sense of a beginning: true stories of drug addiction through literary lenses

sense of a beginning

This anthology is the product of a year-long collaboration between the Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association and a group of literary enthusiasts from Raffles Institution. We often hear statistics about the scourge of drug addiction, but what we don’t hear are the heart-wrenching tales of suffering, catharsis, and ultimately redemption of former drug addicts. This compilation represents the literary interpretations of the oral histories of five ex-offenders from varying backgrounds.

This anthology, which was generously sponsored by the Raffles Institution 1823 Fund, was launched on 22 May 2013.

RafflesInstitution

sense of a beginning true stories of drug addiction through l iterary lenses

RafflesInstitution

bradley yam / chan kai yan / chua jun yanKoh hui kai / koh liang ping / lee chin wee

lim wei khai / sng geng / tan kuan hian

Copyright © 2013 Raffl es Institution & Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association

Raffl es Institution (RI) Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association (SANA)1 Raffl es Institution Lane 2 Sengkang Square #05-01Singapore 575954 Singapore 545025Tel: 6419 9888 Fax: 6419 9898 Tel: 6732 1122 Fax: 6732 4564www.ri.edu.sg www.sana.org.sg

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without the prior written permission of RI and SANA. Requests to RI should be addressed to [email protected]. Requests to SANA should be addressed to [email protected].

Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the authors, RI and SANA have used their best eff orts in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy and/or completeness of the contents of this book and specifi cally disclaim any implied warranties or fi tness for a particular purpose. Th e authors, RI and SANA shall not be liable for any loss of profi t or any other personal or commercial damages, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

Printed in Singapore

ISBN: 978-981-07-5894-3 (paperback)

Cover Design by Lim MinTh e cover is done up in monochrome to show a contrast between past and present – that there is indeed the sense that there is a new beginning on the horizon. It is also to complement the minimalist, black and white dividers within the anthology. Th e prison bars do represent a notion of entrapment. However, more importantly, is the light streaming in from the bars itself – to show that despite having once being trapped; there will always be a semblance of hope and a fresh new beginning. It is to show that these bars cannot prevent the light from passing through, and in essence, a new beginning from happening.

National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Yam, Bradley, 1996- Sense of a beginning : true stories of drug addiction through literary lenses / [Bradley Yam, Chan Kai Yan, Chua Jun Yan, Koh Hui Kai, Koh Liang Ping, Lee Chin Wee, Lim Wei Khai, Sng Geng, Tan Kuan Hian]. – Singapore : Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association, [2013] pages cm ISBN : 978-981-07-5894-3 (paperback) 1. Drug addiction – Fiction. 2. Drug addicts – Rehabilitation – Fiction. 3. Singaporean fi ction (English) I. Chan, Kai Yan, 1995- II. Chua, Jun Yan, 1995- III. Koh, Hui Kai, 1995- IV. Koh, Liang Ping, 1995- V. Lee, Chin Wee, 1996- VI. Lim, Wei Khai, 1996- VII. Sng, Geng, 1995- VIII. Tan, Kuan Hian, 1996- IX. Title.

PR9570.S52 S823 -- dc23 OCN836718593

contents

Foreword v

Acknowledgements vii

Introduction ix

SHACKLED 3

COMFORT IS FEELING AT HOME, AT HOME 19

A FATHER’S LOVE 34

SING ON 49

INNOCENCE LOST AND FOUND 59

Appendix 71

About SANA 85

About the 1823 Fund 87

vii

foreword

When a crisis strikes, what causes one person to break down and another to rebound? Experts tell us it has a lot to do

with fortitude. Fortitude stems from a deep belief that one can fi nd a meaningful purpose in life; that one can infl uence one’s surrounding and the outcome of events, and that positive and negative experiences will lead to learning and growth.

Th e stories captured in this volume by Kai Yan, Liang Ping, Hui Kai, Sng Geng, Jun Yan, Kuan Hian, Bradley, Chin Wee and Wei Khai are stories of courage and strength. Th e common theme that runs through them is that of personal resolve and determination to reclaim one’s happiness in spite of adversity and missteps. Th is requires conviction and tenacity.

Eunice picked up drugs at university, but has since started afresh and found a new career. Michael has managed to start a successful singing career and a family after breaking free of his drug addiction. Ali and Vijay are blue-collar workers who have begun new lives after quitting drugs. Madeline is a 24-year-old who is now a part-time student, a working adult, a daughter, wife, and a mother of three after quitting drugs.

Each of them, in reshaping their future, took control over their emotions, focused on their chosen goal and trusted in those around them to overcome their circumstances. We affi rm their eff orts in taking control over their own life. More importantly, we celebrate the healing power of family, friends and loved ones, in supporting Eunice, Michael, Ali, Vijay and Madeline.

Mrs Lim Lai ChengPrincipalRaffl es Institution

ix

acknowledgements

We would like to thank the following for their help in the creation of this anthology:

• Th e Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association for continuously supporting our project since its conception;

• Th e fi ve clients for agreeing to be interviewed and to have their stories recorded by us;

• Raffl es Institution for its generous fi nancial support through the 1823 Fund, which enabled our anthology to be published;

• Mrs Lim Lai Cheng, Principal of Raffl es Institution, for graciously agreeing to write the foreword for our anthology;

• Mrs Nicola Jane Perry, Asst Dept Head (Literature) of Raffl es Institution, for patiently mentoring us and off ering us guidance as we drafted the stories;

• Our four volunteers, Bradley Yam, Lee Chin Wee, Lim Wei Khai, and Tan Kuan Hian, who contributed their creative expertise to this anthology;

• Lim Min for the design of the cover and divider pages; and• Anyone else who has helped us in any way in the rush to

publication.

Chan Kai YanChua Jun YanKoh Hui KaiKoh Liang PingSng GengApril 2013

xi

introduction

This anthology was the brainchild of 5 students from Raffl es Institution. Under the guidance of their teacher-mentor, Mrs Nicola

Jane Perry, they approached the Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association (SANA) with their concept.

Over the course of two months, the team conducted interviews with fi ve former drug addicts to sieve out their stories of hope and redemption. Th e process was not always easy, and often, the team had to strike a balance between being probing and being sensitive. Nonetheless, the process of collecting the oral histories was an educational experience, as it challenged the team’s stereotypes about the profi les of drug addicts. Indeed, the fi ve former addicts come from all walks of life, including university graduates, white-collar workers, and blue-collar workers, showing that drug addiction is not exclusive to members of a certain social class. Th e project has also allowed the team to gain many insights into the lives of ex-drug off enders, a marginalised section of Singaporean society which students seldom reach out to and know little about.

Subsequently, these fi ve accounts were given to a team of Literature students, who provided creative interpretations of the transcripts and transfi gured them into literary works. Th is “through-the-looking-glass” approach was taken to highlight the emotional intensity of the oral histories and breathe new life into the stories of these addicts.

Th is anthology would not have made it to print without the generous sponsorship of the Raffl es Institution 1823 Fund. 1,000 copies of the book will be disseminated to volunteers and clients of SANA, in addition to schools and public libraries across Singapore. Th rough this initiative, the team hopes to deter youth from taking drugs, raise awareness about the complexity and nuances of the drug problem in Singapore, and encourage the public to support rehabilitation and reintegration eff orts in a novel and creative manner.

Shackled 1

shackled

To: JournalFrom: Ali

“Ali? Ali, wake up, Ali! You have to get up!”I felt the swell of my body rising before I had opened my eyes.

I sat up. My mind registered the dimly lit room, as the last breaths of air were pulled out of my chest by the involuntary retching of my lungs. I was hyperventilating. Th e rushing air rasped against my sandpaper throat. My entire body was made of lead, it was so heavy. I was sure there was an excavator somewhere in my skull, thundering away. I was cold, so cold even though the sheets were soaked with my perspiration.

Th e demons, I thought, are they still near?“Ali, Ali? You had a nightmare again didn’t you? Th ere, it’s all right,

you’re awake now.” I looked up at my dad, and felt his warm arms around me and against my back. It was a nightmare then, that’s all it was.

“You have to get dressed soon, it’s already six thirty, remember you still have your last PSLE exam today.” It was nothing then, just a nightmare. As my father left he fl icked on the lights and my familiar room was illuminated. It was a simple place, a desk, a cupboard and a pair of soccer boots next to a ball. My books were neatly arranged by subject on my desk. I had a cupboard with little stickers of my football starts stuck all over it. I wiped the sweat away got dressed quickly. I would not have the same nightmare again for a long time.

Later I found out that I had not done as well for PSLE as my friends did. My best friends in the soccer team had all found places in the secondary school that had won the national football tournament for the

4 Sense of a Beginning

past seven years. I had to go elsewhere. After that my dad became angry about my grades and forbade me from playing. For awhile it was the worst thing that happened to me. Th en I met him.

His name was Lim. He found me under one of my “favourite” stairwells in school. People who knew him called him ‘Beng’ Lim. People who knew of his reputation usually steered clear of him, but being a year younger than him, I didn’t.

“Ey, what are you doing here?” He stood dauntingly with fl uorescent glare against his back and a fl eshy hand jammed in his pants pocket. At the age of fourteen, his eyes were ringed by shadows, and the half buttoned school shirt betrayed the shades of blotched blue skin. I was sitting down in half darkness and muttered something about leaving me alone. Th e air quivered. Feet planted, hands folded into fi sts and muscles tensed, his aggression was unmistakable. I don’t remember feeling scared or angry, just empty. I raised my head for the fi rst time, revealing my bruised cheek and crumpled school shirt. Th ere were several buttons missing from being dragged through the school’s parade square, but I didn’t mind. It was a type of proof, much like the scrapes across my arm or the welt on my back, that I could handle myself. Th at I wasn’t anyone’s toy.

I wondered if he would hit me. So I closed my eyes. Th ere were steps, and a soft thud. He sat down next to me and took his hand out of his pocket.

“Eh, take this. You look damn jialat.” He handed me a little container with a translucent, viscous liquid inside. I paused and dug my dirt-caked nails into the grooves of the little rounded box. It was heavy in my hand. It was heavy like fi sts were heavy against my cheek. It was heavy like my classmates’ stares on my back. It was heavy like my father’s yell in my ears.

Heavy.“What to do?” I asked.He demonstrated in response. Opening the bottle of glue, he inhaled

the sickeningly bitter smell.

Shackled 5

“Tip your head back”, he said, “and let blood rush to your head.” Feel the chemicals drive their way through your mind, dimming

everything, the lampshades over your eyes. Feel lighter, like you could fl oat or even fl y away, enjoy. Did it matter what it was? Could things really get much worse? I copied Lim with trepidation. Hesitantly, taking in a small lungful. I tipped my head back and waited for the blood to start rushing, I waited for the pain to stop, I waited.

Light.Th e air about me was heavier and pooled around my body to form

a little fl oating island. I stretched and waved my arms in the air like a little child would wave at a balloon fl ying away. Th ey were refreshed and strong, so I sat up and took another breath of heaven.

Lighter. Laughing, I hoisted myself onto my haunches, and then stood up

tall and exuberant. I blinked, did the lights grow dimmer? No matter, I thought. It was a good feeling. I didn’t realise I had stopped breathing until I hit the ground, the world around me already beginning to fade to black.

“Ali? Ali? Eh Xiong Di! Wake up leh! Get up!”I felt the familiar swelling of my chest, the hunger for oxygen, my

body jerking upright as if it was an automaton. It would not listen to me for the next few seconds. My mind registered the dimly lit room, as the last inhalations were vomited by my lungs. Th e hyperventilation gave me a second high. Th e rushing air rasped against my throat. I had gotten used to the heaviness, and I knew that the pounding in the back of my head would go away eventually. I watched as the cold beads of sweat dropped away from me and onto the bleak grey concrete fl oor. I cradled my head in my hands and groaned.

Th ere was laughter, roaring laughter. “Xiong Di! Th at was the longest you were ever out man! So brave ah you want to die is it?” So I laughed with them.

As my vision grew better I made out “Beng” Lim, and his friends. Our friends. Th ere was Lok Sheng, our unoffi cial leader, Indra, Rajah, Tan and


some others. Lim was my fi rst friend. He had introduced me to the rest of the group after our fi rst meeting. Here, it didn’t matter what number was on your report card, whether it was blue or red, or what anybody else thought about you. As long as we stayed, we got each other’s “protection.” We walked about the school together. People would not look me in the eye. I was feared; I was strong because I was feared. My old classmates would huddle in their circles and steal sheepish glances at me. Around here, I was the law. Nobody could touch me and my friends. Everybody knew what we did after school, some avoided us and some wanted to join. But all were afraid; we were strong because they were afraid. I wore their fear like a badge, it was a type of proof that I was strong, that I mattered, that I belonged someplace they could not. We were friends.

