This story contains details that may be emotionally unsettling, but they reflect Sandra’s journey as a domestic violence survivor.

The pain from the contusion on Sandra’s forehead throbbed like a heartbeat. She could feel it start to swell. ‘What just happened?’ she thought. ‘All this over a bowl of instant noodles?’ She had just had the happiest day of her life two weeks ago, a day when she was the envy of many — where was the promised matrimonial bliss? She should have kept the door locked. Such rage in her husband’s eyes as he charged towards her she had hitherto never seen before, not in the two years of courtship. Already tired out from a six-hour flight after a weeks-long business trip, she popped a paracetamol and isolated herself in that very spare room while her ex slept in the master bedroom. Any reconciliation would have to wait.

As a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP), Bingz Huang knows what it is like to feel emotional burnout. By tapping the teachings of the Human Design System and practising energy healing, she is able to navigate the world despite being inundated with external stimuli. She shares more on what it’s like being an HSP and the practice of gentleness.

Jayce Ho is a multihyphenate: she is a full-time business development manager, a passionate owner of Polish chickens, and she also runs a side business selling diatomaceous earth. The newest feather in her cap? SGBrisketKitchen, an online business where she purveys mainstays such as Texas-style smoked briskets and pulled pork. What’s impressive is that she’s an autodidact, learning the art of smoking meats just by watching online videos. By many customers’ testimonials, her meats can hold a candle to those prepared by bona fide pit masters.

Jayce, tell us about your first brush with entrepreneurship.

I had previously won a Star Wars toy through a magazine contest. I was eleven — this was the pre-Internet banking days. I decided to list it on eBay, and within an hour I was able to close the transaction. I started looking around my room for things that I could sell, and I found stuff like Gameboy cartridges. Later in life, my girlfriends and I were hooked on a popular Taiwanese variety show, and I had a thought: ‘Why not import the beauty products that the hosts were recommending?’ So, I began procuring products from Taiwan, as well as Japan, as I was fluent in Japanese. I listed these products on eBay as well.

What did you learn from these early ventures?

The skill to set up a website. It’s a far cry from the options you have today where you can construct a website using pre-made templates. Back in those days, I had to build a website from scratch, and I had to learn HTML coding. And then there’re the product shots. I bought basic light equipment, a diffuser and set up the shots myself. And then came the editing of the photos, such as removing the background. It was laborious, but it was worth it when I saw the finished product, and that all the links worked.

Were there any experiences during your formative years that planted the seed of grilling and cooking?

During my Girl Guides days, I was exposed to outdoor survival skills and outdoor cooking. My mates and I participated in quite a few competitions and we strove for the President’s Guide Award. It was a really fun time. We had many camps over at the Sarimbun Scout Camp site. We had to dig our own pits in the ground and start fires, which were needed for boiling water. These were the things we were not taught in the classroom. Even when it’s raining, and we were soaked from head to toe, even when our shoes were muddy and we smelt, we still had to get the work done. If we didn’t pitch the tents in time, we wouldn’t have any shelter. These experiences toughened me up.

It was during this time that I learnt the art of solar cooking. We would take cardboards, wrap them with aluminium foil, and position them under the hot sun. Then, we would place a pot of food in the middle and with that, we got to cooking. Sometimes, we’d prepare and affix a chicken to a clothes hanger, wrap it with aluminium foil to prevent the heat from radiating. It would take us over six hours to cook the meat over embers.

We would be so thankful for the sun, because that meant we could cook our food. It made us appreciate nature, and to respect it. We always had to do contingency planning as well: when it rained, we’d switch to using the burner and cook on the mass tin. This in a way has prepared me for real life. When it comes to work, we always have to be prepared for what is to come and what can go wrong. Girl Guides trained me to be prepared; it’s one of our mottos.

And what sparked your interest in smoking meats? Was it perhaps a delicious meal that you had?

No, in fact, I’ve never had smoked meat prior to my business. I was always the designated chef at my family’s and friends’ barbecue sessions, in charge of grilling prawns, satay and the like. Eventually, I got kind of bored of this direct cooking method, and I searched the Internet to see what else I could do. My interest was piqued when I read about this low and slow cooking method over a grill — initially I was shocked that it would take up to twenty hours. It was circa 2019 that I started to watch online videos and then dabble in it. During my first few experimentations, my parents funnily asked: ‘Are you going to set the house on fire?’

Take us through the first few times that you smoked the meat.

