Future Forecast

Welcome to 2053.

What does the future look like to you?

Tell us your vision and stand to win $1,000, plus attend exclusive workshops or attachments!

Submit a short story, artwork, or video that tells us your story of what the future may hold.
Your story will have to be based on one or more of Temasek’s four investment trends:
Digitisation, Longer Lifespans, Sustainable Living, or Future of Consumption.

Length guidelines:
Text: 1,000 to 1,500 words
Artwork: 1 to 2 A4 pages
Video: 1 to 3 minutes

Submit your entry by July 31, 2023, and stand to win $1,000 and exclusive workshops or attachments.

30 years into the future, medical breakthroughs are enabling people to live longer and healthier lives. We are able to buy everything at the touch of a button. At the same time, the Earth continues to heat up at a rate that we cannot control, causing rising sea levels and the loss of plant and animal life.

Do we have what it takes to survive and thrive – and how?

Now, it is your turn to share your Future Forecast.

Be it bleak or bright, better or bitter, or perhaps something in between, we are calling on you to look at our world today, flex your imagination, and tell us the story of what 2053 looks like to you.

Still deciding whether to create a written story, artwork, or video?
Get inspired by these samples here.

Have a futuristic story ready?

2053, Singapore, somewhere in Tengah City

“Good morning Justin and Alex. Happy birthday.”

Our AI home assistant activated my sun-lamp alarm clock, and it projected a ray of warmth onto my arm to wake me up. Ivy, the AI, “nudged” me again. “It’s 7.45am, time to get up, Justin.”

Today was no ordinary day. Alex and I needed to be at the hospital bright and early for our government-mandated medical physical exams. We turned 18 today, and we would be getting registered as legal adults – a rite of passage that involved a thorough health checkup.

I tossed the duvet aside, hopped out of bed and called out for Ivy.

“Ivy, morning shower, set to ‘icy’, please. Same for Alex.”

“Sure, Justin,” she replied.

Meanwhile, next door, I heard my twin brother groaning as he rolled out of bed and staggered into his own shower. He did not, however, program a setting, and I heard him holler as the water hit him – the way I liked it – but not him. “Justin! It’s frigid! I’m going to get you for this!”

The day’s news, as well as a ticker tape of social media updates appeared on the smart mirror as I dressed. Just as I was getting to my birthday well-wishes, Ivy informed me, “Justin, incoming message from Mother: JUSTIN SWEETIE, YOU’RE LATE, COME DOWN NOW!”

Her shrill voice echoed in the bathroom, and I hurried downstairs. Dad and Alex were already there, munching away at the dining table, which was inlaid with a screen showing Dad’s overnight stock market updates.

After wolfing down breakfast, Dad, Alex and I stepped into Dad’s home office, where he turned on the holographic scanner that was now a standard feature in new HDB homes.

A modern communications system which allowed him to holographically work from home and conduct presentations or meetings, it also functioned as a full body scanner whenever anyone needed a health checkup or was unwell. We would have to first be scanned in case we had any infectious diseases or abnormalities before we could enter any medical facilities or hospitals.

We stepped onto the scanning plate and stood perfectly still as the scanner passed over us, bathing us in a blue light.

Then, the light flashed red. What came next was to change our lives.

“Medical alert,” Ivy announced. “Justin Yong, Alex Yong, abnormality in lymph nodes. Doctors at Central Hospital have been alerted. 10.30am appointments.”

My twin and I stared at each other, shocked.

“I’ve been having a few headaches, but I thought it was just stress,” Alex said.

Mom called a Speed-Ride on her ride-hailing app, opting for an “urgent” vehicle. The trip to Central Hospital was spent in silence, with Mom sitting in the middle, gripping our hands the entire time.

When we got to the clinical diagnostic centre, the nurses nodded at us to step onto a row of pedestals. Almost immediately, the lights on the scanners lit up, flashing an alarming red glow. We were asked for a saliva sample, then we placed our index fingers on a machine which took a sample of skin cells and micro-drop of blood.

People moved around us in a blur, and soon we were escorted to another consultation suite, where a genial doctor in his 50s greeted us and sat us down.

“Mr and Mrs Yong, Justin, Alex, I’m Dr Thiagarajan,” he said. “It seems that the annual scan has done its job, and we’ve found that your boys have started exhibiting a genetic anomaly, which, if left untreated, would develop into cancer.