Th en we were not. Lim stopped coming to school. At fi rst we were not surprised. It wasn’t the fi rst time someone was absent without a proper excuse. But then another day passed, and another, until it was two weeks. It was not until the fourth week that Lok Sheng told us the news.

“Ah Lim killed himself a month ago. I found out, his cousin say one. He complain that he cannot balance la. Th en his ma brought him for a check-up with the doctor, the sinseh said he got… brain damage. He cannot think properly anymore. Ah Lim ask if he can still play sport. Doctor say no. Th en Ah Lim start crying. He cannot stop. He go home that time, then take out his knife and-” Lok Sheng did not fi nish. His face was contorted in a funny way, like the way it would sometimes be when he was sniffi ng glue, but he was crying. We took out all the glue we had stashed in a little nook under a tree behind the back fence of the school and threw it into the drain. It was the last time I used glue.

“Ali? You’re home so soon ah?” “Yah Pa, school ended early today,” I lied.I stared into my room. Kicking over a pile of books and cans, I waded

through the sea of paper on my desk before fi nding the small container that Lim had given me almost two years ago. Th ere was no more boots, no more soccer ball. No more stickers of famous soccer players. Th ere was just me, my books, and the little box. I studied almost every day, and my

Shackled 7

results were not bad. I had to keep them that way, for my dad. I threw the box into the rubbish bin.

“Lim, Lim, Xiong Di. Get up ah, you have to wake up.”

JW 0700: It’s time for Prison Inmate No. 1786 to wake up. Name: Ali.

0730: 1786 appears to be exhibiting the usual symptoms. He’s still in a cold sweat. His heart rate is still manageable, although he is undergoing some palpitations. Help from the Medical Offi cer is unnecessary as of now, but will be needed in the event that he experiences diffi culty breathing.

0745: Inmate has begun trembling uncontrollably. He appears to be fading in and out of consciousness. He is now having diffi culty breathing. Calling in the MO.

MO 0810: Patient 1786 is relatively stable. As this is his third heroin withdrawal, the symptoms are somewhat more severe. Patient 1786 has dilated pupils, extreme nausea, semi-conscious. Patient 1786 appears to have diffi culty breathing due to erratic chest contractions. Prescribing Buprenorphine to reduce heart rate and hold back vomiting. Muscle spasms and skin infl ammations cannot be stopped without anti-hystemics. Patient 1786 also appears to be hallucinating, a side eff ect of the pain. Unfortunately, painkillers cannot be used, as they will increase risk of death. Patient 1786 is describing his pain as if “fi re ants were biting him all over his body.” He is somewhat comprehensible. He repeatedly talks about “demons”. Maybe the same ones from his last prison term.


JW 1000: 1786 received breakfast at 10am. He is unable to eat. Th e withdrawal symptoms have subsided but will return later in the day. He survived the fi rst two weeks, hopefully this will be his last time in here. Fortunately 1786 was only a glue-sniff er, and had not taken direct injections, or else his pain would be more unbearable than it already is. Th e detoxifi cation process will not be fully completed until his fourth or fi fth week. He is still extremely weak and unable to feed himself, but his nausea appears to have subsided. He will need a prison attendant or else he might die of malnutrition.

1150: 1786 appears to have been through the worst of the withdrawal syndromes. He remains weak and unable to feed himself or walk properly. His family has requested to see him. Approval will have to be given by the Prison Offi cer.

PO: 1330: Approval granted.

1420: 1786’s sister is in the waiting room with his children. Do send the Prison Attendant in to help him out.

JW: 1430: Th e prisoner will be monitored.

Ali: Su, what are you doing here?

Su: I’m here to see you.

Ali: Ha ha. See me very fun meh? Now I’m in this sorry state, what is there to see?

Su: Don’t do this to yourself Ali…

Ali: Do what? I’m almost forty, still got another seven years of prison and six times of caning, still can do what? Tell me Su, still can do

Shackled 9

what? Th is is my third time already. You know people say third time lucky- the third time is the worst.

Su: Ali-

Ali: Do you want to know what it feels like? When I was on it I could do anything, I was so happy and confi dent. I felt so light. Like I could fl y like that. Now every night, I have nightmares. I see so many scary things, so many demons. Even when I’m dreaming, I have no rest. No rest at all. I will feel so cold, so cold that I shiver and sweat, but my body is like on fi re. You know how painful not? Like there are a million fi re ants, crawling all over, biting, biting. Th ey never stop biting. Even on the good days. My whole body is heavy and my elbows and knees are so pain I can’t even move them. I feel like I’ve been banged by a lorry. Sometimes I feel like I cannot breathe, then I go back to my nightmares. I don’t want to have nightmares anymore. No more nightmares.

Su: Ali, you still have me, you still have your children.

Ali: So what? In the cell, I am all alone. I am always alone. But I feel like everybody is watching me, blaming me. I cannot do anything. I am useless you know? A useless father, a useless husband, a useless brother. Anything I try to do I fail at, I cannot do it properly. Last time I told the counsellor I promise I would stop doing drugs, then look at me now. I can’t even keep a simple promise to my family, to my children- you know? Remember the fi rst time I was caught? I still remember, I stole an expensive watch because I had no money. Now I still have no money. Now who will raise my children? I am useless, useless, a failure. I should die. Death is better than this.

Su: Stop talking like that! You want to become like your brother is it? You want to break Ah Pa’s heart again? I know it’s my fault, when


your brother started giving you the hard drugs, I pretended like I didn’t know anything. But when he went to prison and died there, I thought you would learn!

Ali, Ali, Wake up already! Ali, you have to get out of this place!

Ali: How to? Tell me how? If I’m inside, I cannot get drugs, promise then promise la, so easy to keep. But once I get out, there are so many people waiting for me to buy from them again. I hate it, I hate what I’ve done, I hate who I am.

Su: Ali you can’t say that. Your wife wouldn’t have wanted you to say that. Ali… your wife...

Ali: Su enough! I know she’s disappointed, why do you have to make it worse?

Su: Ali it’s not that, Ali she’s...

Ali: What!

Su: She passed away two days ago! She suddenly passed out at home and then we brought her to the hospital. Th e doctors said they couldn’t do anything. Ali you have to wake up and get out of here... Ali?

PO: Ali, you had a break of fi fteen minutes, do you still want to continue the session?

Su: Ali…

Ali: Go away Su, just leave me alone.

Su: Alright. But Pa wanted me to tell you this. It’s ok if you don’t love us, but please, love yourself, ok? Don’t give up.

Shackled 11

“Siti? Siti, Wake up! You’ve got to get up, don’t forget it’s your last PSLE paper today!”

Siti lifted herself out of her sea of sheets and stretched her arms toward the sunlight streaming into her room. She yawned and a gentle upward tug of her lips formed as she recognized her Dad. Her bedroom was simple and neat. Th ere was a desk and some books, a pair of soccer boots next to a ball, and a small cupboard covered in stickers.

“Get ready soon ok Siti? Your mum and I are going to send you to school.”

Ali loaded his daughter’s bag into the back of the lorry and helped her into her seat before smiling at his wife. He started the engine. When he arrived he took Siti’s hand and walked her into the school building before embracing her and waving goodbye, like he has done for the past six years. As she ran off toward her examination hall, Ali walked back toward his lorry. He walked back, feeling lighter than ever. Ali started the engine once more and started driving toward the Police Academy.

“Did you take the day off today Ali? Is your boss okay with it?” His wife touched his elbow lightly.

“Of course! I can’t miss my son’s graduation can I?” Ali and his wife slipped into the crowd watching as the newest

contingent of commissioned police offi cers received their certifi cations and stood in formation in their navy blue uniforms. Among them was Ali’s son. Ali felt a swell in his chest, that’s my son, he thought. He cried silently, running a hand through his already greying hair, Ali felt lighter than ever.

Ali wrote a letter to his children soon after he left prison.

Dear Children,I am writing this letter to say two things to you that I don’t know how

to say in person, sorry and thank you. I am sorry for the many mistakes I’ve made and temptations I’ve fallen to in the past. As a father, I cannot


know how diff erent your lives may have been if I was not an ex-convict. Perhaps your lives would have been easier. When I was in prison and going through withdrawal syndromes, I felt hopeless. After all, it was my third time already; I thought you had given up on me as well. But I made a decision to change, not just to say that I’m going to change, but to show you that I have already changed.

When your mother passed away, I thought that you all would blame me too . I felt like it was the end of hope for me, all those nights of pain and torture that my own body was infl icting on itself, with no end in sight. Back then, my body felt heavier than ever. My life was like an anchor, dragging me to the bottom of the ocean to drown. But you know, your aunt told me something, that even if I didn’t love the world, or my family, I must start by loving myself. And you helped me love myself, by loving me as your father even when I could not. My main motivation for being released as quickly as possible and getting a job was to be a proper father and a son, so that I could raise this family and support your grandfather.

I still had another fi ve years to do in jail when your aunt came to see me, and I was not optimistic that I would get out. However, they let me out 3 years early because of good behaviour. Frankly, I was more worried after I left jail. I promised myself that I would show my family that I had changed through my actions, but now that I was not in jail, the temptations to go back to drugs and crime were numerous. My old friends who were still involved in illegal activities used to call me up every so often to have “kopi”, but I always refused them. It was worth it you see, but it wasn’t easy. Every day is a conscious choice, to keep within the law and to earn an honest living.

I started working in a factory as an odd job labourer, I worked hard and diligently but people still looked at me as an ex-convict. My boss however, was kinder than most, he gave me the opportunity to start afresh and work hard to sustain myself and my family. Th en I met your mother.Ttogether with her you gave me a new family, and there is no end to the thanks I owe you for supporting me, for giving me love and

Shackled 13

aff ection at the end of every hard day, for making my footsteps lighter on the way home, and for the strength to face suff ering.

I want to thank you for not giving up on me and most of all, for getting me to wake up.

Ali


Counselor's Reflection

I fi rst saw this client at B4 on 17 Aug 2011. Th en, he was serving his 7 year prison term for abusing Subutex. After his release, the initial stages of his recovery were challenging. My client needed to earn the trust from his family and on many occasions, my client’s children and sister would call my client to check on his whereabouts.

Th roughout the past 10 months, the unconditional love and unwavering support provided by his family and employer have greatly motivated my client and sped up my client’s recovery process. It has also helped him to overcome his fear of rejection by his family and by society. Due to my client’s ego, weak willpower and fear of losing his friends, he was not fi rm enough to say “No” to his peers, who were a negative infl uence. During the rehabilitation period, my client gradually learnt to be more self-conscious of his egoistic persona and acquired the skills to prevent it from manipulating his emotions. My client has more responsible and takes ownership of his job, family, as well as to his own recovery. In the past, my client was not involved in upbringing the upbringing of his children. But today, my client spends time with his children and expresses how much he loves them.

In the recovery journey, the greatest challenge which hampered my client’s recovery was the fear of losing his former drug-taking peers, the quest for an identity, and the need for acceptance, which was very important to him during his formative years. I had to improve my client’s self-esteem and educate him to exercise self-acceptance. He has also realized that there is no need to dominate others in order to be accepted. Th e most important factors in my client’s long journey of recovery were the trust from his family and

Shackled 15

the acceptance from his children and employer. While working with my client during his rehabilitation period,

I have acquired some insights. Self acceptance is fundamental to building yourself into who you want to become. Without that, it is like building a house on sand. To members of the public, I would like to urge all to think twice before touching a narcotic and to take proactive steps to stay away from drugs.

Janet Jessany WeeCounsellor, SANA

Comfort is Feeling at Home, at Home 17

comfort is feeling at home, at home

ACT 1 SCENE 1

A man of Chinese-Singaporean origin enters wearing extremely large black glasses, carrying with him several pieces of paper that make him

appear as though he is in a permanent state of fl ux. He wears his watch on the inside of his palm, and is the kind of person who would dive into spiels once given the opportunity. Th e stage is dark, with a single spotlight cast on the man. Towards the end, he appears to hit a realization and walks away from the spotlight.

Man: What is communism? Prevailing offi cial opinion would have the plebeian believe it is nothing more than a conspiracy cunningly crafted by people left behind by our “success story”. To borrow a phrase from Marx’s lexicon, academia would rather brand communism the opiate of the masses, parading them under a banner of equality. All of them are wrong. To substitute a cursory, speculative answer to this question with one well-grounded in empirical metaphysics, the answer is crystal clear. Th e academic position ought to be reversed.

