I was playing with my Barbie dolls when my
mother arrived at my nanny’s doorstep.
“Let’s go little one” she said to me with a
bright, warm smile.
“Where are we going?” I asked, curious.
“We’re going to your new home” she replied.
At that moment, I was feeling a mixture of
anxiety and happiness. I have always yearned for a home of my own. I envied my
classmates who could return home happily everyday when I had to drag my feet
back to my nanny’s home because my family members were not there. She was a
responsible and caring nanny but I wanted to return to a home whereby I can
share my day’s happenings with my parents.
I headed to the toilet before I left with
my mother. As I stared at the cubicle, tears started to flow unknowingly. I was
afraid, so afraid that there was a monster at the new home. Someone who would
not treat me right, someone who would not treat me like a dear daughter. I was
only six years old, but somehow I knew there was more to come for a petite
little girl like me.
We took the bus and came upon Hougang
Street 91, Block 910. Mummy pressed the lift button for the eighth storey while
I was pondering about who I was going to meet. I knew that I would come face to
face with my stepfather and learn how to live with him. Stepping into the
five-room flat with modern dusk designs, I tried to look amazed that this was
going to be my new home. The man with the look of terror was standing there
with a smile welcoming me into his space. In my mother’s eyes, I was about to
have a wonderful new father. In that man’s eyes, I was nothing but an intruder.
“Come on! Remember Mummy said must call
people?” Mummy spoke with her broken English, nudging me in the ribs.
“Call what?” I questioned, looking at her
with innocent eyes.
“Aiyo! Call Papa la! Than what? He is
Mummy’s husband so you must call him Papa!” she responded, clearly irritated at
my nonchalance.
“P…Pa..Pa” I managed with an odd smile.
It was weird to call another person Papa
just like that. I had vague memories of my biological father, He did came to
visit me when he was released from prison but he did nothing much to make me
remember him as a fatherly figure in my life. I knew that I had to go along
with the adults’ idea of accepting a new father as being just a Kindergarten 2
child, I had no other choice.
The man with the look of terror scrutinised
me from top to toe. He commented that my hair was menacing to his eyes.
“I should give you a hair cut” he suggested
with a laugh. “Come here!”
He motioned for me to follow him to the corridor
outside my new home.
“Take off your shirt!” he growled.
I stared at him, shocked by his tone and
did as I was told.
“You have to take off your shirt so that
the hair won’t fall all over it” he explained.
Although I was still a little girl that is
far from the puberty stage, I felt that it was wrong to take off my shirt in
front of a man- even if he was my so called “Daddy” I was shaking as it was
very cold at the corridor adding to the fact that I was topless.
He took out those ugly looking scissors and
started for my fringe. My hair was straight and beautiful and its length was up
till my hips. I adored my hair as I thought it made me look really feminine.
With a violent snip, that man chopped off my beautiful long hair. My fringe
became scattered and the feminine side of me vanished in an instant.
Immediately, as I saw my straight locks falling to the floor, I started to bawl
my eyes out.
“WHAT ARE YOU CRYING FOR?” he boomed at me
with a tone of immense terror.
Mummy came to my rescue and tried to cheer
me up by telling me that I looked really neat and tidy. She even said that I
could save the hassle of tying my hair when I head to school next year. It was
just ridiculous to me on my part.
A few days later, I overheard that man
speaking to my mum saying that he had always wanted a son of his own. Thus,
that was the reason he snipped my hair away- so that I could be his little boy.
In my new home, I felt that I was
suffocated severely. Every little action was scrutinised by that man. When I
wanted to climb onto a chair to watch my favourite tv programme, he screamed at
me not to climb, to be a little more lady-like. I did not understand the
meaning of contradictions at that time but now I do. He wanted me to be his
little “boy” and yet he wanted me to be more “lady-like”? If I could turn back the
time now, I would have retorted back to him: “What is it that you want!” He
seemed to enjoy finding faults with me.
I became so afraid of him that one day in
school when I broke my water bottle strap by accident, I was shivering in the
knees, out of fear. You know those kiddy water bottles that come with a strap
so that you could hang it on your body for convenience? I had one of those and
I adored them. My classmate was an obnoxious bully and he cut away my strap one
day, while I was away for recess. I panicked when I knew that the strap was
broken and I was very worried about what my punishment would be. I got so
scared that I urinated in my pants. That man would surely threaten to hit me or
do something bad to me. That was my stepfather, an ongoing nightmare.
On the school bus, I had a face of worry.
My tears were on the brink of falling and I was worried sick. I even planned to
run away from home. I was the last one on the bus and the guardian on board
noticed that something was wrong.
“Dear, are you alright?” she asked,
concerned.
I managed a weak smile and showed her my
water bottle. I told her that my parents would reprimand me for making it
spoilt. She comforted me by saying that my parents would not be so
unreasonable, they would understand that I did not damage it on purpose. Using
a rubber band, she tried to tie the strap together and sent me home.
Stepping into my house, I acknowledged my
mother and got ready for dinner. Munching unhappily on the vegetables, Mummy
approached me and questioned me regarding the water bottle. I tried to explain
what happened but before I could finish, the man tried to interfere.
“You think you’re very clever? You spoilt
your water bottle and tried to mend it with a rubber band, thinking that we
would not notice? Who taught you to lie to us this way?” he smirked.
“B..But..I... i…was…” I stammered as he
motioned for me to enter his bedroom.
He took out the cane and started lashing at
me without a word. Tears came pouring down my face as my mother stood there
watching this heartbreaking scene. I thought that the look of my face could
tell her that I needed her to come to my rescue. I needed her to rescue me from
this monster.
After the brutal caning, I returned to my
room to cry in misery. I was so scared that once again; I urinated by the side
of my bed. Helpless, I cleaned up the pool of urine by myself. My room, it was
an empty space with no furniture at all. It was just a store room for my
step-brother’s toys. He was not even in this world and yet he already had a
whole room of toys all to himself. All that could be found in the room was a
piece of very thin mattress, only about 10cm. Sleeping on it was very tedious
as my bones were knocking the floor every now and than. Sleeping to me was not
a pleasurable activity and I hated it so much just thinking about the aches it
gives me every night.
24th August 1995 was the day my
step brother, Julien, was born into this world. He was everything to that man.
He was his precious little boy, the apple of his eyes. Whenever Julien starts
to cry or kick up a fuss, the blame will be put on me. I would always be the
one who did not take good care of him, was not a good sister or I would be the
one who did not want to share my things with him. I used to hate him to the
core at that moment in time but we were still very young than and hatred was
the only emotion I could feel at that moment. I could only hate, I felt no love
for anyone, just drowned in animosity senselessly daily.
