The life of Uncle

My uncle committed suicide last year. He jumped from a flat.

"He must have been very depressed." Mom said. Her voice was calm over the phone but I could detect her flinching nerves.

I was quiet, unsure of what to say. Then I asked, "How did everyone take it?"

"Your Ah Por was crying. Aunty Nanz also cried..." Mom's voice started to crack.

She told me that her sister will contact her once the body can be brought home. I just told her to keep me in the loop, and if she needed me to send her to any place, just let me know. In the meantime, I told her to take care of herself. I was not sure whether I should ask her to pray for him, but I guess it's ok to wish for something good for someone who had passed on eventhough you are not sure whether your prayers to the deceased will do any good, in this case.

Life really took a turn for uncle, the youngest and only son of four siblings. The son who would have carried his family's surname, and who would be the most important person to attend to his parents' funeral. But this was not to be.

When I was young, I knew him to be a well-established person, at least from my mom's description of him. Groomed and endowed in his pockets and wallets, he was generous with his ang pows whenever we met during that once a year Chinese new year. Eventhough he drove a taxi, he was also helping another of his relative in the money-lending industry. They are legal money lenders, not loan sharks. He was also into doing business, one of which was opening a store selling video games in the heartlands. Thus, driving a cab was just a hobby. He enjoyed the 'high life' too - life in karaoke lounges.

He fell in love with a woman, much to some disapprovement of family members. But it just goes to show he has a big heart. The woman was mute. They were blessed with two daughters.

Fast forward many years later, in which we did not really keep in touch with the going-ons in his lives, we heard news that he had taken a second wife. But the marriage and everything associated with it was hazy.

The woman was Malay. They met at a karaoke lounge where she was working. They married in Thailand (or some other remote places). He had converted to Islam. He was called Atan by his Malay in-laws but it was probably an extension of his Chinese surname - Tan. Again, many disapproved of this marriage believing that the woman was only after his wealth, and nothing else. Her - being Malay was not an issue for the family, perhaps because, their daughter who is my mom was given away by them when she was a baby to be adopted by a Malay/Muslim.

He did not divorce his Chinese wife, but had left her to be with his Malay wife. Again, he was blessed with two daughters with his Malay wife.

Then, things just spiralled down. Mom would get snippets of going-ons in his lives whenever we visited Ah Por for Chinese new year. Every year, something major would happen.

- Second wife wanted a divorce, but then they got back again.
- His elder daughter from his first marriage got pregnant out of wedlock. But it was a non-issue, as she got married to her boyfriend. Uncle never attended his daughter's wedding.
- His younger daughter from his first marriage got caught for drug abuse and was sent for rehab
- His first wife got depressed and stayed with Ah Por for a while. She does not have family members in Singapore. She was from Malaysia.
- He had kidney failure
- He had some bad skin ailments
- His second wife finally wanted a divorce
- He was jobless and penniless and went back to live with Ah Por


We met him during one Chinese new year - maybe last year, maybe the year before last. He was thin and frail, far from the prosperous man that I used to know and see when I was a little girl. He left after some small conversations with my mom, giving the excuse that he had to be at the dialysis centre. Mom gave him money, and I could see the shock on his face but Mom insisted. It was a reversal of role - he used to give my mom and her children money, but now it was the other way round.

That was the last time I saw him - alive.

On the second fateful evening, my husband and I went to the Singapore Casket at Lavender Street. Mom was already there. Ah Por looked devastated. Everyone else looked calm. Aunty Nanz even managed to 'grumble' about him taking his life a day before her birthday, and now she was spending her birthday on his funeral day. In fact, she was supposed to be taking a holiday to Vietnam with Ah Por and had paid for the trip. All that was left were huge regrettable sighs.

At the corner of that small room lies his coffin which we did not immediately go to. Both his wife and ex-wife and their children were there. True to what my mom had thought, he had never quite converted. His Malay ex-wife did not request for a Muslim burial. I don't think she knew what is to be done. I saw her elder daughter whom I had seen when she was a little girl. She was a pretty little girl, very cute and adorable but seeing her now, I'm sorry that we were never close. I may have been judgemental, but from the first look at her again, you would describe her as an 'anak metropolitan' - the fame tv show on Suria Malay channel that had rebellious, angst-ridden teens associated with tattoos and gangsterism. She had an almost bleached hair, nose studs and a small tattoo - the ones visible to my naked eye and she is my niece whom I never quite get to know. But then again, I may be wrong. We didn't talk to each other eventhough her mom made her 'salam' me. It was a lacklustre 'salam' without her holding my hand firmly or properly.

When my husband and I decided to take our leave, we went over to the coffin. Deep inside me, I was a bit fearful. Mom and Aunties told me that I do not have to see him if I do not want to, or am afraid to. But I wanted to, so I did.

The coffin was small, made of wood, but it had a glass top near the face. This was my first time paying my last respects to someone in a coffin. It was a strange feeling. Uncle looked really small and rested. There was a certain sombreness in the look of his face - I was not sure, I do not want to read too much into it.

The funeral was a simple affair, unlike the many Chinese funerals I had seen. Mom attended all the way until the cremation day at Mount Vernon accompanied by my sister. I did not attend the cremation. Aunties did what they needed to do there. Mom was a bundle of steel, believing in her Islamic faith put her in the right frame of mind.

If Uncle did not find the happiness and peace that he wanted when he was alive, I wish for the happiness, peace and guidance of Allah to the family he left behind especially for the niece I never really get to know.