I failed so many times that I had to take a break from it. The meats are not cheap; all told I think I spent about a thousand dollars on just the ingredients. I tried offerings from different countries — I personally find that Argentina, Australian and Brazilian beef tend to have a gamier smell. After numerous tests, I also decided to go with grain-fed beef instead of grass-fed ones.

With each failed batch, I tried to salvage as much as I could, but sometimes, it’s just burnt. It kind of pained me when I had to throw some of the meats away. It’s always disappointing when things didn’t turn out the way I envisioned it. I’ll always remember the first time I succeeded — it was a rush of emotions, and I had that ‘whoa’ moment. Even today, I still get that joy when I slice into the meat. I think that’s important; if the joy is gone I probably won’t do it anymore.

Clad in his typical ensemble of black shirt, denim jeans and waterproof boots, Terry Lim is ready for another day of a punishing eighteen-hour routine. His forearms bear the pink marks of old wounds; fresh raised scratches overlap them. He enters the cubicle occupied by Bubbles, an eight-month-old mother cat whose petiteness and slenderness belie a feisty attitude. He herds her newborns into a carrier. Then he gets to work, hosing the tiled floor down, and with a squeegee expels the water out of it. Next, he gives the wooden shelf a thorough wipe down. This is only the first of sixty-four cubicles that he has to clean daily.

The dimly lit, seven-thousand-square-foot compound exudes an air of rusticity, held together by corrugated metal panels and lattice grills, some of which were welded by Terry himself. Blotches of azure-blue paint have come off the walls in the cubicles; cages corroded by rainwater creak and clang. Here, sibling cats share the same cubicle. Others idle their time away ensconced in their hammocks. Feral cats or cats with contagious illnesses are sequestered. Silence is a commodity here: dogs in the adjoining space bark relentlessly at seemingly nothing. Not an hour into his duty and Terry’s shirt is filled with gossamer fur, as he lifts the cats and gets them out of the way, sneaking in cuddles every so often. This is life at Metta Cats & Dogs Sanctuary.

Terry, tell us about the beginnings of Metta Cats and Dogs Sanctuary.

Back in the eighties, people were habitually dumping their pets when they didn’t want them anymore. When it came to the nomenclature, my mom would name the animals she rescued after the places where she found them, or after the people who brought them to her. One of the first animals she rescued was a spitz along the now Central Expressway. She named him ‘Freeway’ — that was what expressways were colloquially called back then.

For years, as an independent rescuer and stray feeder, she’d send abandoned and injured animals to a local shelter whose protocols she wasn’t privy to. In 1999, she brought a mother cat who was nursing a litter of days-old kittens to the shelter. The receptionist at the front counter urged her not to bring them there and to find an alternative. Out of curiosity, she asked for the reason. It was then she learnt that space at the shelter was limited, and that the animals would be put down after two weeks to a month if they didn’t get rehomed. The revelation shocked her. She started backtracking, recalling the faces of the animals she had sent to the shelter, wondering how many she had inadvertently sent to their deaths. It took a long time for her to get over it: she wore this perpetual remorseful look on her face. Together with her good friend Dr Tan Chek Wee, who today handles our website and social media platforms, she set up Metta Cats & Dogs Sanctuary, a no-kill halfway house for animals in need.

There weren’t many shelters back then to model ours after. We kind of just jumped right in. While we had our own home pets, we didn’t have any prior experience taking care of twenty, thirty animals, and animals in poor shape at that. My mom was an insurance cum property agent, and later in life she became an administrator in a clinic. After work, she would devote close to eight hours a day at the shelter. Her days were very long, and she slept only three to four hours a day.

Did Madam Lee have a natural affinity towards animals?

My mom was born in Kelantan, one of those quaint towns in Malaysia with very tight-knit communities. Because her childhood house was nestled near a forest, she was exposed to all sorts of wildlife animals. She was especially fascinated with foxes and even wanted one as a pet. My grandfather however opposed the idea of having a pet — he ran a coffeeshop, so he had to keep things clean. My mom always had a soft spot for animals, even rats and snakes. When the predators encroached into human territory, she always advocated sparing their lives and moving them back to their natural habitats where they could be safe.

It seems that Madam Lee had a gentleness when it came to animals. Was she like that as well as a mother? 

She was extremely strict with me. She brought me up by wielding not one but two canes (laughs). But she had to. I was a mischievous kid. One time when I was four, I got off the pram and put my right arm under the escalator belt and got stuck. That earned me a dislocated arm. Many times, we would be watching television and I just had to pull the table runner and make a mess of things. My father left us when I was about eight years old. So, my mother was the only family I had.

