ARE GONNA DIE! Do you see how this is all gonna end? The world is coming to an end!!!!" Stanley my dramatic friend typed in our group chat titled "Just the Boys" whose other participant was our dense friend Carl.

"Erm, good morning to you too..." I typed.

Stanley couldn't be bothered with the formalities.

"Dun you geddit?! We are gonna die," wrote Stanley, who no doubt would be the first person to sound the village gong if he had access to any sensitive secret.

Carl our dense friend, who usually has trouble with his nine times table and has difficulty reading the 24-hour time format, was eerily aware of the entire situation.

Carl posted a gif of Kermit the frog flinging himself around like he's gone berserk.

"There is no food in NTUC," Stanley wrote.

"Everyone is stocking up first on masks, then hand sanitisers and now, food!"

I sat up in bed and digested the information.

I may be 3,184.1km away from our tiny sunny island, but my heart is in Singapore.

"You're not joking right?" I typed.

After I made my first cup of coffee (I would need more than caffeine to kick start my day after Stanley's morbid jolt to my morning), I messaged my partner J.

"No dettol," he replied me.

Of course.

Saturdays are J's cleaning days and he mops his place with dettol.

Other than that, J is doing fine although he doesn't have masks or food stocked up.

Practical as J is, he wouldn't spiral off into panic buying so he's calmly riding the storm out.

Minutes later, from the swanky - but obviously fortified - River Valley apartment came my sister's WhatsApp reply.

"I have enough sanitisers to last me for two months, 600 masks for myself and 20 types of canned food and two air purifiers. But I think I don't have a can opener."

My sis, who had lived through SARS in 2003 as a frontline medical staff, was in full warrior mode.

I've sent mum and B masks and hand sanitisers and I'm ordering more online. You want?" she adds.

Speaking of, I sent a WhatsApp text to Mrs Lee.

She replied with a badly-taken Wefie that featured four of her friends in our neighbourhood, one of the auntie's faces cut off by bad framing.

"Gathering in Aunty Eng's place," the words on my WhatsApp screen finally appeared, after Mummy Lee spent nearly two minutes typing.

Meanwhile, my brother Barry responded with his trademark humour: A gif of Batman bitch-slapping Robin with the caption "bats are not food you fool!"

I have no doubt my brother's wit will pull him through this.

Barry was in NS during the SARS period and he was roped in to help pack masks then.

Whatsmore, Barry's the smartest among all three of us.

He'd be fine.

I then moved on to Nisa and Terry my straight best friends.

Nisa, whose mum is a retired doctor, says there's nothing to worry about.

Her family aren't even wearing masks when they go out because, in Dr Tan's words, "masks should only be worn if you're sick to prevent germs from getting out".

Nisa's mantras are simple.

To pull through this coronavirus, you need to watch your personal hygiene - wash your hands, don't rub your eyes - and drink lots and lots of water, and eat healthily.

If you're healthy, chances are, your body will fight the coronavirus if you have it.

Trust Nisa.

Her mum, who was among the fierce group of doctors and healthcare workers back in 2003 battling SARS, had been the one who imparted such advice to her.

Terry on the other hand has taken to working from home as a precaution.

He may not be an easy panic, but minimising contact from the outside world seems like the right thing to do.

As I sipped my morning coffee, I scrolled my phone for updates on the sickening virus.

Some of them were fake news.

But most of them were real - and concerning.

Singapore's turned code orange.

I turned pale at that news.

As I carefully digested what code orange meant, I slowly began to let the facts sink in.

A tiny group of Singaporeans are being affected by the virus despite not having travelled out of the country.

But our government is seeing this as worrying... and thus, putting a cap on certain activities on our island.

And I'm worried.

Back in 2003, when the SARS outbreak was at its peak in the Asian region, I was studying overseas, untouched and far away from this deadly virus.

But I was constantly worried back then because my loved ones - particularly my sis who was involved in battling SARS in her then-career - were at stake.

Today, as the coronavirus hits, I'm again away from the tension, tucked away in one part of the region that has thus far, no reports of the virus.

Call it deja vu, call it quasi-survivor's guilt, but I can't help but feel concerned for my loved ones back in Singapore.

When will this virus end?

And how will it end?

I have no answers.

I can only rely on the ultimate ending.

Singapore has fought SARS, H1N1 and seen through many other difficulties.

And through those crises, though we had seen death, we also saw the birth of resilience. The emergence of a united Singapore spirit.

Yes, we may be in trouble today.

But I have no doubt we will stand together and beat this mudder-effing virus.

We can do it.

Contrary to what Stanley says, we're not gonna die.

We will survive.

That is the ultimate ending.

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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people