Tori Teo Yin Ya, 14

School: Changkat Changi School (Secondary)

Topic: Journey of a transplanted organ

New Roots

Everybody says the heart and brain are the most important organs. Hearts are always praised; brains are always credited – even the skin receives compliments. But the liver? Who cares about it?

It was the 25th of December. I was awake, just like every other millisecond down to femtoseconds, working just to keep my human alive. Her name was Daphne; she was twenty-one years old. She worked part-time tutoring chemistry, from what I could recall through the rushes of caffeine and adrenaline in her blood.

Humans always think livers only have one job: processing alcohol. They always took us for granted, always downplaying it to a simple task. But no – I worked 24/7, keeping my human alive and conscious, performing silent miracles. I was there when fifteen-year-old Daphne used to scribble notes late into the night. I was there when eighteen-year-old Daphne would eat a single granola bar and call it breakfast.

And I was awake the entire time. Feeling. Pulsing. Sensing everything from inside. I had no idea I could experience such things in a lifetime – my human’s lifetime, of course.

Suddenly, I was disconnected from my roots – disconnected from Daphne herself, the Daphne I had known for almost twenty-two years. And I was afraid. Afraid I was not wanted, afraid that I was not needed. But what could I be more afraid of than if I was at fault for the reason why Daphne had to “throw me away”, like a candy wrapper which still had a hint of sweetness stuck onto it?

Unfamiliar hands found me. It felt wrong. It felt cold. It felt open and fresh. Nothing like the warmth I had always known. Then, abruptly, it was freezing. I shivered violently as ice packed around me, plunging me into a sudden, artificial winter.

Then I stopped moving. My cells went quiet – still as a corpse.

But then, a spark. Vessel by vessel, I was stitched into a dark, waiting vacuum. Suddenly, a violent rush of warm, unfamiliar blood flooded through me. It wasn't Daphne’s rhythm, but it was alive.

And at that point in time, I realised that I wasn’t being thrown away or abandoned. I wasn’t being called “useless”, nor was I being titled “unimportant”. It was relocation. Relocation to a different human, a different body. Unfamiliar, but this time it made me feel appreciated. As if I was receiving unspoken validation from humans I did not even recognise. It was just like what I had always hoped for. The recognition. The appreciation. People knowing that I exist, and that there is so much more to me than being ‘just an organ’.

Learning me as I learnt it the same, I began familiarising myself with the warmth of this new home. And from miles or further away, it was as if I could feel an echo of grief and mourning – not for me, but for the one I was once so familiar with. And before I knew it, I was not Daphne’s liver anymore, but I continued. It was not the change of a lifetime, only relocation. And yet, it still felt like I had become new.

And from there on, I began again in an unfamiliar environment, together with a ‘new’ version of myself, where the only thing that was going to keep me going was hope. Hope for my human.

Disclaimer: Please note that the views and opinions expressed in the essays for the Live On Festival 2026 are those of the participants and are not endorsed by the National Organ Transplant Unit (Ministry of Health).

To learn more about organ donation and organ transplantation in Singapore, please visit www.liveon.gov.sg ↗ (opens in new tab)