seraphim
let the metal cool before you burn again
Blind Item: A charismatic driver participating in the F1 Singapore circuit has been rumoured to go into the downtown underbelly for nights at a time. Doing what? Only god knows. All the drug tests come out clean, and none of our trusted sources have mentioned anything nefarious. But we wonder if this is the reason they’ve been looking so rundown on camera lately 🤔
Io, my race engineer, stands next to me by the water cooler faking like she’s waiting to use it. But she is just hovering.
“Out with it,” I laugh.
She takes the opportunity immediately and goes for the jugular, “Have you been sleeping?”
“Uhh...” my dark circles give me away. I rub the back of my head, feigning nonchalance. “Yea. Yea, I think so. Why? I am hitting the targets. Alles gut.” I give her a thumbs-up as double assurance.
She squints her eyes. “You are going to crash and burn if you don’t take care of yourself.”
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, “are you trying to literally manifest that for me?!” My body shivers in remembrance of last year where I did just that. Thankfully, mercifully, I am here in one piece, healthy, bones with no need of mending.
“This isn’t about manifesting. This is about you, your longevity out on the tracks, and how it’ll reflect when podium comes.”
“Hey, I will pull through no matter what,” I frown. Where the hell is this coming from? Aren’t I performing well enough?
“Sure. Sure,” she sounds diametrically opposite of sure. She looses an arrow, doesn’t miss, “We get no pleasure seeing you grind yourself to a nub for the sake of a trophy.”
She digs into the front pocket of her jeans, “I want you to come here at 18:00 later today.”
I open my mouth. She stops me, “No. No. See you there.”
Did I want to be scolded by Io again? No.
But my curiosity wins out every time. Every time. I chuckle.
The chauffeur drops me off at the address Io had scribbled on the piece of paper.
Woah. That’s the cool thing about being an international driver, huh? You get to see the coolest places.
I step towards the tucked-away shophouse in the older part of Tanjong Pagar. The colonial facade opens into something that smells like ginger and dried herbs. Dark stone, low light, steam moving through the air. Not a spa. Something more medicinal than that. Bummer, I think I lowkey need a spa day.
“Hello?” I call out. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if little soot sprites and a boy named Haku came from behind the counter.
I hear steps approaching. An older lady with immaculate makeup and a traditional dress clocks me first, and when I make eye contact gives me a smile.
“Welcome. Ms. Io is waiting for you,” she says.
I gulp. Oh boy, here it comes. I am really, truly, at my limit. I just want to go home, or well, the hotel, and then disappear into whatever adventure—
I didn’t even realize I had started to walk. She opens the door for me. I thank her.
“Please sit down,” the lady says kindly.
“Again, welcome. My name is Dr. Chen. I am a sinseh, a practitioner of traditional Chinese medicine. And I understand you are in need of some...” she glances towards Io, “calibration.”
Calibration??
“Ms. Io will step outside for the rest of the appointment,” she says. Wahh, so kind! I was ready to lie through my teeth, perform perfection.
With Io out of the room, Dr. Chen prepares a tea. Longan, red date, and goji.
The Q&A
She and Io must be cut from the same cloth because gd, she goes right to it.
“All right...” she starts. “When did you last feel like yourself?”
I sit stunned. The fuck? Wait, wait, this is a good question. I look to the side as if digging into my memory. “I feel like I am in constant change,” I answer. “I know who I am, but it’s been a while since I have felt the confidence of when I first started racing, to be honest.”
“Is there anything, say in the past year, that you gloss over? You keep not addressing?” she gently lays as a follow-up.
Sounds like she knows of the accident. Io must have given her a thorough rundown. If Io wasn’t on my team, I’d think she was a sadistic little witch, my biggest opp. Still, anyone that follows F1 knows. People thought that race was going to end in utter tragedy, yet out of the car in flames I emerged. With the exception of a scar or two, I was relatively unscathed.
But something people don’t know is that internally, my mind, has been reeling ever since. My confidence took a deep dive. I tried a complicated maneuver, at a high speed to boot, and I failed. I forget that my life was on the line because the shame and embarrassment of trying and crashing out sears me the most. My eyes start to get a bit moist.
I answer simply, “Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” the sinseh asks.
“No.”
Unfazed but softer, she reaches for me, and lays her hand on top of mine, “Who have you been doing this for?”
This one I feel like is a very easy question. “For the crowds, my fans. The team. My sponsors.” I roll my eyes when I mention the sponsors. They’ve been breathing down my neck, asking in furtive ways if I am up to speed to take championship. The pressure is immense.
“And for yourself maybe?” she offers.
I hem and haw, “I do like what I do. But you know those hamsters and the wheels in their cages?” I twirl my finger in the air demonstrating the perpetual motion of said wheel. “Like that.”
