10 Wonderful Things That Happened When I Drew for 100 Days
When I first started my project, 100 Days of Childhood Memories, my goal was simply to finish the 100 days. Draw and write about 100 memories of my growing up in Singapore. This project had humble beginnings. This was my Facebook post from Day 0:
A week ago, I crossed the finish line. Day 100. A project that began with me wondering if I even had a hundred childhood memories in my head became a journey with unexpected joys. What is it like to draw for 100 days? Here are 10 wonderful things that happened along the way…
1. I got to hear family stories that I had never heard before.
When I wanted to clarify the details of certain memories, I would ask my father, and in this process, I learned bits of family lore that I had never heard of. I never knew that it was my great-grandfather who bought the original Leicester house. I didn’t know that my father lived in a shophouse when he was born. I also didn’t know that the purchase of the ji chap lao flat (Day 32) was due to the foresight of my grandfather.
One of my favorite stories that emerged was the milk story mentioned in Day 100. I had known that my father had a primary school teacher who made the skinny students drink milk. I had always imagined it was packet milk, as fresh milk is harder to come by in Singapore. (I actually imagined it was chocolate milk, but I knew that was fanciful thinking on my part.) When I asked my father for details, he replied, “A small cup scooped up from a pail.” A fine detail of historical fact that was better than my fiction.
I loved hearing all the stories and getting to connect with my father, cousins and other relatives this way. It felt like going home again. I felt like I was tiny speck in a rich river of history.
2. I learned why things were named as they were.
There are so many names and phrases I had used all my life without knowing what they really meant.
Everyone in the family called our Leicester house “sah ko jiok”. I knew it was Hokkien and that the “sah” meant “three”, but that was it. As I prepared for Day 100, I learned that the phrase meant “third mile”, a reference to the fact that back in the day, there were milestone markers all over Singapore. They measured the distances along main thoroughfares from the city center, which was then the General Post Office and is now the Fullerton Hotel.
In similar ways, I learned that when we ”pai thnee kong” (Day 81) on the 9th day of Chinese New Year, we burn sugar cane stalks as an offering because of a Hokkien legend involving the Jade Emperor and people taking refuge in a sugar cane plantation.
I discovered that the Mooty (Day 61) books I loved were written by a Singaporean author, Jessie Wee. Even though they had characters like the Satay Man, it never occurred to me that these books were Singaporean.
I learned so many things I never thought to ask until now!
3. I discovered that people all over the world had the same penguin toy.
On Day 39, I drew this penguin race toy that I once had. When I posted it, so many people chimed in with “I had this too!” It turned out that people who grew up in Singapore, India, China, and different parts of the US all had the same odd toy. Who knew! The slide is usually populated with penguins, but people shared that their versions had ducks, race cars, and other small things that can glide down a curvy slide.
I heard from people time and again that my memories stirred up theirs and that they had similar experiences growing up. It wasn’t just toys but core experiences that we shared. A friend wrote, “So much of this work echoes in my own memories and family.” I was humbled to find that the intimate details of my childhood could feel so universal.
4. I learned to draw again.
A lot of people have asked me if I have taken drawing lessons. The only drawing lessons I’ve ever taken were mentioned here on Day 4 when I was about 7 and was taught to draw upside down heads. When I was an adolescent in the New Jersey years (Day 85), I drew a ton of cartoon characters because I wanted to be a Disney animator. Then I stopped. For almost two decades.
It was quite intimidating to be drawing again. Drawing in public is a bit like singing in public; you don’t really want to do it unless you’re confident of your abilities. I wasn’t confident. I felt terribly self-conscious. When I drew Ariel, I felt there was no way that I could draw as well now as I did when I was 12. I was probably right at that point about my rusty skills. It was just Day 6.
But something happens when you draw a lot and keep seeking to improve. Here is a comparison of Day 0 (from memory) and Day 100 (based on a photograph):
I could draw again! How incredibly satisfying it was to not only rediscover an old, dormant skill, but to improve on it. I don’t think my 12-year-old self could have drawn Day 100. It takes a different kind of skill to be able to take a photograph and interpret it for a particular style of sketch. I’d like to think it takes a certain perspective that I could have only acquired as an adult, one who drew for a lot of days.
