Fungus.

*Published with permission

He caught my eye immediately simply because he was so outstanding. He was in the midst of us- a group of roadcyclists (armed with helmets, lights, skintight biking attire, and sunglasses) who meet every saturday before dawn for a long training ride around the east. I thought he was just like us-adrenalin junkies with a penchant for wheels. Only that instead of a roadbike, he was the only one riding on a handcycler, a beautiful three-wheeled machine powered with one's arms instead of legs in a reclining position. He looked so athletic, sounded so warm, beaming with a certain humble charm behind his sporty shades that I never thought he was any different from us.

At the end of our route, more than a hundred of us roadcyclists would gather together for breakfast. There he was, beaming behind his sunglasses, and so I went over to say hello. I wasn't interested in his disability-with the amount of charm and confidence he exuded, he didn't look like he had one. I liked him even more after he told me he was a graphic designer. I always like artists.

His name is Fung. "Call me Fungus."

But it was only three years. Just three years before he had a spinal cord injury and lost function of his body from his stomach downwards. It was then that I fell silent. Three years. How fresh those memories must be.

"They shot me seven times."

"What?"

I thought I'd misheard him.

"Yeah. I was shot seven times. I was in the US then."

Then I thought, it might have been a crazy gang fight- one of those things which happen in the back alleys after one too many drinks. But his answer shamed my judgemental self.

"Armed robbery. He came from behind me. Tapped my head with his gun. I thought it was some kind of joke, you know, like a scene from Hollywood- he had a masked face and bloodshot eyes high from drugs. Wrong place at the wrong time. Shit happens to good people."

And so we talked. There was something about him I liked.

Seven shots into his body. 1 into his chest, 1 into his lung, 1 into his shoulder, 1 into his wrist, 3 into his spine. Several 10-hour long operations. Rehabilitation and continual physiotherapy. Depression and grappling with a new reality. Suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, re-experiencing the trauma of it all every time someone crept up from behind. Then putting himself together, picking up the broken pieces and moving on. Being the first to found the handcycling association (HAS) in southeast asia, designing its website to raise awareness, taking part in races (90 kilometres on a machine powered by your hands, a distance people have difficulty completing with their legs) because "I want to raise awareness and funds for people with disabilities. I want to share with them the new life handcycling has given me. And I'd like to compete in the London Paraolympics in 2012."

"You are a miracle, Fungus."

Not least because he survived. Not even because he was so capable and humble at the same time. But because of his courage to face all that was before him- the surgery, the therapy, the psychological breakdown and coming to terms with living life again paralysed from the chest down. And his courage to face what's ahead, the determination to fulfil the dreams he has of bringing hope to others and himself. Being the president of the Handcycling Association of Singapore, he hopes to help bring hope, healing and meaning to people who may have lost sight of the possibilities which lay beyond life's accidental tragedies.

"Handcycling gave me a new life, focus. I want to share that with others. Give them the opportunity to breathe air, move again, you know? It's incredibly liberating."

Fungus. How I love that name.

So we met again yesterday, just the 2 of us, to train and for kopi (cheap coffee). It was one of the most enjoyable biking sessions I've ever had. Just both of us sharing our lives and laughing and sharing more and laughing and training and taunting each other in the scorching sun until it got dark.

Fungus. I love that name.

Being neither plant nor animal, fungi are amazing organisms which grow anywhere- in the harshest of desert climates, in deep seas and even surviving intense radiation. Occurring worldwide, most fungi are largely invisible to the naked eye, living for the most part in soil, dead matter, and as symbionts of other organisms. In ecosystems, they perform the essential role of decomposing organic matter to recycle indispensable nutrients.

To put it simply and bluntly, they take the shit of this world and turn it into something beautiful. They arise from the dead matter of this world to give life back to the other members of this universe.

Fungus. For a long time I struggled to see the purpose of my training and cycling, struggled to find meaning behind such a seemingly self-centred pursuit. Then, finally taking his sunglasses off, he asked me, " Would you like to be our escort? We've a race next week, and we need some able-bodied cyclists to accompany some of our newer hand-cyclists."

I finally saw his eyes. And suddenly I understood.

I understood that no matter what we do and no matter what happens, as long as our hearts are turned toward God, we can always turn it into something meaningful and beautiful, for ourselves and others.

"Hey doc, want to train again soon?"

"Yea, sure, Fungus. See you soon."