SINGAPORE: Earlier this year, our team received a distress call from a client Aysha*.

Her 70-year old mother, Madam Wahidah*, had refused to offer daily afternoon Salah (Islamic prayers) unless she had taken a shower.

Aysha had already given her a shower and reminded her so, but Madam Wahidah did not remember and was unconvinced.

Madam Wahidah, who never misses her daily prayers, grew agitated. In a moment of anger, she locked herself inside her bedroom.

After hours of persuasion, apologies and patience, Aysha finally convinced her mother to unlock the door.

For the rest of the week, this agonising episode repeated with Aysha finally engaging us for professional assistance, since it was compromising her ability to get to work.

The care professional was able to convince Madam Wahidah to open up and freshen herself. She also discovered the root of Madam Wahidah’s temperamental episodes.

Madam Wahidah’s memory was fading. This acknowledgement was devastating to her. Her repeated insistence was her way of convincing herself that her memory was intact.

But her daughter Aysha’s difficulty in understanding her mother’s mental anguish, due to the progression of dementia, and the increased dependence on others, gave her greater grief.

DEMENTIA’S PSYCHOLOGICAL TOLL

Madam Wahidah displayed the earliest signs of dementia – forgetfulness and occasionally repeated behaviour.

As dementia progresses, changes in mood, behaviour and personality become more common. Feelings of withdrawal, communication issues and impaired social behaviour can arise. Persons with dementia may even forget the names of their loved ones and their personal attributes.

READ: Missing items, temper tantrums and life shifts: One woman’s journey in caring for her mother-in-law with dementia

They begin to lose a sense of self as their memory and hold on reality fades.

Those living with dementia find their confidence and emotions challenged, and can sometimes lash out because of anger and frustration.

The Alzheimer’s Disease Association in Singapore (ADA) defines dementia as “an illness which affects the brain, causing the brain cells to die at a faster rate than normal – leading to a decline in one’s mental abilities, failing memory, deterioration of intellectual function and personality changes”.

But the challenge with dementia is also the lack of understanding of its psychological impact on families coming to terms with this disease.

READ: Commentary: The role reversal between parent and child, as ageing takes a toll on families

I have observed first-hand the severe emotional toll dementia exacts on family members as the condition progresses, leading to caregiver burnout and familial tensions.

Families often learn to adapt to new physical needs, but do not grasp and remain ill-equipped to deal with the emotional resolve the condition demands.

ACKNOWLEDGING EMOTIONAL CHALLENGES

Acknowledging, accepting and addressing the emotional challenges of this condition faced by persons with dementia and loved ones caring for them, is a critical part of effectively dealing with dementia that frequently goes under the radar.

Families must first acknowledge the physical and emotional hurdles that this condition imposes on a patient and themselves.

Our research drawn from hours of care delivered by Homage across Singapore shows that in the early to middle stages of the condition, individuals might display changes in behaviour. 

In the earlier stages, this could include a level of obsessive-compulsive behaviour since routine and repetition are reassuring and can prevent mistakes.

As the condition progresses into the middle stages, individuals might shout, scold those around or even get physically aggressive, because they cannot vocalise their feelings and assert themselves.

READ: Commentary: Burden of caring for ageing parents weighs heaviest on unmarried daughters

Such actions should prompt families to get an early diagnosis done, and look out for signs of memory lapses or withdrawal from social interactions.

More importantly, caregivers should develop an acute sense of the routines, habits and relationships that help their loved one build confidence and a sense of worth.

For most, it’s the ability to carry out daily living activities we take for granted like grooming, preparing a meal, driving, and socialising, that give them a sense of independence but may require additional support with dementia.

When they begin to experience difficulty in carrying out such tasks, they may feel irritated, confused and in some cases, engage in self-harm.

ACCEPTING AND OWNING THE JOURNEY

Accepting the emotional rollercoaster that accompanies dementia is the second step to overcoming the disease.

Three in four living with dementia feel rejected and lonely, according to a survey of 5,600 people done by ADA and Singapore Management University. More than half feel less competent because of their condition.

Nearly 30 per cent also expressed feeling embarrassed in public while looking after their loved one.

These figures are alarming reminders of the deep-seated stigma our society continues to have against those with personal challenges, making it difficult to seek help in time. “Feeling awkward” to be seen with a person with dementia, is directly linked to shame, guilt and even depression.

The longer one harbours these feelings, the more difficult it becomes for the person with dementia and their caregivers to manage the condition. Acceptance of the situation allows families to finding better avenues of care and undertake pivotal changes in one’s lifestyle.

