It was the first time I went to a maternity ward to visit a newborn child. The moment I stepped in, I recognised this not so pleasant milk smell. The smell of babies.

The little form sleeping soundly in a little plastic cubicle lined with a small mattress, occasionally moving like she was trembling when she was only stretching herself. Her tiny hand covered with a mitten was stretched out of her blanket and her father tucked it in more than once. When she was visibly uncomfortable sleeping on one side, her father cupped her head and used the length of his arm to support her body, turning her to another side. Her eyes were closed the whole time I was there; I marvelled at how plump and rosy her cheeks were, the eyelashes, the little nose, the pouty mouth which regularly bubbled saliva; she looked perfect. I was afraid to touch her.

My mom started to relate her story of how ugly I looked when I was born. This dark, scraggy baby who wailed loudly. Then she went on to say how fast it was. Now I'm already in my 20s.

As she talked, I sat by the baby. Another life in this world. One day, I'll be old and I'll leave this world. I only have one life here and up till now, I have no idea of how to best lead it. Soon, I'll cease to exist. When I die, will I still be me? Or will I just disappear into nothingness? Why was I born into this world, an Asian-Chinese, in Singapore, female? Do you believe in fate? Like everything's planned for you up to every single detail, like you're now reading this very sentence?

Too many questions and too few answers. It gets rather overwhelming at times.