Tag: family

At some point in our lives, we would have heard a senior say they’d rather die than live in a nursing home. I’ve also wondered: are nursing homes really that bad in modern day Singapore?

Awhile back, I visited Moral Home for the Aged Sick (Moral Home) on my quest to understand the problems that our elderly face in their golden years. I met two sisters who had, surprisingly, chosen to sell their house and to live there at the nursing home.

The unexpected decision came after one of them fell, making them rethink their living arrangement—two frail woman would not be able to cope should any emergency situations arise. After considering the risks and for their own safety, they decided to put themselves in a nursing home they trust.

Initially, they even chose to hide this from their family members as they knew that it will be met with disapproval, and they didn’t want to be persuaded to go home.

One of the sisters said “Back then, my nephew tried to stop us from coming here. They encourage us to stay with them, because they can take care of us. We tell them not to worry, because we are very happy here.”

The other sister added: “I tell them, youngsters nowadays should work hard, don’t worry about us.”

I was brought up to see nursing homes as a terrible place, yet there I was, speaking to two 80 plus year olds who tells me that they like it there. I was in mild disbelief, but also heartened to know that I may be wrong about my impression of nursing homes.

There’s a stigma that we attach to placing loved ones in nursing homes. Nobody will want to send their parents to homes if they can afford to and any decent Singaporean will tell you that they will only consider it a last resort.

A part of this stigma comes from our strong attachment to our cultural values of being responsible for our parents welfare. As Asians, old adages like “Never forget your roots,” and “Don't bite the hand that feeds you” continue to form the backbone of what is essentially our emphasis on filial piety.

We hold ourselves accountable for our parents’ lives when they grow old, and because of that, we associate sending a loved one to a nursing home as abandonment. We think of it as the most unfilial and shameful act one can do to our parents.

But is it really?

I remember only ever being in a nursing home or old folks home twice. The first was a compulsory CIP programme in primary school, and the second was to me, just a fun activity with a bunch of my polytechnic friends who organised it.

The only thing I remember taking away from those volunteering stints was also that I never want to send my parents there, ever, if I could. The ambiance there was just so dull, sad, and dreary. At least, these were the only parts that stuck out in my memory.

For most of us, these volunteer experiences will also probably be the only firsthand experience we base our impression upon. That is, until we are actually faced with having to consider these homes for our own loved ones.

However, when I was at Moral Home, I had the opportunity to speak to its Chief Executive Officer, Winnie, who changed my perspective.

At 72, she is well into her retirement years, but has been serving there for more than 15 years. Despite being at an age comparable to the residents in her home, she tells me that this job has become a commitment she made as she has grown attached to the residents.

Some families put their loved ones in a nursing home due to their inability to provide adequate care for their elderly parents who are ill, disabled, or require 24/7 attention, which is where nursing homes like hers come in.

“Nursing care is to give comfort. To ensure that in the last phase of [the residents’] life, we can make them happy before they pass on.”

However, Winnie acknowledges that there are cases of abandonment. In her home, these make up about a third of her residents.

“They don’t have a direct next-of-kin. Some of them don’t have children. Some may have nieces or nephews who aren’t close to them.”

There are also residents who struggle with coming to terms with being put in a home.

"Some don’t want to talk to their children when they do visit. There are also residents who would pack their stuff and want to go home everyday."

To alleviate such unsettling feelings in her residents, Winnie dedicates time to make her rounds every morning. This is also her way of giving residents “the comfort and hopefully a little strength” in knowing that there are still people who care for and love them.

Alvin, a social welfare worker who has been working in elderly homes, shared that such cases of abandonment happen more often than we would like to think. Over the years, he has seen numerous cases of family members doing their best, to place their parents in shelters homes, only to disappear.

“An unforgettable experience was this very well spoken and groomed lady, whom over the course of a couple of months, did her best to admit her dad, making frequent visits to the nursing home to speak to staff and to show us that she has a loving relationship with her dad.

Yet, less than a month after admission, she lost contact with us. After trying to contact her, we realised she had migrated with her family members to Canada.”

It is exactly such cases that makes a mockery of nursing homes and undermines its bigger purpose.

Besides the 24/7 general and medical attention, another aspect of nursing homes is to provide residents opportunities for social interaction.

In Singapore, it is “estimated that 83,000 elderly persons will be living alone by 2030, compared with the 47,000 seniors aged 65 and above in 2016.” There have been many reports highlighting the higher risk of social isolation and depression in elderly persons living alone.

Even elderly persons who live with their family face the risk of loneliness and depression, because most adults spend a large part of our days at work, leaving our elderly parents at home alone.

The extroverted ones aren’t a problem, but the ones who do not venture out to engage in their own community of friends at neighbourhood spaces or through community centre activities will face problems with healthy aging. The lack of social stimulation could easily cause their cognitive and physical abilities to deteriorate.

elderly life singapore
The two sisters I met at Moral Home

On my way to the Home, I also happened to meet Mr Lim, my Grab driver, who bemoaned about his wife and his painful decision to send his mother-in-law to a nursing home.

They had tried looking after his ailing mother-in-law as best they could, even hiring a maid to ensure that there was someone around when they were at work. However, his mother-in-law’s worsening dementia condition and erratic behaviour continued to overwhelm the couple.

For instance, they had to attend to his mother-in-law rattling their door and asking for help to find all sorts of the things in the middle of the night. The need for constant care and attention took a toil on them over time as they were both juggling a full-time job. It was with a heavy heart that they put his mother-in-law in a nursing home, which he emphasised “it was really, really hard for my wife.”

Mr Lim’s story is the classic case of the many Singaporeans who have taken to nursing homes as a last resort. For them, what makes it even more difficult is the stigma, judgment, and shame that they would have to face when they put their parents in a nursing home.

