Our “Your Stories” series are submissions shared with us via email or in one-on-one interviews, for the purposes of our research and campaigns. All names have been changed (unless the use of real names was explicitly permitted by the author), and we have sought permission to publish from the authors/interviewees themselves. The opinions expressed in these posts do not represent those of AWARE.

Berryzuzu: It all started in 2002, when my mother left my dad. I was about 9. Things were really, really rough. My father was pretty depressed. He quit his job and we were in debt. Our bills were through the roof, but we couldn’t afford to pay them because my sisters and I were still in school (my elder sister was 12 at the time and my younger sister was 5).

My father didn’t show any sorrows despite being in that situation. He enjoyed bringing us to the badminton court every single night. He played his sorrows away by watching his daughters be happy, and that was enough.

Things took a turn for the worse when our electrical and water supplies got cut off. We tried to ask for help here and there, but were shunned. My mum couldn’t help us, because (I believe) her new, younger husband wouldn’t allow it. Yet we still needed to go to school and my sister was taking her PSLE exams.

My father would cook plain fried rice and we would sit at the void deck and share that plate, my father feeding us all. When we asked why we were sitting at the void deck, he said, “There’s a blackout at home. We sit here until the lights come back on, OK?” When the fact of the matter was that we didn’t have any power because our bills were overdue. We were kids and we didn’t know any better, so we just did our homework quietly at the void deck until it was late. He would bring us home and we would immediately go to sleep, too sleepy to notice the power was still out. He would stay up the whole night with the door open so we wouldn’t be too warm and stuffy as we slept. 

We also didn’t have any water. It got to the point where my father would bring us to the market to shower at the public toilets, with his excuse being “There’s a water shortage because HDB is doing some works.” We got chased out a few times but we didn’t understand why.

He came up with many creative ways for us to get by. He used a long hose to connect the pipe from the ground floor washing bay to our house and he would collect 1.5-litre bottles to fill up with water for us to drink and shower. When the police came by to ask him what he was doing, he would just pretend that he was washing his bicycle. He was caught a number of times and was given stern warnings, but he brushed it off for the sake of getting resources for his daughters.

When we went to the shop to get ourselves treats, he would always play the $2 game: All of us needed to find treats to amount to maximum $2. Whoever grabbed more than that lost. So we would be very careful in what we chose, making sure it didn’t exceed $2. It was a fun game.

My elder sister aced her PSLE and got into the Express stream, despite studying at night with the light of only one candle. I ranked third in my class despite studying at the void deck ’til late night. My younger sister was too young to understand much, except that all of us were happy and never demanding. My father disciplined us very well and taught us never to beg from others, no matter how bad of a state we were in. Until everything went downhill.

In 2004, when I was 11, my father passed away. It happened just two weeks after my grandfather, who was his father-in-law and best friend, passed away. He took our happiness, our light and our confidence away with him, turning our lives grim.

My mother was divorced from her second husband and was lost and desperate. Somehow, her colleague came into the picture and comforted her. He then became her third husband shortly after. We were happy and found a new ray of hope when my step sister was born. Things were peachy until I was 12 and going through early puberty. 

Somehow, my mum’s new husband felt a need to be very touchy with me. I didn’t know what was going on at that point; we were so used to having a father who wasn’t very touchy and didn’t show his affections.

In Secondary 1, while talking to a school counsellor about my home life (I was applying for financial assistance), I mentioned my stepfather being very touchy and affectionate. She told me that I was being molested, and insisted that I lodge a police report. As I was a minor, the school took action and called the Ministry of Social and Family Development without my knowledge. They reported my case to the police and the Ministry of Community Development, Youth and Sports. 

A few police officers and MCYS officers brought me to the police station to take my statement. Then they told me that they were gonna bring me home to say goodbye and that they were bringing me to a shelter to seek protection. I protested. They told me they had already called my mum and that she was waiting for me at home, so I reluctantly got into the cab—the last time I am ever going to trust an officer. When we got in, the officer told the taxi uncle to bring us to Pertapis Children’s Home. I retaliated and even tried to open the taxi door to jump out, but everything was locked. I was warned that if I got hostile, they would have to call the Girls’ Home. I had no choice but to cry in silence and abide.

From that day, 4 August 2006, things just got worse for me. Though I was a victim of my stepfather, I ended up having to stay two years in Pertapis. This seemed really unfair but my mother refused to leave her husband for fear that my stepsister wouldn’t know her father, “like you all did”. So, out of pity, I served his “sentence” for him.

