Dealing with the death of someone you know is never easy. Most of the time, when we talk about death, it’s usually in the context of ageing – like losing a grandparent or an elderly relative. It’s less common to hear about people your age passing away. And when it does happen, you start pondering about many things – wondering if you could have done more as a friend, or even what the point of life really is.
In my personal experience, I lost 5 friends before I even turned 20. My feelings of grief peaked around this time last year, but now that I’ve had some distance from it, I thought I’d share my experience with losing friends and reflect on the lessons grief has taught me.
Trigger warning: This article contains details surrounding suicide, unnatural causes of death, and feelings of sadness.
Before getting into the context of these friendships, it’s probably important to share a bit about me first. I’ve always been the shy and timid type – the kind of person who rarely initiates a conversation and usually waits for someone to make the first move.
Because I don’t socialise as much as others, I tend to remember and appreciate, in very great detail, the people I have interacted with. Every now and then, I occasionally scroll through old chats from as far back as 2017, just to reminisce fondly about friendships that once meant a lot to me.
The first friend I ever lost was a guy named Khai, who in many ways was like me, so we clicked almost instantly. We were in different classes, but went to the same mother tongue and religious classes. Although we weren’t super close, we’d chat every time we met, about PSLE, school, or just random topics that came to mind.
Around halfway through the year, my cohort suddenly received news that he had passed away in his sleep. Like everyone else, I was shocked, and many emotions flooded my mind. My first thought was that I’d just seen him not long before – at the classroom corridor – and he looked fine to me. When I went for religious class later, the atmosphere was heavy; many of our classmates were in tears, unable to process what had happened.
I didn’t cry, though. At that age, I thought it wasn’t something guys were supposed to do. But I remember feeling a bit empty and wasn’t sure how to process the news – no one really teaches you how to deal with something like that at 12, and we certainly didn’t learn that in school. What I was taught to do was to say a prayer for him and hope it brought him peace, wherever he was.
Image credit: Heng Swee Keat via Facebook
Fast forward a couple of years, and I remember receiving news that another friend – a childhood friend I’d known since I was 7 – had passed away in a freak accident. A basketball stand in Bedok had fallen on him, leading to his demise. We weren’t very close buddies, but we’d known each other for years and used to play sports together during recess in what seemed like a lifetime ago. I still remember I’d bumped into him a few weeks before the incident – we’d said hi in passing, not knowing it’d be the last time.
This time, I wasn’t just sad that I’d lost another friend; I was also frustrated that something so random and preventable could take away someone so young. I couldn’t understand why it had to happen, or why it always seemed to be the good ones who went too soon.
Image credit: National Parks Board
Despite being already familiar with the concept of loss, it didn’t make the initial shock hit any less when my close friend suddenly broke the news to me that one of our mutual friends – someone I’d hung out with once or twice in a larger group – had committed suicide by drowning herself in Bedok Reservoir.
She went to the same secondary school as me, and I still remember our casual chats, which ranged from things like schoolwork to the latest update in Pixel Gun 3D. She had this warmth about her and was the kind of person who made conversations feel easy.
By this point, it just felt unbearably tragic – and honestly, unfair. All these people, gone so young, with so much life left ahead of them. It made me question a lot of things, and that’s when darker thoughts began creeping in. I started wondering if something similar could happen to me. The idea that life could just end without warning became a fear that lingered in the back of my mind for a long time.
Around this time last year, I learnt that one of my closest friends from polytechnic had passed away from stage 4 cancer. Initially, the news did not even register with me – it just seemed so unbelievable, like my mind refused to accept that it had happened again. Even on the way to the funeral, a small part of me hoped it was just a sick prank.
His name was Yuan Sen, although most of us called him Yuan. I met him on the first day of poly orientation and thought he looked like an ah beng, so it took me some courage to go up and say hi. But once I did, the rest – as they say – was history.
It’s not every day that you get to go rock climbing or cubicle hopping with your classmate.