Dr Tan shared with me that she used to live the life of a privileged lady. But she felt that her days were filled with meaningless gossiping and socialising, and that she was wasting her life away. After she decided to change and find her purpose in life, she downsized our home to a three-room flat. Every day, cat fur and other allergens would trigger her status asthmaticus; one time a severe attack almost took her life. But she fought hard, because she had to live for her cats and dogs (and me), and thankfully she managed to pull through.

What an indomitable spirit, which I believe has rubbed off on you as well. Take us through a typical day at the shelter. What is the upkeep like?

During the weekdays, it’s mostly a one-man show. Round the clock, I have to keep the place maintained. There is a total of sixty-four cubicles across seven thousand square feet of space. Each round of full cleaning, from washing the walls to scrubbing the floor, takes about thirty minutes. The floors must be kept clean, and they must be dried after a wash, if not there is a risk of the cats getting a fungal infection. Then there’s the washing of food bowls and sheets, and disposal of their paper trays. These tasks are on top of having to feed the animals, medicate the sick ones, and also walk the dogs. It’s easily an eighteen-hour day.

When we first began, we had a few volunteers. But for over fifteen years, the running of the shelter fell squarely on my mother’s and my shoulders. After my mom passed away in 2019, I thought that I could no longer do it alone. So, I called a few ex-volunteers up and asked if they would be willing to help out. And they rallied to establish systems. Genine Loo and Fiona Yuen, for example, help with the administrative matters.

How do you rescue animals that are caught in life-threatening predicaments?

We have to hire expert professionals to trap them. Injured or abused animals are difficult cases to handle. They are still out in the open and they are roaming about. They are extremely skittish. And they can be ferocious or feral. They were harmed by humans (or other animals) or were knocked down by cars. So, any contact by human hands they will retaliate and go berserk. And the act of trapping itself is distressing for them — it creates fear. First they were harmed, now they are being trapped. How my mom used to do it was she would let the animals settle in, then approach them, talk to them, feed them and dress their wounds. Whenever wound dressing was unsuccessful, she would bring the animals to the vet. For serious cases such as broken limbs, she’d bring the animals straight to the vet.

Help us understand the psyche. After spending a fortune on them, and spending years with them, why do owners abandon their pets?

Most people naturally want their personal homes to be spick and span, and nice smelling. Animals, before they are trained, disrupt this. Cats are convenience creatures, so they tend to pick a spot near their marked territories to urinate and excrete. They could go on an expensive or sentimental rug. This then becomes an issue. My mother would sit the pet owners down and try to mediate and be an advocate for the cats. Sometimes, the solution is just as simple as relocating the litter bins to the areas where the cats hang out.

When it comes to dogs, time commitment is an issue. Dogs demand a lot of attention from their humans. They also need to be walked every day. Being cooped up in an enclosed area is not good for them: they need constant exercise, if not they will gain weight, and in turn their overall joint health will deteriorate. An active dog requires at least four to five hours of one-to-one attention. Many would-be pet owners misjudge this, and in turn their dogs become a liability.

And of course, with old age comes the health problems and the risk of chronic illnesses. Animals tend to get abandoned between the ages of eight and ten. Many owners abandon cats by leaving them at the void decks. Singapore’s culture is such that around the neighbourhoods, there will always be stray feeders — so by leaving the cats at the void decks, the owners are giving them a fighting chance at survival. Some of them would buy canned food and get the stray feeders to give it to the cats. This is a collective truth pieced together by feeders’ accounts and even confessions of ex-owners who have given up their cats.

Drawing on her experience as a former Head of Aesthetics Education in Singapore’s Ministry of Education, Chen Yuanhui today runs Stories by Children, a heart-based learning environment where young authors aged between five and twelve years old can indulge their artistic flair freely. The pedagogy she uses is inspired by the Reggio Emilia Approach®. She sees all children as equally divine as adults, and aims to help them find their true selves through the use of art.

Yuanhui, what sparked your interest in therapeutic arts?

Arts as a healing modality was a calling. I was nineteen, waiting to enter university, when I saw the biographical comedy-drama film ‘Patch Adams’ starring Robin Williams. It was a movie where Patch’s life was documented, from his early struggles with mental illness to his vocation as a doctor as well as his humanisation of the doctor-patient relationship through clowning, which is a medium for therapeutic art.

In the movie, there was a scene that struck me. Before he went to medical school, Patch admitted himself into a psychiatric ward. There was another elderly patient, Arthur Mendelson, who was somewhat eccentric but cerebral and intellectual. He held up Patch’s hand, and asked him: ‘How many do you see?’ Patch replied: ‘There are four fingers.’ And Arthur urged him to look at him and not focus on the problem. He said: ‘How many do you see? Look beyond the fingers, how many do you see?’ Patch eventually replied: ‘Eight.’