Of course, as with the case of any service-oriented industries, there have been and will always be real cases of mistreatment and abuse at nursing homes. It isn’t to say that all nursing homes are negligent or abusive.

At the end of the day, there are also cons to institutionalised care like nursing homes, like a loss of freedom or autonomy, because residents will be restricted to the confines of what the home draws out for them.

However, there are many other aged care facilities like senior activity centres, daycare and healthcare centres, and in-home care.

29-year-old Mel, who have volunteered at day care centres and nursing homes before, said, “I think the most ideal scenario would be for those in old folks' homes to have volunteered to go there, be it for companionship or having medical support.”

Are We Accountable For Our Elderly Persons' Happiness?

It does get complicated if the elderly persons refuse to be put in a nursing home, and it’s never easy to have to decide what's right and wrong when it gets so personal. It's even harder when you have to deal with the torment and guilt of having to go against your parents’ wishes.

Regardless, the purpose of nursing home is to make the last journey of elderly’s life safe, comfortable, and ensure their needs and wants are taken care of as much as possible.

As much as we have to complain about, these homes are another avenue for us to provide care for our parents.

People say that it’s a terrible place as it’s where children abandon their parents. But if a child has already got the intention to abandon their parent, isn’t it as sad for these elderly persons to continue living in a home where they are unwanted? How much better will such a life be?

Similarly, if one really has to put one's parents in nursing homes for the genuine good of one's parents and family, it doesn’t mean we’re any less of a decent person and a filial child.

Also read: It’s The 21st Century, Why Do We Still Treat Maids Like Slaves?.

(Header Image Credit: Kanal 247)

When I was 6, my dad cheated on my mom.

I will never forget my sister’s arms covering mine like a seatbelt as we watched Mom chase Dad out of the house. I didn’t understand what was going on back then and was way too young to grasp the concept of cheating. It just seemed like Mom and Dad had a fight about something.

Inevitably, that led to a divide in the family, and we pretty much lived without my dad for a few years.

There’s No Place Like Home

Dad came home when I was about 10 to 12. Although, his presence was always fleeting. I’d see him around at home on some days and then for long periods after, he would go missing again.

It didn’t feel right, but nobody said anything. Nothing about the affair (which I came to understand much later on), nothing about this unusual arrangement, or what was happening between Mom and Dad. There was no “our Dad is an idiot” uttered among my siblings, no “your Mom and Dad are separating” from the elders, nothing.

As much as I thought things were odd, I learnt not to question anything and to just accept the way things were. Over time, what is supposedly a broken family developed into a norm for me.

However, I also believe that a bad husband doesn’t necessarily make for a bad father.

Every Parent Loves Their Kid

In fact, he played a crucial role in my childhood and through all the times I’ve spent with him, he had ingrained in me many inherent attributes, albeit a mixture of good and bad ones.

Ever since I could walk, my dad was training me to kick a ball, and kick a ball I sure did. Like his father, he was a semi-pro footballer in the past, and I am very grateful that he had put me into an academy school for football at a very young age, for football has become a huge part of my life, even after 20 years on.

On the days where nobody was sporting enough to bring me out, Dad would whisk me off for some entertainment, taking me out for meals and spoiling me at arcades.

On other days, however, he would bring me out bar-hopping. Not the hipster bars that our millennial friends would chill and have deep conversations at either, but the shady ones with the flirty bargirls, heavy cigarette smoke, and sometimes god-awful karaoke.

Looking back, these bars were extremely inappropriate places for a father to bring his twelve-year-old son. But this was (in his own words) his way of ‘opening my eyes’ and ‘broadening my horizons’.

“If I can’t teach you good, I can at least teach you the bad.”

I was just twelve when I saw the world of bar girls taking orders from men who would eye them up. And when my dad flirting with different women became normalised behaviour, masked under the guise of ’friendly conversations’. Conversations that my dad would say, “talking cock” and “all in good fun.”

As a quiet kid by nature, I mostly observed those chummy interactions and minded my own business.

My dad introduced me to pool, and I’d always look forward to being back at the pool table—that became part of the only reason why I looked forward to going out with him later on.

Over time, I started to notice that there was this one lady who would approach my father on many days. As a kid, I didn’t really think too much into what that meant, except that she was my father’s companion for the night.

Then one day, my father asked me to call this lady Mom.

I cannot even begin to explain the mix of confusion and perturbation that put me in.

I know my mom, and she’s the woman who has been taking care of me since young, and whom loves me with all that she has. This lady, on the other hand, was someone who gets chummy with Dad on certain nights at the bar. How am I to call her Mom?

At the same time, I had no idea what it meant for my dad to do that.

It messed my mind up about what love is, how relationships work and what is morally right. It messed me up knowing that I had been practically watching my dad spending time with his mistress(es) thinking that it was no big deal. And to realise this whole other world that my dad had been living while my mom was back at home, slogging to look after her three children by herself. Are relationships like that? I didn’t remember it being like that in shows or anywhere else.

Looking back, I definitely I would have stood up to him if only I knew.

If only I knew.

You Can’t Choose Your Family

Since young, the phrase “no matter what, he is still your father” has been reiterated to me by my aunts, my uncles, and even my mom. And for the entirety of my childhood, I truly believed that my father was my father no matter what.

Despite all the shady activities and mistresses, I still saw him as a father. I appreciated having him around and genuinely believe that in his mind, this (bringing me into his world of bars and girls) was his way of getting closer to me.

The fact that we share quite a few similarities and him having imparted various skills that turned into personal passions of mine helped maintain that somewhat positive image I had of him.

As the only person that he let in on a side of him that no one else knew, I also saw myself as the potential bridge to making my family whole again (once again, because family should stay together right?).

I had even rationalised that perhaps, all the time he had spent with me was a cry for help. As the only family member who was close to him, I felt like I was able to break him out of his unhealthy habits at some point.