Drugs are communism. Under the common experience of a ‘high’, people start to believe that their lives are getting better but in essence, they are living under the oppressive thumb, or tongue if you prefer an oral ingestion of the unhealthy vitamin: drugs. Party drugs which induce the constant pivoting of a human being’s head upon its axis, symbolize a constant denial of reality…


SCENE 2

A girl, Eunice, dressed in shabby clothes that are tattered more because of constant wear and tear than a patent lack of eff ort in dressing, runs into the spotlight and turns around, appearing somewhat frantic but with a dulled reaction and a constant sniffl e. Her appearance is a result of a weariness more frequently observed during mid-life crises: she and her friends are trendy, but they go out too much to have time for washing and changing their clothes.

Eunice: Quick, hurry, the police are here! Dump all the stuff !

Marg, Ben and Raj run on stage. Full wash.

Eunice: Th at was a close shave.

Raj: Yea man! Too close for comfort.

Ben: Oh come on, it wasn’t so bad, was it? We ran like dogs in there!

Marg: And that’s a good thing why?

Ben: Well dogs run fast. And some of them can fl y.

Raj: Clearly, the drug’s eff ect hasn’t worn off on you.

Marg: I think we should all go home and sleep. Eunice?

Eunice: Yea. Still have to get up and work tomorrow. Th ese nights don’t come cheap, you know.


Ben: Yea la, yea la, go home. Raj and I are just gonna lie down here for a while. We ain’t sober enough to drive.

Eunice: Or run, or walk. Or crawl.

Marg: Seeya next Friday night!

SCENE 3

Eunice clutches her head sprawled out on a sofa. She releases the occasional groan that provides an intermission for the audience’s eyes, which should be naturally drawn to the set. Th e set is reminiscent of 1990s Singapore, with vintage fl oral prints fi lling the sheets and providing a rugged texture to the furniture. A middle aged man, who is instantly recognizable as Eunice’s father, sits on a cracked seat of a leather armchair, eyes closed in an ostensibly blissful rest, but the way his fi ngers twitch on the armrest suggest that some deeper confl ict between the man and his surroundings is brewing though it is not to surface immediately. Any movement he initiates is clearly calculated, but his reactions are volatile as a reminder of his career as an engineer who oversaw numerous mishaps on the ground.

Father: Girl, (inhales and exhales slowly, as if in preparation for the subsequent rise in volume) why you come back so late?

Eunice: Pa I’m very tired, just keep it down okay?

Father: No! Th is is not the fi rst time you know?

Eunice: Th en why is it so surprising-

Father: SHUT UP. I talk to you, you listen. Where have you been?

Eunice: Outside.


Father: Yeah your mother is also outside, outside in the living room. She’s sleeping. At a sane, normal time. You’re not. Where the hell were you?

Eunice: (speaking in a tone meant to indicate sarcasm, but the audience knows better – hint of irony. Th e words are spat out rather than properly enunciated) Sleeping around! Taking pot until I become a stupid pothead! Stupid, stupid pothead!

Father: Don’t be ridiculous. I know you went drinking again. Do you know what alcohol would do to your liver?

Eunice: Do you know what sunlight does to your skin?

Father: What has that got to do with anything?

Eunice: You always spend so much time outside, under the hot sun, day in day out, confi rm get skin cancer right? (reaching out)

Father: (grips her wrist) Why you suddenly tell me this crap? You think your old man stupid, don’t know anything, is it? Still changing the subject. (pulls her hand from where he stopped her, and places it on his forehead) See? No fever. No problem. Healthy as ever. Don’t think you can pull any fl eece over me.

Eunice: (pulls hand away and laughs) Why would I lie to you? When have I ever done so?

Father: You don’t remember?

Fade out.


ACT 2 SCENE 1

Same character from scene 1 of the previous act. He appears somewhat more composed. He is cutting a tomato in a staccato rhythm that is in sync with his speech.

Man: When the common man suff ers from amnesia, there are two main branches of causation. Th e fi rst is physical, while the second is psychological. With regard to the former, it is usually the result of trauma on the scalp. Th e latter poses a much larger farrago of confl icting reasons, but experts on the fi eld commonly attribute it to the infl uence of mind-altering substances. Th at includes banned and legal narcotics. Th e concomitant loss of memory then initiates a slippery slope of consequences, including but not restricted to disconnection with one’s loved ones.

SCENE 2

Eunice looks more haggard than she has in previous scenes. Her hair is uncombed, and has not been cared for for a long time. She sits alone on the stage in a full wash, with nothing around her but one table. Th roughout the scene she interacts with the table in a manner that would indicate her withdrawal from the outside world. On the table’s surface is a bottle of alcohol and an open packet of pills, some of which are scattered on the table. A feeling of distance between the cast and the audience must be nearly tangible.

Eunice: Work lately has been really … what’s the word. Tiring. Exhausting. Fatigue inducing. … Burn out? Th ere’s nowhere to turn. People don’t understand, no, they really don’t. Do you want to know what happened to Marg? Do you?


Enter Marg. Th e prevailing mood is austere. She sits atop the table, but Eunice does not explicitly acknowledge her presence, nor does she give any signals as to ignoring Marg’s presence.

Eunice: Th ey say Marg committed suicide –

Marg: I did!

Eunice: She was under all the stress, her colleagues said

Marg: I was!

At this point, a marked shift in the atmosphere begins. Eunice’s speech becomes quicker as she tries to make a point, but is suddenly aware of a certain time constraint.

Eunice: So she tried to get pills to save her life. And it would have worked -

Marg: it wouldn’t!

Eunice: If it weren’t for the police. Th ey caught her - Marg: Red handed.

Eunice: And that was the end of Marg.

Marg: I would have reached it even if they hadn’t come for me, dear Eunice.

Eunice: (suddenly cognizant of another subtle presence, presumably Marg) No, no. Nothing will happen to me. (giggle) Nothing at all. I am safe. I am under the wing of something greater than me.


It will take me fl ying. “Harlots and hunted have pleasures of their own to give, the vulgar herd can never understand.” Ha ha! I’m sure my literature teacher understood this well. He was always... (hic) (giggle) a little strange, sometimes. I mean, don’t you feel it too?

She breaks the 4th wall. Th e question at the end of the previous monologue should be a rhetorical one that provokes further exposition by Eunice. Th roughout the speech, she is to consume several pills and down it with what appears to the audience as alcohol.

Eunice: When you sit in your offi ce on the fourth fl oor, do you see hope? No. You do not see it, have it, or feel it. You are more than 400 storeys from salvation. You are all alone. When you go to the hawker center, do you drink holy water? No. You buy watered down ice lemon tea, and pay two dollars for that rubbish. When you want to upsize, you go to McDonalds, but they never upsize your bun. Th en you realize. Here in the city, you are not alone. You are not special, not an especially repulsive leper, not a queer politician people either admire or hate. Everyone does what you do, together with you, in the same place and at the same pace. You are the same as everyone else. You are irrevocably irreplaceably irritably here.

(air-quotes) “You’re on Earth. Th ere’s no cure for that”… I think someone very smart said that. But he is wrong . Th ere IS a cure. (she pulls out a semi-opaque bottle and looks into it the way a little child is fascinated by a fi shbowl) Th ere is a cure for everything. Such is the wonder of modern… medicine. Th is medicine is

(the delivery at this point must sound like a political rally.)


… color-blind. It will heal you. You can be rich, poor, Malay or Chinese or Indian or Eurasian, it will heal you as long as you take it. What was it that other minister said?

(imitates disparagingly) “Drug abuse aff ects not only the addicts, but also their families and loved ones. Th e human cost to individuals and society is very high.” (steps on table, teeters on the edge) You know what else is very high? Our HDB. Got condemn or not? Don’t have, even if people jump from the top storey. So if we get high on drugs, what’s the problem? Th ere’s none, it might even SAVE us from leaping down from our godless towers. (she falls, unguarded, and hits the fl oor resonantly.)

SCENE 3

A policeman has explained to Eunice’s parents the situation surrounding her arrest, and walks off stage with a wave after a brief appearance. Th e phone rings.

Mum: Hello? Yes, May, Eunice is under a lot of stress. Huh? Arrested? Where got la! Where you getting your stories?

Father cuts off the line after noticing that Mum is talking to his sister, who is known to be a malicious spreader of gossip.

Father: Stop talking to all of these bagua1 people! Th ey only talk and talk, tongue shake so much but brain never touch!

Mum: Don’t be mean to your sister, she only means well!

1 Bagua: meaning nosey parker in the vernacular


Father: Mean well my foot! Last time, when I studied in England, all she did every time was to ask me to buy jacket for her, say there very cheap. I ask you, Singapore need winter coat or not?

Mum: Aiya, she just knows that England very cold what, so jackets there cheaper la! Eunice also studied there, you know that what. You even went to visit her the other time! How was it?

Father: It was very cold.

Mum: Did she treat you well?

Father: It was… very, very cold. Every day.

Mum: You mean she didn’t?

Father: She did! It’s just that whenever she’s home she’s always rushing here and there, collecting books to study legal cases, collecting milk for her neighbour, she even helped the entire block to collect their mail when the snow kept them indoors!

Mum: What a busy girl…

Father: Busy? No! She just wanted to be the fi rst to do everything. She wanted to be the fi rst at everything. When she feels stressed she will bite her nails and drink everything in the house just so she can go on and fi nish her work! She no longer had time for me, or anyone in this family!

Mum: Oh… I’m sorry.


Father: It’s okay. Th at is… in the past. We need to be supportive of her now.

Fade out.

ACT 3 SCENE 1

Academic walks back out on stage. He is holding a crucifi x in one hand and observing it by holding a magnifying glass in the other.

Man: Hope and faith are the anchors of humanity in its bawling infancy. Th at is to say that it is strongest when people are fi rst exposed to such a thought, and alternative experiences have been found wanting. If an individual experiences a late conversion to religion, it is usually the result of a traumatic experience, or a deep sense of isolation due to the loss of positive human contact.

In such cases, the human in question will be reconnected with

the metaphysical fabric that binds society together. Other caveats are also required to complete the healing process, including a renewal of familial ties.

SCENE 2

Eunice is talking to a person sitting behind the desk, ostensibly in an interview setting.

Eunice: Yes, yes. I was brought up an ambitious person. I never wanted anything but have be the best for myself by being the best of myself. I lost my way, several times, and each time I was led back by my family, and by my ideals. My father always taught me, ‘you can cheat other people, but you can’t cheat yourself ’, and


every time, I try my best to be honest and truthful. Sometimes it gets very diffi cult.

But one day, I found God. Th ere are people who say that He is a lie, an evil fabrication, but to me, He is my shepherd – He led me back to Pa, to Ma, to things that I once held dear. And I will be held dear, dearly.

No longer fatherless. No longer rootless.

I am home.

Fade out.



I fi rst met my recovering client last year, when she was serving time for her drug off ence. I was impressed by her commitment to embark on a positive recovery journey and her determination to achieve the goals which she set for herself during her fi rst in-care session. Th e unwavering support from her family and best friends greatly motivated her to overcome her drug addiction. It also reinforced the client’s eff orts in overcoming her initial fears of whether she would be able to reintegrate into the society.

When she was addicted to drugs, my client was known to be an uncontrollable emotional wreck by her family and friends. My client is now a person who is aware of her emotions and feelings, and she is now able to appreciate her family and friends. She also believes in spending more time with her loved ones and communicates well with them. My client also turned to Christianity, and her faith was also one of the positive factors during her rehabilitation, as it gave her the hope and will to live positively.

However, there may be signifi cant challenges which could hamper her recovery – the triggers and temptations which the client needs to know, struggle with, and overcome. Initially, my client contemplated leaving her previous industry after her release, as she feared being stigmatized by her fellow colleagues. I worked with her on how to overcome the fears during her incarceration and also guided her in handling the negative scenarios. Th e client concluded that although she is unable to change others’ thinking in a short time, she could however, make positive personal changes and consequently correct their negative perceptions of recovering addicts. Currently, she has resumed her career in her previous workplace.


During the process of working with this client, I have gained several insights from her diffi cult struggle to overcome her drug addiction. It is important that the community should not mistakenly believe that drug addiction is a problem that only affl icts poorer people, lower-educated individuals or under-achievers. Time and again I am reminded that it could happen to anyone who lacks encouragement and positive support in their life. For my client, the love from her family, the positive support and encouragement from her friends, employer and co-workers are her main stabilizing anchors and motivating factors in her drug addiction recovery.

