Kintsugi – Broken But More Beautiful

By Deborah R de Souza

Life has a strange way of directing one.  Just when we, or at least I, think it is going one way, it changes gear and shifts me somewhere else.

When I was growing up, I never truly felt like I was part of my family. With two older siblings, my parents had a template of upbringing that worked beautifully for them.  But not for me.  I like space. I like doing things that gave me delight even though some of them were things that many would not think of doing.  Midnight feasts such as the ones in Enid Blyton’s books ran high on my list.  The very thought of waking up at midnight and gently unwrapping biscuits and chocolate quietly while suppressing gleeful giggles, were an enormous thrill.  My partner in crime was my cousin, Mary, and together we delighted in these midnight escapades during the school holidays.  We were never caught, although we came close to it one night when our Grandmother suddenly burst into our room and turned on the light. Biscuits, fruit, and chocolate flew under the bed with super-hero speed. Then with pillows hastily put around us, and eyes shut, we gave an award-winning sleeping performance.  Thankfully, my Grandmother was a little slow and needed time to adjust her eyesight.

Next there were the “acrobatics.”  Mary and I used to climb up the windows of her house, and from perhaps the first rung jump down to the grass below with a resounding cymbal-clashing “p..sssshhh.” Or something like that.  Of course, no adult was around to stop a 6-year old and an 7-year-old from our daring calisthenics that could have gotten us seriously hurt.  And of course, it was a time when our Grandmother was taking her afternoon nap. Until one fateful afternoon when my “p..sssshhh” became an “aarghh..” as my ear was being pulled hard by the sleuth of the family, our Grandmother.  No number of smacks and ear-pulling, however, stopped us from more jumps and later on, even from the second rung of the window.  We really liked the “p..sssshhh” sound.  It made us feel we accomplished something.

The list of our mischievous deeds goes on, and on….  But without these childhood activities, I fear we would have turned out boring, dull and underachieving.  Creativity and imagination are crucial in our growing years and in my humble opinion, should never be stifled.

In the eyes of others, however, I was deemed different from my sisters who were obedient, studious, and followed the rules.  I was often in the world of “Rules? What rules?”

There were occasions, however, when my second eldest sister, Gail, would play with me and even did cut-out paper dolls (toys of the time) with a whole wardrobe of paper clothes.  Gail was very creative in art and painting.  But as time went on, her interests and activities extended to parties and dating.  Together with my eldest sister, Janice, her social calendar took a different turn.  

So, what was so different about me in comparison to my sisters? They often put head, heart and soul into their studies. This was perhaps the biggest of my cracks because studying and I were as close as the north pole is from the south.

Still, I went to school and was most surprised to find that wearing pinafores was part of the uniform.  I often believed that anything dress-like was worn only on Sundays for church.  But this was perhaps the start of a learning curve for me.  The day I discovered I was a girl all the time! 

And so began ten years of whispers, strange looks, comparisons to my sisters and doubtful attitudes as to whether I would amount to anything. All this by certain Teachers, and School Leaders. Being ahead by a number of years, my eldest sister was on the brink of completing her ten-year education with my sister Gail, not far behind.  I had the whole nine-year stretch ahead of me, and all I could see was a constant time of not being as good as my sisters.

While as a child, I never felt I belonged at home, in school I got to make friends, some of who I still have the privilege of connecting with today. Still, studies were a struggle as I felt that some teachers were unwilling to teach in a way I could understand.  For whatever reason, most of my classmates had no problems with Mathematics while I saw the subject as my nemesis!  I was told one needed a logical mind to do the subject. But my logic was embedded in my Mother’s petticoats and her flowered head bands as I paraded around in our living room, sceptre (a toy wand) and all as a most believable Queen Elizabeth. I was extremely regal looking if I say so myself.  Mum had other ideas. Once the petticoats and headwear were removed, I returned to our dining table, kicking and screaming, to face a volume worth of Math exercises awaiting me. Get the hint that numbers had no place in my world of logic?