Unfortunately, it was all wishful thinking because what was a father-son relationship to me was to my dad, something that he could exploit. At least, that was what it seems when I picked up a call in late 2016.

Children Are A Poor Man’s Riches

“Where the f**k is your father?! Owe money don’t need to pay ah? If don’t pay back by 5pm, I’ll burn your house down!”

After the initial state of confusion, it hit me that my dad had given his son’s (my) personal details to a loan shark.

The most wrong I’ve done to him was probably stealing from his piggy bank (maybe it’s karma), but there I was as the guarantor for him to loan sharks. It was one of the worst feelings in the world, and I felt absolutely betrayed.

Soon enough, my family learnt that Dad had owed 21 loan sharks a total sum of $35,000.

Besides the loan sharks, he had also sold my insurance for money, and used my name for a telco plan, which racked up a debt of $900. When my family confronted him about it, his response was, “let them sue, they wouldn’t dare.”

With the help of my relatives, my family eventually paid off all the debts in hopes of closing this chapter, as my dad promised to do. And for a moment, I really thought that that was it for drama.

Then, just last month, I received a series of messages looking for my father. Again. From loan sharks.

It was barely three years ago that we paid off all his debts, but my father had let us relive all of those feelings of confusion, fear, worry, and heartbreak all over again. All for money which we have no idea what he needed for.

“Blood Is Thicker Than Water”

I used to love my father for the moments that he had brought to my life. For the times that he taught me football (even though the methods aren’t the best), how he introduced me to playing pool, which I’m good at now, and for just being around in his own, unorthodox way.

These skills and moments, however, do not even come close to justifying what he has done to my mom, my family, and me.

Not only has he broken our heart so many times, he had, through exposing me to the world of bargirls and flirting in my formative years, given me a warped belief system. I’ve had to relearn what it is like to love and to learn how to differentiate the ‘rights’ and ‘wrongs’ in relationships—not just romantic ones. I've hurt many people because of that and I beat myself over it.

For a long time, I struggled with coming to terms with having him as my father, and I cannot deny the many times I blamed him and wondered what I did to deserve a father like him.

I believe there are many things that contributed to how he turned out. Maybe it was his upbringing, or something that messed him up when he was young, but something should have contributed to him being this way. But for the most part, this man did not treat me like his son and I cannot possibly blindly accept that blood is thicker than water like I have been brought up to believe.

Learning to accept that has given me peace that I did not have for a long time. Lacking a ‘proper’ fatherly figure definitely affected my life but I’m thankful to have moved on mentally.

The whole concept of a traditionally-complete family is lost to me, but I’m happy to say that my family is as complete as it needs to be now. I have my mom and my siblings who love every bit of me, and whom I love as dearly. That is all I need from a family.

Also read: We Live Under One Roof, But We Don’t Feel Like Family At All.

(Header Image Credit: Ian Tormo on Unsplash)

The first thing my parents said when they found out about my boyfriend was, “why a Chinese?” Tim* and I have been together for four years, of which three-and-a-half years were spent hiding our relationship from my parents. For that long and agonising three-and-a-half years, my parents had no clue that I was even dating. Or perhaps they had suspected and just didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that their Indian daughter was dating a Chinese boy. Whenever my boyfriend and I hung out, we would avoid going to places where my parents could be at. I would lie to my mom almost everyday. She'd ask, "where are you going?" and I would say, "to meet a friend." Lie. "Which friend? What's their name?". Another lie. Not only was it exhausting to lie, I hated myself for doing so. I felt guilty for keeping such a big secret from the people I should be the closest to. Many times, I considered telling them the truth. My friends kept encouraging me to come clean with them too. It's not like I didn't have a choice that I had to resort to lying, but I was just too afraid. My parents have never been super strict, but they are what you would call "typical Indian parents", which if you've heard anything about, you would know they can be pretty scary when enforcing their beliefs. So it was lies upon lies, upon lies. We were cautious, careful, as we should be as an under-the-radar couple. Until one day, Tim sent me home only for us to bump into my dad at the void deck.

F**K.

My dad wasn’t supposed to come home at that time, but there he was, and he saw Tim. What followed was an awkward conversation in the lift with my dad. "Who is that boy?" "He's just a friend." He obviously didn’t buy that. I mean, which guy friend would send a girl home without any particular reason right? When we reached home, his exact words to my mom were, “you should ask your daughter to bring her boyfriend home next time.” I sighed as I shut myself in my room, ignoring whatever conversation my parents were going to have. Well, shit. That was it. There was no point trying to hide it anymore. A million thoughts ran through my mind. On one hand, I was relieved, but there were so many worries that came after: Were my parents going to disown me? Were they going to tell every living relative about how I've brought shame to their family name? Were they going to force me to break up with Tim?

THE TRUTH IS OUT

No one spoke about the incident until the following night's dinner, and it was a conversation I hoped never came. My parents asked about 'the boy that dropped me home'. They wanted to know how old he was, what he does, what his parents do - the usual stuff. But they also asked me the one dreaded question, "why a Chinese?" How was I supposed to answer that?
I didn’t look at his race when I fell in love, I fell in love with the person he is.
I tried to convince them that it didn’t matter that he was Chinese. But they were adamant on the same thing – “He’s not a Hindu”. They refused to see him for who he is as a person. They only saw him as not Hindu. I was frustrated and hurt. They hadn't even met him and they were already dismissing him and our relationship. They wouldn't even give him a chance just because of his race. It was illogical, but at the same time, expected. My family has always been conservative. My parents never outrightly forbade me from dating a Chinese but it was heavily implied that bringing home a boy of a different race was frowned upon. On the other hand, Tim's parents knew about our relationship and have accepted me as part of the family a long time ago. I had found a second family in them, joining them for significant family gatherings like Chinese New Year dinner and birthday parties. I love my parents, but even I have to admit they can be pretty racist. Over the years, my mother would make comments on how Indians are better than other races, how we are more "elite". I'm not entirely sure where this racism stems from. Having known Hindus who converted out of their faith, she might have feared that her children will do that too. Perhaps that's why she would always tell my brother and I, “no matter what, don’t tarnish my religion.”