To those who are sitting at the edge of drug addiction or are currently addicted to drugs, I urge you to seek professional help immediately. Th ink about the very harmful consequences of what drug addiction can do to you mentally, medically and physically and also the harm and sadness you could wreak onto your family, as well as those who care and love you.

Lin QingfeiCounsellor, SANA

A Father’s Love 33

a father's love

My arm throbbed. I lay stretched out on my bed, dozing in a stupor induced in equal measure by the numbness that pervaded my

body and the oppressive Singaporean heat. I reached up, brought the glue to my face and took a deep breath. Th e eff ects of every sniff had been diminishing for some time, leaving me consigned to a lack of sensation. Th e door opened. My father stood in the doorway, but I turned over and pretended not to notice him. A long pause later, there was a click as it latched itself shut.

Hours later, as the sky began to turn the same shade as my arm, I heard voices at our front door, then footsteps. Th en, my father’s voice:

“Madeline! Come here!” I rolled over again.“Madeline! Please.”Th at got me. It was unlike my father to say that word when asking

me to do anything. Muttering under my breath, I stashed the glue in a drawer and headed into the main room.

“Pa, what you wan-”I halted midsentence and midstride. Standing in the corridor outside

our fl at were two uniformed men. Despite the drug-induced haze I’d imposed upon myself, I understood what was happening in seconds. Even so, it was only after my father began, “Madeline, I can’t let you take drugs anymore. It’s not-” that the full ramifi cations of the situation sunk in.

I can’t really recall what happened immediately afterwards. Th e sight of those police offi cers, the fact of my father’s betrayal, the question of what would happen to my son and, perhaps most signifi cantly, the rise


of the fears of what would happen to me all left me in too shocked a state to react rationally. I remember screaming then, eventually, packing my things and changing my clothes before leaving with the two offi cers under the stares of neighbours who were curious to know what was going on but too afraid to ask. Most of all, I remember my father’s face as he watched me leave, weighed down by my 5-year-old son in his arms but also by his fear of the future.

I think both my father and I should have been more afraid of the past. Back in primary school, I returned home late at night in the hopes of avoiding my parents’ arguments, which consisted primarily of them screaming at each other.

One day, I returned home to fi nd that my mother wasn’t there. I was used to this, since my mother had a habit of staying with a friend after particularly bad fi ghts; even so, I had to check with my father.

“Pa? Pa, where’s Ma?” He told me he didn’t know.“When will she be coming back?” He said he didn’t know. I tried a

last question.“Did she go stay with her friend-”“Th is is adults’ business! Just go to your room and do your work! Go!”

I knew, even then, what my father was like when he was angry. I obeyed, expecting that I would see my mother within a few days. Th e next time I did, however, was in court.

A few months and various court proceedings later, my father told me that my mother would never live with us again. I was too young to really understand the concept of divorce, but I did understand that this left me with only my father, who was often out working or drinking.

Once, I returned late to fi nd that he hadn’t yet returned, leaving me locked out of the fl at. I waited outside for hours, until a neighbour asked “Where’s your father?” I told him I didn’t know.

“Well, will he be back soon? It’s already past ten.” I said I didn’t know that, either.

“Do you have any where to go? If not, you could stay in our fl at instead. Tonight only, okay?” Her expression was one caught between


concern and trepidation. After a moment of hesitation, I agreed, and thanked her.

I woke up the next morning with my eyes red from crying. Some time during the night, I wasn’t sure when, I’d realised that my father had, for the fi rst time, left me alone. I didn’t go to school that day, and when he returned later in the morning, he thanked the neighbour profusely and apologized. He got me a fl at key after that, but that didn’t matter- he’d fi nally displayed just how little he cared for me.

Th e fact that I now had a key, and could get into the fl at regardless of his presence, led my father to spend even more time out of the house. He refused to say where he went, and I knew better than to spend much time questioning him. Th e result of this, however, was that I started staying over at the house of a friend about once a fortnight, even well into secondary school.

In secondary one, I confi ded in one of my friends, a guy I’d met in primary school. I told him about my parents, my uncertainty and my belief that my father didn’t care about me. He told me that he had a solution.

“Eh don’t worry about that lah, I know how you can feel better.”“How?”“I met some guys at Northpoint, they can give you something for it.

You wanna go on Saturday?”“Uh…” I was unsure if I should, but he continued, “Don’t worry lah,

I’ve done it before also, no trouble. You scared is it?”Eventually, I agreed. After all, we would be meeting in a fairly public

area, Northpoint Mall, and if my friend had done it, it couldn’t be that bad, could it? After the fi rst meeting we had, I was certainly happy that I’d agreed to go. My friend took me to meet his friends in a stairwell in the mall. Th ere were about 6 or 7 of them, and they all looked to be a couple of years older than us. I couldn’t help but notice that several sported tattoos and were smoking cigarettes. One of them stepped forward and introduced himself, “I’m Kai Xiang. Jason said you wanted to try some glue. Your name?”


I couldn’t hide my nervousness, “Mad-Madeline.” He nodded, and passed me a bag of glue. “Your fi rst time sniffi ng is it?” He grinned when I told him that it was, and the rest of the group leaned forward, interested. “Go on,” he smiled. “It’s always interesting to see how people react.”

I didn’t know what to do, so I nodded, smiled nervously, and took a deep drought of the fumes rising from the glue. For a moment, all I noticed was the sickly, cloying smell of the glue. I was disappointed. “Surely, this can’t be all this is about…” My thoughts were interrupted by a tingling sensation that began in my throat, then a rush that hit me like a train. As my eyes popped and nostrils fl ared, I barely noticed the rest of the group laughing. I took another sniff , and then another; before I knew it, it was evening, and I left, though not before agreeing to meet them the following week. My father hadn’t even noticed that I’d been gone.

For the next few weeks, I would spend the time in school looking forward to meeting the group at Northpoint, and had difficulty concentrating in lessons. I started bringing glue home to sniff throughout the week. Eventually, in secondary two, my teachers decided they’d had enough.

I stood, sullen, with my hands behind my back. My father was sitting on my left, looking anxious. In front of me, the principal steepled her hands and looked at me across the top of her desk. She opened her mouth, “Madeline, what have you been doing in class?” I shrugged.

“I’ve spoken to you before, and I’ve told you that you can’t keep missing lessons like this. You’re failing all your subjects! At this rate, you won’t be promoted to secondary 3.” I muttered something under my breath, but she caught it.

“What did you say?”“Nothing.” “It’s okay, Madeline, you can tell me. Come on.” She gave me what

she clearly thought was an understanding look, although both the me of back then and the me of now didn’t believe it one bit. I decided to tell her anyway.

“I don’t really care if I’m promoted, ma’am. I want to quit school.”


Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Her surprise was so comical that I would have laughed, if I weren’t still reeling from the courage of my own declaration. Her head jerked, and she looked over at my father, sitting on a chair next to me. “Have you discussed this with her, Mr Lim?” she asked. My father nodded, and they began a conversation. I caught snatches where they discussed career prospects and the like, but I was, for the most part, too preoccupied with thoughts of freedom to notice. No longer would I have to waste time in school, and no longer would I have to answer pointless questions about where I’d been. Given the fact that my father was only ever at home at night, I could do whatever I wanted during the day. Th e principal wasn’t happy with it, and we had to talk to some MOE offi cials, but within a week, I was offi cially no longer a student in the education system.

Over the next couple of years, my life devolved into a daily routine of glue sniffi ng punctuated by meals, as I tried to reach the next high. I spent most of the time out with my circle of friends from Northpoint Mall. To fund our addiction, we served as runners for loan sharks and bookies- occasionally, we would even resort to shoplifting. Once, when I was sixteen, I was stopped as I wandered through the mall after a day of glue sniffi ng.

“Madeline? Is that you? Hi! What’ve you been doing?” I stared confusedly at a girl of about my age, whom I didn’t really recognize. “Sorry, I don’t think I know you…” I mumbled, as I attempted to brush past the girl. “Don’t know me?” she cried, looking surprised. “Madeline! It’s you, isn’t it? I’m Patricia! You used to stay over at my house, remember?”

Patricia… the name was familiar, although my mind was far too fuzzy to recall who she was. Her voice cut through my aching brain again, “We were in the same class from P4 to P6! Surely, you haven’t forgotten me?” I paused, unsure of how I should respond. Finally, I pretended to recognize her, and said hello, but quickly made an excuse about having to meet someone and left.

By the time I got home that night, I was unsure if I’d really run into


someone from primary school, or if I had just dreamt the whole episode. My mind was still clouded by the eff ects of glue sniffi ng, and left me unable to even recall what the girl looked like. I dug through my things from primary school and pulled out my primary six yearbook.

“Let’s see… What class was I in? 6, uh, 6… 6J, right?” I muttered to myself, as I fl ipped through the pages. However, I scanned the class picture for 6J, and found no mention of my name nor my face. An old textbook informed me that I had been in 6H, but when I fl ipped to the picture, I stopped.

“Th is is me, but… who’s this? I don’t recognize him... or him, or her. Th at’s… Th at’s the girl from just now, right? Patricia?” Th e only person I could defi nitely recall was Jason, whom I’d been seeing regularly over the past few years. Th e rest, however, were unfamiliar. Th e realization that I could no longer recognize people from my past, whom I had known well, and that my grip on reality was loosening, was one of the things that persuaded me to stop sniffi ng glue later that year. Th e other was that I found out I was pregnant.

Finding out that I was pregnant was one of the most shocking events of my life. My relationship with one of the others in our group had grown intimate, and I was aware of the statistical risks, but I had never actually thought that I would become pregnant. I stopped sniffi ng glue immediately, since I knew it would be bad for the child. After the father refused to accept responsibility, I no longer hung out with the friends I had met at Northpoint, nor did I respond to their attempts to contact me. In fact, I succeeded in going off glue for an entire year. My father was supportive of my decision to keep the child, and helped me look after him. For a while, it seemed that I had stopped for good, although I would occasionally think about glue sniffi ng. I even managed to get a job in a pub – ultimately, however, that job led me back to sniffi ng glue.

I was working a late night, as usual, and nearing the end of my shift. I was tired, and the baby had been keeping me from sleeping at home. I headed over to the latest group to arrive. One of them looked up. “Five tigers, one- Madeline, that you?” With a shock of recognition, I realised


that I was looking straight at Jason. He asked, “You want to join us when your shift is over?” I did. I talked with them about what had happened over the past year, and told them that I’d stopped sniffi ng glue because I was pregnant.

I met up with them a few times over the next few weeks. Initially, I was reluctant to join them in their glue sniffi ng, but my resolve weakened in the face of their cajoling. And just like that, I started sniffi ng glue again.

Eventually, my father thought it was too much, and called the police. I had a lot of time to think in rehab, and I realised many things.

I entered the centre still shocked that my father would betray me like that. After all, my father had no right at all to send me here, no right, and my anger only intensifi ed when I was led to a cell-like room that, I was told, would be my home for the next 5 months.

I myself had no withdrawal symptoms from stopping, which was unsurprising given that I’d stopped before, although others in the centre weren’t so lucky. On the fourth day, I was sitting in my room before bed when there was a commotion in the hallway. I rushed to see what was going on. A fellow addict was lying on a gurney and being wheeled to the medical area. I realised that all along the hallway, faces had appeared in doors as everyone tried to see what was going on. Nobody, however, had the courage to ask. An orderly later told me that the man had suff ered severe withdrawal symptoms, and had been sent to hospital. When I asked why, the orderly gave a short, humourless laugh. “Th e more addicted someone is, the worse their withdrawal symptoms. He must have been on serious drugs for a while now,” she explained, “and I guess you’re lucky if you haven’t had any.” I probably was lucky that I didn’t suff er from withdrawal symptoms, although I think I was more lucky to have only been a glue sniff er and not a user of heroin or other ‘hard’ drugs.

Over time, my anger at my father turned to concern. I talked about him to my counselor, a woman named Cynthia. “Are you angry?” she asked. “No, not really,” I replied. She cocked an eyebrow, “Th at’s good. Why not?”


I was taken aback by the question. I hesitated, then continued, “Because I’m worried about him. He has cancer, and he’s undergoing chemotherapy now, and without me to look after him or my son, I really don’t know what’s going to happen.” I stopped, and was surprised to fi nd tears running down my cheeks. I talked about my entire life with Cynthia, beginning from my parents’ divorce to my fi rst time sniffi ng glue to my pregnancy and then to how I’d ended up in rehab. At that point, I began to realise that glue sniffi ng had never really been a means to solve my problems, and I carried that knowledge into the fi rst visit I had.

