by You Jin
“Doesn’t your mother cook?” I probed.
He was quiet and lowered his gaze for a while before saying, “Mum isn’t always in the best mental state.”
“Why doesn’t she go to see a doctor?”
“She suffers from depression,” he said glumly. “She’s usually fine, but she acts up when my dad goes on business trips. When that happens, she often pinches me savagely. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night due to the sharp pain. She pinches me so hard and it hurts so much that it sometimes feels like my whole body is breaking into pieces. Sometimes the pinching goes on all night, till three or four in the morning before I can go back to sleep. That’s why I’m often late for school.”
“Why doesn’t your dad do something about it?” I was stunned.
He began to laugh silently, a sudden, bleak laugh. After a while, he said, “Dad? He doesn’t have time for us. He’s the one who caused mom’s illness in the first place. He’s having an affair and goes to see his mistress when he’s on his business trips. Sometimes he finds an excuse to go abroad just so he can see her.”
Ai! He was only sixteen, yet already suffering physical pain and mental anguish caused by the adult world’s tangled web of emotional affairs.
“Listen, Fan Feng,” I said, looking very serious. “There are medications that can take care of depression. You’re made of flesh and blood, and you can’t let your mother torment you like this forever. When I take you home, I’ll talk to her and urge her to see a psychiatrist, what do you think?”
He immediately objected. “No, absolutely not. It’ll crush my mum if she knows I’ve revealed our family affairs to outsiders. Madam Tham, please, don’t ever tell anyone, please?”
I nodded gravely. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t if you say so.”
He stirred the melting ice that remained in his drink with a straw, which made a clinking sound. It almost sounded as if the sobs he had been holding back were now coming from his glass.
“To tell you the truth, Madam Tham, sometimes I really hate my mum. I hate her so much, so much that, um—“He hesitated before letting it out. “That I feel like stabbing her with a knife. But, but I know how bad she feels inside. We were a happy family before Dad started his affair. Mum was fine then, really she was a great mother who’d do anything for me. Now she suffers so much, and there’s nothing I can do to share her pain. So when she pinches me or whips me, even burns me with a red hot spoon as if she were crazy, I can only grit my teeth and put up with it. If hurting me lessens her pain, then I can take it.” Tears seemed to drip from his voice.
That day as I watched him limp his way home, the tears in his voice turned to rain in my heart.
I racked my brain, trying to come up with a way to lend a helping hand. But before I could think of a good idea, this shocking and outrageous incident with the graffiti occurred.
Looking at the enraged face that was struggling to look indifferent, I said calmly, “I need an acceptable explanation, Fan Feng.”
Mr. Woo cut in angrily, “I think he should give his explanation at the police station.”
I turned to Mr. Woo and said, “May I have a moment alone with him?”
Mr. Woo took me aside and gave me a well-intentioned warning. “Be careful, you’re dealing with a violent student here.”
“It’s all right,” I said, “I can handle it.”
We went out to sit on a stone bench. The dying rays of sunshine felt gentle as they streamed down through the emerald green leaves, giving Fan Feng’s face a dark green cast, like the glaze in thousand-year-old moss.
I looked at him, but he turned his head away. “You’re not a child any more, Fan Feng,” I said. “So please don’t be impulsive. I want to know what I did wrong.”
It felt like a century had passed before he finally forced these words out: “You’re a hypocrite. You don’t deserve my respect or my trust.”
I was speechless. Where, exactly where, had that come from?
Holding back my temper, I kept up my questions until he finally spoke up in an angry voice filled with loathing. “Why did you tell other teachers about me? Didn’t you promise never to mention this to anyone? Why didn’t you keep your promise? I steer clear of everyone at school because I don’t want them to know about my family, so why did you go around telling people?”
I was in a daze. When had I said anything to anyone? I prided myself on keeping my promises, and I had kept a tight lid on his family affairs.
“You didn’t?” He was shouting now. “Yesterday didn’t you tell Madam Teo Li Fen? I overheard you when I went to the office to get something.”
