The Paradox of Pain: A Personal Journey

Jonathan Cooper, Unsplash

Just before March 2016, I began experiencing dreadful, black, cold, and deep chest burns that ruined my sleep. This marked the onset of my longest and darkest period of anxiety disorder. I vividly remember 4:44 a.m. — it felt like a horror movie. Panic attacks would strike me at that exact time, as if my body had programmed itself to awaken in terror. For over an hour, I would be gripped by irrational doom, rushing to the bathroom and sitting on the toilet bowl, waiting for the palpitations to subside while praying for relief.

2015 had been an intense year for me. I had been deeply immersed in video production, directing music videos, and producing events for SG50, Singapore’s 50th year of independence. By March 2016, after a bout of flu, I lost my sense of smell and taste. At first, I blamed the medication, but as days passed, I realised my senses weren’t returning. Mealtime became a frustrating ordeal, robbing me of one of life’s simplest pleasures.

My struggles were far from over. Panic attacks, once confined to the night, started striking during the day. Shopping malls, movies, and crowded places became unbearable. I became a prisoner in my own room. Just when I thought I had reached my limit, tinnitus struck; the relentless ringing in my ears.

This completely broke me. I couldn’t sleep. The buzzing was endless, an invisible tormentor that followed me everywhere. By October, I could no longer leave my room alone. It was during this period of despair that I came across Terrence Malick’s film Knight of Cups. Like Malick’s other experimental films, it dealt with existential questions, mirroring life’s unpredictable, unscripted nature. That film helped me unpack my suffering, allowing me to see my pain in a different light.

There was one specific moment when the main protagonist, Rick, played by Christian Bale was in his existential pain. 

A priest came to him and said, “If you are unhappy, you shouldn't take it as a mark of God's disfavour. Just the contrary. Might be the very sign He loves you. He shows His love not by helping you avoid suffering, by sending you suffering, by keeping you there. To suffer binds you to something higher than yourself, higher than your own will. Takes you from the world, to find what lies beyond it.” 

It was then I stopped fighting and resisting and that true rest began to take shape. Under the guidance of wise, God-fearing men, I finally sought psychiatric help and began a structured path to recovery. The medication helped calm my racing mind. For two weeks, I did nothing but sleep. Gradually, things improved. The panic attacks became less frequent. By Christmas, I was beginning to feel like myself again. It took a year to adjust to my new reality. Learning to live with tinnitus, managing stress, and accepting the changes in my body. I emerged from the darkness.

The suffering that once imprisoned me had guided me to grow, to reflect, and to find faith in something greater than my own effort.

Embracing the Paradox

I’ve also come to see that not everything in life needs to have meaning or purpose. We don’t have to analyse every hardship and force a sermon into ourselves with a romantic profound lesson.

Sometimes, pain is just pain. And life isn’t always about overcoming, learning, or transforming. Often, it’s just about living through it.

The journey itself matters more than the conclusions we try to draw from it. Life unfolds without a script, and perhaps that’s the point. We don’t have to treat every experience as a test. We can be present for it, embracing the highs, the lows, and everything in between.

I no longer take things for granted, whether it’s a good night’s sleep, a simple meal, or a moment when a leaf falls from the tree.

The story of Job in the Bible reflects this paradox of pain. Job's story suggests that pain is not always about learning lessons or receiving justice; it simply is. Through his suffering, Job's perspective of God shifted, his understanding of his relationship with his redeemer deepened. His pain did not provide answers, but it changed him in ways beyond logic or explanation. Yes, Job’s wealth and family were restored and although the Bible did not talk about physical scars, I often imagine that some scars from the skin problem he experienced were left behind as a reminder of his struggle, like how Jacob wrestled with God and walked away with a limp. And Jesus, who struggled with the pain of our sin, is now known for His scars on His hands and feet. 

A gesture concludes Job’s journey: he covered his mouth with his hands. 

My tinnitus to this day has not left me. I too cover my mouth with my hands. 

Mike Wong is a film-maker, painter, artist and explorer of the paradoxical universe.