PROLOGUE “Two rules we must ever bear in mind – that apart from the will there is nothing either good or bad, and that we must not try to anticipate or direct events, but merely accept them with intelligence.” – Epictectus, A.D. 60-117 July 2003 A small cemetery off Sungai Besi It was a fine Saturday morning, cloudless and warm. Yet, there was silence in the air, a reminder of death and guilt. Su Wen sighed, grief flashing briefly across her face. It had been a year, she told herself. A year since her sister had slit her wrists and bled to death. Shading her eyes from the sun, she looked on. Her eyes searched for a familiar face. The tombstones were stark white, bleached by scorching sun. They were a sharp contrast against the black soil of the earth. Some of the gravesites showed recent signs of visitation, others were less fortunate. A few feet away, underneath a bougainvillea bush, a picture of her sister stood out; a young face among the old, a coloured picture among the black and whites of the past. Su Wen stopped in front of her sister’s grave. A bouquet of wilting white roses lay at the base of the tombstone. Her sister loved white roses. Only Su Wen knew that. It was her who came month after month to replace the flowers, to smile upon her sister’s young face and to remember how life was before this had happened. Even in death, her parents were still either too ashamed or angry to face their youngest death. They were too stubborn and prideful to admit their fault. It has been one year, Su Wen told herself, and yet her parents were reluctant to visit their daughter. She could remember the morning’s argument, the hostility she felt towards Mum as she was preparing to leave. “Going there again?” Mum nonchalantly enquired over breakfast. How could the old lady not know where Su Wen was going? Silence greeted her back. Annoyed, Mum continued eating her bowl of congee, making loud slurping noises that irritated Su Wen. “You need to move on, Wen. Your pa and me have accepted fate as it is. Why can’t you? Your sister is dead and there is nothing we can do about it. Accept it the way it is.” Su Wen stole a glance at Mum. She looked indifferent, unperturbed by the fact that it was the first anniversary of her daughter’s death. One year had done nothing to soften Mum’s disposition. The old lady, uneducated and plain, often prided herself on the achievements of her daughters, and her duties as a mother and wife. Being an old-fashioned Hakka woman, the old lady was as manipulative and sharp-tongued as any Chinese mother could get. That proved to be the unravelling of this family, Su Wen realized. How could she toss aside one daughter as if it was an old rag that she was discarding? Even as a sister, Su Wen had spent the night before, replaying every single memory and emotion that reminded her of her younger sister. She had often questioned fate, wondering if things would have been different. Every recollection, every answer that may have been sliced cut through Su Wen’s heart. Yet, here was Mum, all calm and unmoved. The old woman had no tears or sympathy to offer. And that further vexed Su Wen. “You mean there is nothing you can do about it. You have never visited her since the funeral and that was over a year ago! How can you claim to have moved on, Ma?” Su Wen answered back, mincing her words with sarcasm. “She killed herself. She slit her wrists and bled to death. All because we failed her. YOU, ME AND PA! WE FAILED HER! So don’t try to tell me to move on when you haven’t.” A small white Fokker crossed the skies, breaking the silence in the air. Still, it barely caught Su Wen’s attention. Her gaze lingered on the dead roses. Only two weeks ago were they soft, white and pulsing with life. Removing the browned flowers, she placed the white roses she had brought from the market earlier and gently ran her fingers over the petals. It was then that she caught sight of a small white butterfly hovering around the bougainvillea bush. It must be a female butterfly for only females float ever so winsomely, she thought. The butterfly was very much like her sister, mused Su Wen. A tear trickled down her cheek as she recalled how captivating and fairylike her sister was. It was hard to believe how and why anyone so winsome could be dead, especially by their own hand. Yet, the answer laid upon her feet. The inscription and photo of one so young for all to see.