Teo Li Fen? I stared at him in bewilderment as I searched my memory, but my recollections were like beads from a broken string. I struggled to collect the pieces and string them back together. Finally I found the thread and the sequence. Now I recalled exactly how the conversation had gone. Madam Teo and I had been talking about corporal punishment when I said to her, “He’s not a child any more, but his mother beats him black and blue. I tell you, honestly, sometimes I feel like calling the police to teach his mother a lesson. But if she’s jailed, he’ll be alone since there’s no one else to care for him.” Madam Teo sighed in a show of sympathy and said, “It’s rare for a mother to be so mean.” The person I’d been referring to was another boy, who happened to be in a similar situation as Fan Feng. I never thought that Fan Feng would be so sensitive as to presume I’d been talking about him.
I explained this to Fan Feng but he continued to pull a long face, assuming that I was covering up a lie.
“Come, get in the car,” I said with a sigh.
“Where are we going?” he demanded with hostility.
“To see the person I was talking about.”
He got into the car that had suffered such terrible scratches by his hand. I could tell from his expression that he wanted to see how I would play out the act.
The person I was referring to helped his mother sell chicken rice at a hawker centre. He was mentally disabled, and because of this, his mother used him as a punching bag. She often pinched him here and there until his arms looked as if they’d been painted on. When Fan Feng saw the young boy’s colourful arms, he looked as if he had been struck by lightning. His face quickly drained of colour.
He was quiet and kept his head bowed as we climbed into the car after leaving the hawker centre. When I pulled up outside his building, he didn’t move.
“We’re here,” I announced.
That prompted him to look up. His face was bright red from the strain of trying not to cry.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his lips quivering. “I wasn’t thinking. You can punish me. Do whatever you think is right. I feel terrible and deserve to be punished.”
I turned to look at him. “Listen to me, Fan Feng. You made three big mistakes. First, you took other people’s words out of context and got yourself into trouble—you were really asking for it. Second, before you checked things out, you acted rashly. Third, you damaged other people’s property to vent your own anger. You’ve made mistakes and must face the consequences. The discipline master will have to deal with your mistakes formally tomorrow.”
He kept nodding as if that were the only way to lessen his feelings of guilt. I took a card from my purse and handed it to him before he got out of the car.
“Here’s a card for a psychiatrist who specialises in mental and psychological health issues. Take your mother to see him if you really want to help her.”
When he took the card, he finally lost his grip on his self-control and a large tear rolled down his face.
Love Fool
DEAR MAILBOX,
Hi, how are you?
Let me tell you a secret. I’m in love.
Her name is Lau Li Fei, a student in Secondary 4D. At school, she’s every boy’s dream girl, but I’m the lucky one. Over the past year, I’d written her countless letters but received no response. It was like throwing rocks into the ocean. But last
week I got my first reply. It was a short letter, only two lines, thanking me for writing her so many letters, which are enough to compile an anthology. Holding her letter in my hands, I read it over and over, savouring every word. For the first time in my life, I realised that words can brim with sweetness. After laminating the letter, I put it under my pillow and when I sleep on it, I am so relaxed that I can almost feel my soul drifting out of my body. Ah, I want to write poetry for her, but I want even more to write a song for her. She’s the only person in the whole world who’s good enough for my poetry and music. I tossed and turned in bed last night. Someone once said that the heart of a person in love for the first time is like a jar with five spices. The myriad emotions are like the five tastes of sweet, salty, sour, bitter and spicy. That is no exaggeration.
Wish me luck, Dear Mailbox.
Fong Wei Wen
Fong Wei Wen was a student of mine in Secondary 4C.
I had created this virtual mailbox for the students in the hopes that having such an outlet for their writing would boost their interest in studying Chinese. I asked them to write to the mailbox once a week. Their letters could be long or short and about anything at all. They could openly discuss any difficulties they encountered in their studies or in their daily life, and the “mailbox” would try to find a solution for them.