I had some high spots, however, in my education days.  I was selected for most of the dance performances, given acting parts in short plays and found a new delight in the world of theatre.  Queen Elizabeth and my acrobatic antics played a huge part in all this.  Being confined in a classroom for several hours, having to come home to homework and more revision, left scars. And for my parents, my rebellious actions just gave them cause to confine me with more disciplinary measures. Playtime was shortened except on Saturdays, outings were lessened while my sisters were free to go watch a movie or to have a nice meal.  An early curfew would be implemented curtailing watching my favourite television programmes. Coupled with school restrictions and rules, I just felt like I needed to run into open space and never stop.  The most severe punishment I ever had was when my Mother hid all my Enid Blyton books because I had done badly for my Maths in my third year of school. I thought I would go insane as books were truly my best friends.  They could transport me to any corner of the world, meet a variety of amazing people in places that would never truly exist in reality. 

As a nine-year-old, the experience left me devastated, and for a while I became a recluse, silent and distant. My grades for my other subjects began to decline and my Father, worried and concerned, took out a few of my books and left them in my room with a note saying: “We hid them because we love you. But we love your chatter, silly antics and noise even more. The rest of your books await you.”  Ah! A compromise! My first of many, of course. I returned to the world of communication with some immediacy, much to the dismay of sisters. Oh well! I would always be the different kid in the family.  But my Father, always with a desire to placate situations, was my true hero.  He not only gave me back my books, but my life.  Perhaps I was loved, at least by him.

Interest in boys sent my Mother into a huge fluster! While my sisters waltzed into puberty, I had a whole list of dos and don’ts. Mostly don’ts. And you can imagine her alarm when I was invited to my very first boy-girl party.  With children’s parties, all was good.  Mainly because parents got invited too and so there was some chaperoning, especially by my Mum.  With teen parties, however, the less adults around, the better.  Not because we were going to do anything we should not, but… you know.  They would fuss unnecessarily and come into the dance area where they were definitely not wanted under the guise of “Just seeing if you needed anything.”

My first party ended on a high with the promise of more invitations to come.  Dancing was dancing, with a guy, or in a group.  I thought this was simply fabulous! Of course, my parents were still awake when I returned at a modest time of 10.30 pm, being brought home by a friend’s father.  I was totally taken aback when Mum began checking my neck, pulling my blouse this way and that.  What was going on?! Breathing a sigh of relief and satisfaction, she smiled as she ushered me to bed.  I later, much later on, learnt that a hickey was something couples gave each other while they kissed and made out. Well, with a true-blue, stern Catholic upbringing, I did not get one of those till I had completed my schooling years!  Which brings me next to dating!

If parties were a concern for my Mother, dating threw her into a nightmare.  My Father, however, always managed to placate her with: “We cannot shield her from the world forever.  Debbie must experience and work things out for herself.” My Dad was pretty cool as you can see.  Nevertheless, I could still hear the television on as I turned the key into the lock of the front door past midnight, to find Dad laying on the sofa, asleep and awaiting my return.

My life took on various twists and turns.  Because of the way I perceive things, I always believed that trying new and different situations to be important.  This was perhaps what set me apart from my sisters.  I loved adventure, while they preferred a more planned and organised lifestyle.  Well, in 1988, I made yet another detour. 

I had been working in a bank as a secretary for several years when my eldest sister, Janice, suggested we make a trip to Medjugorje, at that time in Yugoslavia, now known as Bosnia-Herzegovina.  Being Catholic, we were in the know of apparitions by Mary, Our Blessed Mother, occurring there. So, we, Janice, Gail, a close friend Valerie, and I made our journey just after Christmas, not fully realising the winter January month and the cold it offered.  

There were many pilgrims from various countries, and this made a deep and lasting impression on me.  All had a story to share, and all were looking for a more meaningful spiritual path.  It was very cold in Medjurgorje, a small village in the Citluk, BiH province. But with the continuous activity of prayer, healing and the celebration of the Holy Eucharist, I experienced only the cloak of peace, calm and love.

While the services and prayer meetings were profound, what truly touched me were the humility and devotion of the pilgrims to prayer, and their determination to align their hearts to God.  I was overwhelmed and humbled as I felt that I lacked such pure faith.  Needless to say, there were wonders to behold, such as the spinning sun that left us witnessing something completely beautiful and overpowering.  When we left Medjugorje, however, it was the voices of the pilgrims, their faces of joy and wonder and their faith in God, that I took with me.  This led me to a life-changing decision – to leave the Bank with all its financial perks and benefits, and work for our Catholic Diocese, for a much smaller salary.

