Case Three
Supported by
My name is Qai (not my real name), and I am 15 years old. I have two younger sisters, ages 12 and 8, and a younger brother who is 7. I came to the center with my mother through the assistance of Jabatan Kebajikan Masyarakat (Department of Social Welfare) because of the violence my father inflicted on her.
My mother works as a cook in a restaurant in Kota Kinabalu. My father used to be a tire vendor. I remember seeing my mother carry heavy tires by herself when she was not at work. She rarely had time to rest because her work schedule stretched from morning until late at night, sometimes even till 1:00 a.m. Meanwhile, my father often went out, and I never knew what he was doing.
At home, I frequently witnessed my parents arguing. My father would physically and verbally abuse my mother. During those moments, my siblings and I would huddle together in the corner of our rented room, crying. I overheard conversations in which my father admitted to having another woman and threatened divorce. My mother, exhausted and hurt, would sometimes respond by saying, “Let’s get divorced.” After these arguments, my father often left the house, while my mother cried and held us close.
I saw the bruises on my mother’s face and hands caused by my father’s violence. The abuse began when I was only five years old. At that time, I thought it was normal because I did not understand what was happening. There were days when my father acted kindly, buying us food or small gifts, and my mother also did her best to care for us. But the cycle of violence and pain always returned.
As I grew older and entered my teenage years, I began to realize the deep fear and anger within me. Watching my parents argue intensely, hearing the sound of objects being thrown, and seeing my father slap my mother left me shaken. My mother often tried to protect herself or fight back, but the violence continued to haunt me.
I struggled with sleepless nights and overwhelming sadness. Sometimes I cried quietly, and my mother would notice and comfort me with a hug. There were mornings when I could not get up for school because I had not slept the night before. Even when my mother tried to wake me, I stayed in bed. On the days I went to school, I carried a heavy sadness with me. While my friends seemed cheerful and carefree, I felt trapped by shame, anger, and sorrow over what I witnessed at home.
These experiences affected my social life. I envied my friends for their freedom to connect with others, while I often isolated myself. My academic performance also declined. In primary school, I usually ranked fifth or sixth in my class, but by Form One and Form Two, my grades dropped significantly. At home, I never studied on my own. After school, I usually slept alongside my siblings. My mother instructed us to lock the room when we returned from school. With little food at home, I only knew how to cook instant noodles or fried eggs when ingredients were available. Otherwise, I relied on food from the school canteen.
I knew that my mother had filed for divorce from my father. One day, she began packing our belongings and moving them out of the rented room. We stayed at my aunt’s house for about two weeks. One day after school, I came home and found all our things packed up. The next afternoon, my mother took us straight to the center. When I asked her why, she explained that my aunt’s husband no longer allowed us to stay there. I did not know what to say, so I simply followed her.
I worried about how we would continue attending school since the center was far from where we used to live. My mother reassured me, saying, “Don’t worry, Mama will still take you to school.” Since moving to the center, life has felt different. For the first time, I have my own bed to sleep in every night. When I come home from school, there is always food on the table for my siblings and me. We have a TV to watch and space to play in the evenings.
One day, a staff member asked me how I was doing. I burst into tears and could hardly speak. I told the staff member that seeing my father abuse my mother felt “normal” to me. The staff member gently explained that being beaten is painful, not only on the outside but also deep inside.
I began attending sessions conducted by the staff, where I learned about self-protection and safeguarding alongside other residents my age. The staff showed us pictures, and I was able to connect those images to my own experiences with my mother. I realized that the violence had affected me deeply, especially in my social life at school and in my relationships with my siblings. At home, I often slept excessively and shut myself away. At the center, I learned how to make cheese tarts and batik cake with the staff and other residents.
During my second conversation with the staff, I felt more comfortable and was able to share my feelings. Slowly, I learned to communicate with other residents, participate in household chores, and even take turns cooking with guidance from the staff. Watching TV or resting on the sofa became moments of relaxation that I had never experienced before.
I often wish that my family could have a home of our own—a place where I could truly be myself. The daily schedule at the center has helped me focus on my schoolwork. For the first time, I have a proper desk to do my homework instead of trying to study on my bed.
How to support this case:
Bank account details:
1. Bank name: Public Bank Berhad
2. Account number: 3196591718
3. Account name: Good Shepherd Services
4. Reference code: EQW03
OR contact krishaabavisi@equalworld.org to send a supportive message, or care package.