THE ULTIMATUM

Which is why when I tried to persuade them to meet him before blatantly disapproving our relationship, they gave me an ultimatum instead:

“I’m giving you two years to think about it. We’ll talk about this then.”

They wanted me to to think about a relationship that they didn't see a future in. Me being me, I told her to think about it too. It might have felt like a 'power move' when she dished that out but the two-year ultimatum seems like a joke now. To me, it felt like an excuse for my parents to not deal with it. Because I had thought about it, about everything that could possibly cause a conflict between us, and race and religion were the last things on that list. Because of this ultimatum, my life and relationship with Tim have come to a standstill for the next two years. While my friends are applying for a BTO, getting engaged, or making wedding plans, all I’ll be able to do is look at my Facebook feed and sigh over the predicament my parents had put me in.

LOVE VS FAMILY

I'm afraid of where I will be in two years. I don't want to be in a position where I'll have to eventually choose between my boyfriend and my parents.

"How am I to choose between my partner and my parents?"

How is anyone to choose between the person you want to spend your future with and the people who brought you into this world and to the person you are today? I owe my parents everything and I can't possibly build a future without them in it. Neither can I picture a future without my current partner. I don't mean to sound melodramatic but let's face it, many of us do things just for our parents. It could be something like going to a school our parents preferred or having children because our parents want us to. We do these things out of filial piety, even though it may not be what we really want. Sometimes I wonder, "why can't my parents just be happy in the fact that I'm happy?" In a world where it's difficult to find someone you are committed to love and whom is committed to love you back, it's a wonder I had found it at all. It's been 6 months since they gave me the ultimatum, which means I have another 1.5 years to hope for my parents to have a change of heart. For them to realise that when it comes down to it, race or religion does not and should not define us or our relationship. And I really pray that I will not have to choose between a 6 year relationship with a partner I see my future with and family. *Name has been changed to protect the identity of the individuals. Also read: It’s 2018 – Why Are We Still Paying Wedding Dowries?.
I’m a lot closer to my friends than my family. There’s so much more that my friends see and know about me. It isn’t because I grew up being looked after by my grandparents, relatives, or helper. I was never sent to child care centres either. My parents brought my brother and me up all by themselves. It wasn’t that I grew up in a broken family either. My parents were always loving to each other and to us. Our middle-income family lifestyle also meant a high regard for simplicity, humility, and maintaining family ties. We appreciate what we have and we appreciate each other, yet I feel a disconnect with the very people I’m supposed to be closest to – and it’s not because we don’t spend time together. Occasionally, my father will drive us across the causeway for cheap eats, shopping, or a massage. My mother’s regular home cooking is also a reason for us to huddle together for dinner every day after work. We spend a lot of time together but there’s hardly any conversation aside from my mum’s gripe about the market prices of meat and vegetables. I don't share about my day and I don't ask them about theirs. It just feels weird, unnatural. When I see social media posts of my friends enjoying movie nights, ice skating, or trips to USS together with their family, I wished my family was like that too. It isn’t where they went that I am envious of, it is the laughter and light banter in the background. It is the quality time together that I long for. Was there something we could have done in the past that would have made us closer now? Why don’t we do fun family activities together? Is it because all of us grew up too quickly? I know, it’s already a privilege to have a family. An unexciting family of four, stable and boring, but safe. Some people don’t even have anyone to call ‘family’. I appreciate what I have but if only I could draw close to my supposed nearest and dearest without feeling so awkward.

My parents’ love for my sibling and I is undeniable, but so is the ever-growing gap between us.

When I had trouble catching up on my studies, I hid it from my parents. When it came to matters of the heart and having my heart broken by the guys I dated, I turned to friends instead. When I was lost and confused about life after graduation, I turned to Google for advice. My parents didn’t deserve to be disappointed, and I never felt comfortable to share. Call it pride, call it fear but it was never a natural way of my life to talk about my feelings and emotions with my parents so openly. And now that I’m a working adult with my own social circles and partner, there are more distractions and lesser reasons for me to talk with my parents. Perhaps we were just that stereotypical Asian family who avoided complicated topics and shunned from anything related to sex. When I asked why I was growing hair at my nether regions, my mother would tell me that it is because I didn’t wash my vagina clean enough. When I had my first period and asked why we (girls) had periods, my dad said it’s just something that makes you an ‘official woman’. They never elaborated more than that and I never probed. Sometimes I wonder if this is why I’m so gullible today. However, the ‘Asian culture’ was stronger during my parents’ days and yet they still remain close to their siblings. Even though we all live separate lives, every family gathering filled our home with warmth and energy, there was always laughter and chatter. Perhaps this is the legendary kampong spirit that everyone talks about. What happened with my generation then? Perhaps it’s because life was much simpler then. In place of movies or video games, entertainment was playing marbles or fives stones with siblings or the neighbours’ kids. Social gatherings meant you had to interact with people instead of being on your phone.

