=== a short fictional piece set in Singapore based on a very plausible future===

 

“Ahma, why did the polar bears go extinct?”, asks Juni, my 6-year old granddaughter.

 

The year is 2060, and the Earth’s average temperature is now 2 degrees Celsius above the pre-industrial average. The headline announcement about the definite extinction of polar bears on the radio news has evidently caught Juni’s attention as she strolls into our bedroom.  Turning to her, I turn off the radio with some reluctance: there is going to be radio story about a long-term research study finds that most immigrants in Singapore migrated in the past 20 years because they wanted to escape the increasing numbers of unpredictable, extreme weather events in temperate regions. Yet, while equatorial Singapore does not experience typhoons and extreme cold weather events, even the residents of this island-state cannot deny that it is intolerably hot outdoors. More than 85% of the population now live in climate-buffered, centrally-airconditioned shoebox apartments within complexes that have a school, a supermarket, and essential services – simply because it is too warm to go outside.

 

“Climate change, my dear,” I replied Juni.

 

“What’s climate change, Ahma?”

 

I cringed. I should not have replied so carelessly. Now, I have to explain to her about humanity’s greatest folly since the Second World War. I try to explain it simply. “Well, climate change is when the Earth becomes warmer. So all the ice has melted, the polar bears have lost their home, and they all die.”

 

Looking astonished, she asked, “But why would the Earth become warmer? Did someone turn off the air-conditioning?”

 

I smile at her innocence, but it looks like I cannot escape going into the uncomfortable facts. “No, my dear. The Earth became warmer because we human beings have been releasing greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. Greenhouse gases like carbon dioxide, which is produced when we burn fossil fuels like coal and gas for energy. Or methane, produced by cows, which we raise for food. These greenhouse gases trap heat it the atmosphere, making the Earth warmer and warmer.”

 

“But the polar bears looked so cute and cuddly! Why didn’t we stop? And… do you mean that I also caused the polar bears to die?” Disbelief and shock grows on her face.

 

“Well, not you,” I say, wanting to console her. “You haven’t contributed so much to the release of greenhouse gases. But the older people have.”

 

“Do you mean all the uncles and aunties killed the polar bears? Even you, Ahma?” The anxiety on her face suddenly turns to anger. I think I probably said the wrong thing.

 

“In a way, yes.” I sigh. “Everyone is responsible for causing climate change.”

 

She starts to sob. “But I love you, Ahma! How can you cause climate change?!” More sobbing. “Will more animals lose their homes and die, Ahma? Can we please stop it? Why didn’t you and the uncles and aunties stop it?”

 

I draw in a sharp breath. How do I explain to her that, according to climate scientists, the planet has officially entered a period of runaway climate change two years ago? Even more so, how do I explain to her that, a generation ago, humanity had a chance to mitigate climate change by reducing their greenhouse gas emissions, but failed? My granddaughter is a smart one, but at this moment, I wish that she could wait until she goes to school, so that her Primary school teacher will be the one delivering the bad news. In any case, since she has asked me, I need to try. “We can’t anymore, my dear. We could have, but we have gone beyond that point. The Earth is just going to get warmer and warmer, and more unpredictable.”

 

Her eyes widen, as if in sudden realisation. “Human beings are animals too, right? Does that mean that I am going to lose my home?”

 

“Well, we have technology to protect our apartments from getting too –“

 

“Ahma, why? Why? If I will have no home, why did Mommy and Daddy want to have me? Don’t they love me?” It is almost a wail.

 

My stomach feels like it is being punched. Lisha, her mother – my daughter – never wanted to have children, because she did not believe that there was a future for the planet. After she graduated, she became a school teacher and, inevitably, one of those who explains climate change to schoolchildren. Often, she came home emotionally exhausted from their difficult question. How does one continually portray hope to the young and innocent, when the facts just no longer add up? But it seems like society, with its rush to do things in the fashion it always has, does not empathise with the teachers’ plight. And so, when Lisha got married, society also pressured Lisha to have children. Her in-laws, my husband and I, her aunts and uncles – we kept asking her and her husband: “When will we hear good news? Singapore needs to increase its fertility rates, you know! Having grandchildren is the best way to spend our golden years, you know? It’s part of being filial. And a family is not complete without children.” Lisha died of heatstroke during a school trip to China last December, when a heatwave unexpectedly occurred. It is so ironic that Lisha succumbed to something that she often told her students to feel optimistic about. It is like a bitter, sarcastic reminder that I should not have pressured her to act against her beliefs.

 

“Ahma? Ahma? Are you ok?”

 

I break off my train of thought. I realise that tears have welled up in my eyes. “We all love you, my little granddaughter. Of course we love you. We love you so much. But…” I begin to repeat the points that Lisha used to argue with me several years ago, ”…there isn’t really anything much we can do about the climate, because it’s too late. Children like you will just have to be strong and resilient. How you’re going to learn that, I don’t really know. Your life is going to be difficult.”

 

My granddaughter hugs me. She obviously senses that I need some comforting.

 

“But remember: we love you,” I continue. “And from this love, grow stronger to face the difficulties ahead.” I hug her back tightly. I need to be comforted from the guilt that is washing over me. How easily, with just a few words, have I passed on the burden to her, a child. If we really love our grandchildren, we should have mustered the strength to mitigate climate change when there was still an opportunity, before it became too late.

 

That night, I dream about myself forty years ago, in 2020. But I am very different from the person I used to be: a career-minded conformist who was aware about climate change’s challenges but had neither the courage nor the time to tackle it. In my dream, I have quit my well-paying job. I actively talk to all my former associates about the importance of mitigating climate change. When the Open Electricity Market was introduced, I encourage my peers to choose clean electricity retailers. I tell all my friends to consume less meat and to choose sustainably-sourced paper and wood products. Domestically, I write in regularly to my Member of Parliament to request for higher carbon taxes, and I do undercover reporting to expose Singapore-listed companies that have poor environmental performance. On the global platform, I advise governments about climate change mitigation and am part of a network that puts sustainability and climate change on the agenda of high-level meetings. My friends initially shun me, thinking that I am a radical greenie: “Why do so much when we have housing and basic needs to worry about?” But I persevere, and I educate them, and gradually they also start to see the urgency of mitigating climate change. I do all these because climate scientists are saying that there is only 10 more years before it is too late.

 

It is an uphill battle but I choose to fight on. I want to have a clean conscience when I say to my future children and grandchildren, “I love you.”

 

This essay was submitted to the CDL E-generation Challenge 2019