“When my son was 13, in middle school, things got a little tough for him,” opened John Otto. “He was bullied by older students, and had to be hospitalized for depression.”
Upon discharge, the hospital recommended that Otto and his wife sign up for PFLAG, the organization for parents, family and friends of lesbians and gays. They had to learn how to support their gay son. Continue reading ‘Danger zone: school, part 1′
Melina Waldo (right) 
noticed that her 19-year-old son had recently become rather distant. “I wondered what could be wrong with Craig,” she recalled. His grades were fine, so whatever it was, it probably wasn’t college-related.
She called her three daughters – Craig’s older sisters – who were then living together in Connecticut, and whom Craig had recently visited during a school break. Speaking to her eldest daughter, she asked: “Is he OK? Something has to be wrong.”
Her daughter said he was fine, but Melina wasn’t convinced.
“Is Catherine pregnant?” she asked. Catherine was Craig’s girlfriend (or so she thought). Continue reading ‘A mother’s job’
The above picture is of four women flanking a man in the centre. The women – constituting two life-long couples – were about to share their life stories at a workshop in Phnom Penh recently with about 34 gay activists from Cambodia’s Asean neighbours in the room (and about 50-60 more Cambodians).
I was among them, and I’m almost sure most of the Asean (Association of South East Asian Nations) activists found it hard to see these women, hailing from the deep provinces of Cambodia, as “one of us”.
Continue reading ‘Love and survival through Khmer Rouge years’
Late afternoon Tuesday, 14 Feb 2012, I received a letter from law firm Allen & Gledhill, acting for K Shanmugam. It said that the allegations regarding their client mentioned within a comment I posted following the post The media and Yaw Shin Leong, are false and scurrilous. I take Shanmugam’s word on this matter. I have withdrawn that comment as requested.
Allen & Gledhill have also requested that I publish their letter in full, which I am happy to do:
He had waited patiently to be served. Foreign workers from India have largely resigned themselves to be almost invisible to Singaporeans, unless when Singaporeans wish to make an issue of their (unwanted) visibility.
But today, he was alone, and not a threat to our beloved racial model. And so he was ignored even though he had actually come to the coffee counter before three other customers — construction supervisors who perhaps came from the same worksite as the Indian guy. The difference was that the supervisors were Chinese, with at least one of them from China, judging by his accent.
The three women behind the counter — Chinese Singaporean, middle-aged — engaged the men in banter as they prepared their orders. There was an easy familiarity, possibly because the men had become regular customers from working nearby.
Continue reading ‘Starting the new year with race and religion’
Many Singaporeans probably have tales to tell of organisations, particularly large ones, with shockingly bad internet interfaces. A “wired nation” we are not. Worse is when even the telephonic interface does not work. The organisation is effectively deaf to the world.
Earlier this month, my frustration was with SBS Transit, the larger of the two bus companies in Singapore. Their Lost and Found Department must be lost in deep space. There was no practical way I could lodge a report of a lost item. The item itself was not a big deal, but the frustrating experience magnified the vexation many times over.
Continue reading ‘Lost: SBS Transit’s Lost and Found service’
Last week, I received three emails of a similar nature. “Are you on holiday? Why are you not writing?” asked one. “What’s up with the hiatus?” wrote another.
I am touched that I am missed. But don’t worry. Yawning Bread is important to me — it’s become a big part of my identity — and I have no intention of letting it wither.
“We had a house of squawkers and scrapers,” recalled Ruth Chia, daughter of Paul Abisheganaden who passed away recently (Straits Times, 2 September 2011, Death of a maestro).
I was one of them. I must have squawked and scraped more than most.
On Saturday, I will be voting for Tan Jee Say. It’s a decision I made about a week ago, and in the days since, it has only grown more comfortable. I am now sure enough of that decision to write about it.
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