With Singapore’s life expectancy reaching nearly 85 years, many youths around us are or will be caregivers in their lifetimes. So why the shame?

The journey is demanding but can be undertaken with clarity and confidence along with the right support and attitude.

READ: Commentary: It is high time for a Ministry on Ageing Issues

ADDRESSING CAREGIVING SUPPORT

Singapore’s ageing population, smaller families and eventual increase in our dependency ratio will mean more cases of caregiver burnout.

An ageing population also means a higher incidence of dementia – in 2012, about 28,000 people in Singapore aged 60 and older had dementia. The number is expected to soar to 80,000 by 2030.

At the same time, the country is seeing a steadily declining old-age support ratio, from 7.4 in 2010 to 4.5 in 2019.

And in our fast-paced society, heavier professional and personal responsibilities mean less time for caregiving and meeting one’s emotional needs.

READ: Commentary: Three stories from caregivers show we still undervalue caregiving

Most of those we’ve seen requesting for help are young caregivers. Almost half are aged 44 and below, with 29 per cent aged between 25 to 34 years.

To help our seniors age confidently, we need a stronger respite care support system.

Trained, experienced and motivated caregivers can play a key role by helping, assessing and recognising the needs of seniors, spot symptoms of the onset of dementia, and engage them and their families in customising a care plan based on their unique needs.

The care recipient builds self-confidence through meaningful engagements with others. Loved ones, on the other hand, gain better insight into their collective needs, and get time to refuel.

I often recall the years when my father was living with dementia while my mother attended to him. The physical stress of taking care of his needs created enormous emotional anguish.

His behaviour changed as the condition progressed. I often worried he would forget me too. My mother, siblings and I did the best at that time, but couldn’t bridge the distance between us and him that dementia brought.

Now I realise how a professional caregiver’s support for a few hours each week would have helped.

HOLISIC CARE

With greater awareness, government efforts including the Ministry of Health’s Home Caregiving Grant and caregiver programmes under the National Council for Social Service have mushroomed, but more is needed to improve our understanding of dementia and galvanise efforts on the part of the medical, civic, and caregiving community.

As Singapore gives greater attention to the needs of caregivers, we must also strike a better balance in allocating resources between the physical aspects of care and mental wellbeing for the entire family unit when caring for a loved one with dementia.

Like Madam Wahidah and Aysha, many families may not have the tools to handle the challenges associated with dementia.

We all can play a part in improving the quality of life for people with dementia and their families, by recognising dementia not just as a physical condition, but a social challenge that can be managed better with stronger support mechanisms and holistic care.

* Names used are pseudonyms

Melissa Chan is Head of Community and Outreach at Homage. She is also the Founder of Project We Forgot, and a Steering Group Member of the World Young Leaders in Dementia Network, driving the development of innovative dementia solutions across disciplines and borders in Asia Pacific.

SINGAPORE: In June 2017, fashion design student Elisa Lim capped off her final-year project for Lasalle College of the Arts with a runway show – but not the usual kind. 

One of her models drove down the runway in a wheelchair, dazzling the audience in clothes specifically designed to be more comfortable and accessible for those who sit for extended periods of time.

After the show, the wheelchair-bound model approached Ms Lim, tears welling up in her eyes. “I got worried and asked what happened there,” Ms Lim, now 25, told CNA at her little studio in her Bukit Batok flat.

“She said: ‘I’m just really touched that you’re doing something not based on us being just a subject. But these apparels do bring a difference in the way we dress up, the way we feel about ourselves.’”

That stamp of approval was more or less the start of the journey for Will and Well, the fashion label Ms Lim founded in August that year to make inclusive yet attractive apparel for those with disabilities or special needs.

But as she approached design industry players to seek grants and support in the fledgling months of her business, one particular conversation brought her crashing down to earth.

“The first thing she asked me was: ‘Do you plan to continue doing this?’” Ms Lim recalled. “I was like: ‘What? You don’t even care about the business. What you ask is based on your assumptions that this wouldn’t last long. Where is that coming from?’

“And so that caught me off guard. That was when I realised that we have not been acknowledged by them.”

RUNNING OUT OF CASH

In the “lonely” journey of starting a business from scratch, a lack of recognition was not the first struggle Ms Lim has had to overcome.

About six months after launching Will and Well, recurring costs like studio rentals and web hosting fees meant the S$10,000 she had set aside for the business ran dry.