Please bear in mind that I had been a very disciplined child. After getting into the home, I picked up many habits like smoking, skipping school and dating. In there, we kids had to earn our incentives. We had to fight for outings, fight for respect. It was brutal, but it made me stronger, and I made some good friends.

I finally got out when I was 15 , and started working at Pizza Hut. Could my situation get any worse? Apparently, it could. My mum left us, moving to Batam. She rented out our home for income, while her three daughters had nowhere to stay.

With six of her own kids, an aunt took us in at their three-room flat. Everything was tight and strained. We appreciated them for taking us in and we’re forever in their debt, but what we went through was tough. Her husband despised us, so he made us do their house chores, especially washing clothes. Every day, we washed, dried and folded a mountain of dirty clothes. Many times, we got so tired that we slept on their kitchen floor in front of the washing machine, waiting for the clothes to finish a washing cycle.

I started committing fully to my work. I decided to drop out of Secondary 3 to support my sisters. We were thankful to receive some help from my sister’s school. However, my situation wasn’t that good. My form teacher found out where I worked, came in and demanded that my manager fire me. If not, she said, the school would fine the establishment for “making me” quit school. So I got fired.

There were nights when we didn’t have anything to eat. I would spend $2 on a 7-11 cup noodle and Gulp combo, and we’d eat together in the dark hawker center downstairs, waiting for our relatives to sleep before we came home.

We stayed at my aunt’s for a year before moving in with my sister’s boyfriend. We stayed there until I was about 18 and we got our house back. These were some of the saddest years of my life. We didn’t celebrate Hari Raya. Some people are fortunate enough to go through unfortunate events with their parents by their side; some have friends; some have aunties or grandparents to love them. We only had each other, the three of us. My sisters fell into depression with suicidal thoughts. They both were hospitalised multiple times. My younger sis attempted suicide a few times, and was referred to IMH.

I figured that I had to be the strong one.

So I started to work everywhere. I bailed on school countless times. I barely passed my N levels. I got into ITE College Central but dropped out soon after. I went to ITE College West for one and a half years, until I was so committed to working full time that I had to drop out at the very last minute before the exams. Then I got accepted into College East, but was bullied by my teacher into dropping out.

In between, I faced two pregnancies with different ex-boyfriends, neither of whom was mature enough to be responsible. The second pregnancy hurt more, because he told my family and me that he would marry me and help raise the baby. I carried the baby for four months until he decided to bail. I decided not to bring the baby up alone—I never wanted my child to suffer like me, struggling with finances.

My relationships were abusive. The guy responsible for my first pregnancy slapped me and pushed me down stairs right after I terminated the pregnancy, because I found out he had been with another woman during my abortion. I injured my ribs, knee and ears from falling down the stairs. The guy responsible for the second pregnancy also slapped me a lot, he pushed me until I fell, though not as badly as the first time.

Then, when I was 25, I met a psycho. This guy didn’t let me get away. If I walked away, he would restrain me and push me against a wall. He slapped me until I bled. He punched me until there were bruises all over my body. He never let me leave. Whenever I ran away from him, he would come to my block and make noise until I came down. He took my phone and my wallet. Twice he left me on a road or expressway because I asked for a break-up. He threatened to run me over if I tried to run away. It was brutal.

I found out that he had been cheating on me with his ex-girlfriend, and finally managed to end the relationship. But he and his ex proceeded to wreck my life for the next two years. They stalked me. They waited at my void deck and bus stop, waiting for me to come out of the house. They assaulted me over and over. They called me every day, threatened me, spread lies about me on social media, told others that they should beat me up. They ruined me.

In 2017, I met my current husband, and life slowly got better. I completed a part-time diploma. I got engaged and married shortly after, and now we are blessed with a beautiful baby boy. Now I have a full-time job, and am beginning to pursue my studies further.

I vow that my son will never have the life I did. Yet I am thankful for everything I went through because it made me who I am today. I am tenacious and resilient, despite all the challenges thrown my way. I learned how to survive.

I regret not staying in school. I regret giving into guys who just took advantage of me. I regret not standing up for myself more often. But now I have a chance to make things better for myself, for my son, for my family. So I want to tell everyone that no matter how many curveballs life throws at you, there is no such thing as impossible. Change starts with you. Get the right motivation to steer you into being a better version of yourself than you were yesterday.