Next to Art and Mother Tongue classes, I would say that Physical Education (PE) ranked up as one of my least favorite classes back in secondary school. You can count on me to be walking aimlessly around the soccer field during the mandated soccer practice. Where my goal was to stay away from the soccer ball rather than to chase after it. And when it inadvertently came my way, I would make some half-hearted effort to chase it and kick it back to one of my teammates, only to have the ball carelessly fly outside the boundary.

When it comes to sports, I wasn’t a sport to say the least.

But during the school’s 65th anniversary celebration, which doubled as an Open Day for alumni, the soccer field and adjacent pull-up station were amongst the first destinations which I gravitated to. The school had prepared a massive marquee over the parade square filled with festive fare. Which unfortunately was completely wasted on the likes of someone who made a conscious attempt to depart from his friend who had invited him to the celebration in the first place.

Just because this dear friend actually maintained friendships with our ex-schoolmates and was going to meet up with them. On my end, I had decided that I did not have enough social battery to say hello and make small talk with people that I might have once been close to, but who are now the ghosts of my past from half a lifetime ago.

Looks like when it comes to friendship, I am not much of a sport at all either.

What I am though is an introverted sentimentalist clinging on to nostalgia. It helps that the school hadn’t really changed all that much in the last 15 years. The pull-up station that had weathered the caprices of Singaporean tropical climate and many strained attempts from 15 year-old male adolescents remained exactly as they were in my memory.

One of the most difficult transitions for male physical fitness tests was the change from “inclined pull-ups” to “pull-ups” when one turns 15. It was difficult enough that most of (the non-athletic amongst) us couldn’t manage to do a single pull-up. And because the overall National Physical Fitness Awared (NAPFA) result was a function of the weakest station, that also meant that most of us could not pass it.

After several failed tries, the PE teacher would allow us to jump and grab the bar, and counted the jump-assisted attempt. Mr Singh was a trim Indian man with a neatly combed moustache who was usually decked in t-shirt and shorts . He who was also the PE teacher to just about half the students in the school and surely could not have most of his male students failing the test.

Collectively, we were known as “zero fighters”, an ironical spin on the term we picked up from history classes about the fighter jets powering the Japanese military at the start of World War II.

For the larger part of my last 2 years in secondary school, I was a zero fighter. But closer towards the O-level national examinations, I started going to the pull-up bars as a form of stress relief; between my grades and my body weight, pulling up the latter was beginning to feel more realistic.

Before I realized it, 0 became 1. And from there 1 became many. Such that by the time I graduated from secondary school, pull-ups became my best performing station. My frame remained what it was though and it was hard to shake off the cognitive dissonance (for me at least) that came from trying to reconcile my lanky build and my repetitions on the bar.

Winning admiration from other guys for physical performance was refreshing but not entirely foreign; I had received recognition for being amongst the Top 20 male runners for cross-country races in secondary school as well in multiple years. But it felt different to be acknowledged for strength rather than stamina for someone who has been skinny (fat) pretty much all his life.

Am I strong?

At an age plagued with insecurities, this ability was an ego booster and an affirmation to say the least. My self-worth became intrinsically associated with the ease and frequency which I could tip my chin over the bar.

Yes, I could and I would lift my own weight.

Such that even at this age of much-fewer-insecurities, this tenet has become firmly ingrained in my outlook of life. At its best, it champions a spirit of independence and self-sufficiency. On the flipside, it implies a certain nonchalance and aloofness which I am ready to admit to. All of which could be embodied in that single-minded decision to single-handedly build a career and life in Japan from scratch where I had neither kin nor kith.

15 years ago, arms shaking and palm calluses forming from attempting my first pull-up, I never thought that my life 15 years later would be what it is today. Back then, I never had grand plans for the future and my most immediate concerns were on making the grades for National Junior College and

To be fair, I don’t know what my life will be like 15 years later. Or even 5 years later, as I bluntly shared with a crowd of potential and current NTU-USP students during an alumni panel discussion at a tea session two weeks earlier. On stage, I shared merely that I would continue to be curious and continue to engage with the world around me, regardless of where I am in the world or what I may engage in as a main occupation.

In quieter moments however, the answer is a lot less lofty but no less cherished. I will still take the effort to ensure that the dear friend who invited me to the anniversary celebration will continue to be a significant part of my life. Our paths eventually converged in the corridor outside the library where I still ended up crossing paths with ex-classmates. I exchanged cursory hellos with the ex-classmates anyway, after which I left with my friend for lunch outside of school.

On the stairway down, we brushed past Mr Singh, whose hair is much more salt and pepper than before. And fleeting as the encounter may be, we reflexively uttered “Hello Mr Singh”. The answer now includes treating as teachers those who have once offered instruction and guidance to me.

And of course, being able to do pull-ups.