Stevecutts GIF by Moby

As much as it feels distant, the thought of losing my parents still scares me. Besides the pain of never seeing them again, I worry that losing them would also mean losing the only thing that holds my brother and I together. We were raised by the same parents and only two years apart, but we couldn’t be more different. We have led two very separate lives and we barely look alike – we were never close, not when we were young and not now. I knew a girl in my secondary school who had a brother I wished I had. He was a senior in our school and he’d always walk her home. Even when my friend stayed back for CCAs or simply to hang out with her friends, her brother would wait in school until she was done. I wanted that protective and cool brother who would not only be my guardian angel if someone shoots rubber bands at me but would also teach me how to fire these rubber bands back with twice the power. Instead, most of the interactions I had with my brother involved us fighting between ourselves. Now that we’re older, my brother makes an effort to communicate and connect with me despite working and living in another country most of the year, but it never feels right. We speak in different languages and our conversations lack depth but I still hope that eventually my brother and I will find a connection we never had. I just hope my brother believes it, too. After all, blood is always thicker than water. Also read, 12 S’poreans Reveal The Most Endearingly Embarrassing Habits Of Their Mums.
Is it possible to have a friend 60 years older than you? In today’s digital era where Instagram, Snapchat, and Facebook are the average millennial’s best friend, you’ll be hard pressed to find millennials connecting with their family members ‘offline’. As millennials ourselves, we know how hard it is to feel and be close with our parents, much less our grandparents. And as our folks age, we do too. We start living our own lives and they start to lose touch with our generation. The many commitments and distractions don’t help either, and most of us are skeptical at the thought of bonding or being friends with our parents and grandparents. However, a very unlikely pair has proved us wrong. Meet 14-year-old student, Riddhi Rai and her best friend, 77-year-old retiree, Louise Bell.

When Riddhi Met Louise

Riddhi and Louise were complete strangers when they met at a social experiment Channel NewsAsia ran. Titled “Back to School”, this four-part series followed Riddhi, Louise, and 4 other pairs of strangers as they spent 10 weeks together.

Watch Episode 1 of Channel NewsAsia's Back to School <a href=" The experiment gave invaluable insights into 10 average Singaporeans' lives and proved that despite the huge age gaps, friendship is possible. While the episodes presented very interesting and endearing interactions between the Secondary school teenagers and their elderly partners, we wanted to find out more about what went on behind the scenes. We spoke to Riddhi, Louise, and the production team. Here’s how they succeeded in making friends out of strangers who are generations apart.

Breaking The Barriers

Like most teens, Riddhi has no clear direction in life yet. She doesn’t fit in with peers in her school either, and prefers her world of fan fiction and indie music.

As for ex-headhunter Louise, most of her time is spent on church activities and picking up different interests like crochet (to help with her Parkinson’s) and acro-aerobics (to keep herself fit).

Naturally, it took a bit of time to warm up to each other over the palpable age barrier. “She was shy, tall, and thin,” Louise recalled, “she reminded me of myself when I was younger, and I knew that I’ll need to be patient if I want her to open up.” Similarly, Riddhi felt nervous and a little bit awkward to be meeting someone she knew nothing about. Then, things got a lot easier when the pair found out that they’re both bookworms. Speaking to Louise over the phone, I could picture Louise smiling as she shared a fond memory of when they were getting to know each other, “Riddhi even brought me around her school library and we picked out books together.”

Becoming Friends

Despite the challenges in accommodating to each other’s needs, Riddhi and Louise grew to not only embrace, but help each other in their weaknesses.

In an Escape Room game, Riddhi went out of her way to lift Louise up as Louise was having a bit of trouble with her weak legs. It was there that Louise saw a different side of Riddhi: that she isn’t that shy after all.

As for Riddhi’s lack of confidence, Louise managed to break down the walls and got her to be more vocal about her inner thoughts and feelings.

As the pair did more activities together, producers saw how they started to inspire each other. “There’s still a bit to work on and I really hope to help her be more confident about herself,” Louise shared about her wish for Riddhi.

More Than Just Companionship

Having set out to test the success of intergenerational friendship researches done in US and Japan, the producers were “quite apprehensive about whether a simple friendship could make a difference, but the results showed a definite improvement.”

Not just for Riddhi and Louise, but the seniors from the other pairs also showed significant improvements in fitness, memory and mood, while the teenagers got a massive boost in self-esteem and a better attitude towards life. The pairs also formed real friendships and saw the other generation in a significantly better light. “She taught me to be more responsible and punctual,” Riddhi said. “(And) she opened up my eyes to how teenage girls today are like,” Louise added. Now, besides writing stories, reading books, or going for piano lessons, Riddhi would hang out with Louise. And Louise is more than happy to spend quality time with Riddhi, “Riddhi would actually call me and ask me if she can spend the day with me. I’d cook for her and we’d just talk about anything under the sun as we ate.”

Best Friends Forever?

Now that the 10-week ‘project’ has ended, how do Riddhi and Louise see each other? While Riddhi sees Louise as a good friend whom she can share problems with, Louise thinks of herself as Riddhi’s surrogate mother without the parental control, “I think Riddhi trusted me as an outsider, that’s why she shared her worries with me. It’s easier to share your problems to outsiders than to your own parents.” What is the secret to their surprising bond? “Listen, listen, and listen,” Louise emphasised, “seniors must take the first step to reach out, and don’t rush to impose or impart your knowledge until the young ones are ready to listen. Be patient.” And for the young ones, “Don’t judge someone just because of their age,” Riddhi shared. Watch the 10-week journey of Riddhi, Louise, and the other senior-teenager pairs on Channel NewsAsia’s Back to School <a href=" This story is written in collaboration with Channel NewsAsia. Also read, These 14 Heartwarming Stories Show That A Mother’s Love Is Like No Other.
Figuring out my sexuality was a struggle. As most LGBTQ will attest, there are no surefire signs, no criteria, no checkboxes you can go through to determine whether or not you’re it. The only way to figure it out is to live your life, feel what you feel, and eventually, piece it all together—at least that’s how it happened for me.

Just A Phase?