Students loved the idea and were inspired to write. What surprised me most was that some of the more reticent students wrote lengthy letters to the mailbox, in which they shared secrets they would not otherwise have revealed. As for me, the mailbox moderator, I tried not to preach when I responded to their letters, and steadfastly kept my promise not to share their secrets. I strove to be the students’ friend and wrote heartfelt letters in response to each of them. Eventually the more I gained their trust, the more secrets they shared with me.
As I looked at Wei Wen’s letter, I thought long and hard of a suitable response. This was clearly going to be a tricky letter.
Young love is a common issue among students in Singapore. Even if they have no desire to be in a relationship, teenagers are sometimes under a certain degree of peer pressure when their friends are all on the lookout for a significant other. A student once said to me, “Three good friends of mine all have girlfriends at school. I don’t want to fall in love so early, but they often tease me as being gay. It’s really upsetting.” Even amongst those who had found “the one”, there were some who were not prepared for long-term commitment. “It’s just for fun,” they would say indifferently. “We’ll stick together as long as we can and when we can’t, we’ll break up. There’s no need to be too serious.”
Most surprising to me was the fact that Wei Wen had been working hard with the single-minded purpose of going to university; yet he had fallen for a popular girl known as the school flower. Even more surprisingly, Li Fei had actually responded to his letter.
They were ill-matched in every respect. Wei Wen was an outgoing boy, bright and sunny, who did well in school. He was well-liked by everyone, good at sports and talented in literature and music. For Teacher’s Day the year before, he had composed a song and sung it onstage with his guitar, captivating everyone at school, teachers and students alike. Li Fei, also a student of mine, was pretty with exceptionally fair skin and dark, thick hair. She also had large, lively eyes, as well as nicely round, charming dimples. This pretty girl was haughty and arrogant, however, and had a bad temper. Like a porcupine, she would often hurt the feelings of many boys who tried to get close to her. It is human nature to want to be near beauty, so despite her ill treatment, many boys continued to pursue her with the fearless attitude of moths flying towards a flame. The harder it was to be with her, the crazier the boys got.
Although there were several versions of her family background being circulated around the school, it was in fact quite simple. She was born into a wealthy family. Her father was the general manager of a multinational corporation and her mother was the chairwoman of a charitable organisation. As their only child, it was easy to imagine how she was always allowed to have her way. I was concerned that a naïve boy like Wei Wen would not be able to deal with a picky girl like her who was hard to please. Besides, the secondary four students were facing a critical end-of-year exam, and any romantic distraction would surely affect their performance. At this crucial point in time, however, I couldn’t possibly feed him the usual platitudes, for I knew very well that he would never share his secrets with me if I poured cold water on his dreams.
After prolonged deliberation, I decided on a subtle approach.
Wei Wen,
It is natural for young people in their late teens to feel the attraction of the opposite sex. But you should keep in mind that instant noodles are far less nutritious than porridge, which has been slowly cooked for hours. A relationship developed over time will last a long while without losing its potency, whereas a romance that is hurried into fruition may wither quickly and die. So don’t be too anxious to see it fulfilled, and let time be the soil for love to grow.
Best wishes,
Dear Mailbox
Wei Wen had become a different person. He was so absentminded in class that I would often have to call his name several times before he would respond to my questions. His school work suffered too, and he was no longer as conscientious as before. He had also stopped playing basketball with his friends after class. Instead he shut himself up in a corner of the room, where he buried his head in scribbling. I supposed he was writing poems for the girl he admired. Li Fei, on the other hand, was the same—haughty and aloof. Instinct told me it was unrequited love on Wei Wen’s part. What puzzled me was that if Li Fei wasn’t interested in seeing the relationship bloom, why had she planted the seed of love in his mind?
Wei Wen’s anguish soon overflowed into his letters.
