Nico’s Story

Hi. I’m Nico (She/they), and I am the founder of LONGKANGBRAIN, a mental health non-profit that supports marginalised communities in Singapore. I spent my whole life trying to conceptualise the depth of my rage and desperation for stability, and when I was 15 years old, I started to understand that it had been born out of oppression and marginalisation on a familial & societal level.

I was 19 when I learned that the system that was supposed to protect me, and others like me, had failed me. I was 19 when I decided to do whatever it took to reduce power distance between institutions and community. I was 19 when the government issued a statement that mental health services were deemed non-essential during the pandemic, and that was my last straw. So I started LONGKANGBRAIN. I needed to build a community where experiences were not silenced, and love can exist safely.

Growing up, it was constantly shoved down my throat that I should be grateful for my youth as the world will only grow more unkind when I become an adult. To be candid, if someone asked me now if life was worse at 15 or 24—I’d say life was terrible at 15. At 24, life is healing.

The gaslighting I faced, the heaviness of the casual words and woes of adults who struggled on their own, weighed me down more than I realised. At 15, I didn’t have a voice. I was in an extremely unsafe household and had illnesses that no one wanted to diagnose without any resources because the system could not categorise my needs into a checkbox to distribute resources accordingly.

There was no box on financial aid or government forms throughout my life for “Daughter of a single, middle class, sole breadwinner abusive mother. Chronic medical conditions. In a fully paid off 4-room HDB. An aging grandmother with multiple conditions requiring domestic aid with no monetary support from her relatives. A jobless & homeless uncle, clearing off debts from the eldest sister’s ties to her runner-from-loanshark-husband and their three kids. Making sure we had food on the table, provided the table wasn’t broken by my father’s rage.” It was reduced to the measly category “Other”, with not enough characters to encapsulate the messiness that comes with falling through the cracks of society.

At 19 There was no appeal for extensions or a deferment form that could explain my absence from class due to ableist systems that held no room for my chronic illnesses and the frequent medical appointments, for which I had to carve time out. Despite being a scholar and getting As, my GPA suffered because of lessons missed to inadequate healthcare system and the unpredictability that comes from being chronically ill.

At 21, I had no peers to grieve my loss of a loved one—a parental figure who had been deported. A concept so foreign in our country, we observe with pity across the globe as thousands lose loved ones to deportation. A tragedy I naively thought only my friends in the western hemisphere face became my reality. Amidst all the noise, like most of my peers in their 20s, I had space to accommodate the grief of losing my youth to the pandemic as well as the turbulence of highs and lows navigating queer love, friendship and family.

Life at 15 for me on the surface- looked like a pretty portrait slightly askew on a dull wall. At a glance, it did not show the paint chipping away, the expressions of grief silenced by a forced smile, the scars on my body from bruises I was too young to remember and shackles of the secrets I was forced to carry. At 15, I did not have the words to paint this picture because I alternated from being stuck as the girl in the portrait and the onlooking voyeur the frame through society’s rose-coloured glasses.

In many ways, I believe that my suicidal tendencies were my body’s way of asking for help. When no one else took me seriously, I held my life on the other end of the stick and played a dangerous game. I do not regret it, I simply wish I didn’t have to choose between my life and safety.

At 15, I was impressionable and believed that my abuse was valid. That the repeated sexual assault was normal, that the manipulation and violence were part of every family’s dynamic and that I simply was too weak to deal with life. I fed on the lies and harsh words that were spoken to me like maggots on rotting flesh because I didn’t have an alternate reality to compare my situation to. I never learned that it was not okay. I was never validated, and I believed I was weak and unable to grow into someone who would survive.

Life at 24 still exists in this reality, but it knows how to differentiate a house from a home. It knows how to paint a picture because it learnt that there was more to life than being a painting on a wall. Life at 24 had access to thoughts and opinions a 15-year-old wasn’t allowed to have in Singapore. Life at 24 is not a walk in the park by any means, and maybe down the road life will get bad again, but at 24, I have the courage and memory of life at 15.

I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have the defiance and stubbornness to prove a point at 15. My childhood and adolescent years hurt me in ways I grew to learn were unacceptable. I wasn’t given the opportunity to learn about safety at 15. At 24, I do everything I can to keep myself safe. When it gets bad and I feel like life is not worth living, I remind myself that at 15, if I had someone like the one I’ve grown into now, I would have felt safe. I continue to exist to be a safe person for the youthfulness I’m trying to rekindle and embrace.

The pain I felt at 15 amplifies sometimes when my triggers consume me, and I feel trapped or voiceless. I go back to my shell and do what was safe for me then; wallow and embrace my sadness and pain because no one else did. I had to feel everything deeply to remember it was real when my memory was shattered by what I grew to learn were the traumatic experiences I faced, and I know now, at 24, that with CPTSD, my body was just trying to shield me by forgetting my trauma.

When those flashbacks surface, they feel like acid down my throat. At 24, I have stopped trying to prevent them, and instead, I’ve taken to pausing and listening to what they’re trying to whisper to me. I am learning to embrace and unpack them softly with the tools I discover along the way, even if it means learning and unlearning coping strategies for the Nth time.

I see now that those who laughed at me and warned that life would only get worse could not be more wrong because life at 15 was as painful and raw and harsh as I remembered it to be, and it was not my fault that they hurt me the way they did. It was not my fault, institutions, and society denied my reality because it was not “common”. It’s not my fault that they were part of the problem and, I know now that it wasn’t simply because I didn’t try hard enough or was being dramatic.

Toeing my life on the line, for my voice to be heard, should not be the status-quo for someone to finally listen. There are not enough accessible resources available for youth out there who do not have access to safe spaces and adults who want to listen. That is the reality of the world when you’re a marginalised individual or a minor. It should not have to be ‘life or death’ for your needs to be taken seriously.

At 24, I now struggle to find a balance between my hope for the future and my capacity to make an impact. I am learning how to dissect my internalised ableism when navigating the hell which is the medical bureaucracy & social services in Singapore. The grief that comes with living in pain in a society that prioritises the economy and leaves almost no room for rest is exhausting. I’m constantly learning how to be kind to myself and adapt to my needs whilst climbing the social & career ladder to stay afloat.

The love that comes from being a safe space for at least one other person on a communal level is so important in society. The pandemic was proof of that.

It started out of the need to remind people they are loved in spite of the challenges society imposes on anyone who lives outside of status-quo. What was born out of the desperation to build a safe space for difficult conversations has grown into something that feels like home.

Starting LONGKANGBRAIN has helped me regain my voice, and I’m grateful to 15- year-old me for fighting against all odds. I am honored to be able to share my story and meet the colorful, diverse stories of the other human books in this library :) Thank you for your time and for reading the compressed.zip version of my life. I look forward to learning with you and finding community with each other.

♥️,

Nico