Growing up, I was always a tomboy. I went to an all girls’ primary school and my schoolmates would often tease me and make fun of me for it. At the time, I thought nothing of it. When I was 10, I became really close to a girl. We were best friends in school and would hang out together all the time. I felt like I liked her more than just a friend. But of course, at that age, I didn’t understand it. Thereafter, I had some innocent crushes on girls as a pre-teen and teenager, but I didn’t think too much of that either. As I was trying to understand why I had such feelings, I spoke to my mum and siblings about these girl crushes. We all believed it was a phase I would eventually grow out of. As I grew older, I had my fair share of guy friends, but I never liked them as more than just bros. And as time went by, I gradually realized that I was different.
Sam Koh

Keeping A Part Of Me A Secret

It was a very different time back when I thought I might be gay. It wasn’t a big social issue. There was very little talk about sexuality in the media and in society, and not many people were gay—at least, not that I was aware of. I didn’t personally know anyone who was gay. Because it seemed so rare back then, I worried constantly about how people would perceive me and treat me if they found out I was gay. I was also afraid of how it would affect the people around me; I was scared that people would treat the ones close to me differently because of their friendship with me. As a teenager, whenever I went to church, I felt like I had to change. I tried to change, tried to feel differently. And when I couldn’t, I buried my feelings and kept them to myself. When nothing worked, I got upset with myself. I was angry that I didn’t change. Now, I realise it’s because I couldn’t. This is just the way I am. Being gay and having no one to talk to about it, it was tough, trying to make sense of how I felt and why I felt that way. I avoided thinking about it, and when I did share my struggles with those who accepted me for who I am, it felt like no one truly understood. For a long time, I felt alone and wished I knew someone who shared the same difficulties and challenges as me. Eventually, after a long and hard struggle with myself, I came to terms with the fact that I was “different”. I knew there was no running away from me.

Loved, Supported, And It Meant Everything

My mum and siblings were the first few people I came out to. It wasn’t a complete surprise to them, considering that I spoke to them about the girl crushes I had in the past. It was my dad I was more afraid to tell, because he’s a bit sterner. It took me a while longer, but eventually, I summoned up the courage to come out to him when I was 24 or 25. I still remember how scared and nervous I was up to the point I actually said the words to him. In the weeks that followed, I could tell that he was trying his best to understand it – to understand why I was this way. I felt bad that I, too, couldn’t explain how this happened.

Not Everyone Understands

Even though the people that matter most to me accepted me for who I was, not everyone received the news well. I’ve had my fair share of nasty reactions from friends and even complete strangers on the street. In fact, just recently, when I was out shopping at a mall, the mother of a little girl followed me just to tell me how offensive and gross it was that I didn’t ‘dress like a girl’ or have long hair. She wanted me to apologise for scaring her daughter with my ‘lesbian appearance’. Apparently, the little girl had asked her mum why my hair was so short. It wasn’t about how I looked or how I behaved; my hair alone was enough reason for her to come up to me to confront me. I ignored her remarks and tried to get away, but she followed me and made harsh remarks about my lifestyle, saying things like, “I don't care about how you choose to live your life but say sorry for confusing my daughter and making her scared.” Dirty looks from strangers are normal for me. So are harsh words from the people around. Even though I’m proud of who I am, things like these sometimes still get to me.
Sam and her girlfriend, Roslyn

Still The Same Person, Regardless Of My Sexuality

Accepted or not, it was good to get everything off my chest; coming to terms with who I was and being able to say it out loud to the people I love liberated me. Those who stuck around realised that beyond the label of ‘lesbian’, I was still the same person with the same heart and character. I am still the same Sam Koh, regardless of who I fall in love with. I’m 29 years old, a barista at my own café and I’m also happily attached to my partner Roslyn. We’ve been together for about 8 months now, and I’ve never been happier. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for some of the people I know who have been forced to stay in the closet and to put up a front all their lives because their families do not approve. Everyday, I know how fortunate I am to have people around me who accept me exactly as I am. I am more than grateful for a family who lets me figure out my life on my own.