Image adapted from: Syahiran Sean
He was one of those people who could instantly lift the mood of any room. Easily one of the funniest guys I’ve ever met – always saying the most unhinged things that never failed to make everyone laugh.
When our classes got reshuffled in the 2nd semester, we both ended up in the same one. It was comforting to have a familiar face while everyone else was trying to make new friends. From then on, we pretty much became inseparable during school. For an entire semester, we hung out every day, to the point where people just assumed that if you saw one of us, the other wasn’t far behind.
Image credit: Syahiran Sean
Spending so much time together naturally made us good buddies. I still remember how, at the end of the year, he sent me a short “letter” thanking me for being his friend, and it really made my day. Even now, I still reread it from time to time whenever I think about him.
Although this was the 4th time I’d lost someone, this was the deepest level of sadness I’ve felt out of all. I remember standing over his coffin for around 10 minutes, still wishing in vain that he was just asleep and would suddenly wake up. But no matter how long I waited, that moment never came.
What still haunts me is the regret. After our classes split, I did not make much effort to keep in touch. I even had a chance to see him again at a mutual friend’s party, but I cancelled at the last minute because I was too sian after work. I still regret that decision – and probably always will.
I remember one of our classmates – someone who’d been in the same class as us – coming up to me with tears in her eyes, asking how I was holding up. For the first time, I couldn’t find the words to respond. My voice trembled, and before I knew it, my eyes started to water too.
For weeks after the funeral, I felt hollow and empty. The sadness lingered, and I found myself reflecting a lot on life, on friendship, and on how fragile everything really is.
About a week later, I received a notification that my neighbour – someone I regularly played football with – had passed away from a heart attack after a futsal game. Beyond the pitch, I would often see him out with his kids, and we sometimes even commuted together from the same mosque. For a neighbour, we actually spent quite a bit of time together, which made his passing hit harder than I expected.
Where I played futsal with my neighbours.
Image credit: Harold via OnePA
I still vividly remember our futsal games, when he would praise my passing and shooting skills – it made me feel like the real deal, and those little moments made him stick in my memory even more. He was also a really nice person in general and sometimes offered me advice when I spoke to him about school and life.
Of course, death is inevitable, and what matters most is how we respond to it. Unfortunately for me, after losing so many friends, the weight of negative emotions began to build up.
The first time I experienced something truly unsettling was the night after I returned home from Yuan’s funeral. It was late, and I was exhausted. I’d just fallen asleep, but woke up later that night to use the bathroom.
When I got back to my room, something felt off, and an uneasy heaviness filled the space. My stomach tightened, and my senses went on high alert. Suddenly, my heart started pounding furiously – I later learnt that this was something called heart palpitations – a common symptom of a panic attack, but at that moment, my knees buckled to the ground.
Image for illustrative purposes only.
Image credit: The Haunted World via Facebook
I also started hallucinating that night – I saw a bright light shimmering in front of me, followed by a thin fog that slowly revealed the blurred silhouettes of 4 tombstones. They looked eerily similar to the ones belonging to my late friends, and it felt as though they were motioning for me to come closer. My heart began pounding even harder and faster, until a sharp pain shot through my chest. Right then and there, I really thought that my time to die had come, and I closed my eyes for death to do its thing.
When I woke up, I was drenched in sweat and completely drained, as if I had just cheated death. The whole episode probably lasted just 10 minutes, although it felt like an eternity.
Until today, I’m still not too sure what happened. Was it really a paranormal experience, or the accumulation of everything crashing down all at once?
Ever since the first loss, I have occasionally dreamt of the friends who are no longer here. Most of the time, the dreams are fleeting – just a few seconds of them staring at me and me staring back, so I didn’t think much of it. I’ve always been the kind of person who remembers things vividly – even casual interactions – so maybe my mind was just replaying fragments of old memories.
But a month after the panic attack, I dreamt of Yuan for the first time, and that one still sticks with me. It felt too real to be just a dream, and it felt like his spirit was really talking to me. In the dream, I ran into him, and we spoke for what felt like forever. It felt like the good old days.