A few weeks after I entered rehab, my father made an appointment to visit me. I was ushered into the visiting room, where I sat, waiting, not entirely sure how I would react when I saw him. After an eternity, the door opened, and my father stood in the doorway holding my son’s hands. He moved into the room and sat down opposite me. For a moment, neither of us said anything. Th en, he broke the silence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do it.”I had known, from long before the visit, that he would say something

like that. Somehow, I still hadn’t decided how I was going to respond. In that moment, I didn’t; my mouth worked furiously, with no sound, and then I said the fi rst thing that came to mind, “How’s your treatment, pa?” I hated myself for doing it, for not dealing with the issue at hand, but he seemed to know that I was struggling to deal with the subject. He said, “It’s going fi ne. Madeline, I wanted to ask, how’re you- how- how are you doing?” He was choking back sobs, and tears were running down his face in tiny rivulets. Before I knew it, we were both embracing each other and crying. I doubt my son understood what was happening, but he stayed quiet and hugged me around the waist, too.

Afterwards, we talked about my son’s daycare, my father’s treatment, and the rehab centre; we avoided the subject of how I’d landed there in the fi rst place. We both knew that it didn’t need to be discussed. When visiting hours were up, my father took his grandson and walked him out of the room. Just as they reached the door, my son turned to look at me. “Be good,” I said. He asked, “Why aren’t you coming home with us?” I


almost started crying again, but held myself together and told him that I couldn’t. As my father carried him away, I could hear him beginning to cry, in the loud, bawling fashion that young children have. Th is time, I couldn’t control my tears.

By the time I left the centre, 6 months later, I had changed substantially. I had cropped my hair short, and had lost a lot of weight; when I fi rst left, neither my son nor my father was able to immediately recognize me. Past the physical changes, however, I had also resolved not to take drugs or sniff glue again in the future. I’d realised that the addiction would keep me from my children and family. Another factor that has subsequently come into the picture is my husband, whom I met in the rehabilitation centre. He told me that his mother had passed away while he was in rehab- with my father suff ering from cancer and undergoing chemotherapy treatment, I would never forgive myself if I were committed to another stint in rehabilitation and he passed away while I was in the centre.

Yesterday, I returned home from work as an administrative staff er in a bank. It’s a job Cynthia helped me get, along with funds for part-time schooling at ITE (Bishan). As I entered through the door of the fl at, my oldest child, now almost 8, hugged me around the waist and yelled excitedly about his school day. My father told me how my three children had been that day, as he now looks after them and cooks their meals when my husband and I are working. I suspect he might be trying to make up for his neglect when I was young, although I don’t think he needs to. Whatever the case, it ensures that my children always have someone around to guide them, so that they avoid taking the same route that both I and my husband did.

I am taking my ‘N’ Levels this year. More than being a part-time student, though, I am also a working adult, a wife, a daughter and a mother of three. It is all these things that prevent me from returning to drug abuse.



Madeline had to face many challenges after she was released from the Changi Women’s Prison (CWP) in 2009. Some of these encompassed her son who, at only 4 years old, experienced major separation anxiety from his mother whilst she was imprisoned. Other hurdles came in the form of her unborn baby, the diffi culty of settling outstanding arrears for her 5-room fl at, dealing with her divorce matters, tending to her invalid father and having to support her boyfriend who had pending court charges.

Despite the many challenges faced, Madeline had a quiet resilience about her that drove her to conquer one challenge after another. For 6 months after she was released, Madeline also had the support of her Aftercare Case Manager (ACM) from SANA’s Case Management Framework (CMF) programme, to ease her transition into life beyond prison walls.

Madeline was a girl who had very low self-confi dence and even had mild depression when she was imprisoned. She was not able to make decisions on her own without getting affi rmation from her ACM. She had to be accompanied every step of the way and was easily stressed. During the 6 months of CMF, Madeline started to show gradual improvements. Th is was made possible by the support and encouragement shown by her ACM. She also became more confi dent in making decisions of her own, especially after her decision to study part-time paid off well for her. Th is was a signifi cant morale booster in her recovery! Madeline scored well in her fi rst year of part-time studies in Secondary 2 and immediately after that, went on to excel in a combination of Secondary 3 and 4 subjects in the very next year. She is now currently completing her ‘N’ level examinations.


Madeline has also gone on to settle her divorce matters with a newfound sense of resourcefulness and independence. Moreover, her son no longer exhibits signs of separation anxiety as a result of the relentless eff ort she puts in to assure and spend time with him. She has gradually shown herself to be a caring and loving mother to her children. Even in the face of numerous parenting challenges, Madeline stays fi rm but remains aff ectionate toward them. Such tendencies never came naturally or easy to Madeline. For her, life is still fraught with constant challenges; a learning journey which she has accepted and taken in her stride as she marches on.

One of the greatest lessons I have learnt being with Madeline was that she just needs someone to be there for her. Th e physical presence of a mentor helps her to feel secure and assured that this older person supports her in the various decisions. Th e other lesson learnt in this process is to do what the client needs. More often than not, there will always be that temptation for an individual to want to do what he chooses to, simply because it makes that individual feel good, without any thought of the consequences of his actions or his decisions. As a counsellor, it is my job to prevent this from happening

Th is journey with Madeline has showed me there is strength in every client. We just need to help them dig deep and fi nd it within themselves so that they can be empowered to walk life’s path with renewed strength and vigour.

Cynthia ChngManager, SANA

Sing On

“I don’t want you to sing in here. I want to see you singing outside,” was what my superintendent in prison told me.

My name is Michael, an ex-drug off ender, and this is my story.When we are young, we tend to dream a lot. A life without worries,

a blissful family, a good future, a good life – these were the things that I used to dream of, and in a way, I still do… only that I am now aware of how fragile dreams can be. Now. With the benefi t of hindsight, perhaps one can say things have gotten better, but back then, it was just a constant spiral into deeper and darker obscurity… Sometimes, if you gaze into the abyss for too long, the abyss gazes also into you. And thus I begin my story.

I was born to this world in 1966, to a family of seven – there was my father, my mother, my four siblings and I. For 22 years of my life, I lived with these people. I was the second eldest. My parents, to whom I am thankful for bringing me into this world, could be said to be the malady of my childhood. In fact, ‘childhood’ would seem a strange word to ascribe to this period.

Th ere was truly no love in this house. Not even the slightest shred of it. Growing up was chaotic and harsh. My parents had stopped loving each other (at some point) and were constantly fi ghting. Th ey sought every opportunity to unleash fury upon each other in front of us. At fi rst, we didn’t know how to react … my younger brothers would bawl in fear; my elder brother would try to protect my mother from harm … but none of it really amounted to anything. As it were, my siblings and I were no deterrent in stopping Zeus and Typhon from wreaking havoc on earth. Later, we couldn’t be concerned anymore – the same scenes repeated


themselves like a broken record, endlessly, unendingly, mundanely. It was no longer a question of what would happen, but when.

In 1986, my parents separated. Finally apart, they were quick to safeguard themselves. A profound irony was at work before us: both father and mother remarried in the blink of an eye, and before the tears started fl owing, my four siblings and I realised we were left to fend for ourselves on the streets, alone. Homeless. Abandoned children.

And so, destitute and desperate, I needed a quick way to make money in order to survive (we all did) … It was not long before I turned to selling drugs for a living. Everything seems easy and worth a shot when you’re young. Th e immense profi ts from dealing in drugs allowed me to earn my keep and distract myself, for a while. But abandonment and solitude are two things humans cannot endure for too long, even with the wilfulness and vivacity of youth. As a young person who saw happiness in the form of a pill, I did not understand what it was. And when children don’t have parents to teach them not to take the easy way out…

My fi rst shot was an experience that was out of this world. In our lexicon, it was “shiok”, but the sensation was beyond that which I could describe in plain words. Inexplicability and happiness seemed synonymous to me then. It was as though the drug delivered happiness on a silver platter; the feeling of soaring through the clouds, free of worry, beaming with vigour. Whenever I took drugs, I felt bliss and was better able to concentrate on everything else. Th e drugs, at least for the moment, made you a better person, a happier person: it gave you a peace of mind. I started with “soft” drugs like cannabis, and moved on to “harder” drugs like heroin.

Any pleasure derived from drugs is short-lived. Th e drugs soon devolve from being a means of indulgence into a prescription for retaining normalcy in life. Without drugs, you become weak. Your bones feel uneasy, and you start aching, yawning and having a runny nose. Your sweat begins to stink. Th e agitation in your bones becomes so serious that when others hit you, you actually feel relief. I had no choice but to continue taking drugs to escape the withdrawal symptoms. At this

Sing On 51

point, I was clearly in no state to work and to sustain my drug use, I had to shoplift and continue selling drugs. One dose of drugs provided 8 hours of relief and normality. I became sane, with long periods of horrible insanity.

In 1991, I was arrested and sent for rehabilitation in a drug abuse ward for 7 days. After my release, for the fi rst time in 5 years, I tried to seek refuge with my family members. I approached my birth father, hoping he would understand my situation. People say that time changes things, but sometimes it doesn’t change things for the better… Disappointed, forlorn, and alone again, I relied on my friends for survival. Th e spiral of drug abuse ensued. Th at September, I was arrested again and this time sentenced to a three-and-a-half month jail term. After my release, I would return to drug abuse, and be arrested for it in 1992, and in 1993, and…

For the longest time, this cycle of rejection, drug abuse, and confi nement seemed to be the only life I knew how to lead.

People sometimes fi nd it diffi cult to trust drug off enders. I don’t blame them, but I don’t think it’s the right thing to do. Th roughout the time I was in and out of prison, I was framed for drug abuse on several occasions and never once did I feel my integrity unquestioned. In 1992, upon release, I managed to fi nd a safe haven in the form of a Muslim halfway house. I stayed at the home together with one of my brothers, who was also a drug off ender. I was euphoric – I thought I had fi nally found a home.

By now, you would have realised that good things (if you can call them that) never last for me. I had to leave the home under false accusations of drug abuse, which brought trouble to my caretakers. Th e past is never where you left it – people forget everyday; but not the past, it lives on only to return when we wholly believe we have conquered it, when we are most vulnerable.

It would be wrong to say that I never wanted to change. In prison, almost everyone wants to change. Th e rehabilitation process was excruciating. Like a rollercoaster ride: you start slow, and it picks up speed, becomes much scarier, and your heart starts to thump even faster.


By the time you get off , you’re too wobbly in your knees to think of anything else. Th e same could be said for the withdrawal symptoms – they were so severe that, during the process, for any sane moment spared, you only felt immense regret and guilt. You start thinking about your life and your family. You make promises to yourself to quit drugs after your release. But we all know how hard it is to keep a promise.

After my fi fth release in 2000, I decided I would change. Life was too short for a middle-aged man with nothing to himself. I came to realise that I never really did have anywhere to go – from a broken family, to uncaring parents, to trying to belong with so-called “friends”. As long as I continued to rely on drugs, I would never really have anywhere that I could truly say I belonged to.

During my time in prison, the superintendent commented that I had a really good voice, and he said this to me: “I don’t want you to sing in here. I want to hear you singing outside”. His words gripped my needy soul with stirring force. I recognized a hidden passion and was encouraged to pursue a career in singing. Life has been nothing short of a miracle since. I joined a Malay-language singing competition, was crowned overall champion of the competition, became famous, and discovered more opportunities to explore my passion for singing. Becoming a public fi gure had a huge impact on me – it kept me away from drugs. I now have a duty to make a good impression on others, and to monitor my own behaviour. Perhaps this was what I lacked – recognition and encouragement.

Words of encouragement come from the people around you when they start to see that you want to change. My wife has always been supportive and caring to me, and even after revealing my drug history to the public, I have not been unfairly judged. Rather, when I appear on radio talk shows or when I make public appearances, people applaud me for having the courage to admit my mistakes and wanting to change for the better. Th is is something that I really appreciate and a strong motivation for me. For the fi rst time, I felt that I was no longer a dependent – I had become an adult that people could look up to and rely on.

My successful musical career has given me a more positive attitude

Sing On 53

towards life. I realized that life should be about pursuing your passion, doing what you love with energy and not a constant struggle to escape reality. We need the discipline to accept responsibility to take charge of our lives in order to change it. In helping me understand this, the Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association has proved instrumental in facilitating my recovery process. I would not have come so far without the encouragement of my counsellor. To them, I am infi nitely grateful.