LGBT In Singapore

Being lesbian has definitely left me feeling lonely and excluded at times. Still, I wouldn’t wish away the things I’ve experienced and the fact that I’m gay. I, and the LGBTQ community, are not gay just because we want to be different. We’re not here to challenge heterosexuality. We’re not asking anyone to be gay. We just want to be accepted for who we are. At the end of the day, we are just regular human beings who want to be able to love who we love, free of condemnation. To have people frown upon your relationship is just like having parents who don’t approve of who you're dating, but worse. We have total strangers disapproving of our choices too. It’s frustrating. Thankfully, times are changing and so are attitudes. Still, there is more to be done. I hope one day, people will be more open and accepting. I hope one day, people will see beyond the labels and the prejudice, and realise that all we want is the freedom to love. - To show our support for the freedom to love, we will be publishing stories under our new series My Sexuality, My Right. In it, we share the journeys of Singaporeans who are fighting for their right to love, and who embrace their LGBTQ identity. Also read, Sexual Harassment Not That Unusual – S’porean Girls Reveal Their Nasty Encounters With Perverts.
"Remember Sodom and Gomorrah? And how they were punished because the people were so sinful?" "Of course. Cities of gays and fags. The result of Pink Dot succeeding." There is some laughter around the table. This is during a cell group meeting. I attempt to interject. "Well, they were rapists. You cannot overlook the fact that they wanted to gang rape the two visitors - who were actually angels - in Lot's house." "Yeah, but the rape is secondary. The angels were disguised as men and they wanted to rape the men. So the main reason is because they were a bunch of homos." Another cell member adds, "Actually, I think the real issue here is why Lot offered his two daughters to the gang-rapists..." and the discussion shifts towards this statement in which it is much more obvious why it is problematic. I am still listening, but I sigh inwardly. Such an episode is just one of the many instances in which I've come face-to-face with the hidden strand of virulent homophobia running within my church. I say hidden because my church does not openly promote an anti-LGBT campaign like Pastor Lawrence Khong of Faith Community Baptist Church; rather, LGBT issues are rarely spoken of in my church. Nevertheless, it occasionally bubbles up, revealing an image of simmering, virulent hate. Now and then, there are those few sentences in the sermon where LGBT rights gets lumped in with ISIS and Syria as the moral challenges faced by Christians today. There are the moments during cell group or Bible Study where homosexuals are unanimously denounced as those who will "go to hell" because "it is stated as a sin in the Bible". There are the snatches of gossip among my peers in church about finding the son of a prominent church member on Jack'd (a dating app for gays) while they were browsing it to see "how f***ed up it was". And inevitably, whenever Pink Dot rolls around for its weekend in June, half the church shows up on Sunday dressed like MPs, with the affirmation by the worship leader that "it is good to see where our church stands". It goes without saying that such moments make me uncomfortable. Not because I am a deviant destined for hell, but because of the ease with which a community of otherwise friendly people can turn into furious church militants, baying for condemnation, just on the subject of a person's sexual orientation. There are fellow church-goers I have talked to whom, for all of their dedication organizing church activities and running Sunday School for children, have spoken unblinkingly about playing a part in bullying classmates who were perceived as gay back in school - and who could laugh about it. One of them even declared, "If I found out my son was gay, I would beat the gay out of him. Seriously, having a gay son means you have completely failed as a parent." I tried asking one of the pastors later, "Surely there are LGBT people who are Christian too. Isn't it unfair to think that they will be condemned for it?" To which he replied, "If they are Christian, they must give up their deviant lifestyle and be straight again. If not, they cannot have their salvation." I still go to church. It is difficult to stop when your family attends it as well, and your father holds a prominent position within it to boot. Tongues will wag and gossip about a family member is by far one of the most damaging things for someone working in the church. Given that my father is the sole breadwinner of the family, the general anti-LGBT stance of the church, and the fact that I am the eldest son, there is a real fear that there will be disastrous consequences for my family if I come out or am ever discovered. Still, I consider myself fortunate. I have a handful of friends outside of church whom I've opened up to regarding my sexuality, and who give me great support and the space to really be myself. But the main reason, I suppose, for why I have managed to escape the more serious discrimination my gay friends face, is because I am bi.

Why being bi comes with a set of privileges in Singapore

At this point, it is essential to point out the differences between being gay and being bi. Much of the LGBT discourse here often conflates both sexualities and this often leads to misconceptions, even among the LGBT community. Some bizarre questions I have been asked by the friends I've come out to include: "How can you want to f**k a girl yet also wanna f**k a guy? Is that even possible?" "Does this mean your ideal sex is a threesome with a guy and a girl?" "So you can like, choose who you wanna get turned on by?" "Will you eventually decide on a single gender?" "Are you sure you're not just going through a 'gay' phase?" For a while, while I was still unsure, I said yes to that last question. But eventually, I realised that it was difficult to call it a "phase" since it's been going on since I reached adolescence a decade ago. I am attracted to both guys and girls. What else can I say? I exist in the spheres of heterosexuality and homosexuality simultaneously. And because of this, I have the privilege of being able to have a normative heterosexual relationship, while my gay peers are denied legality and status in their relationships. I will admit, there has been more than one occasion where I would use the hetero aspect of my sexuality to hide the homosexual aspect - i.e. putting on a "straight" front while catching up with my male friends, talking about a girl I genuinely found attractive, while appreciating how one of the guys served as great eye candy. The same goes for when I am in church. Some days, I feel my bisexuality is a blessing, but there are also days when I feel embarrassed and like I'm a sham. Sometimes, I wonder if it is even accurate to say that I can identify with the LGBT crowd. As one of my gay friends bluntly put it, I have an "escape option" within our conservative society, and it wasn't without a tinge of envy that he said it. "You can choose not to come out you know? Especially if you get into a relationship with a girl." It was a statement that made me very uncomfortable. For in a sense, it was true; on the surface, everything would look normal. Everything would be socially acceptable. My family and church would never have to know. I suppose it would save me and my family from an ugly fallout.

It's not a choice

Even so, I cannot hide the homosexual side of me, and neither can I deny it. People may disagree and I am perfectly fine with that; I just do not see self-denial or self-effacement as the solution. As cheesy as it sounds, I believe I must be true to myself. I simply cannot fathom pretending this side of me does not exist. The same goes for my attraction to women, despite my friend's insistence that "you'll eventually choose once you have had enough sex." I just happen to be wired this way. Perhaps it is in part because of my resolve not to be pressured into fitting in a "gay" or "straight" box, and in part, a fear of being discovered that I haven't been able to commit to any kind of relationship so far, be it with a guy or girl. What we really need is acceptance - acceptance of who we truly are. Privately, I support the Pink Dot movement, but with so much social pressure and religious intolerance working against us, I am pessimistic about anything concrete being achieved. For now, I shall just have to be content with that small freedom I have among my closest friends, for I am not strong enough to face the consequences of coming out yet. <a href=" Image Credit
I was born Muslim. I grew up in a Muslim family. While my parents weren’t the most religious of people, my upbringing was very much Muslim. I went for Friday prayers at the neighbourhood mosques, was taught to read the Quran, and would visit the mosque during Hari Raya Puasa and Haji. As a young boy, I went to religious classes every Sunday morning, where we would learn about the different aspects of the religion- it’s history, the five pillars and how to speak Arabic. I attended all my religious classes diligently and even got a certification of completion by the end of it. Religion for me at the time wasn’t so much about belief as it was about following my parents, because that’s just how it is. You follow the religion of your parents, because they’re your parents and you’re just a child. I did as I was told; No more, no less.

