Contributed by: Claire
1. My First Colourful Bible
At 6, my sister who was 13 years older, got me a colourful children’s bible. I loved it. She told me about Jesus, the creator of the moon and stars.
Having a sister 13 years older pretty much means that everything she said was to me, universal truth.
Excited about having the option of being a child of God, I recall ever so vividly scurrying down the staircase in my kindergarten at The People’s Bible Church (TPBC), gripping hands with my partner, and asking my fellow mini-humans,
“Do you all want to be Christian ah?”
Not surprisingly, at 6, when our biggest concern was that Bananas-in-Pajamas Sticker Mrs Chua gave out, nobody really cared to answer me.
Regardless, in a matter of days, my sister led me in what I later learnt was known to be the “Sinner’s Prayer”.
The name of the prayer though, was not at all instinctive. I always thought that the crux of the matter was the invitation of a special magical invincible Spirit into my life and the abundant supply of incredible powers, and not my humanly sinful self encapsulated in the label – The Sinners’ Prayer.
One lazy Sunday afternoon, my papa laid on our mustard-yellow sofa, watching Sunday morning variety shows. It was probably 超級变变变, or the likes of it.
Proud of my new-found knowledge and belief, I pranced delightedly towards my papa and asked, “Papa, 你知道谁弄那个太阳吗?”
My dad continued starring straight into the TV screen, and without batting an eyelid, shook his head.
“谁?”
Excited, I ran to my bedroom, grabbed my favourite, and only, colourful children’s bible, and pointed at Jesus, ”there! Jesus! 是他!”
Looking displeased, he ripped all of the colourful pages from my first ever colourful children’s bible. He hollered for mummy, and stuffed all of the ripped pages, book spine, hard cover, and all, into mummy’s palm. Mummy threw it all into the kitchen bin, and then I started wailing in tears.
“Papa don’t like you to read this kind of books la.”
2. Adolescence – the Struggle to Be… A Christian
The next morning, I was up early at 6.30am while most of my family of 6 was readying themselves for work, or school. I laid still, stoning and half asleep on our mustard-yellow sofa. My sister presented a form for my parents’ signature, a school consent form for her to fly to Sydney Opera House for a choir performance.
“又是花钱! 你的学校教坏人! 每次捐钱给基督教!”
My dad’s voice ringed through our house as he slapped my sister across her face, sending her towering 1.68m frame to the ground.
A series of exchanges ensued, only ending with my dad snapping at my sister, “你跟你妹妹说了什么?!”
I wished so much to dissolve into the mustard-yellow sofa like I wasn’t there. But I was.
I knew now my dad’s tight-fisted stance against Christianity, or anything that went against the syncretism of Buddhism and Taoism he grew up to know.
Growing up, Christianity was that forbidden fruit that my ‘traditional’ nuclear family, and extended family, shunned upon.
Later on, my dad decided against sending me to Paya Lebar Methodist school, the school with an agenda to convert, and that successfully converted my sister into someone they could not accept. Hoping I would turn out Buddhist, he donated money to Maha Bodhi School; I remember meeting up with the principal and on my way there praying so hard the angels would take me away. And they did.
There were no vacancies, and alas, I landed up in Singapore Chinese Girls’ School, an agnostic school that his company previously did sanitary works for – or so he thought.
4. Coming Out
Going to church was clearly out of bounds; each time I whispered the question, my papa would scream at me and I would have a 1 week ban from TVB dramas with him. Reading the bible was a massive logistical nightmare of ensuring my folks weren’t home yet, quietly locking the door, unlocking my drawer and reading the bible, in secret.
By now, my sister had gotten married and moved out to her own place; I was left to fend for myself.
Regardless of all that uphill dramatic hullabaloo my adolescence was laced with, I was abundantly blessed; and God never once made me doubt His presence.
Throughout my agnostic Primary, and Secondary School days, I lived by the Word of God through His many blessings; hearing about the truth of God through tens of letters with my kindergarten teacher Mrs Chua, receiving donated bibles from my tuition teachers that would be, as usual, locked up in my drawer, organising 6.30am bible study sessions with my primary school friends, taking part in ‘underground’ worship sessions with my secondary school teacher(s) and peers, questioning verses through my secondary school friend/daughter of a pastor…God chased after me, as much as I did Him.
3. Falling in Love with my First Girlfriend
My Secondary school days had to be my most glorious days.
I topped the class, or even cohort, occasionally. I held office in the Chinese Drama Club, was the Head of the Discipline Committee, had my voice recorded echoing through the school reciting the pledge for years till today.
I had it all together.
At Secondary 3, 15 and in my pubescent prime, I fell in love with my best friend. She was the Head Prefect back in Primary School, and everyone knew her to be the most reliable friend they ever could have. We got together, with some of my gentle probing, and we thought we’d last a lifetime. We got closer to each others’ families and hoped for their consent as heterosexual couples would. We were young and took that slow.
We were perfect, and nothing in me, Holy Spirit or my self conscious, ever nudged me into thinking that loving another human being was ‘wrong’.
4. Coming to the Altar
About to graduate, my dad had a mild stroke and life at home was never really the same again, though in retrospect, it might not have been all that bad.