However, to others, I have not changed. My family remains a broken part of my life. Just like a broken mirror, it is very diffi cult to piece it together again. My older brother has been harsh to me despite my determination to change. He once told my wife, “don’t marry this fellow, he will have no future.” Till this day I am thankful to my wife for placing her faith in me. Many of my family members are also frustrated with me and believe that I have not changed. I am still on bad terms with my parents and they have never visited me after my rehabilitation. I am less of a son and more of a stranger to them.

Every day, I work hard to prove that I am a changed person to those around me. Sometimes, I question what would have happened if my parents had given me a chance to start afresh when I was young. Ever since they discovered that I was taking drugs, they have never corrected me, never listened to me, and never encouraged me. A child without parents is like a sponge in a sea of temptations, absorbing everything without knowing what to feel. Sometimes, I wonder, had my parents been more supportive and loving to me when I was a child, could my life have turned out diff erently?

A home and somewhere to belong to is the most vital infl uence for those who want to overcome their addiction, and I am grateful to all the people in my life who have helped me become the star I am today. Trust and hope are concepts that lie at the core of being human, and it takes a long time for people to possess them for another. I do not hide my past from anyone who asks, because I believe you should always treat others the way you would like them to treat you, and also because I hope I can serve as a living reminder of the dangers of drug abuse for anyone I meet.



A young boy and his siblings were told by their father to clap as he was impersonating a famous actor’s stunt by hanging a noose around his neck. Th ey clapped excitedly, not realizing that their father was actually getting them to witness his suicide. From that day on, a sense of unworthiness was born in the young boy. “Why I could not save my father?” “Why was I clapping and cheering him to his death?” “Why did my dad do this to us?” Th ese were questions which have haunted him since then. Unable to cope with the memory of seeing his father’s suicide and his sense of unworthiness, he sought refuge in drugs to cope with the trauma.

Since young, a young girl did not know what parental love was, as both her parents were taking turns to serve their prison term for drug addiction. She could only treasure a brief moment with her mother on her fourth birthday. She could not, however, erase the traumatic sight of her mother pawning away her birthday jewellery to purchase drugs and injecting them into her arm. She still struggles to answer the question of why her mother turned to drugs. To cope with the trauma, she, too, turned to drugs.

Traumatic experiences such as the above are likely to have an adverse impact on young children. To cope, many of them may be misled into taking drugs as a way to cope with their distress. Th e sad reality is that this only off ers a temporary escape which could lead them deeper into the abyss of drug addiction.

My work as a counsellor in helping clients, such as those described above, is always challenging. I have to empathize with them and it is not uncommon to come across heartbreaking cases. At the same time I have to be mindful of maintaining the

Sing On 55

professional relationship between counsellor and client. When dealing with such cases, one of the challenges is to help them restore and strengthen their hope in life and trust in their loved ones and society, and the starting point for them to do so is to help them rediscover their self-esteem and confi dence. Th is is always an uphill task.

Th e counselling process becomes more challenging if the basic needs of a client are not met. For instance, he may not have a roof over his head or a basic income to support himself and his family. Th is could cause him to relapse to escape from the diffi culties he is facing. It can be heart-wrenching for me when this happens, but very satisfying when I am able to lead my client to successfully break his addiction.

In the case described in Sing On, my client successfully went through our counselling and rehabilitation programme, before marrying the love of his life. He has even surpassed his expectations in pursuing his passion of singing, and came in fi rst in a nationwide competition.

I have always had this advice for my clients: “As long as you can breathe, there is hope.” To those who are out there fi ghting for a new life, it may be the toughest journey you have ever travelled, but if you make the positive choice to see beyond the present, there are organizations like SANA which believe in making a diff erence in your life, and can help you do so. Be bold and have faith, and go forward to make a positive diff erence in your life.

Ambiga KsCounsellor, SANA

Innocence Lost and Found 57

Innocence Lost and Found

Think back to the time when you were around the age of thirteen, when you were caught in that awkward transition between the blissful

innocence of childhood and the more complex struggles of teenage life. Do you recall the mildly sweet aroma of freshly-mown grass which surrounded you during P.E. classes? How about the potent pangs of anxiety you felt on your fi rst day of secondary school? It’s little wonder that many consider the ages of thirteen to fourteen to be the most carefree period of their lives. For me, however, my memories of these supposedly idyllic years are tainted with aromas and pangs of an entirely diff erent nature. My name is Vijay, and here is my story.

Math lesson that day seemed to last forever.My insuff erably boring teacher just could not stop droning on about

quadratic formulae and factorization, concepts which I would have struggled to grasp even in the best of conditions. Th e oppressive heat of a Tuesday afternoon only seemed to slowly broil my already-confused brain, rendering my concerted eff orts to pay attention completely useless. Glancing to my right, I caught the eye of Adam, one of my best friends, who looked every inch as bored as I was. He beckoned me to lean slightly closer.

He firmly pressed a small rectangular packet into my hands, whispering in a conspiratorial undertone, “I managed to get four of them for you. No need to pay me, my treat.”

It was the latest fad amongst my closely-knit gang of friends. Almost all of them had sampled these sleeping pills, and according to them, it was an amazing experience. Hearing them describing the euphoric


‘highs’ they had reached with the help of these pills did not just pique my interest; it made me feel slightly alienated from my social circle. To me, the mysterious and exclusive nature of taking these pills seemed like an initiation ritual – a unique, bonding experience shared between my friends. After days of incessant pestering, I managed to persuade Adam to get me a couple of the pills from what he called his ‘secret source’.

I fl ashed him a roguish grin. “Th anks bro,” I muttered under my breath, as I swiftly pocketed the packet.

Due to that tiny packet, the rest of the lesson fl ashed by as my friends and I waited for a good time to try the pills. As we had done almost every day after school, we trooped to our usual haunt at a nearby playground. I had often watched silently as a few of my friends got high from eating sleeping pills, or sniffi ng glue. Th is time, however, was diff erent. As my friends casually pressed their own pills against their lips, I was still struggling to remove a single pill from that tiny packet which Adam handed me.

My heart thudded rapidly against the bony cage of my ribs as I gazed warily down at the pill I held in my hand. It certainly didn’t look special in any way – just a little pink plastic capsule which I could get off the shelf of any local pharmacy. I told myself that I could walk away at any moment, reminding myself that I wasn’t being forced into taking the pill. However, the alluring and mysterious ecstasy which the pill promised to bring to me soon overtook my initial fears. Hands trembling, I mustered the resolve to put that very pill on the tip of my tongue. I took a small sip of water. I swallowed.

Initially, my head started throbbing violently, like it was being squeezed tightly. I clutched my head and let out an audible groan. Sensing my discomfort, Adam motioned that I should continue imbibing more pills in order to relieve the pain. It seemed counter-intuitive, but I reasoned to myself that since I had already taken the fi rst step by swallowing one sleeping pill, it was entirely reasonable for me to swallow two or three, in order to reach that elusive ‘high’. Shoving two more pills into my mouth, I gulped them down with a liberal mouthful of water. I instantly felt


the pressure in my cranium melt away, as a soothing, warm sensation spread throughout my entire body. Th is sudden rush made me shiver involuntarily, as my mind temporarily ceased to function normally.

For the fi rst three months of my sleeping pill abuse, I found that I could control my drug-induced ‘highs’ with sheer willpower, especially when I limited my intake of pills. Th is only heightened my sense of personal invincibility and my dependence on drugs. Within a few weeks, I started smoking marijuana so as to amplify the eff ects of my drug-induced rush.

At fi rst, I had little doubt that I could control the pill.

Remember when you were fi fteen, and in the midst of the secondary school academic rat race? At fi fteen, you would probably have experienced the giddy euphoria of adolescent love, and discovered some of the harsher realities of everyday life. My life at the age of fi fteen was anything but typical. It is at this age when my life started spiraling sharply downward into the abyss of self-destruction and despair.

Why was mum being so damn unreasonable? It wasn’t my fault that my Science teacher decided to spring a surprise

Chemistry test on us one whole week before the exams, nor was it my fault that I shouted at her for lecturing me about my grades. It was my life, and I was doing all right. It had been two years since I fi rst started consuming sleeping pills and smoking marijuana, and I felt perfectly fi ne. In fact, I had become such a “pro” at taking these drugs that they no longer gave me the same rush anymore. Eventually, I developed a chronic, piercing headache which could only be soothed by smoking marijuana once a day.

Th is all changed when I started working as a part-time dishwasher at a nearby eatery. I did not earn a lot of money, but it was certainly far more than the meager allowance my mum gave me. Th rough Adam’s contacts, I managed to get my hands on some heroin, which took my drug experience to an entirely new level. In the beginning, my fi rst


injection of heroin gave me such an intense feeling of euphoria I almost blacked out. As the days wore on, it took more and more heroin at shorter and shorter intervals to achieve that exact same feeling. It was like the fl u – as my body slowly developed a tolerance to the drug, it was only natural that I had to take more of it to get the same result.

“Vijay, this is unacceptable, young man! Do you want to be retained?” My mother’s irritatingly shrill voice derailed my train of thought. She rudely strode into my room, clutching my most recent report card in her hand.

What the hell. Who was she to scold me like that? Something deep down within me seemed to crack. “Look mum, I’m doing perfectly FINE. Can you leave me ALONE?” I roared back, snatching my report card from her hands.

“I’m warning you, Vijay, DON’T push me.” Her words were fi rm, with an edge of steel.

Th is was incredibly stupid. I was tired, annoyed, and my headache had returned, throbbing furiously. I had made a personal decision to take drugs and to accept the consequences. My mum was clearly just being painfully overprotective.

“Look, I don’t care if I got an A, B, C or F for all my subjects, ok? I don’t care if I have to be retained, or that my teacher wants to see you. But I DO care that you are nosing around in my life, and THAT is pushing me too far.”

For a moment, there was silence. Th en out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blur. I felt a sharp, painful sting on my cheeks. Th rough my teary eyes, I saw my mother’s lips part again, emitting a wall of sound which crashed all around me in a cacophonous symphony.

I really didn’t give a damn anymore.

Th ere is a certain duality to everything in life. We cannot discern what constitutes goodness if there is no Evil to compare it against. Darkness can only exist because of the absence of light. Our actions carry weight only because there are consequences attached. I had convinced myself that I was ready to


face up to the consequences of my actions, and willingly accept my fate. What I did not realize, however, was that there can be no pleasure without pain.

“I rather see you go to rehab than watch you die before my eyes!” Tears streamed down my mother’s weathered face as two uniformed policemen dragged me away.

So it had come down to this. Th is laughably pathetic attempt at separating me from my drugs would not succeed. I couldn’t possibly be detained for more than three, four months, could I? Would I even have to be locked away for that long? Was there any way at all for me to get my fi x of heroin?

Th ese questions raced through my mind as I was bundled into a police van and handcuff ed to the door from the inside. My hands grew clammy, while perspiration pooled around my neck and armpits. A deep sense of betrayal welled up deep inside me. I would never thought that my own mother, my own fl esh and blood, would be willing to condemn me to a life of misery in a drug rehabilitation centre. Th e very thought made me sick to the stomach.

As the van trundled over the poorly paved roads, every bump and every pothole made the vehicle shudder ominously, shaking me like a ragdoll. It was a fi tting sign; I thought bitterly, that my life was entirely out of my own hands now.

I could only wait.

Tantalus, a prominent fi gure in Greek mythology, was one of the few who managed to successfully escape the horrors of hell. Th e Lord of the Underworld, Hades, caught Tantalus and cast him into the deepest depths of Tartarus, cursing him with the most terrible punishment: to stand in a deep pool of fresh water beneath a fruit tree with low branches for all eternity. Every time Tantalus reached down for water or up for fruit, it would be tantalizingly close but out of his reach. I now understand how Tantalus felt; to experience that agonizing thirst and that endless hunger.


It was so dark. It was the kind of darkness that lurks under your bed, the darkness

which creeps around you in the middle of the night, the kind which does not just surround but permeates the very air you breathe. Th e darkness suff ocated me. As I walked down the grim, endless hallways of the drug rehabilitation centre, I could feel the darkness wrapping around me, threatening to overwhelm me. When I looked deep into the eyes of my fellow addicts, the darkness stared right back at me, boring directly into my soul. Th e entire institution seemed to sap away the person whom you used to be, replacing it with impenetrable nothingness.