“I felt like I was missing out a lot on opportunities such as a stable income, the comfort of just working five days a week, from a certain time to a certain time,” she said.

“And I feel like after you graduate, you should hold up some responsibilities as a daughter, and give back in that sense. But when you’re starting out, you’re using all your savings; you barely have anything else to contribute.”

To earn some cash, Ms Lim took up a part-time project management job at a company that makes maternity products. It was still in the realm of design, so she loved the job and clicked with her colleagues. She was eventually offered the role permanently.

“I was like: ‘I can’t do that.’ That was tough, because right in front of you was an opportunity for you. And I just won’t do that,” she said, her voice trailing off.

THE EARLY DAYS

But to understand why Ms Lim believes so fiercely in her business, you have to go back to the start of her journey, before Will and Well and even before she started dabbling in inclusive fashion.

In secondary school, the self-confessed sports junkie was forced to stop ballet and playing netball after hurting her knee in a long-term injury. Her dad, worried about her “going downhill”, encouraged her to pick up a new hobby.

Ms Lim chose sewing, “out of spite” more than anything else. Because if grandmothers could do it while sitting around, she thought, so could she.

She soon discovered she had a flair for sewing and eventually fell in love with the craft. She wanted to see where it could take her, so she enrolled in Lasalle after her O-Levels with a view of entering the fashion industry.

In the third and final year of her diploma, Ms Lim was approached by a doctor to make clothes for elderly and bedridden patients he attended to at their homes. “I thought that was something worth looking into,” she said. “That was something that I would very much like my craft to be able to contribute to.”

That was when she saw how some people spent most of their days just lying in a bed in the living room, barely moving and refusing to switch on the fan or air-conditioning for fear of getting cold.

“So it was that kind of environment that also gave insights as to the choice of material we should use,” she said. “It’s very different from the typical fashion design process.”

Ms Lim decided that she could not walk away from the problems those in need face with clothing and dressing up.

“It’s really when you hear the challenges and needs of these people … you know in your head that you have solutions. If I don’t do anything about it, they won’t ever get those solutions,” she added.

“I always question myself if it is fair that after you take people’s time to hear about their stories, then you just say: ‘Bye, too bad.’ I can’t do that.”

A BRAND IS BORN

But to see if there was space in the Singapore market and society for a niche inclusive wear brand, Ms Lim needed to do some serious research. She did this over the next two years while getting her fashion design and textiles degree at Lasalle.

She studied examples in the US and UK and discovered that even with such large markets, clothing brands catering specifically to dementia or wheelchair-bound patients could not survive. When it came to Singapore, she found that the market formed only a tiny portion of the population.

It was clear that going niche was a no-go, but Ms Lim didn’t give up. She spoke extensively to patients and caregivers and listened to their clothing problems. The eureka moment came when she asked one beneficiary what she thought was most important when dressing up.

“She said: ‘First it has to look good on me. And then sure, if it makes it easier for me … it will be like a bonus for me.’ That was when my perspective really changed,” she said.

“Everyone wants to look good when it comes to dressing up. It’s important for physical well-being with the function, but you have to acknowledge that fashion has the capacity to give you an identity.”

This fitted nicely with something Ms Lim observed on her commutes on the MRT, specifically at the station lifts: “They designed that for the minority – for persons with disabilities, pregnant women and the elderly. But more often than not, you see the abled people dashing into the lift first.

”I wish people were more considerate, but it means that the design is very successful, so much so that everyone wants a piece of it.”

This would become her design ethos: Creating clothes that were first and foremost attractive, but with inclusive yet subtle features that could benefit everyone. One example is a dress with a seamless front zipper so it doesn’t need to be zipped up by someone else. Ms Lim was proudly wearing one during the interview.

Will and Well had finally found its space.

ONE-PERSON OPERATION

This brings you to Ms Lim’s final-year project and then getting thrown into the deep end. Like many start-ups, she’s had to do everything pretty much on her own.

She consults clients for about an hour each time, then designs their clothes, sources for fabrics and conducts quality checks on the finished outfits. If her usual tailor is not around, she sews the clothes herself, often through the night.

Then there’s the business side of things, a different animal, as she puts it. It’s crafting her brand and marketing it, doing the accounting and crunching the numbers. She’s thankful for the three part-timers who help with Will and Well’s website, social media and branding.

At the same time, she kept looking for that huge business partnership, one that could instantly make Will and Well succeed. She contacted hospitals, elder homes and even beauty companies that required flexible uniforms for their constantly moving workers. Things moved slowly.