Long time friends stopped communicating with me.  Colleagues who shared personal and professional experiences suddenly disappeared.  Ex-schoolmates whose company I treasured for so long tried to counsel and advise me of the stupidity and irresponsibility of my actions. I experienced several painful cracks during this time. I felt dismissed, left behind and abandoned. My family, however, was wonderfully supportive. And I began to see that despite our differences and probably their difficulty in accepting my spontaneous changes, they truly cared for me and supported me.  I never saw this before. Leaving the Bank in 1988 was perhaps the best choice I had ever made in my life. 

The Diocese had at one time invited an Irish priest, for Fr Seamus O’Connor, to provide us with talks and workshops on the Bible at the Catechetical Centre.  Needless to say, the number of participants attending was huge.  Included in these numbers were two of the Infant Jesus nuns who were Principals of the Convent schools I attended.  Astonishingly enough, Sister Josephine Healy recognised me after several years and at once made a beeline in my direction and began speaking to me.  

She was not in favour of my working as Administrator for the Diocese, and very persuasively enticed me to a world of teaching Speech and Drama.  She poo-pooed the idea of my having no experience or credentials to take on such a task.  Only to do something she knew I had enjoyed while in school, Literature and Performance.  And so, within two years of Catechetical duties, I left the Catholic Diocese in 1990 and joined the Nuns and their little community of Speech and Drama teachers.  This community eventually became a Society, with a full-time Administrator and an Assistant, with full-time and part-time Teachers.  It was called Holy Child Speech and Drama Centre, the first of its kind in Singapore.

After being in the administrative field for so long, I never realised the passion and joy I had for teaching.  I found myself yearning for more learning about Theatre and the immense impact productions and actors have on an audience. The most important of all was seeing the confidence and personalities of children and teenagers develop and emerge from the lessons, performances and acting exams.  I spent eight wonderful years as an acting and communications Teacher at the Centre.

I always looked forward to my lessons, and watched while struggling, timid students flourished and become more self-assured.  Teaching was not just my passion it soon became my mission and my calling.  Watching my students grow and later take on professions in some form of creativity, be it in journalism, graphic designs, and fellow teachers was more than rewarding. It was a powerful validation of my work and who I am – an educator.

My life has been colourful, from the times of childhood mischief to teenage discovery, to an acceptable profession, and to a great change in lifestyle.  As a Teacher, sharing information, my discoveries, my learning all contribute to my life-changing choices with the promise of more discoveries to make.  Running my own enrichment centre had a lot of trials but the teaching gave me the balance I needed to plough through the most difficult of times.  With the arrival of Covid, I closed my school but even this was a wise choice as I now freelance as a theatre and communications Teacher.  Every group of students provide me with new knowledge, new insights and widen my perspectives to embrace an ever-evolving world.

Kintsugi is the Japanese method of using liquid gold to repair cracks in bowls, plates, and in most glassware, making them all look more exquisite, and flawless. Life had and continues to have a way of healing my own cracks and brokenness with liquid gold, through people like my Father and opportunities like running my own enrichment centre. My students with their trust and respect for me removed unwanted hurts, disillusions, rejections, loving me despite my being different and helping me embrace my uniqueness.  Friends returned and continued helping me discover and expand my interests and hobbies by sharing their own life stories, defining and redefining me into my own distinct individuality.  I will continue to teach till I am unable to move or when I am called to that eternal rest.

The healing experiences have given me a courage to take risks, to dig deeper into myself, and always to find more surprising value of who I am. Cracks formed by judgement, criticism and prejudice were transformed by the adhesives of wisdom, resilience and perseverance.  It is absolutely fine to be different.  In fact, I truly believe it is a necessity to be rare and unusual.  Because it is this standing out from others that help us compliment each other in the most fulfilling and enriching way, necessary to build that kingdom of peace and harmony.

By Deborah R de Souza