I had forgotten how much I enjoy drawing - the meditative state, the patient observation required, the reveal, like a magician’s prestige, when you step back and see the finished product.
I hope to take on more drawing projects. I even bought a larger sketchbook and charcoal pencils. I have never drawn with charcoal. I have no idea what to do with it. But I think it will be great fun.
5. A former neighbor who lived across the street stumbled upon my drawings.
When I posted my drawing of the Leicester apartment block on the Nostalgic Singapore group on Facebook, one man replied to say he lived across the street from my house, next to the temple. I couldn’t believe it. I know Singapore is a small country, but Leicester Road is a little-known street. I had hoped that other people who lived in Potong Pasir might see my post. But to have it discovered by a neighbor, who knew my father and uncles and who went to the same school that they did? What are the chances! “You have stirred my diminishing memories,” he said. I was so happy to share such dear memories with a stranger-neighbor.
6. Friends were inspired to do awesome projects of their own.
One friend shared my project with her father, which inspired him to start drawing again in a project called Shots & Scribbles. He has been making one drawing a week of some historical memory of Singapore, and he annotates them with explanations. The work is wonderful. I loved seeing someone else’s version of the same concept of memories about Singapore.
My friend wrote, “He’s said more than once that this project has brought his family and him a lot of joy. It’s prompted a lot of conversations as he tries to verify some memories that have gotten blurry over the years.” I know that feeling, that surprising discovery that this project can bring such connectedness, and I am so glad to hear it.
I’ve felt so honored to hear about these projects. Thank you so much for sharing your work with me.
7. I got to revisit things that were too ordinary to be remembered.
Some of my favorite memories to draw were of scenes that were so ordinary, so everyday that it never occurred to me that I might one day miss them. I wish I had taken pictures of the Chinese temple (Day 59) across the street. I wish I had somehow thought to record every house on Leicester Road, all through to the dead end where the stair case begins (Day 71). People would never think to take pictures of something as mundane as sleeping on mattresses on the floor (Day 33), but I wish someone had captured that.
In drawing these moments, I felt like I had made them live again in some way. When I look at ordinary, plain things in my life right now, I try to remember that one day this, too, will seem precious.
8. I got to feel like an artist.
I think of myself as an analytical person. I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to be an artist per se (I wanted to be an animator but not quite artist), so it feels a little funny to say this, but it is magical to feel like an artist.
Being an artist means many things to many people. To me, it means creating an original work that feels true to me and is emotionally resonant with others. It means expressing some core part of myself in my work.
I got to experience creativity in a very classic way, drawing and writing. New ideas, new concepts, new visualizations would pop into my head, and I got to figure out if my skills were up for it. it’s not just the drawing. Even the writing, the storytelling became a craft to keep pushing.
Indulge me for a moment and let me tell you about the deliberate craft that went into Day 100. I first thought of the concept around Day 60. I wanted the last two drawings to be about the Leicester houses, so I asked my father to send me photographs. The Day 99 post about the apartment block became a kind of stringing together of the best memories mentioned throughout the series. When it came to Day 100, I felt like I had exhausted my memories. What else is there to say after the “best memory ever”, to quote my cousin, about the apartment block?
The drawing came first. I actually drew a draft version, which I almost never do. I didn’t like it. Then I asked for more photographs. Finally, I sat down for two hours and, with laborious care and full attention, drew it in great detail.
The writing came last. It started as an inkling. I wanted it to be about histories before history, memories before my memory. But I also wanted to include some facts about the house with the verandah. For days I wrote notes to myself about phrases that popped into my head. Then I had to choose which histories I wanted to tell. I wanted to choose details that could tell whole stories in a single phrase. I wanted this last post to feel like zooming back through time. I wanted it to “echo”. When I was composing that final line and came up with a version that contained the word “belonging” (I thought about how Day 99 is titled “Belonging”) and knew I had my final line:
“And that childhood memory, belonging to my grandfather, told to me by my father, is the earliest childhood memory I know.”
The end result is my favorite post of the entire series. I feel like it was one that I had imagined, and crafted and crafted and distilled, and brought all my skills to bear. The final product is, well, to me, for what it’s worth, a work of art.
