EMPOWER Malaysia organised a writing competition to encourage the wider public to "Break the Silence", for themselves & others. This is one of the top entries, written by John Ho.
Dear aunty,
Hello, aunty. It is Sum Yi, your favourite niece. I’m writing this now because I am stuck in my brooding. I have been replaying the same thoughts over and over again in my head all week. I haven’t decided if I’m going to send this to you. I might just hide it in my drawer, and treat it as a journal entry. But keeping you in mind as a recipient as I write this makes me feel less alone.
Aunty, I was at the family gathering last weekend at Grandma’s house. I was with my plate sitting at the far end of the room. I was waiting patiently for your arrival, playing with my food so that I’ll have some left for when we would sit down together and chat. My noodles had gone cold by the time you came, but I didn’t mind. It has been so long since I've last seen you so I was happy. Still, I stayed patiently seated as you greeted everyone else. It was about ten or fifteen minutes that you were standing with our relatives and catching up. I knew my turn would come once you’d talked to all the elders, and you would run to me and gather me in a big bear hug. I was sure it was coming until I saw your husband coming through the door. He had a scary, stony glare. I’m sure you felt it too because you turned around without him even making a sound. I couldn’t understand what happened next. But you exited the house with him, and we all could hear shouting. By the time I made it to the door to see what was going on, the two of you drove off in his car.
I tried asking around. I wanted to know. I knew something was off. Aunty Mei Ching brushed me off. The uncles told me it was a matter between husband and wife. And nobody else was with me on the search for answers. The rest of the night, I was shaken with worry. I couldn’t enjoy the games with my cousins. So many awful scenarios went through my head of what could be happening to you presently. Even now, I have no answers to what transpired. All I know is that he was angry, and you had to take it. I don’t know what you did, aunty, but I have a feeling it is not your fault. I am not sure what my point is here, whether or not I am demanding for an explanation from you, which would be selfish and inconsiderate of me. But I am so, so confused. All week, I have been kept awake thinking of your husband’s face, and the loud noise. But one big thing that haunts me is the way everybody went back to their regular chatter with no question. Nobody else cared. And I felt so alone in being the only one who did.
I tried to ask Pa on many occasions. As we sat watching television and having dinner, he just told me that it’s a normal thing and that I shouldn’t be a busybody. I don’t think it’s normal, aunty. And surely you don’t too. Surely this is not a normal situation for you. I found myself
wanting to tell you everything that I felt about it, even if I’m unsure if it would help. I wanted you to know I was at least thinking of you. But maybe this much isn’t enough.
Did nobody call you, to check up on you? Did nobody write? Why is everyone being complacent? Even I am not doing anything to help, because I don’t know what to do. And nobody is telling me what to do even if I want so badly to be doing something. I want to think, “Yes, someone is going to help Aunty and we can gather as a family to think of how to approach this”. And yet, no one is. It hurts me to think you are living in a house with that man even at this moment, and I don’t want to imagine how he is abusing you.
As I’m writing this, I feel nostalgic. I feel an ache in my chest and a lump in my throat. I am reminded of a simpler time. When I was in primary school, and you were studying to be the doctor you are now, I would write to you all the time. I’ve never told you this, but I’m sure you know that you are a sort of mother to me. There has never been any other person that I’ve talked to this openly, that I’ve connected with and considered to be someone truly akin. Everyone has made me feel at least some degree of mismatch with them, but you have come the closest to being the perfect fit for me. And because of that, I hate him. I hate your husband so much. I hate that he did that to you. I’ve waited and waited for the family gathering that day to finally meet you after so long, and he just takes that away.
Aunty, after witnessing it, it has been confusing for me. I really don’t want to upset you by saying this. But, I have always known you to be my pillar. A strong rock to lean on. You have never met my many problems, petty or not, without a solution, or without that usual, familiar grace that always becomes a comfort in the end. I have always known you to be a fierce woman, and I have seen so many times how you’ve stood up for yourself. So, why not now? I have been selfishly questioning this all week, aunty, just to get some clarification on the situation, but I’ve found none. It’s confusing me. How could someone who stood so tall be crumbled like this so easily, in mere seconds that even I couldn’t properly comprehend? It makes me feel scared. And I feel I’m being selfish again because now all I can think about is: if someone who is so strong can be pulled down, what more than me, who holds barely half a semblance to your ferocity?
I feel horrible saying this. But I have to blurt it out, or I think my mind won’t be at ease. I can’t help thinking, “is it all a lie?”. I can only conclude this from how confused I am. Was the strength I saw in you not strength at all. But then I think, that doesn’t make sense. You were my pillar, aunty. When I had no friends in primary school, I would write to you and look forward to your reply. I wrote an essay about you. I look up to you. All my life, you were the person I wanted to be. You were the person I thought I was on my way to becoming. So how could this have happened to you, to have ended up in an abusive marriage with an awful, despicable man? It terrifies me. How much easier will it be for me to wind up in a situation like this, then, if someone like you can be ensnared? Were you always made to fall, aunty? Then, am I made to fall too?
I know deep down that you are still the same aunty I’ve known all these years. So why do I still feel this way? How could he just treat you like that? Does he not know who you are? Is it because men think they can get away with anything? In my agonizing, I’ve also thought about this. Nobody stood up for you when that happened. Surely nobody stood up for the older aunties who might’ve gotten yelled at or had worse done to them when they were younger. Where else could they have gotten into the habit of keeping to themselves? So, it’s like a loop, was what I thought. Men of the family doing this will just keep on happening because somewhere in time we have allowed it to happen the first time. And I feel guilty. Why have I allowed this man to shatter even the littlest bit of my perception of you?
If it were any other situation, I would come to you in a letter like this and ask you what we can do to break the cycle, because I can see it coming for me too. However, looking at how things are, I think that this time, you need a shoulder to cry on more than any of us. After all this thinking, I have come down to the main message beneath all my frenetic thoughts. And that is: even if it does scare me and you, Aunty, I would like you to know that I am still here. And that I was worried from that moment, and am still thinking of you now. It is only us against the world, it seems. I will not be keeping quiet like the others have. I’m deciding this now. I may be still uncertain about what action to take right now. I hope that you can stand up to that tyrant. I’ll walk up to you fast enough this time, to catch you before you leave. I’ll do anything I can to help you. I hope that at least now, this time, the thought of breaking out of this marriage will be easier for you. Because I believe that if you do, I’ll be right there behind you, Aunty, just like how you have been there for me all those years.
I won’t be silent like the rest, Aunty. I promise you.
Love,
Sum Yi.
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