With a mild stroke, he went through a roller coaster of emotions, though depression to being milder and more child-like, and that’s pretty much how I remember him as; always supportive and always (without much choice), listening.
At 17, I again asked if I could go attend a church. And this time, praying to any god was a good idea and might bring healing to my papa. So my mummy obliged.
So I went alone and spent 3 Sundays walking to the churches near my neighbourhood; the first church I arrived at, I was a few minutes into their worship and sat at the back worshipping God. The scene was magnificent; and I never felt so much like God had always been here with me, and I was finally tugging myself into His arms. For the past 17 years of my life, I would never have imagined me one day attending a church.
Towards the end of the service, there was an altar call – thinking back, I didn’t quite recall what the altar call was for, but I went up front anyway. I knelt in line with the other worshipers and a old pastor-looking man prayed in tongues or murmurs I couldn’t make out. One by one, every kneeling worshiper started collapsing and/or wailing, and I started freaking out, and pretty much breaking down in tears – partly touched that I was actually in church after 17 years, and actually more because everyone else was crying so I better did as well.
Well eventually, after 2 other visits to other churches, I finally found what I would still regard as my Home Church; never failing and always embracing (I assume.).
5. “You Better Stop Being a Lesbian”
I entered a Junior College in the far east of Singapore, and told myself to stop being the ‘bridge between the student body and the authorities’ ‘cos it’s not the most popular thing one could do…But there I was yet again, feeling fervent for causes and wanting to make a difference.. I was part of the Student Council.
My first girlfriend went to a Polytechnic in the West, the pioneer and poster girl of the Direct Poly Admission (DPA) programme. Regardless of our physical distance, we shuttled to and fro to meet each other; she’d wait outside my college with my favourite Mr Bean Papaya Soy Milk, and I’d support her every basketball match in the west.
There were many JC couples getting together, some of whom have recently gotten married… and then there was me.
Once, my council friend saw me with my then-girlfriend and wrote me a note, placing it in my council pigeon hole, “..you better stop being a lesbian.”, he said, amongst other encouraging and well-meaning lines. That was probably one of the most defining moments that ‘being lesbian’ was ‘wrong’.
5. West Coast Park, BBQ Pit No. 8, or 7
My current partner and I met 9 years ago at West Coast Park, BBQ Pit No. 8, or 7. For a very silly reason – my friends and I were unable to start a fire, and we needed her help to start the fire for us. We didn’t at all fall in love at first sight; but we exchanged Facebook Usernames on account that it was funny how her group of friends and mine became friends. We chatted and hit it off well, as friends, and had a common topic – God, and homosexuality.
During that period, I was coincidentally visiting my pastor pretty often, with my ex, who was a butch. We visited priests and pastors, in fact, to probe for reasons for or against homosexuality and Christianity. Surprisingly, none were able to give a firm answer through scripture that God considered homosexuality a sin.
Whatever it was, my current partner convinced me that it was sinful to be in homosexual relationships; I believed her and soon broke up with my ex of 2 years. Ironically or not, my current partner and I fell in love and while I was in the hospital, warded for a chronic illness and got together for 9 years, and counting.
The 9 years was not at all smooth-sailing; it was a relationship that many tried to pull me away from, for my benefit. We fell in and out of the relationship for a countless number of times, largely owing to her uncertainty and deep-rooted belief that homosexuality and God were irreconcilable.
While my closer group of friends were more learned and critical from the social sciences background, most others were religious and unquestioningly subservient.
Everything and almost everyone within her circle was pulling us apart, and nothing was celebrating our relationship – her family, her friends, her career, everything, was holding onto the hope that she’d find a husband, get married, have kids. My family and friends were really more enlightened, and ironically most were non-Christians who were much more cognizant of the fluidity of love and humanity.
6. Living Life as a Christian, a Lesbian Christian
Eventually, I got baptised in my home church, got actively involved in leading the Youth Ministry, was involved in 2 Ministries, and headed another. I still call it my home church for the lessons it has taught me while I find my spiritual footing in between my relationships, homosexual or not.
My partner and I made a conscious decision to make living life more aligned with our lives, to stop living a lie and to be whole and real – we stepped out of our comfort zones and today, my partner and I are active attendees of Free Community Church (FCC); FCC in principle, recognises that all individual are equal; how far that is realised is a journey we all struggle with.
We serve in the Welcome and Worship ministries and here, we are celebrated for the strengths, weaknesses, unanswered questions that we bring to the table. FCC pushes us to be the community that we want to see. It empowers and it challenges.
Trudging ahead, our concerns are aplenty, and the least of which is to convert the nation into one of homosexuals or paedophiles.
We are concerned about when we can afford a house even with the biased BTO system.
We are concerned when our families will accept us in moving out to live together and not poke their noses into every affair.
We are concerned if this 9 years of living life will come to nothing when one of us die, or if we’d suddenly be welcomed as an in-law by each others’ families.
We are concerned if we’d be allowed to visit each other in the hospitals on our dying bed.
We are concerned if we’d even be notified or called when the other gets into an accident.
We are concerned if any body would care that we were, for the most of our adult lives, each other’s ‘family’, in the most real sense of the word.