9. I learned that the most valuable thing I can do with a side project is to treat it as a serious, worthwhile endeavor.
People approach side projects differently. Some people treat side projects simply as hobbies, a way to pass time in an enjoyable way. But I feel that this is asking too little of a side project. Then, there are people who think of side projects as experiments that can become something bigger: a new income stream, a small business, or their next career. But it doesn’t have to be that. It could be, but it doesn’t have to be anything more than a side project ever.
What is far more important, regardless of the project’s eventual outcome, is to treat it as a serious, worthwhile endeavor.
What does it mean to treat it as a serious, worthwhile endeavor? It means you infuse your project with as much skill and soul as any other important work you take on in your life. Bring to it your passion and professionalism in equal measure. That means you position yourself to be struck by inspiration, but you do so by showing up with discipline and by deliberately honing your craft. Don’t just dabble. Raise your own bar. Do your best work.
10. I’ve recorded a piece of history that I can pass on to future generations.
I had 0 drawings when I started. But now I have 100! With stories! How awesome is that. I have a body of work that can tell my story of growing up in Singapore even long after I’m gone. I have no children yet, but I hope that my great-grandchildren one day will like this project very much.
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Further reading:
- Browse all 100 Days of Childhood Memories.
- Learn more about my process: the intro (Day 0), my drawing and writing process (~Day 27), exploring my creative process (~Day 63).
- Learn about #The100DayProject organized by The Great Discontent and Elle Luna.
One #100DaysOfChildhoodMemories
Day 100/100. Before it was a large condominium, before it was a four storey apartment block, One Leicester Road was a bungalow house. It was a blue house on concrete stilts with a verandah up front. This was the house my family lived in when I was born. We called it “sah ko jiok”, which means “third mile” in Hokkien. It was three miles from the city center, which was then the General Post Office and is now the Fullerton Hotel. This is the place where my earliest memories of home begin. I remember a time when we still hung mosquito nets, a time when air-conditioning was new, a time where we slept on mattresses on the floor, a time when the living and dining areas were practically open air. But there are more memories before my memories. This was also the house where my father’s memories begin. I am told that Leicester Road was once a dirt track and was paved only when he started going to school. He walked to the end of the road and climbed the same narrow stairs that I would later climb to go to school. I am told that when he was taught by the war heroine Elizabeth Choy, she called up all the skinny boys in class, scooped milk out of a pail into small tin cups, and made them drink up so that they might grow. Before all that, there was an earlier house at the edges of my father’s memories, a shophouse on Rochor Canal Road, which was a short walk away from my grandfather’s tire shop on Albert Street. Before that, there was my grandfather who, as a young immigrant, taught himself English and started his own business. Before that, there was my great-grandfather who left China to seek his fortunes overseas and brought his family to Singapore. He would one day buy the Leicester house of his great-granddaughter’s memory. Before that, there was a village in China, in Yongchun county of the Fujian province, where my grandfather as a small boy trudged through mud in bare feet and put on his shoes only when he arrived at school. And that childhood memory, belonging to my grandfather, told to me by my father, is the earliest childhood memory I know.
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To browse the 100 posts, see archives here.
Belonging #100DaysOfChildhoodMemories
Day 99/100. When I think of my childhood home, this is the one that comes to mind. When I was 7 or 8, my grandfather tore down the old bungalow that sat on this plot of land and built a four storey private apartment block. Each of his four sons’ families moved in and lived in their own apartments, one on each floor. We lived on the second floor. My grandfather and grandmother lived in the maisonette. An entire extended family living under one roof, a Chinese immigrant’s dream come true. This is the home where we went downstairs to play with cousins in the evenings with badminton racquets and kid bikes and rollerblades. This is the home where we stepped across the hallway to have dinner with the extended family at my grandparents’ place. This is the home where we played too many video games and watched Mary Poppins over and over. This is the home where I remember birthdays of ice cream cakes and the Buddhist-Taoist funeral of my grandmother. I grew up in a country where one takes for granted that everything changes and nothing is forever. This is the building that eventually had an en bloc sale to make way for new condominiums. But for a time it was home, and for as long as I can hold memories, it will always be my place of great belonging.