“And since they are identical twins, both of them have unfortunately got the same condition.”

Dad’s jaw was tense. Mom looked like she was about to break down into tears. Alex and I looked at each other, comprehension not yet dawning on our faces.

“Don’t worry. At this point, we have treated hundreds if not thousands of people with the same condition,” Dr Rajan said.

Suddenly I felt like I could breathe again.

“As you might know, about 10 years ago, scientists discovered a groundbreaking cancer treatment. It is carried out by an injection of nanobots to target the exact places in the body that need them, without affecting the rest of the body – which is a huge improvement from chemotherapy treatments in the past. It’s a fairly routine procedure. In fact, we can get it done today,” he continued.

That was decided. We would get lunch, come back, get our injections, and be able to go home, hopefully in time for the rest of our birthday celebrations.

Hours later, we were lying in adjoining loungers in a ward, the injections already administered. We were hooked to saline drips to prevent dehydration, and constantly monitored by scanners as the nanobots did their work.

I was just about to fall asleep when my scanner beeped, and a digital voice announced: “Justin Yong, procedure complete. Status: Cleared.”

I sat up happily. I felt fine.

But I looked over at my twin. He looked a little green in the face.

“Alex?”

Alex groaned, then leaned over the side of the lounger and threw up. His scanner went crazy – all I could perceive was a flurry of beeping, red lights flashing, monitors blinking. Suddenly a team of doctors and nurses rushed in, with Dr Thiagarajan at the head.

“What happened?” I asked.

Dr Thiagarajan studied the monitors carefully as the staff moved Alex to a gurney.

Mom and Dad ran in from the hallway.

“It looks like there is something wrong with the nanobots,” Dr Thiagarajan said. “They seem to be acting erratically.”

To a nurse, he said: “Page Dr Lim from Programming for a consult, immediately.”

Mom started to cry as Alex seemed to wilt before our eyes.

Dr Lim showed up, pulling a cart with all sorts of equipment on it. She attached some sensors onto Alex and his screen started filling up with information and symbols.

“Rajan, it’s a one in 50,000 incident. The lead nanobot programming crashed – the bots have become corrupted and we need to purge them from his blood as quickly as possible, before they are further absorbed and do more damage,” she said.

“Dialysis?” Dr Rajan said.

“Too slow,” Dr Lim replied.

“What about a transfusion at the same time?”

“But we’ll need a lot of blood, and of exactly the same type, so that he doesn’t get any new diseases or genetic problems. It could be dangerous for the donor too.”

The two doctors went silent for a moment.

“Take mine.” I piped up from behind them. “I just got a clean bill of health, and I’m his twin. His identical healthy twin.”

Mom gasped. “Wait! No, Justin, the doctors said it could be dangerous for the donor too …”

Dad shushed her and wrapped her in a big hug. “Jessie, shhhh, it’s okay… let’s think.”

Dr Thiagarajan called for nurses to start setting up the dialysis machines.

“It’s not entirely dangerous,” he said slowly. “And the boys are exact matches for each other. We can watch Justin closely, and we won’t take so much blood. We’ll just have to make sure the two of them replenish their blood volumes over the next two months.”

I looked over at Alex, who had gone pale, then looked at Dad with concern. Dad nodded, giving his consent.

“Do it.”

It didn’t hurt, not really. For the most part, I closed my eyes, and imagined it as my blood flowing out of me and into my brother. Mom sat between our beds and held our hands as Dad paced around.

I got to go home the next day, but Alex had to stay in hospital for another week for observation.

About a month after the ordeal, we were both given a clean bill of health. Dad threw us both a belated birthday party – the one we never had a month ago. And we finally got our adult identity cards.

***

Present Day, 2153, Singapore

“…And right after this commercial break, you will hear from the oldest twins in Singapore, who are celebrating their birthdays today. They are 118 years old, and in the pink of health.”

I turned to my brother Alex, who sat next to me on the couch in the webcasting studio. An entire century had passed since that fateful day, now just a small blip in the expanse of time.

We were now live.

“…I never had a chance to say this to my brother,” Alex told the webcast show host. He turned to me. “But without you, I don’t think I’d be here today. Thank you.”

I swallowed and held back a tear. “You’re my brother. Happy birthday to us.”