Every fi ber in my body strained desperately against this oppression. Time itself played tricks on my mind. At times when I was trapped within the claustrophobic confi nes of my cell, I could literally sense the passing of every millisecond. I could hear the metronomic ticks of the wall clock with stunning clarity. A single minute felt like an hour, an hour felt like an eternity. When I was allowed into the canteen to interact with fellow inmates, or permitted even a miniscule amount of recreation time, the hours seemed to fl ash by with vulgar speed. Before I knew it, I was back in my stone walled tomb, forced to go cold turkey from drugs in chilling isolation.

A biochemist will tell you that the ingestion of heroin provides an addict with a transcendent state of euphoria, which occurs because diacetylmorphine is being metabolized into 6-monoacetylmorphine and morphine in the brain. He will tell you that the drug alters an addict’s neuroplasticity and disrupt the brain’s normal chemical balance, creating a dependence on the substance.

He cannot tell you, however, about the intense torment which grips you when you try to go cold turkey. He cannot tell you about the sleepless nights which seem to drag on forever, while sweat pours from every burning pore in your body, or the tortuous days you have to suff er through while your head threatens to explode. He can never imagine what it is like to have every single joint in your body ache while your legs shake uncontrollably.


He has not been to hell and back.Almost paradoxically to me, the excruciating pain was the only

thing which was able to pierce through the dense veil of darkness which had descended around me. With surprising clarity, I realized that my addiction to drugs was far worse than I had ever imagined, and that something had to be done. Instead of controlling the drugs, they had ended up controlling me. Each time I found myself back within the oppressive confi nes of the drug rehabilitation centre, I resolved to rid myself of the scourge of drugs once and for all.

Each time, I failed.

When we were all young, inquisitive toddlers, we learned to count. Slowly and painstakingly, our preschool teachers made us all stretch out our stubby little fi ngers, and repeat after her. It’s been quite a long time, but I still vaguely remember my own preschool teacher patiently smiling down at me as I struggled to count from one to twenty. Again and again I failed, but she kept persisting until I eventually mastered the skill. Th ese are memories that have suddenly fl oated to the forefront of my consciousness, memories which I clung on to during my fi nal prison sentence. Little did I know, however, that these fond recollections would soon be brought back to life; this time with a sinister twist.

“One.” Th e harsh voice of the prison warden boomed.My face contorted in pain as the stiff prison cane thwacked mercilessly

against the tender fl esh of my buttocks. For a split second, I could feel the thin rod impact against my skin, causing my entire body to go numb. Almost instantaneously afterwards, an intense, white-hot bolt of pain shot through my buttocks, spreading through my trembling body. I bit my lower lip to avoid crying out.

“Two.”Th e second strike was worse than the fi rst. Th e cane struck the exact

same spot on my body, chewing into the red, raw fl esh which was already present. Th e pain was beyond excruciating – like someone had taken a


steaming iron and laid it across my buttocks. I couldn’t control myself anymore. A weak whimper escaped from my mouth as my eyes started to water.

“Th ree.”I was now sobbing uncontrollably, mucus streaming out of my nostrils

as my whole body shook violently. Th e biting cold air in the room seemed to attack the open wound on my buttocks, grating against the broken skin. My head almost exploded from the torment, as the pain reached an unbelievably agonizing crescendo. Th is had to stop. I just could not take it any longer.

“Please…please sir, may the next four strokes be postponed to a later date?” I managed a barely audible, hoarse whisper.

Th rough a haze of pain, I could hear the prison warden conferring with a medical offi cer who was standing nearby.

My heart sank when the prison warden responded. “No, that is not possible. All cane strokes must be fi nished today. Prepare for the fourth stroke.”

I tried to brace myself mentally for the next few strokes, but it was of little protection against the venomous strikes which seared against my buttocks. All I can remember was being groggily forced to my feet after the ordeal, after antiseptic cream was dabbed onto my wound. Every step I took for the next few days made me wince as my coarse prison trousers grazed against my raw fl esh. For nights after the punishment, my harrowing experience came back to haunt me in my sleep, tormenting me even as I lay in a deep slumber.

Yet, I somehow found the will to fi ght on. Within the grim confi nes of prison, I found myself interacting a lot

more with the older inmates, who were drug addicts themselves. Th is time, when I stared into their eyes, shared their joy and empathized with their sorrows, I did not only see darkness. Instead, I saw myself. I had made the same mistakes which they did; I had walked on the same wretched path which they had. Th e only diff erence was that they had been doing it for far longer than me, and they had experienced even


greater hardships in their lives. It was then that I did not just realize that I had gone astray; it was then that I decided to steer my life back on course. It is hard to explain exactly what had changed, but I knew that something was diff erent this time. Even though I was thirty years old, I was still behaving as immaturely as a child, depending on my family to support me.

It is only in the darkness where you see stars.Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, but I was glad that I could not

travel both. And be one traveller, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could.

It was a narrow trail, strewn with rubbish, barely visible beneath the coarse undergrowth which had sprung up all around it. Yet, the trail continued on as far as the eye could see in a straight line, never wavering, never stopping. Th e other was smooth and well-paved, sloping gently downhill. It seemed to beckon invitingly toward me, trying to lure me into placing my feet on its comforting surface. Yet, the trail was almost vulgar in its width, twisting and turning throughout the wood.

Diffi cult though it may be; I am glad to say that I chose the straight and narrow, and that has made all the diff erence.

I wasn’t very good at English Literature while I was still in school, but somehow, one particular poem resonated deeply with me when I read it. It was “Th e Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost, and to this day, I can recite the entire poem by heart. I really can’t appreciate the artistic technicalities of this work, nor can I tell you precisely what kind of poem it is. However, Robert Frost writes about something every one of us can probably relate to – a period of time in our lives when we are torn between two opposing decisions of unbelievable magnitude and are forced to make a choice.

For me, I was confronted with a choice between continuing my sinful life of drug-fuelled hedonism, and a life free of these demonic substances. While my choice may not have been as easy as simply walking down


a picturesque forest road, I am very glad to say that I decided to live a drug-free life and have never looked back. Th e journey from becoming a hard core heroin and marijuana addict to someone completely free from drugs is one which never truly ends. I have cut off all contact with my old “friends”, and have sworn never to mix with the wrong company again. Alcohol and tobacco, which were once part and parcel of my everyday life, have now been replaced by soft drinks and the occasional pack of candy. My belief in Islam has also been a strong pillar of support, providing me the determination to carry on whenever I feel close to temptation. Slowly but surely, my dependence on drugs is being purged from my body.

I cannot thank my family and counsellor enough for their support as well. Th ey have stood by me through thick and thin, rain or shine. I may not have been the perfect son, but my mother loved me all the same. Despite my regular tantrums and drug-fuelled rages, she never gave up on me. My eldest brother, who was once a drug addict himself, provided me invaluable fi rst hand tips on how to combat heroin addiction, and ensured that I didn’t stray from a drug free life. My counsellor from the Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association pointed me in the right direction when I was about to stray, and ensured that I was strict with myself even in times of frustration. Without the loving care and concern showered upon me, I am not sure that I would be telling my story today.

Today, I work as a lorry driver, and have been happily married for over a year. I’m expecting a son soon, and I really hope I’ll be a great friend and father to him. With a little bit of luck and a liberal amount of guidance, I’m sure that he will grow into a successful young man and lead a drug-free life.

Th e future looks bright, indeed.



My client was incarcerated for 5 years for his drug consumption and was released on 2 Apr 2011. My client’s case was handed over to me after the former Aftercare Manager (ACM) resigned. Hence, I fi rst saw my client during an Aftercare session. During the session, my client expressed his view that there was no need to meet an ACM as he doubted what SANA could do for him.

Th e initial stage of his recovery period indeed proved to be challenging. My client needed to adjust and accept the fact that his mother had passed on and that he was alone without any support. Th e second challenge my client had to go through was the constant off er of drugs made by his former friends. However, throughout the past 15 months, my client has received unwavering support and love from his siblings and his colleagues. In addition, he has also received help from various government agencies. Th is has greatly motivated my client, and has been an important force in hastening my client’s recovery process by increasing his determination to turn over a new leaf.

During the rehabilitation period, my client acquired the skills to be more objective and disciplined, making a conscious eff ort to stay away from bad company and being fi rm in rejecting any drug off er. My client has become more disciplined in practicing his religion, more conscientious at work and has been actively taking charge of his own recovery. In the past, my client neither cared for his late mother nor spent time with his family. But today, he spends time with his family and jumps at any available opportunity to work overtime, so that he can supplement his income and provide for his family.

During my client’s recovery, the greatest challenges which


hampered his recovery were drug off ers by former friends, the fear of loneliness and the lack of family support. I had to work on this by exploring alternative means to replace his past negative experiences. Th ere is a constant need to assure him that his family, colleagues and SANA are always behind him in his journey towards recovery.

While working alongside with my client, I have acquired some insights. First, no matter how good a counsellor can be, if a person chooses not to change there is nothing the counsellor can do to help his/her client. Secondly, the success or failure in one’s recovery lies in the hand of the client and not others. Lastly, when we trust in and reassure the client, it reinforces positive behaviour and is an important motivating factor in the client’s recovery journey.

To potential drug abusers and victims of drug abuse, the locus of control is within your reach. One either manages it or loses it.

Janet Jessany WeeCounsellor, SANA

appendix

GLUE SNIFFING

Glue sniffi ng is one of the most common forms of drug abuse. It involves inhaling vapors from a variety of fume-emitting substances, such as glue, paint thinner, gasoline and other varieties of aerosols.

Substances used in glue sniffi ng are common everyday items that are produced and consumed worldwide.

Usually, the process of glue sniffi ng involves soaking a rag or some other absorbent surface with the substance to be inhaled, or to fi ll up plastic and paper bags with the inhalant, followed by heating the substance to induce rapid evaporation for the fumes to be released. Sometimes, the inhalant is directly sprayed on the back of the mouth.

Glue sniffi ng is currently a major problem in Singapore, with the practice being stubbornly diffi cult to eradicate. 60 people were arrested for abusing inhalants such as glue in the fi rst half of 2012, compared to 95 over the same period in 2011.

Th ere are numerous short term eff ects to using the drug. Within seconds, users often become intoxicated and experience a slew of eff ects not unlike alcohol. Th e mind altering drug, which directly acts on the nervous system, also distorts reality and lead to hallucinations and delusions. Other eff ects include unconsciousness, impaired judgment, apathy, hostility, slurred speech, loss of balance and dizziness.

In the long term, there can be even more deleterious eff ects. Organ damage can result, with serious and sometimes irreversible damage to the heart, liver, kidneys, lungs and brain. Memory impairment and diminished intelligence can result. One can become increasingly


irritable and depressed. Muscle weaknesses, lack of coordination and disorientation have also resulted. In severe case, death from heart failure or asphyxiation (lack of oxygen) can also occur.

Th e drug is technically a legal product, because many of its items are actually household items that are commonly used. However, if caught abusing such substances for intoxication, one can be admitted to an approved centre for treatment and rehabilitation for up to 6 months, or imprisoned for up to 6 months, fi ned S$2,000, or both. Selling or off ering to sell an intoxicating substance when it is suspected that the substance is for the purpose of intoxication can lead to up to 2 years of imprisonment or S$5,000 fi ne, or both.

References

1. Central Narcotics Bureau. (2011, March 14). Drugs and inhalants: Inhalants. Retrieved from http://www.cnb.gov.sg/drugs/bannedsubstance/inhalants.aspx

2. Central Narcotics Bureau. (2012, August 16). Drug and inhalant situation report Jan-Jun 2012. Retrieved from http://www.cnb.gov.sg/Libraries/CNB_MediaLibrary_Files/CNB_Drug_Situation_Report_Jan-Jun_2012_fi nal.sfl b.ashx

3. Schwarzmann, J. (n.d.). Community answer [Online forum comment]. Retrieved from http://www.blurtit.com/q168636.html

Appendix 73

CANNABIS

Cannabis, also known as weed, pot, marijuana, grass and hash is believed to have originated from the mountainous regions of India, and can be found growing wild in many parts of the world. It is a drug produced from the Cannabis sativa or Cannabis indica plant. It is comprised of nearly 400 chemicals and because of this, has many properties and can be used for both medicinal and recreational purposes. It is commonly found in dried, herbal form, but can also come in powder, oil and resin form.

Cannabis is currently grown worldwide, but Afghanistan is the world’s largest single producer of cannabis. Between 10,000 and 24,000 hectares of cannabis are grown every year in Afghanistan, with major cultivation in 17 out 34 provinces, the U.N. drug agency (UNODC) said in its fi rst report on cannabis production in Afghanistan.