“We were trying to enter into that, but it was tough,” she lamented. “It still is, because of the way they run things. There’s budgets and all that. And it’s really not the normal production standard to have design incorporated.”

But Ms Lim persisted in putting her brand out there. She organised basic design and sewing workshops, participated in pop-up store events, and showcased her outfits in physical and experiential spaces targeted at eldercare.

She also moved her studio, or what she affectionately calls her “sweatshop”, to her flat. It is a cosy nook filled with sewing machines and piles of fabric, separated from the dining room by a large glass window plastered with colourful post-it notes on her business.

WHAT KEEPS HER GOING

The perseverance began to pay off.

Through word of mouth, Ms Lim managed to get clients – including a stroke survivor and a wheelchair-bound lady who had just gone for hip surgery – who need apparel customised. She’s made for them easy-to-wear trousers and blouses with long zippers and Velcro straps.

Last November, Will and Well finally launched its own line of inclusive wear, featuring clothes that Ms Lim knew would benefit the most people. This includes easy-to-wear midi dresses and long-sleeved shirts with front zippers and magnetic buttons. Having a catalogue also made it easier for people who wanted to know what the brand was all about.

She’s priced her e-commerce line at S$29 to S$89, while custom pieces can go from S$120 to S$300.

The orders and glowing reviews have kept coming in.

One of her newest clients is a girl with one hand who will enter Primary 1 next year. Because her physical education attire had buttons, her mother was concerned that she would take too long to get dressed for the class. So Ms Lim will design a uniform with magnetic fastenings, but with the usual buttons still intact so it doesn’t look different.

The post-hip surgery patient loves Will and Well’s garments so much, she’s asked her daughter to buy a few more pieces. Abled customers played with the magnetic buttons on their clothes and said the garments fit them perfectly. These were things that made Ms Lim smile.

“You will take those (stories of satisfied customers) anytime over anything,” she said. “These are the things that stick with me.”

But perhaps the biggest encouragement came when Ms Lim was featured in a documentary about Singapore’s design industry, especially as the nation prepares to use design to solve problems and create new markets under a 2025 masterplan. The documentary is expected to be released in the second half of 2020.

“The first time I met with the producer, I cried in front of him,” she said. “Because that was the first time I had that kind of conversation. And to have Will and Well being acknowledged as a design-focused company, and that we belong to the design industry, it was something that meant a lot to me.”

DREAMING BIG

Moving forward, Ms Lim revealed that she’s looking to hire her first full-time team member “soon”, and that she’s speaking with a few potential business partners. It’s still early days, however, and she can’t say much due to non-disclosure agreements.

Beyond that, she wants to expand to other countries in the region, pointing out that while there are similar brands in the US, the Southeast Asian market might find it less accessible with differences in design preferences and sizing.

Ms Lim also hopes recognition from the industry continues, insisting that inclusive wear is an extension of the industry and that she wishes for Will and Well “to be home in that sense”.

“Why does it have to be so exclusive?” she asked. “Why does it have to be only aesthetics-focused?”

Indeed, Ms Lim sees a future where inclusive fashion becomes normal.

Her dream is to be able to do a collection with a mainstream brand. “When that happens, then I would see that a lot of different brands would also do something about it,” she said.

“Till then, maybe I can explore other playgrounds. But for as long as I am still doing it alone, I have to continue it. I have to. If not, when else? How else?”

SINGAPORE: A 22-year-old man has been arrested after two women were found dead at Block 7A Commonwealth Avenue, police said on Sunday (Oct 27) night.

Police were alerted to a case of “two unnatural deaths” at the block at around 7.24pm on Sunday, the force said.

“Two women, aged 56 and 90, were both found lying motionless and were pronounced dead by paramedics at (the) scene,” the Singapore Police Force said in a statement.

The police have classified the case as murder. 

“Preliminary investigations revealed that both deceased and the suspect are related to one another. A 22-year-old man has been arrested in relation to the case and will be charged in court on Oct 28, 2019,” the statement added.

The Singapore Civil Defence Force (SCDF) said on Sunday that two people have been taken to the National University Hospital (NUH).

“The SCDF was alerted to a medical incident at Block 7A Commonwealth Avenue at about 7.25pm. SCDF ambulances conveyed two persons to NUH and pronounced two other persons dead at scene,” it added.

This the second reported murder case on Sunday. 

In a separate case, a 63-year-old man was found dead at Block 633 in Ang Mo Kio Avenue 6 on Sunday morning. Police said they were alerted at 5.46am and found the man lying motionless. 