ONG SU ANN 1980 – 2002 Wronged in life, redeemed in death Forever remembered

Mum had thrown a fuss when Su Wen first made plans to put those words into stone. Su Wen persisted on and with good reason. The old lady had turned her sister’s last rites into a circus, making no announcement in the papers. It was only after her father’s interference that she agreed to hold a funeral service. Even then, the service was quick, small and simple; an obligatory word or two and it was over. Quite the opposite of her grandmother’s funeral where Buddhist monks had spent three days and three nights chanting prayers of safe journey for the soul into the afterlife. In her sister’s case, the monks were called in to utter a prayer or two and then, paid promptly. When queried later about the funeral proceedings, Mum had uttered that it was because of how her sister died. That was the only time she uttered the word ‘suicide’. It had been a year yet the memory of that day lingered on like a sore, vivid, red and painful. A year ago… At the home of the Ongs A certain silence greeted Su Wen when she came home from work. It was a strange type of stillness in the air, one that she could not put her finger on. Wary at first because of increasing reports of crime in the neighbourhood, Su Wen took in her surroundings – the turning of the ceiling fan in the living hall, the sounds of the radio blaring music by Anastasia and the smells of yesterday’s durian. “Wen, you’re getting too jumpy,” she whispered with a smile as she kicked off her heels and headed towards the kitchen. “Ann, I got you your favourite Penang asam laksa. Maybe we can go for a movie. What do you think?” invited Su Wen as she took out the fragrant smelling laksa. She smiled as the fishy smell filled the kitchen. Her sister would love this; it was specially packed for her – lots of chilies, plenty of fish and no Chinese mint leaves. Su Wen furrowed her brow. No sound, no words of yes or no, not a single reply echoed the hallway. The hair on Su Wen’s back started prickling. It would always prickle when instinct told her of something amiss. She walked cautiously towards her sister’s room and tried the doorknob. It would not budge. Su Wen tried again, panic building up inside of her. Her sister had been beside herself for the past week, almost zombie-like. Could this be the worst that Su Wen had been dreading? “Ann? You there?” cried Su Wen as she roughly jangled the doorknob. “Su Ann? Ann, if you’re there, answer me. Ann? For God’s sake, say something! Ann???” It was then she detected that sharp smell. The coppery smell of blood that she had always remembered since her biology classes in secondary school. For a moment Su Wen wondered and it sunk in – blood, blood in her sister’s room, blood…and death. It was then that Su Wen turned the house upside down, searching for the spare keys to the rooms. When the doorknob finally gave way, the sickly smell rushed out as if it had been confined in a tiny chamber for centuries. A piercing scream filled the house and echoed throughout the neighbourhood. Mr and Mrs Ong came home to the sight of an ambulance, the police, a gathering crowd of curious onlookers and a hysterical daughter who required three strong men to hold her back. The neighbours’ whispers were like bees busy droning away. As the two, puzzled by the crowd’s reaction at the sight of them, passed the police barrier and entered the house, Mr Ong nearly gagged from the stench. Su Wen managed to twist her way out of the policeman’s grip and shoved her parents aside, coming to land on her knees at the door of her sister’s room. The impact jarred her, hurting particularly her knees but she did not care. She struggled to get up, using the doorframe as support. “Ann…please wake up. Ann…” pleaded Su Wen tearfully, as she stumbled towards the lifeless body of her sister. Policemen rushed towards her, attempting to hold her back from further entering the crime scene. Already Su Wen had left bloody footprints all over the room from the initial discovery of her sister’s body. “Let me go. Let me go…or I’LL KILL YOU!” shouted Su Wen. “LET ME GO!” For a moment, Mr and Mrs Ong were at a complete loss as to Su Wen’s behaviour. They stood rooted in the living area, staring down at their oldest daughter. As she was dragged aside, the cause of the stir was revealed in its entire horrific splendor. Mr Ong turned away, holding back the nauseous feeling that crept up his throat. Mrs Ong gasped and promptly fainted into her husband’s arms. Some members of the crowd who sneaked into the house out of curiosity ran out, hands over their mouths. Others who were more vocal, loudly announced, “There is a dead body in there!” or more explicitly, “Someone committed suicide!”. “Ann! Let me go!!! ANN!!!” screamed Su Wen as she struggled, twisting around like a caught snake. She tried to stomp on the policeman’s foot but failed. The paramedics, fearing more problems, tranquilized her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the drug began to take effect. She fell into deep sleep, unaware of the commotion around her. It was not a sight for the faint-hearted. Even the police had problems dealing with situations that involved this much blood. It did not help that the victim was in the prime of her youth, with all that life had to offer. The detective sighed and began to take notes. The image burnt into his mind. Droplets of blood trailed from the smashed mirror to the bed. The beige carpet soaked with dark red blood. A slender arm drooping over pillow, showing the neatly slit wrists. Bone exposed. A piece of broken glass stained with dried blood laid on the ground, parallel with the wrists. The victim’s eyes were wide opened, staring towards the ceiling. Her face a deadly shade of ash and her slim once winsome body drained of life. It was going to be a long night, the detective thought, as he looked back at the still shocked family members of the victim. Su Wen woke up to stoical parents and a relatively quiet house the next morning. Except for the barrier tape and remnants of blood on the floor, there were no other signs of the police having been in her home. Dad sat her down and explained the night’s events to her. The police had written the incident off as a suicide. A letter, crumpled and stained, was found at the foot of the bed. It was a result transcript. She had failed the semester. They said that it could have been the trigger for the suicide, but they were not sure. There was no note left by the deceased. The police spent time taking pictures while the paramedics carefully removed the body for bagging. A cleanup crew was ready at hand to dispose of the blood. It would be more hygienic if it was removed professionally, the detective had said, as compared to vinegar or soap. His colleagues nodded, even the ones who were keeping the reporters at bay. Su Wen gave them credit though. They were kind, almost courteous to a sickly point. She had been dead for quite some time, they remarked. She died quite painlessly, they assured. We have seen worse, they admitted. Mum began to lament about how much shame her deceased daughter had brought upon the family. Dad consoled her, murmuring that perhaps this was karma. Su Wen, still reeling from the shock, fled into her room. Staring at a photograph of her sister and her, a strangled sob escaped her. Her sister was dead. The young innocent face that used to joke, laugh and talk to her was now as cold as stone. All that remained of her sister was the smell of the blood mixed with cleaning fluids; a memory that will always linger in Su Wen’s mind.