A small pool of mortality

"And, you know, we were in class and he passed me a not-- Oh my God he's down."

"Call 995!"

"Does anyone else know CPR?"

"Call 955!"

"That isn't the emergency line!"

"That's the emergency line, Yufeng!"

"Isn't it 1777?"

"That's the NON EMERGENCY LINE Do you want to rescue him from the lift?"

"I'm calling! HELLO 995?"

"CPR IN PROGRESS"

"You're medically certified right? Go! Red cross instincts, go!!"

"CPR IN PROGRESS"

"But I'm scared."

"You'll never live this down."

"DOES ANYONE ELSE KNOW CPR?"

"他问你会不会救他。"

"Go, feng."

"Here. Me."

"Okay here three, two, one... No, higher"

"My sister is a doctor. She's rushing down now."

"Thank you."

"The jogger was found lying on the ground. Near the kayaking shed. Is there anyway you can get them to come faster? Quick."

"Oh they're here."

"7 minutes of compressions."

"Hello? On her way? Paramedics are here. Ok."

"No filming"

"Give them space to work!"

"What's going on?"

"What a cute dog."

"Mum says don't run so fast."

"I'm curious about their procedure but I don't want to look like I'm gawking."

"It's... I've never seen this before... But not at the expense of others of course..."

"Maybe I shouldn't breathe because I might stop."

"They're taking him up."

"No pulse"

***

I wish I had the eloquence to do justice to the severity of what I witnessed this evening... trying to foster life out of my fingertips may be an ill-considered parallel.

It gave me lots to think about. Should I make this a social etiquette post? I asked myself as Yufeng and I lost our appetite for more mileage. Let's talk about how one shouldn't be filming a bloody-faced, possibly dying man receiving CPR. Or how about the social responsibility I had to stop the man behind the camera and yet I didn't because I was scared and I was shocked?

I should have written an essay about the mortality of Man. What should have been a normal Saturday evening jog ended with a small pool of sticky blood and the knowledge that that could have been mine. Instead of Henry Crick and his 'ritual pretense' at resurrecting Freddie, I saw a man desperately pumping on a chest somebody could have laid their head upon for comfort. I could have described how the compressions were done by a chao ang moh and the limp jogger's head lifted, his soles rubbed by banglas and how a Filipino-sounding doctor rushed down to help. But that wouldn't have been fair to the Singaporeans like Yufeng who helped, or me, standing helpless in the face of Mortality and Futility. Who can you blame for your desperation, your hesitance in the face of life, fading out from artery to tragedy? Maybe, maybe in my attempt to Do something! Anything!-- I called my mother to make them come faster! Make them hurry!

Did I think my mother could have saved him? No, Mothers can't do that.

Perhaps I should have talked about how the crowd dispersed and I sent them home with a cynical the show's over. Perhaps I should have talked about how I lost appetite for dinner after a cool bowl of tau huay with Yufeng. Perhaps I should have dedicated this post to a prayer to whichever god or higher being to help him.

I could have said all of that and nothing would have properly explained how the closing of one man's eyes opened mine, if only for awhile, before they started to squint at the sun.