I am BIG on the ‘past being the
past’, ‘moving on’ and ‘focusing on the now’. And generally, I am quite proficient. Of course it helps to be as forgetful
as I am with my ‘now’ overflowing with all the essentials I need to keep in
mind with the girls’ schedules -- making it easier to bury unpleasant memories
DEEP in some hard to reach recess of the brain and heart. Our move to Singapore, however, has
stirred these memories and forced me to acknowledge my past.
To Matt’s delight, I have always had
an aversion to shopping, putting the task in my dreaded “only if I really need
to” basket. Possibly, that may
have been what spurred him on to propose!
And then one day, shortly after our move here, as we drove past a
particular mall, I felt sick in my stomach as I recognized it from my childhood
days. And the memories came
rushing in. With the implosion of my parents’ marriage and my father’s
disappearance to his ‘other’ family, mom used to banish me out of the house
with strict instructions not to return before a certain time. If I was a teenager, perhaps that would
have been music to my ears. But I
think I was not quite 10. And so,
with barely any money in my pocket, I stayed out of the house until
the sun had set, seeking refuge from the heat by wandering aimlessly around
certain malls. Till today, I am
not a fan of overhead fluorescent lights and malls. I think my sanity was saved when I discovered I could block
out my reality by losing myself in books at the library -- until closing time.
A few weeks ago, I received a letter
from the Singapore Immigration office advising me the country did not recognize
dual citizenship. It was a
surprise. At 15, I had not wanted
to leave Singapore and move to another country with my father (who was now a
violent stranger to me) and his wife (who was not shy about showing her
displeasure about being my new ‘responsible adult’). My naïve self was sure I could find a job, support myself
financially AND still go to school.
So I did what any foolhardy15- year-old would do. I ran away, found a job, and hid at a
friend’s house. Of course my
father found me. And we left soon
after. And the beatings my father
used to ‘grace’ my mother (and then the Indonesian and Filipino maids) with, I
became the ‘heir apparent’. I
didn’t last long. Two years later,
and nearly broken, I left home at 17.
An unfinished education. No
money. No job. No prospects. No relatives and nobody who cared. Just some clothes in a bag. In a country still alien to me. I felt someone painted a big fat “L” on my head.
I was lucky my first boyfriend’s
mother took me in. But that didn’t
last long either. I felt
second-rate and a loser on every level with not-a-bright-future ahead. If I had known I had the option to go
back to Singapore to be guided by one of my many uncles or aunts (my father
came from a family of 10!), I think I would have hopped on the next plane -- if
only for a welcoming face.
Instead, I left the sanctuary of this kind woman’s house, ashamed I was
not good enough for her son but determined to be the master of my own
destiny. Fast forward 29
years, my grown-up self weeps at what my 17 year-old-self went through for the
next few years. But I consider
myself lucky because things could have been much MUCH worse.
But the recent opening of these
previously forgotten wounds have not been for nothing. It has reiterated to me how fortunate I
am and forced me to really scrutinize the principal driving motivator in my
life: to leave a positive legacy through the next generation. I know I speak quite openly about my
past. It is not to garner pity but
to remind myself that I am one of the lucky ones.
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