the sad stuff...
after 17 years, after repeating it for 1786 times, my mum still talks about it.
about him in actual fact. about her brother. about the lost sheep of the family.
17 years after my uncle has committed suicide, my mum still hates his secondary school principal. the one who expelled him over some minor offence and indirectly caused his downfall. and that happened 30 years ago. a very long grudge indeed.
but mainly, i think my mum hates the white powder the most, that sinful stuff that put my uncle behind bars and forced him to take a road of no return.
she never fails to describe how he looked and acted after taking the drugs and when the withdrawal symptoms kicked in. or that he was actually a very filial son and kind person, just that he could not resist the devilish temptation. and even though he was addicted to the drug, he did not steal from the family or take drugs at home, but he broke the hearts of many anyway.
i still remembered the white pills he took from the drawer and the tattoos on his body. other than the songs and lessons he taught me, he left me something else too. a scar on my forehead. i tripped over a drain outside changi prison after visiting him and had bout 4 stitches. i was 2 then, but the scar is still visible now.
looking at my family now, i could have never imagined that we had such a history before. not just taking of drugs, but also being bookies and money lenders. but that are all in the past and i'm glad that my cousins, brother and i have turned out to be fine.
about him in actual fact. about her brother. about the lost sheep of the family.
17 years after my uncle has committed suicide, my mum still hates his secondary school principal. the one who expelled him over some minor offence and indirectly caused his downfall. and that happened 30 years ago. a very long grudge indeed.
but mainly, i think my mum hates the white powder the most, that sinful stuff that put my uncle behind bars and forced him to take a road of no return.
she never fails to describe how he looked and acted after taking the drugs and when the withdrawal symptoms kicked in. or that he was actually a very filial son and kind person, just that he could not resist the devilish temptation. and even though he was addicted to the drug, he did not steal from the family or take drugs at home, but he broke the hearts of many anyway.
i still remembered the white pills he took from the drawer and the tattoos on his body. other than the songs and lessons he taught me, he left me something else too. a scar on my forehead. i tripped over a drain outside changi prison after visiting him and had bout 4 stitches. i was 2 then, but the scar is still visible now.
looking at my family now, i could have never imagined that we had such a history before. not just taking of drugs, but also being bookies and money lenders. but that are all in the past and i'm glad that my cousins, brother and i have turned out to be fine.
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posted by sip at 5:58 AM
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