Losing my religion

When I was 14 years old, a friend invited me to a Christmas party. I had no idea it was an evangelistic event until we were an hour in. The pastor was speaking about the death of Christ and its significance. It was only then that I realized I was actually sitting in a sermon. At first I thought, “Shoot, I’m trapped.”, but since I was already there, I listened as the pastor preached about the essence of Christmas. Maybe it was the music, the melody or the words of the worship songs, but somehow that all got me questioning things—questioning if there truly existed a god, because before then, even though I was Muslim, I’d never believed in a higher being; as far as I was concerned, God didn’t exist. Eventually, my beliefs shifted to the point that I started believing in an actual god – the Christian god. I had been converted.

Secrets at home, judgement outside

My conversion to Christianity came with no small amount of fear. I had no idea what would become of me if my family were to find out. I was terrified, so I tried my best to keep a low profile. Among my friends, I was Christian—I even ate pork. But when I was home, I was a whole other person. I had to act the part of a Muslim. I couldn’t eat pork. When it was time to fast, I fasted at home but as soon as I was out of my parents’ sight, I broke fast. Part of the act was out of fear, but a big part of it was also out of respect for my parents and what they believed. For about 5 years, I had to lie every Saturday in order to go to church. My mum would always ask me, “why you always go out on Saturdays?” It was lie after lie, last week it was, “I’m going out to study with my friends,” this week it’s, “I’m going shopping for new clothes.” There was always this paranoia that they would find out, and I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. All my friends knew I was a Christian, but not all of them responded positively to this. While most of them accepted it, there were a handful that didn’t, and who would ask me why I converted just so they could shoot me down and rain criticism on me. In school, some of my closest Malay friends would keep their distance from me. They wouldn’t talk to me, which is why I have a lot more Chinese friends now than Malay ones. About 6 years after I converted, when I was in NS, some of the people I knew would attack me because of my beliefs. One of my instructors that found out dragged me to one side after breakfast one day, while we were waiting to go back to our dormitory, and said to me, “Wah, if we’re not in Singapore, I would have killed you already. It would have been my duty to kill you.” I knew he couldn’t do anything, so I retorted, saying, “Yeah, lucky we’re in Singapore. You can’t do anything to me.” Muslims judged me, Christians judged me, even friends I knew who were neither Muslim nor Christian had something to say about it. They would say things like “Eh, like that, aren’t you betraying your own family?” or, “Don’t you think your family will be upset?” This is because there is a Muslim law that holds your family responsible for your faith. If you betray the faith, it’s on your family as well, because it means they haven’t brought you up well.

And then my parents found out

Eventually, my parents found out because they found a bible in my room and that’s when all our problems began. I tried reasoning with my dad, explaining that he couldn’t force me to believe in something I didn’t believe in, and that even if I did follow him and “behaved” like a Muslim, he and I both knew that in my heart, I wouldn’t be one. But still, he would keep saying, “cannot”, “cannot”, “cannot”. Things didn’t progress and it came to a point when things became violent. I didn’t want to fight back because my dad was already getting old, so all I could do was block him as he beat me. That day, I ran out of the house half-naked, with not even shoes on; all I had on were my shorts because my shirt had torn from the beating. I didn’t know what to do because I didn’t want to fight back, but at the same time, I was about to explode, so I ran. My pastor—a Malay pastor who has also been through a similar experience—came down to talk to me and comfort me. He offered to open his home to me if things got worse, but he made it very clear that I should try all ways and means to make things right with my parents. I was prepared to run away. I told my mother that if my dad beat me up one more time, I was gone. She told me to come back, to not talk about religion for the time being and promised to make sure my dad didn’t hit me again. From that point on, my family didn’t speak openly to me about religion anymore. Neither did my dad and I speak. That went on for about 2 years.

What now?

Today, 8 years on, I’ve made good with my family. They still refuse to accept the fact that I’m Christian, and from time to time, they still try to change my mind about Christianity. When news comes up on Pastor Kong Hee, they make a big deal of it, saying, “see, Christians are like that.” They raise the issue of rich pastors, and they do little things here and there to put down Christianity and lift up the name of Muslims. The more I’ve grown in my faith as a Christian, the more they’ve seemed to grow in theirs as Muslims—my mum, my dad, and my sister. While I’ve been serving and being more active in church, my mum’s started to pray 5 times a day; my dad’s been going to the mosque every day; and my sister’s been going for more advanced religious classes. This year, my parents are going on a pilgrimage to the Middle East. While there is not a war right now, I am fearful that it’s only right around the corner, like when I marry my Christian girlfriend. She might need to convert — at least according to Muslim customs — and I know for a fact that she won’t. Neither of us can fathom being of a religion we don’t believe in. Other people may disagree with me, and they are free to do so. Maybe they’ll say, “I’d rather things be peaceful within my family, and I’ll give up my belief if that’s what threatens to tear us apart.” But for me, belief matters and I cannot easily give that up.

Religion in Singapore

No matter what happens in the future, I know I will stand by my beliefs. After all, I’ve already gone through so much to defend my right to believe it. Stories like mine are not all that rare. The details are different, but the struggle is the same. We face condemnation from all sides—those of the same faith as us, those of a different faith, those who know us, those who don’t, friends and family. In Singapore, by right, no one can do anything to you based on what you believe. But there are still many ways people can hurt you. Your friends can ostracize you. Your family can beat you. Everyone is free to judge you. From all I’ve heard and experienced, racial tolerance and religious tolerance are just how things appear on the surface. Sure, we can all live together, but if you strike out on your own and believe something different from everyone else—especially everyone else in your family—that’s when you realize how ugly things are, or how ugly things can get when religious differences are in the picture. At the end of the day, religion and what you believe is a highly personal matter. It is not for others to decide for you, and it is surely not something you believe simply because your parents do. The best I can do is stand by my religious beliefs while respecting those of others, whether they be family, friend or stranger. Top Image Credit