Arthur then said: ‘See what everyone else chooses not to see, out of fear or conformity or laziness. See the world anew, each day.’ This scene really got to me. What people show you may not really be what is inside them. People come in layers, like an onion, and what they show you is only one of the layers. A person who is struggling will have protection and coping mechanisms. What I want to do in life is to touch people at their authentic cores. There is a holy space within our hearts where the blueprints of our highest expressions lie. Sometimes, so numbed we are with surviving life that our hearts’ callings become something distant, even far fetched or unbelievable. For some of us, we dare not show up as ourselves, because of fear — a fear of what others would think, a fear of ‘how could I make a livelihood’. And then there are the many ‘what ifs’ — ‘what if I fail?’. But really, what are these fears, and where did they come from? It comes from a fear of deviation from socially acceptable norms and standards for success.

Through harnessing therapeutic art, what I hope is to awaken in children that inner divinity, that inner light. And in so doing, help children find their authenticity.

That is a noble goal, yet one that borders on grandiosity.

It may be noble, but not at all grandiose. It is a basic right to being human, and as our society slowly evolves, more of such ‘deviations’ and ‘authentic expressions’ are becoming increasingly socially acceptable.

You left the Ministry of Education in 2016, then the National Institute of Education officially in 2020, after a sixteen-year tenure. Did you experience an onset of mid-career malaise?

I’m an artist in my soul and as an artist, I’m somebody who values freedom. I’m less motivated by career progression, power and money. When I had a stint in the ministry’s headquarters, I worked with many senior officers, the bosses of my bosses, and I was not inspired by the destination of my so-called career trajectory. Don’t get me wrong — I am not making them out to be ‘wrong’, or sheep of a system. Our children need to go to schools; they need teachers and principals. So many of my former colleagues are warm-hearted, passionate educators who have found their callings.

It was just a personal choice that staying in the system was not somewhere I would like to be in. I’ve given this consideration from many perspectives and concluded that given my personality and my strengths, I can better benefit the system as an outsider, where I have some freedom and autonomy to articulate and execute my visions, which cannot be tested in the mainstream classroom due to its inherent constraints.

As told to Alden Boon.

‘You are a burden.’ ‘A waste of space.’ ‘A good-for-nothing.’ No, these are not my current innermost thoughts. These were words my parents hurled at me when I was just seven years old. Every single day. Threats to send me to a girl’s home rained down on me. What is inexplicably ironic to me is that I was a test-tube baby. Natural conception evaded my parents for ten years after they got married. I wasn’t an accident that sought to trap them in a transactional marriage; or an inconvenience that disrupted their freedoms. I was planned for: there was a careful decision to have me, and they went through the costly and laborious process of in vitro fertilisation to bring me into this world. So, as the only child in the family, shouldn’t I be surfeited with love and affection?

In hindsight, I guess I became a punching bag. That very year, my father was declared a bankrupt — I remember stumbling upon a letter marked with the word ‘bankruptcy’ in bold. The details are hazy: I think my father was an entrepreneur who got cheated of his money. There used to be a man who would come over to our house often and they would talk business; he suddenly vanished from the face of the earth. Whatever it was that transpired, the blame devolved on me. I was on the receiving end of my father’s displaced rage. My mother was an absentee parent: as a quality controller, she used to work the afternoon and night shifts, and so was never around to defend me. Not that she would have done so. What would a confused seven-year-old do in the face of constant berating? Laugh it off, of course. That only angered my father even more. As I wasn’t close with any of my cousins, nor did I have any friends, I had no point of reference as to what a normal upbringing was.

Nestled in the industrial fringe that is Sungei Kadut is an austere workshop, and here a ceramicist is hard at work. Flanking him are wheelable steel racks, the shelves filled with a hodgepodge of pottery pieces both petite and bulky, mould parts and containers of minerals. He does not work on a whim; instead, his approach is highly methodical. First, he softens the liquid clay by mixing it in a polyethylene drum, and then he scoops it up using a jug and pours it into a composite mould. He sets the timer for one hour. He sidles up to his desk, where containers labelled with chemical symbols are arrayed on an abutting steel rack. He ensconces a few containers in his arms. With the meticulousness of a baker, he then weighs the materials on a scale before mixing them using a hand-held blender. Next, he reaches for a test piece and immerses it into the prepared glaze. Once the glaze has set, he places the ware in his trusty kiln. Now he prays to the kiln god. The quietude is ever rent by the noise of drilling emanating from next door and the periodic sound of the train careening along the track yonder. Morsels of hardened residual clay lie on the floor; his shirt and apron too are carelessly daubed with white. This is Rayn Leow in his element.