After a while, he said he had to go, and I remember saying, “Don’t leave, I miss you,” and he replied, “I must.” Then he embraced me in a bear hug, and I could feel the material of the black-and-white flannel shirt he used to wear, warm and fuzzy. The moment felt so real that I woke up teary and in a cold sweat again. It took me a while to accept that it was just a dream.
I later told his girlfriend about the dream, and she pointed out something that gave me chills – Yuan had left that exact same shirt at her house before he passed. He’d told her to keep it so that, whenever she missed him, it would feel like he was hugging her. Hearing that made me feel like it was his way of saying goodbye.
Image credit: Syahmi Sean
Ever since all these losses, there’s been a quiet heaviness that lingered in the background of my everyday life, which made me feel unmotivated. Some days, I wonder, “What is the point of me doing all this if I might just die soon anyway?” Other days, I wake up and wish I could just rot at home instead of working.
But other times, I remind myself how privileged I am to even be alive and that I should at least do something productive. Even when I lacked the motivation, that realisation pushed me to make the most of what I had.
Even though I tried to stay positive, the truth is, not all my thoughts were. Ever since my panic attack – and even going back to the first friend I lost when I was 12 – I’ve always wondered when it would be my turn to die.
It’s not that I want to die so soon, but after seeing so many young lives end so unexpectedly, it’s hard not to think about it. There were also times when I feared death might be knocking on another good friend or family member’s door.
Image credit: Wikipedia
I think back to that panic attack sometimes, because it was one of the few instances where the thought of dying was not just an afterthought, but a possibility I considered in real time.
Another moment like that happened just a couple of months ago, when I was queuing up to buy breakfast. Out of nowhere, I tasted this metallic flavour in my mouth. It took me a second to realise that my nose had started bleeding. My mind went straight to the worst-case scenario – I’d get it checked, and the doctor would tell me that I have underlying nose cancer. For me, that didn’t feel too far-fetched at all.
In reality, however, my nasal blood vessels had burst, which sounds scary but is actually a common experience if you’re having a cold in Singapore’s intense heat.
I remember being a bit paranoid afterwards that I ended up working from home for almost an entire month straight. I was so worried that my nose would suddenly start bleeding more profusely this time, leading to me possibly losing consciousness in the office, so I felt like it was better for that to happen in the solace of my own room.
All these experiences and feelings have made me value my friends in a way I never did before. I’ve always been a homebody, perfectly happy staying in, playing games, or doomscrolling social media. But now, I find myself uncharacteristically initiating catch-ups with my friends, including those I haven’t spoken to in a while.
For instance, I’ve never been a big fan of the gym – I’m more of a runner than a lifter – but some of my friends are really into it, so I use that as an excuse to hang out and catch up with them. Surprisingly, I ended up genuinely enjoying hitting the gym with them and stepping out of my comfort zone in a place that is every introvert’s nightmare.
It’s okay for a guy to open up about their feelings, even if it’s behind a screen.
Image credit: Syahiran Sean
I also find that the best way to deal with grief is to talk to someone about it. Coincidentally, a colleague went through a similar experience around the same time as me, and speaking to her lifted a huge weight off my shoulders.
Looking back, I think the reason why I shut out my feelings for so long was that I had an image in my head that guys shouldn’t be emotional and must be strong all the time.
Opening up about it made me realise that I had kept these negative feelings and thoughts bottled inside for so long, letting them fester and snowball.
Knowing that someone else was going through something similar brought a sense of relief. It reminded me that grief, as isolating as it feels, isn’t something you have to face completely alone.
Losing my friends was heartbreaking, and there’s really no getting used to it. But it has also taught me a lesson that many young people seem to understand in theory, but often forget in practice: life is short, and it’s up to us to make it count. It is better to have lived a short but purposeful life than to live a long but meaningless one.
For more perspectives on grief, check out:
Cover image adapted from: Syahiran Sean, Heng Swee Keat via Facebook
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