If you’ve ever met someone whose love feels like a warm light that refuses to go out, even in the darkest moments, then you can probably imagine the presence of Mdm Ng Siang Yang. Born on 17 January 1959 and passing on 24 November 2021, she lived a life that was anything but small. In fact, her story reads like one of those old-school Singapore tales — tough childhood, endless responsibilities, but still full of heart.
And honestly, the more you hear about her, the more you realise… wah, this woman really damn power.
Her youngest son, Kenneth, summed up his feelings with a line that hits straight into the chest:
“I took her for granted. I didn’t hug her enough. I didn’t say ‘I love you’ enough. These are regrets I carry today. I can’t turn back time, but I’ll do whatever I can to honour her memory.”
Many of us know that feeling all too well — life rushes past, we assume our parents will always be there, and suddenly, we’re left wishing we’d said more.
The Fight That Started Early
Mdm Ng’s battle began back in 1995, when she was diagnosed with nasopharyngeal carcinoma. Her three children were still young — just 6, 10, and 12. When the reality hit, she cried in front of them. Not because she was weak, but because she was scared to leave them behind.
Her words were simple but powerful:
“I don’t want to die because my kids are still young… I want to see them grow up.”
And with that, she decided she would fight — not just for herself, but for the three little humans she was determined to see become adults. Somehow, she found the strength, and she pushed through. She kept going for 26 more years.
For the last 14 years of her life, she survived on tube feeding. Imagine the discipline, the discomfort, the sheer willpower to continue living for the people you love. Not many can tahan. But she did.
Because for her, stopping was never an option.
Growing Up Tough, Becoming Even Tougher
Born into a traditional and conservative household, Mdm Ng started working at 16, helping out at the family bakery alongside her six siblings. Life wasn’t cushy. No bubble tea, no long holiday trips, no “soft life” TikTok aesthetic. Just work, responsibility, and survival.
Later, she joined Panasonic Singapore, and by 1982, she got married at age 23. From that moment on, her life revolved around caring for her own family — not because she felt forced into some old-fashioned role, but because this was her personal mission.
She wanted her children to grow up in a home filled with warmth and unity — something she didn’t always have herself. To her, love wasn’t something you just say; it was something you showed, every day, even when it was tiring, even when nobody thanked her for it.
Love That Overflowed Into Action
Her kids were her whole world. If you’ve ever seen a mum worry until her hair turn white, you’ll understand the energy she carried. She cared, she nagged, she protected, she scolded, and sometimes she annoyed them — because that’s what mums do.
Even near the end of her life, she was still buying books for her grandchildren. The delivery arrived on the very day she passed. Who thinks of others like that? Only someone whose heart is wired for giving.
And her giving didn’t stop within the family.
Despite being on a liquid diet, she took up beading and learned how to make jellies and kueh. She didn’t just learn — she taught. She even became an instructor at the community centre. When her speech weakened due to her medical condition, she still wrote her own notes so her students could follow along.
That’s commitment. That’s heart.
Even while fighting her own battles, she volunteered. She taught. She supported. And she loved with whatever strength she had left.
Her Final Gift: Giving Back to the Community
Before her passing, she was preparing for an online charity sale of her handmade crafts. Every cent — all SGD 6,818 — was donated to the Pu Ti Buddhist Temple, where she found peace and guidance during her long illness. Even her Pinterest showed her collection, check it out.
Her life was never about fancy quotes or deep speeches. Her actions did the talking. And honestly, sometimes the quietest lives are the ones that leave the loudest legacy.
A Spirit That Lives On
She had no last words. But she didn’t need any. Her life itself was the message — persevere, love fiercely, stay humble, and take care of one another.
Her children now carry her strength with them. They grew up watching her fight battles silently while still showing up for every little thing that mattered. And because of her, they became strong in their own ways.
Though she missed her annual tang yuan–making session with her grandchildren, the memories she built continue to hold the family together.
Kenneth’s Reflection: A Son’s Promise
Kenneth, her youngest, shared stories filled with both love and regret. Regret for words unsaid. Regret for hugs he thought could wait for “next time.” Regret that many of us, if we’re honest, also carry for our parents.
But there was also pride — pride in the woman who raised him, pride in the lessons she left behind.
He speaks to her in a way that tells you the bond never broke:
“Dad, Ah Gong and Ah Ma will be well taken care of. Mummy, you can stop worrying about us. You are well loved. Thank you, Mum.”
And in that simple message, you feel everything — the grief, the gratitude, the closure, and the love that continues long after physical life ends.
My Own Thoughts
Reading through her story, I think many Singaporeans will recognise this familiar kind of strength. The type that isn’t flashy. The type that doesn’t post motivational quotes on Instagram. The type that simply shows up every day, rain or shine.
We sometimes forget to honour people like her — the ones who quietly hold their entire families together while asking for nothing in return. But these are the legends of our households. The heroes behind our successes. The people who make Singapore families what they are today.
If anything, Mdm Ng’s life is a reminder that love doesn’t need to be fancy to be powerful. It just needs to be consistent.
And honestly? We can all learn from her — to slow down, to appreciate our parents while we still can, and to say “I love you” without feeling paiseh.
Because one day, those words might be the very thing we wish we had said a little more.
