CHAPTER THREE : THE MAN OF TERROR.

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.

24^th 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.