Zhang Yuanxi Annabelle, 14

School: Loyang View School (Secondary)

Topic: Journey of a transplanted organ

The Tenacious Fighter

Never had I once known that I could migrate from a body that had ceased to function.

I had never seen, felt or heard the world in which Emerson lived.

Though, Emerson did his best not to make me feel neglected. He introduced air to me, and these visitors carried stories shared through cold mountain gusts drawn in during chilly mornings, gastronomic food whiffed along street alleys, and stifling cigarette smoke inhaled in copious volumes.

Inhale and exhale. Repeat.

That was my entire universe. A rhythm Emerson barely noticed.

Then came the accident.

One moment, Emerson was driving home under the fading lights. The next, the grinding of crushed metal chassis was followed by a deafening silence.

Emerson departed instantaneously, followed by several of my friends in succession, but I held on stubbornly.

For the first time, I understood what fear was. Emerson’s heartbeat still echoed around me, though it was supported by an artificial respirator. I waited inside his body, watching my friends go silent one by one. “Goodbye, kidneys,” I sobbed.

I could hear doctors speaking in hushed voices. For a moment, I thought the Grim Reaper had come for me too. Then came a sentence that transformed my fate.

“The bereaved family has granted consent. The remaining organs can still save lives; prepare the lungs and corneas for transport!”

“Save.” The word echoed inside me. For a moment, I thought I saw a glow of radiance all around me for the first time in my life.

Minutes ticked away and soon, steady hands lifted me away from the shell I had known as Emerson. The separation felt wrong, even like a betrayal. Emerson’s death had reduced him to a mere plot for harvesting. I had been elevated to become a life-saving entity. Nested in an ice box, I was cocooned in a sterile tray cushioned by ice bags. A flurry of footsteps followed, and I could feel myself speeding along the corridors, heading for another operating theatre. 

“What if the host rejects me?” A myriad of questions flashed across my mind endlessly.

As my journey towards my “second life” progressed under the flood of intense white lights in Room 3, I began dreaming. I dreamed of air. I dreamed of oceans I had never smelled. I dreamed of the laughter of my new host.

Death and life are intertwined with each other. Emerson’s demise should have resulted in my death, but I lived on.

“Pulmonary fibrosis, severe scarring.”

“Fourteen-year-old Chinese female.”

With Emerson’s demise, Lara would now live on, resolutely.

Unlike the workaholic Emerson who poisoned my friends and me with noxious cigarette smoke, Lara’s world was a stark contrast. Instead of junk food, she consumed nutritious meals. Everything was going well for Lara until her lungs waved the white flag. They had been collapsing for years. Her lungs, the ones I was replacing, had become scarred, stiff, and refused to inflate fully. Every breath for her was a tug of war between effort and exhaustion. Soon, she crumbled, and the machine took over, sustaining her life with every puff and every rise and fall of her chest.

Her failing lungs were removed carefully. For a moment, there was a void within her. I wondered how she felt. Cold? Isolated? Stranded?

Now, it was showtime.

Hands stitched me into unfamiliar surroundings. Veins were connected, arteries were joined, and her chest wall closed above me.

A river of warm blood rushed through me again, making me feel buoyant and hopeful. The ventilator directed air into me and soon, beeps were heard and numbers flashed on the screen.

My alveoli unfolded slowly. Oxygen diffused into Lara’s blood, weakly at first, before it flowed unimpeded. I breathed fiercely, for Lara. 

Inhale and exhale. For the first time in months, Lara breathed not through machines, but through me.

Weeks later, Lara climbed a hill.

Halfway up the hill, she stopped. The cool evening wind caressed us as the setting sun hung like a glowing ember sinking unhurriedly into the orange sky. For a fleeting moment, I reminisced about Emerson and our former adventures. For one brief moment, I felt the past and present intertwined together. I smiled.

Lara continued climbing higher. I felt an indescribable warmth all around me.

I used to think breathing was simply just for survival, but now I know it can also be an inheritance.

As the final trace of sunlight disappeared, I realised that the end of one’s story could symbolise the start and the first breath of another.

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)