“One more question, and I promise we are done. When did you last truly rest?” she says.
Rest. What is that? Even when I visited Thailand last month, I felt anything but rested. Body immobile. Mind at 1000 km/h. I frown.
Dr. Chen doesn’t push for the answer. She simply nods, as if the silence said everything.
She refills my cup unhurriedly with hot water before speaking.
“You have built something extraordinary. I can see that. Anyone watching you race can see that. But a structure that is never allowed to settle, that keeps adding floors before the foundation has dried...” she tilts her head slightly, “eventually the ground shifts on its own. Not because you failed. Because physics does not negotiate.”
She folds her hands. “You emerged from that fire. Relatively whole. And then you kept going, yes? Because stopping felt like conceding something.” It isn’t quite a question.
“The body remembers what the mind tries to outrun. Your stomach knows. Your eyes know.” A small, not unkind smile. “I think you know too.”
She lets that sit for a moment.
“You are not being asked to stop racing. You are being asked to let the foundation catch up to the height you have already reached. That is not weakness or laziness. That is how anything meant to last is built.”
“Doc,” I start. “How do I do that?” A whispered “help me” follows right after.
The Medicine
Dr. Chen smiles at the “help me” like she’s been waiting for exactly those two words.
“First,” she says, “you treat this body like it belongs to someone you love.” She taps the cup in your hands pointedly. “You sleep. You eat before you do anything else in the morning. Not after. Before. The machine does not run on ambition alone, no matter how much you believe it does.”
She lets that land before continuing.
“I am sending you home with a packet of this tea you’re drinking. It’s earthy, and the combination is perfect for your temperament. Longan nourishes the blood and calms the spirit. Good for anxiety, poor sleep, the kind of exhaustion that lives deeper than tired. Red date supports the spleen and stomach, which is interesting given your symptoms (my tummy has been acting oddly since the start of this year, how did she know?!), and stabilizes energy so it stops spiking and crashing. Goji protects the liver, supports the eyes — those dark circles — and builds foundational reserves that chronic depletion drains first. Together they’re a classical formula for someone burning too bright for too long. Not a sedative. More like... It reminds the nervous system what baseline feels like.”
I don’t know whether or not to be self-conscious of her pointing out the shadows under my eyes. Her honesty is disarming, like the clearest water eroding stone.
“Second. You already know where you are going. You know which races matter most this season — yes?” She doesn’t wait for confirmation. “Then go there. Fully. Stop looking at every other circuit on the calendar with longing eyes. The driver who tries to run every race wins none of them. Wherever you are, be all there. I am sure you’ve heard that many times in your life from spiritual leaders and such, but I invite you to take that phrase and make it your own. Focusing on one thing at a time does not invalidate, does not erase, the other goals you hold. All it does is funnel the tremendous energy available to the you now. The only you there is, frankly.”
She leans forward slightly.
“And you have people. Work worth doing. A life worth living off the track too.” A pointed pause. “Go back to those things. Tend them. Let them tend you.”
I think of my partner. There is always something to optimize, and when there isn’t, there is always somewhere else to disappear to. I keep choosing everything except what’s in front of me.
She’s right.
Dr. Chen sits back, “That is all. It is not complicated. It is only difficult because you have convinced yourself that rest is an irrevocable full stop.” Her eyes are steady on yours. “It is not. It is how you make sure there is still someone in the car come championship day.”
We get up from our seats at the same time. I give her a little nod of the head, a thank you. But fuck it, a hug it is. Hopefully she’s not alarmed. If worse comes to shove, or however that saying goes, I’ll blame it on me being European.
“Thank you so much, Dr. Chen,” I say, a sob and sigh battle it out in my throat. Both lose. The packet of teabags crinkles in the crook of my arm. “I needed this.”
She smiles. “We are rooting for you. Your trajectory is a miracle. I have no doubt in my mind this season will go well for you. You know... My kid has a jacket with your name on its back. It has little flames on the sleeves, a white horse patch on the front. She insisted on every detail.”
How cute! I return the smile. Genuinely. I ask her for a piece of paper and pen. I take a moment to leave her kid a message and autograph.
Lil sis, if I can make it so can you!
I draw a little galloping horse under my name.
Io doesn’t ask me how it went, she can see it on my face. Maybe she’s not a sadistic little witch, I smirk, knowing she has always been on my corner.
“Let’s go! We’ll drop you off first,” she laces her arm through mine.
The full moon is bright up ahead. Glowing cheese…
My thought comes to a halt when Io stops walking. She looks at me with tenderness, and says, “Friend, we are proud of you, and are beyond grateful that you are still on this planet with us.” She nudges me playfully, “Yes, the sponsors too.”
“And remember,” she adds, “a win for you is a win for all of us. You are not alone.”