Cannabis is a popular street drug due to its relaxing properties. It is usually rolled into a cigarette known as a joint, but can also be smoked in a pipe, brewed in tea or mixed into food. It has sedative eff ects that leave people feeling less tense, more relaxed, and sometimes drowsy. It also has hallucinogenic eff ects, albeit mild, that cause distortions of reality. It also lower’s people’ inhibition, making people behave more animatedly and become more talkative. It has also been known to induce feelings of nausea.

Cannabis is one of the world’s most widely used drugs, and in America alone, 94 million people have admitted to using it at least once. In Singapore, 58 cannabis abusers were arrested from January to June 2012, compared to 75 over the same period in 2011.

Cannabis has a huge range of damaging implications for its users, both short and long term. It impedes concentration, decreases motivation and for teenagers, uncontrolled usage can signifi cantly derail psychological development. It also increases anxiety, suspicion, sometimes even to the point of paranoia. Serious psychiatric illnesses are also more likely to happen to users. Users of skunk, a stronger and increasingly more accessible form of cannabis, are seven times more likely than people not


using cannabis to develop severe psychotic illnesses. Cannabis also aff ects body movement coordination, disrupting balance and complicating simple tasks like walking and driving. Due to its highly complex chemical composition, there is an endless list of other eff ects such as increased heart rate and blood pressure, and damage to fertility for users.

Also, addiction brings with itself a slew of withdrawal symptoms. Users usually experience cravings, agitation, mood changes, sleep problems, appetite disturbance and other symptoms.

Cannabis is strictly outlawed in Singapore, and illegal traffi c, import or export of cannabis of more than 500 grams, cannabis resin of more than 200 grams, or cannabis mixture of more than 1,000 grams is punishable by death. Th ose caught possessing or consuming cannabis also face up to 10 years of imprisonment or S$20,000 fi ne, or both.

References

1. British Broadcasting Corporation. (2012, July). Cannabis. Retrieved from http://www.bbc.co.uk/health/emotional_health/addictions/cannabis.shtml

2. Central Narcotics Bureau. (2011, March 14). Drugs and inhalants: Cannabis. Retrieved from http://www.cnb.gov.sg/drugs/bannedsubstance/cannabis.aspx


4. Burch, J. (2010, March 31). Afghanistan now world’s top cannabis source: U.N. Reuters. Retrieved from http://www.reuters.com/article/2010/03/31/us-afghanistan-cannabis-idUSTRE62U0IC20100331

Appendix 75

HEROIN

Heroin is also known as White, Smack, Junk, Powder, Putih, Medicine, or Ubat among drug users in Singapore. It is derived from the opium poppy, and was fi rst produced in 1874. Besides being abused as a drug, heroin is also used medically to alleviate severe pain.

Abusers of heroin commonly abuse it in several ways, such as injecting the heroin directly into the bloodstream. Other ways include inhaling the heroin powder through the nose, or heating it and inhaling its fumes. All three ways allow the heroin to reach the brain quickly, which, as with most other drugs, allow the user to experience a sense of euphoria and feel “high”. However, if the individual uses heroin frequently, this eff ect can only be sustained with greater and greater doses of heroin. Heroin abusers also run the risk of becoming physically addicted to heroin, as it is extremely addictive. Th is can cause damage to multiple organs and constipation, among other dangers.

Withdrawal symptoms of a heroin abuser who is weaning off the drug include insomnia, muscle and bone aches, chills and sweating, irritability and diarrhoea, which kick in hours after the drug is last consumed and will last several days. One of the drugs which can be used to treat heroin addiction is Naltrexone, which was successfully used by Michael to rid himself of his addiction to heroin.

Heroin is a severely controlled drug in Singapore. Anyone caught in possession of or consuming heroin is liable for up to 10 years of imprisonment, or a fi ne of up to S$20,000, or both. In addition, the mandatory death sentence is also meted out to anyone caught illegal traffi cking, importing or exporting more than 15 grams of heroin. Despite the serious consequences that heroin abusers are liable to, it is currently the most popular drug among abusers in Singapore, with 63.7% of all abusers, or 1090 abusers, arrested from January to August 2012 abusing it, according to the Central Narcotics Bureau.


References

1. Central Narcotics Bureau. (2011, March 14). Drugs and inhalants: Heroin. Retrieved from http://www.cnb.gov.sg/drugs/bannedsubstance/heroin.aspx

2. National Institute on Drug Abuse. (2010, March). DrugFacts: Heroin. Retrieved from http://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/drugfacts/heroin

3. Heroin. (2012). In Encyclopædia Britannica. Retrieved from http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/263607/heroin

4. Chin, D. (2012, August 17). Most drug abusers use heroin or ice. Th e Straits Times. Retrieved from http://www.straitstimes.com/premium/singapore/story/most-drug-abusers-use-heroin-or-ice-20120817

Appendix 77

OPIUM

Opium refers to the dried latex that is obtained from the unripe seedpods of the opium poppy. Opium has been consumed for over thousand of years for food and as a potent form of anaesthesia. Opium addiction was a major problem that plagued China from the 18th to 20th centuries, and Chinese attempts to ban opium imports resulted in two wars between China and Great Britain, a major supplier of opium, during the 19th century. Afghanistan is presently the world’s main producer of opium.

Opium consumption was once freely promoted in colonial Singapore, when the British colonial government profi ted massively from its trade and use. Opium dens were widespread, especially in Chinatown. Th is roaring trade moved underground when opium was banned in Singapore in 1943 and continued until the 1980s.

In order to stamp out opium, the mandatory death penalty was and still continues to be applied to the illegal traffi c, import or export of more than 1,200 grams of opium. Opium addiction is no longer a major problem in Singapore, with only 175 grams seized in 2011, compared to 72.6kg of heroin, according to statistics from the Central Narcotics Bureau.

References

1. Ministry of Home Aff airs, Central Narcotics Bureau. (2012). More drug abusers arrested and drugs seized as CNB intensifi ed enforcement eff orts in 2011. Retrieved from website: http://www.cnb.gov.sg/Libraries/CNB_MediaLibrary_Files/CNB_Full_Year_2011_Annual_Stats.sfl b.ashx

2. Th ulaja, N. R. (2002). Opium & opium smoking. Retrieved from http://infopedia.nl.sg/articles/SIP_622_2004-12-16.html

3. Opium. (2012). In Encyclopædia Britannica. Retrieved from http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/430129/opium/283761/History-of-opium


SLEEPING PILLS

Sleeping pills is a class of pyschoactives which main role is to induce sleep. Sleeping pills are usually consumed orally, and are sometimes used with alcohol to intensify the eff ect.

Short term usage of sleeping pills may result in disorders with relating to sleep habits and may, in extreme circumstances, lead to narcolepsy, a condition associated with excessive sleep attacks during inappropriate times such as work. Th e usual side eff ects of consumption are drowsiness, constipation, giddiness, poorer mental concentration, dry mouth, deteriorating memory and lack of coordination.

When sleeping pills are used over lengthy time periods, withdrawal symptoms will always occur upon discontinuation. Th e most notable symptoms include seizures, hallucinations and panic attacks.

Sleeping pills (Flunitrazepam) are ranked as a Class C controlled drug in the Misuse of Drugs Act. Illegal traffi ckers of sleeping pills face penalties ranging from caning (up to 24 strokes) to life imprisonment.

Latest studies have revealed that consumption of sleeping pills has been linked to a higher death rate. Even at low rates of prescription (fewer than 18 doses a year), consumers have a 3.5 times greater risk of death than those not prescribed them. Th e risk of death for those on the most pills (132 doses or more a year) was more than fi ve times than those on no pills.

Appendix 79

References

1. Physical and mental eff ects of abusing sleeping pills. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://www.selfgrowth.com/articles/physical-and-mental-eff ects-of-abusing-sleeping-pills

2. Attorney-General’s Chambers, (2008). Misuse of Drugs Act. Retrieved from website: http://statutes.agc.gov.sg/aol/search/display/view.w3p;page=0;query=DocId%3Ac13adadb-7d1b-45f8-a3bb-92175f83f4f5%20Depth%3A0%20Va l idTime%3A02%2F01%2F2011%20Tr a n s a c t i o nT i m e %3 A 31% 2 F 03% 2 F 2 0 0 8 % 2 0 S t a t u -s%3Ainforce;rec=0;whole=yes

3. Boseley, S. (2012, February 27). Sleeping pills increase risk of death, study suggests. Th e Guardian. Retrieved from http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2012/feb/27/sleeping-pills-increase-risk-death-study


ECSTASY

MDMA, colloquially referred to as Ecstasy, belongs to the class of entactogenic drugs. Ecstasy is commonly known as a recreational or “party” drug which comes in the form of tablets. It is usually consumed orally and may sometimes be taken with other drugs such as Paracetamol.

While some studies have shown MDMA to have therapeutic benefi ts in therapy sessions, it triggers a host of adverse eff ects when abused. Th ese range from a higher heart rate and blood pressure to organ damage, depression and long term memory loss. Chronic usage will lead to withdrawal symptoms upon discontinuation, such as insomnia and uncontrollable fear.

Current laws governing Ecstasy, a Class A controlled drug in the Misuse of Drugs Act, are strict. Possession or consumption of Ecstasy may result in up to 10 years of imprisonment or S$20,000 fi ne or both. In addition, illegal traffi ckers of Ecstasy can be slapped on a sentence of up to 20 years of imprisonment and 15 strokes of the cane.

Despite its detrimental health eff ects, Ecstasy is one of the most popular recreational drugs. In 2008, the UN estimated that between 10 – 25 million people globally used Ecstasy at least once in the past year. In Singapore, 10 abusers of Ecstasy were arrested from January to June 2012, compared to 14 over the same period in 2011. A total of 2,072 Ecstasy tablets were also confi scated over the same period in 2012, compared to 3,213 tablets the year before.

Appendix 81

References

1. Central Narcotics Bureau. (2011, March 14). Drugs and inhalants: Ecstasy. Retrieved from http://www.cnb.gov.sg/drugs/bannedsubstance/ecstasy.aspx



4. United Nations Offi ce on Drugs and Crime, (2010). World drug report 2010. Retrieved from website: http://www.unodc.org/documents/wdr/WDR_2010/World_Drug_Report_2010_lo-res.pdf


ICE

Methamphetamine, colloquially known as Ice, belongs to the class of psychoactive drugs. It is a powerful, colourless and odourless stimulant known to induce euphoria and is often sold in tablet form. Ice is often consumed orally, but may also be injected and vaporised for the inhalation of the fumes.

Ice is very addictive and has strong eff ects on the central nervous system. Abusers suff er from symptoms such as higher heart rates and body temperatures, mood swings, and hallucinations. Th ey may, after chronic use of the drug, experience organ damage, fi ts, stroke and even death. Common withdrawal symptoms include insomnia and depression.

Ice is ranked as a Class A controlled drug under the Misuse of Drug Act. Possession or consumption of Ice warrants up to 10 years of imprisonment or S$20,000 fi ne or both. In addition, the death penalty is dealt out to illegal traffi ckers of Ice of more than 250 grams. 9.48kg of Ice was confi scated by the CNB in the fi rst half of 2012, compared to 4.00kg over the same period in 2011. Over the same period in 2012, 508 methamphetamine abusers were arrested, compared with 568 over the same period in 2011.

Appendix 83

References

1. Central Narcotics Bureau. (2011, March 14). Drugs and inhalants: Methamphetamine. Retrieved from http://www.cnb.gov.sg/drugs/bannedsubstance/methamphetamine.aspx



About SANA

Th e Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association (SANA) is a non-profi t, voluntary welfare organisation set up in 1972 to prevent drug-abuse in Singapore through education, counselling and rehabilitation. SANA’s mission is to mobilise our community against the spread of drug-abuse and strive towards a drug-free Singapore.

We focus on drug-abuse prevention in three key areas – Preventive drug education, Prevention of re-off ending in recovering drug addicts and Prevention of inter-generational off ending within families.

About the 1823 fund

Sense of a Beginning is generously supported by the Raffl es Institution 1823 Fund, named after the year that the school was founded. Th e fund is supported by Raffl es alumni, parents, staff and friends who give generously to fund various initiatives in RI such as community projects, fi nancial aid to support students from humble backgrounds, school programs in Science, Leadership, the Arts and the development of excellent teachers.

sense of a beginning: true stories of drug addiction through literary lenses

Documents