Dear Mailbox,
Our Chinese language teacher gave us a fun exercise last year. She asked everyone to find a vivid and apt metaphor for love. After we had thought long and hard, all sorts of ingenious and interesting metaphors were offered: love was like a sunset, coffee, fine wine, chocolate, the sun, the moon, the stars, lemon, spring flowers, winter snow, mint, waves, poetry, sugar, pepper, the list goes on. Someone’s comparison of love to a person’s buttocks, since both are so mysterious, put the finishing touch on the exercise. Everyone was eager to know what that mystery might be, but since it was an awkward topic, we were left disappointed. For me at this moment, however, love is like nothing other than the goldthread herb, which has only one taste—bitter.
Dear Mailbox, I want to tell you something that has been heartbreakingly painful for me. One day Li Fei agreed to meet me at a fast food restaurant on Holland Road. I went there filled with excitement, but after waiting half an hour, I was surprised when she strolled in with six friends. They ordered so much food that I nearly ran out of money to pay for it. It was really embarrassing. At that moment I felt like I’d been had. It wasn’t about the money though, it was just that I felt things seemed to be moving in a strange direction. Over this past week, she’s only spoken to me twice—once in the hallway and another time at the school entrance —and both times because she’d wanted me to photocopy my notes for her. Dear Mailbox, to tell you the truth, I’d be happy to do anything for her, but for some reason I feel like she’s using me. Am I being paranoid? Am I? Each time I try to catch her eye, I bump up against an icy look in return. On the other hand, love is like poison. I’d gladly drink it if it could quench my thirst, and let what happens happen.
When we said goodbye at the restaurant that day, her beautiful smile made me feel as though I were standing on a mountaintop. I wrote her a poem and put it to music after I got home. I hope to play and sing it for her, but will she be willing to give me a chance?
Fong Wei Wen
Ah, those who are caught in the middle are often befuddled, and only a bystander can see clearly. It was obvious to me why Li Fei had agreed to be with Wei Wen—she was simply using him to embellish her vanity. How could
such a smart boy be so foolish?
I wrote him a story.
Wei Wen,
On the surface, love looks like a beautiful rainbow. Love can be an enchanting game, but it can just as easily turn into entrapment.
True love, on the other hand, is a long-term promise to share the good and the bad. Care and respect are the two most important elements in love. A melon taken by force will not taste sweet, and forcing someone to love you never works.
Let me tell you a story.
A was an eighteen-year-old boy who was madly in love with B, a girl of the same age. She had no feelings for him, but liked to boast to her friends about the “trophy” she’d gotten so effortlessly. She teased him at every opportunity, but he mistook her actions as positive responses to his courtship. He committed one foolish act after another. One day she asked a few friends over to revise for the exams. At two in the morning when everyone was hungry, she picked up the phone and asked A, who lived twenty kilometres away, to buy food for them at a twenty-four-hour coffee shop. She even told him that instead of ringing the doorbell, he should place the food by the front door so that he wouldn’t wake her family. He struggled down the slippery roads on his bike through a thunderstorm, with knife-like lighting flashing and thunder rumbling. The pelting raindrops seemed to stab like arrows and daggers, slicing through his heart. A frenzied pain awakened him, and he realised that a light had gone on in a secret place inside of him. At that moment, he was assaulted by the heartrending agony that accompanied his awakening. At the coffee shop, he bought the steaming food she’d instructed him to get and put each container into a plastic bag. Hanging the bags from his handlebars, he braced himself against increasingly strong gusts of wind which were about to send him flying. Head lowered, he pedalled for what seemed like eternity before finally arriving at her block of flats. He was soaked to the bone, but it might have been tears and not rain that drenched him. He took the elevator to the eighth floor and put the food down outside her entrance. He could hear crisp laughter through the flimsy door. By then, it was already four in the morning. Wiping the water off his face, he stood there silently for a while before turning to leave. As he stepped into the elevator, he knew this would be his last time there. Strangely, though, the pain he felt was followed by a sense of relief, as if he’d shed a great burden. He also experienced the joy of regaining his confidence and dignity.