Earliest #100DaysOfChildhoodMemories
Day 98/100. I have been asked what is my earliest memory. I don’t really know what it is, but this might be it. I have a memory, more like a vague feeling, of being on a train. I remember being scared of going into a dark tunnel. My parents were probably carrying me. We may have been in Malaysia. I don’t remember how old I was, I don’t even know why I think this is my earliest memory, but there it is.
Changi #100DaysOfChildhoodMemories
Day 97/100. When I think about Changi Airport, I have memories of driving down the trees and bougainvillea-lined highway with the iconic control tower rising in the distance. I remember going to the only terminal in the old days. I remember the mylar cord fountains that looked like a waterfall pouring through multiple floors. I remember the wall with digital clocks reporting times of major cities all over the map. I think there was a trishaw where we could pose and take pictures. Changi used to mark the beginning of adventures abroad. Now it marks homecomings, journeys from some other home to my original home.
Poker #100DaysOfChildhoodMemories
Day 96/100. The event that defines Chinese New Year with my extended family is poker. There was always gambling as far back as I can remember. Blackjack and the time game and mahjong. Then at some point, someone introduced poker. It began as five cards - one open, one closed, draw one more card each round. My uncles and aunts played afternoons and evenings of poker. We children pulled up stools to sit and watch. I remember being next to my father and picking up the rules. Even as a child, I knew that flush was higher than straight, and full house trumped both. I must have absorbed subconsciously the probabilities of cards. But more than the rules, I remember the banter between the adults. It was one ridiculous mixed-up Hokkien-English-Singlish joke after another. Everyone was hilariously, unforgivingly funny. It made me hope that I would grow up to be funny. Over the years, they made up their own poker rules - more cards, more swaps, more variants than I think everyone at the table really understands. There was even the famous $10-round, where everyone throws $10 into the pool, draws one card, and the highest card wins. The best part of this memory is that they still play poker every year at Chinese New Year.
Flag #100DaysOfChildhoodMemories
Day 95/100. After the lion dances and the dragon dance, there was the flag pole stunt in the large courtyard of my granduncle’s house. Troupe members would takes turns balancing a massive 30-foot flag pole on their foreheads or their lower jaws. As one performer did his balancing act, others would stand by ready to spot if the wind blew that hefty weight off course. There are few things quite impressive as that stunt, the enormous strength and coordination required. Lion and dragon dances have existed in my Chinese New Year memories as far back as I can remember. I think the flag was added in the later years.
Dragon #100DaysOfChildhoodMemories
Day 94/100. I remember the splendid drama of dragon dance. The way the dancers made the long dragon body twist, circle, and crossover in elaborate jump moves. The way the dragon head chased the girl who carried the spinning ball. She blew her whistle loudly at certain intervals, as if she were taunting and charming the dragon all at once. In one move, the dancers turn the serpentine body into a sideways coil and then leap over parts of the dragon with perfect timing. In another move, the dancers lay down on their backs and do tight crunches while swinging their segment of the dragon back and forth, and so the entire dragon appears to move in an elegant zig zag wave. If lions were grand, then dragons were majestic.
Lions #100DaysOfChildhoodMemories
Day 93/100. I remember going to my granduncle’s house every year on the second day of Chinese New Year to watch the lion dance performance. I remember the energy and drama and skillful finesse of lion dance. I also remember the drum beats. I remember how during the days around the holiday, you could just be driving on the streets and you’d hear the loud drums of a lion dance truck passing by with its colorful banners and flags. I remember how my younger cousins loved the performance so much, they’d go home and re-enact it with their child-sized set of lion heads and tiny drums. I don’t remember any single year’s performance, but I remember that this is what a celebration looks and sounds and feels like.
Sweets #100DaysOfChildhoodMemories
Day 92/100. At every house we visited during Chinese New Year, I remember these round trays of sweets and snacks. Each family had a slightly different selection, but I remember some of my favorites. Watermelon seeds that I struggled to crack with my little teeth. Shiny gold coins with milk chocolate inside. Hand Brand and Farmer Brand groundnuts. A kind of white and pink fluffy sweet. And Van Houten chocolate in their yellow, red or brown wrappings. I don’t know what each treat was meant to symbolize, but to a child it meant very happy times.