Wu Yixuan, 14

School: Nanyang Girls' High School

Topic: Journey of a transplanted organ

The Bridge between Darkness and Light

My name is Right Cornea, and I have a twin, Left Cornea. We were born to receive light and give sight. But we never got close to that because we were both part of Jay, who suffered from Leber Congenital Amaurosis since birth.

Life for us was dark.

Then the accident came.

Shouts. Heat. Acrid smoke. The body stiffened. Warm breath stopped, and the other organs turned still like rocks.

Silence ensued for an unidentifiable time until more human commotion. They were doctors, swarming in to check me carefully. In solemn mutters, I heard, “Healthy corneas. Both left and right. Viable and promising for transplant. The deceased’s family has agreed to donate.”

Healthy? Viable? Promising? Me? Left too?

Before I could feel ecstasy, the procedure to extract me had begun. It had to be done before both Left and I hardened and turned cold. Gloves slid beneath me and dipped me in some cold bath. I didn’t see Left. She must have been in another tray, staying silently still like me … in darkness. Some days later, I was transported somewhere.

When I opened my eyes next, I could see a greyish hue. A sense of tension woven with despair surrounding me; even the blood in the veins was a dull red colour.

“Maybe I should make the first move,” I thought to myself. “Hello,” I quivered and then waved shyly to my new neighbour, Mr Anterior Chamber. He ignored me, sighed and muttered, “This is going to fail…”

“Hey, are you the new Cornea?” I turned my head and peeked behind Mr Anterior Chamber — it was Ms Iris. Her tone was more encouraging.

“I… guess so,” I stuttered.

The atmosphere here was entirely different from my old home — though in darkness, we knew each other. Sometimes some jokes were cracked between the liver and kidneys. But here, everything felt sterile. I began missing Jay and all of them.

Ms Iris went on to explain, “Our owner, Mrs Lim (we call her Mama) went through an accident, and we were thrown into darkness. We’ve gone through several failed surgeries, no suitable Cornea. That's why we’re all so pessimistic and depressed.”

Suddenly, a smile crept across Mama’s face when Anna, her young daughter, ran up to her.

I looked at Anna, heart aching for the little girl and sympathy exploding for Mama.

“Let Left and me adjust and heal well for Mama,” came my determined thought.

However, days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Mama’s condition fluctuated like a roller-coaster. Some days she could see so well that everything was heavenly. Other days, she would moan and groan in pain because we began swelling and the eyes turned blood-shot.

Left appeared to be doing better. I was struggling, struggling to position between Mrs Conjunctiva and Mdm Sclera. Somehow, I could not fit in no matter how hard I tried. I just could not find a comfortable niche for Mama’s benefit. There was one day that Mama got so frustrated that she started hitting me with both hands. Then she began cursing me, saying I was useless. Darkness again began to consume me.

I didn’t improve. When I didn’t improve, Mama wouldn’t either. She wanted to go back to the surgeons to remove me. Hearing that, I lost all motivation to heal. Mama’s eye began to deteriorate because of me.

“No… Why is my vision not restored yet? Why does the cornea not fit in? Could this be another failed surgery?” Mama’s tearful voice awoke me.

“But I want to see Anna’s face. I want to see her grow up — into a teenager, into a young lady, her graduation, her wedding. Please God, don’t let this fail!” Tears started swelling up beside me, and her voice was shaking, a stark contrast to the confident and strong voice when she lashed out at me.

Her words hit me hard. I grew stronger, I adjusted harder, I sharpened the vision … then suddenly, “Oh, it’s so clear! Just so clear! My vision for my right! It’s perfect!” Mama exclaimed.

As I gazed, mesmerised by my surroundings, I stuttered, “Every… Everything is so bright… and colourful!”

That day, I understood something extraordinary:

I had not only carried sight from one person to another, but I had also carried possibility.

I was the small, transparent bridge between darkness and light.

I was the silent kindness that reminded everyone, even after one pair of eyes closes forever, another can still open to see the world.

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)