There is a sound every parent waits for—the first cry. It is meant to be loud, demanding, full of life. A signal that everything is going to be okay.
For baby Kaiying, that sound was barely a whisper.
Born on June 8, 2025, Kaiying arrived not with celebration, but with urgency. His parents had marked the end of July on their calendar, counting down the days to a joyful birth, to family reunions, to grandparents waiting in China with open arms and a big brother eager to finally hold the sibling he had been promised. Plane tickets were booked. Plans were made. Dreams felt solid and close.
But life does not always follow the maps we draw.
Kaiying came far too early—weeks before his tiny body was ready for the world. His lungs, still forming, struggled with each breath. His organs, fragile and unfinished, fought to keep up. Instead of being wrapped in warmth and pressed gently against his mother’s chest, he was placed inside a clear incubator in a Singapore NICU, surrounded by tubes, wires, and softly blinking machines that now stood between him and the outside world.
Doctors diagnosed him with mild neonatal respiratory distress syndrome. It was a clinical phrase that barely hinted at the reality behind it: a newborn fighting for every breath. A CPAP machine breathed beside him, helping lungs that were not yet strong enough. A feeding tube replaced the instinctive comfort of nursing. Each hour passed under constant monitoring, every small improvement counted as a victory, every setback a fresh wave of fear.
For his parents, the pain was quiet but overwhelming. They stood by the incubator day after day, pressing their palms against the glass because they were not yet allowed to hold him. No parent imagines beginning their child’s life this way—watching instead of touching, hoping instead of holding. Yet even in this sterile room filled with machines, love remained fierce and unshakable.
A Father Who Built Homes—Now Fighting to Save His Own
Kaiying’s father is not a man accustomed to asking for help.
Since 2013, he has worked on construction sites across Singapore. Under relentless sun and sudden tropical rain, through long shifts and aching muscles, he helped build homes for strangers—quietly, steadily, without complaint. Every dollar saved was meant for one purpose: giving his family a better future.
In 2021, after years of separation caused by the pandemic, his wife was finally able to join him. Together, they built a modest but loving home in a country that gradually became their second one. Their eldest son now attends primary school in Singapore, learning, growing, dreaming in two languages. Life was not easy—but it was stable, and it was theirs.
Then Kaiying arrived too soon.
As foreign workers, the family does not qualify for government medical subsidies. Each day in the NICU carries a cost that rises faster than hope can keep up. Doctors have warned that Kaiying may need weeks, possibly months, of intensive care before his lungs and organs are strong enough to function on their own.
The estimated medical bill has already exceeded SGD 210,000.
For a family living paycheck to paycheck, built on honest labor and careful savings, it is an impossible mountain.
The Quiet Cry No Parent Wants to Make
This is not just a medical update.
It is not just a story about hospital equipment or diagnoses.
It is a quiet plea.
A father who has spent his life building shelter for others now stands helpless, asking the world to help him protect his own child. A mother who imagined lullabies and midnight cuddles now whispers prayers beside machines. A young boy waits each evening, asking when he will finally meet his baby brother—not through glass, but in his arms.
Their immediate goal is to raise SGD 52,500—enough to cover the critical early phase of Kaiying’s treatment and keep him fighting.
In the NICU, time is measured differently.
Every hour matters.
Every breath is a triumph.
Every small improvement feels like a miracle.
A Battle Too Heavy for One Family—but Not for All of Us
Kaiying is tiny—alarmingly so—but his will to live is unmistakable. When his parents are finally allowed to touch him, his fingers curl with surprising strength, as if he is saying, I’m still here. Please don’t give up on me.
And they won’t.
But love alone cannot pay hospital bills. Hope alone cannot keep machines running. This is where compassion becomes action.
If you are reading this, you are now part of Kaiying’s story. Your kindness can fund another day of breathing support. Another hour of monitoring. Another chance for lungs to grow stronger, for a fragile body to catch up with the world it entered too soon.
You can help transform fear into possibility. Desperation into hope.
❤️ Please donate if you can. Share if you care. Help baby Kaiying continue his fight for life.
All funds raised are securely managed by Give.Asia and transferred directly to the hospital, ensuring that every contribution goes where it is needed most.
Sometimes, the smallest warriors fight the hardest battles.
And sometimes, all they need to survive… is for someone to believe in them.