Other artists would be wont to call their workshops or workspaces their playgrounds, but you are loath to do so. Why is that?

The working conditions are not very ideal. Plaster and silica dust flies all around here, so I have to don my respirator when I work, and each workday is up to sixteen hours long. When I am in production mode, I work seven days a week. When the weather gets hot, my eczema will flare up. There is also the physical labour — imagine having to move forty sacks of twenty-five kilograms of materials.

An artist’s ineluctable sacrifices. Now, tell us more about your design philosophy.

I believe in function before form. I was having dinner with my family one evening, observing that my nephew was dropping food all over the table, when the thought came to me: ‘Why aren’t plates hexagonal with no gaps in between?’ It was at once obvious and yet novel. I wasn’t sure if hexagonal tableware would sell but as I gave it more thought, it evolved from a matter of function to a symbol that parallels the story of my life. A very Singaporean one in fact: my upbringing was steeped in Asian traditions, but I was also exposed and am receptive to liberalism. As a non-conforming person, I fit into our Confucian-style social structure, yet at the same time take refuge in modern passions, preferences and perspectives.

That birthed Ceramication’s signature shape of hexagon. It is a recurring geometry found in atoms, crystals and honeycombs, and it provides stability to the structures. When fitted together, hexagons form a perfect network, symbolising unity in diversity and representing the coming together of unique individuals to create partnerships, families and communities. I wonder: could liberation come at no expense to inclusivity?

If hexagon symbolises structure, then as a self-proclaimed non-conforming person, would you be exploring its antithesis?

The opposite of a hexagonal structure would be formless things like time, water and gravity. Such an exploration bucks the idea of establishment. But because my company is still new, established on 9 August 2020 — a date all Singaporeans are familiar with: National Day — I am still very much in the statement-making phase. So, for now, every collection will feature a hexagon-shaped piece. It is the brand’s signature. That said, this year, I am trying to obtain a government grant to create artistic, interdisciplinary work that combines porcelain, sound, light and water. Wish me luck!

For as long as he can remember, Derrick Tan, President of Voices for Animals, has always had a natural affinity with animals. Today, he has made it his life’s mission to rescue, rehabilitate and rehome animals in need. At his shelter, he has over a hundred rescue animals under his care. This is his story.

What were your aspirations when you were younger?

I didn’t have big dreams – most children dream of becoming pilots or doctors. My parents were hawkers, so I was inspired to be one too. They used to sell all kinds of food, from beehoon to bak kut teh. My contribution was being a taste tester (laughs). My parents would work long hours, so I used to cook meals for myself and my sister.

When was your first experience with animals?

Whenever I visited my grandmother’s place in Malaysia, I’d get very excited when I saw the free-roaming chickens, turkeys and cows. After my parents folded their food business, my father became a crane operator. He’d bring me to the construction site where many stray puppies were. I begged him to let me bring one home, but he always said no. Every day, we’d go to a nearby chicken rice stall and I’d ask the owner for the spare, unwanted parts. I’d happily tote a big bag filled with chicken parts and feed the hungry dogs.

Being that they were strays, were you not afraid of them?

Not at all. I was curious and fearless. When I was young, I thought that all dogs were harmless. There’s a scar on my face — I got it when I was petting a stray dog that was eating. He just clawed me and got me in the eye. I have so countless dog bites on my body.

You joined a gang when you were a teenager. Tell us about that.

I was fourteen years old, and I went to a skating rink with my friends. The rink was also a gang’s hangout place. The members recruited us — I think they just wanted to strengthen their number. I didn’t think joining a gang was wrong; I thought it was fun making so many new friends. I began dabbling in glue-sniffing — it was the cheapest drug available to us. I got a little nauseous inhaling it; it wasn’t the feeling I thought I would get. Then I moved on to marijuana; again I didn’t get the high I was expecting. I just got very hungry and could not stop munching on snacks. Eventually, one of my friends introduced me to ecstasy. I wanted to throw up, but when everyone else around you is high, you can’t help but go along with it. I just became giddy.

I’m drawn towards animals. I feel a sense of happiness when I’m around them. When I’m having a lousy day at work, when I feel stressed, I just need to sit on the floor and my dogs will surround me. There is this sense of peace. I don’t have to vent my frustration; this is my outlet.