The man was pronounced dead at the scene by paramedics, and police have classified the case as murder. A 54-year-old woman has been arrested in relation to the case, police said. 

The woman will also be charged in court on Monday.

SINGAPORE: A 63-year-old man was found dead on Sunday (Oct 27) at block 633 in Ang Mo Kio Avenue 6.

The police have classified the case as murder.

They were alerted at 5.46am and found the man lying motionless. He was pronounced dead at the scene by paramedics, according to police.

A 53-year-old woman has been arrested in relation to the case, police said, adding that she will be charged in court on Oct 28.

Police were seen gathered near a staircase on the third floor of the block when CNA arrived at the scene. 

The staircase and the lift were cordoned off. 

Preliminary investigations revealed that both the victim and the suspect were known to each other.

Investigations are ongoing, police added.

SINGAPORE: The learning of mother tongue has come under the spotlight, with a revamped secondary school mother tongue curriculum in the pipeline.

Starting with the Secondary 1 cohort in 2021, the new curriculum aims to boost national identity, and feature greater cultural knowledge, contemporary materials, and IT-enabled learning.

In addition, a Mother Tongue Support Programme will be introduced in 2021 for all Primary 3 pupils and extended to all Primary 4 pupils in 2022 who find the subject challenging.

Highlighting this week that Singapore has to acknowledge it is losing its bilingual competitive edge, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong has also urged Singaporeans to encourage the daily use of Mandarin and keep the language alive.

To help achieve this, the Speak Mandarin Campaign will launch a Database of Singaporean Mandarin Terms.

The changes sound promising. After all who would say no to greater support from schools or a concerted effort to increase mother tongue’s relevance to modern life?

But I must admit, I have a love-hate relationship with my mother tongue.

I can appreciate its economic implications; Singapore boasts links to large economies such as China and India, with Indonesia and Malaysia as close neighbours and knowing the local language can boost our job prospects in these markets.

I also see that language is intricately tied to culture, and I wouldn’t want future generations to lose their sense of cultural roots and traditions.

But I do face an uphill climb of the Great Mandarin Wall on a daily basis.

READ: Commentary: The benefits of bilingualism go beyond knowing two languages

When my eldest child comes to me expressing her disdain for the language and her wishes for it not to exist, I try to empathise and not chide. I was in the exact same shoes as a child, and I don’t think the young me would appreciate being told to “unfeel” what I felt.

From a child’s perspective, arguing that they have to master mother tongue because of economic or cultural reasons cuts no ice; it does not make them double down and study harder.

It is too far away on the horizon to distract them from their current pain point – which is to learn a language they hardly hear on a daily basis, and is increasingly foreign to them.

Add to this the pressure to perform well in the major exams, and you get the perfect storm.

WHERE ART THOU, MOTHER TONGUE?

It is harder for kids today to master mother tongue compared to my childhood years.

When we were growing up, more people relied on their mother tongues or dialects. I conversed mainly in Mandarin with my parents and grandparents, and grew up on a steady diet of Channel 8 dramas.

In Secondary school, my CCA, Chinese Orchestra, also helped me appreciate the language and culture more.

Today, English is the world’s lingua franca. The language permeates our homes and also dominates popular culture; just turn on the TV, Netflix or YouTube, and you’ll be greeted by a cacophony of Western drama series and comedies.

We Google in English and we search for items on Siri in English.

READ: Commentary: Singlish is not English. That’s not a bad thing

READ: Commentary: Translation technology is useful, but should not replace learning languages

Even Chinese or Malay pop songs appear to have less cultural dominance, with the rise of K-pop groups like BTS and Black Pink.

If one does not live in a predominantly mother-tongue speaking household, or has a mother tongue-speaking relative at home, we would need to source for our daily input elsewhere, or take pains to “switch” channels.  

To build up our kids’ level of familiarity with the language, my husband and I made a pact to speak Mandarin more often, especially during the kids’ bedtime when we get to chat about our day. But we’ve struggled to keep this up consistently.

A couple friend of ours have fared better. They designated one parent as the Chinese-speaking parent in the household, and their children grew up hearing Mandarin at least half of the time. Their kids are warmer to the language and would generally reciprocate when spoken to in Mandarin.

Indeed, the home environment is a key factor in resolving the mother tongue conundrum.

But what about monolingual parents? Should they expect their children to be effectively bilingual?

In a monolingual home environment, one might expect to draw on external resources. My friend, Evelyn, started her daughter on Chinese tuition twice a week at the age of five.

She was not attending kindergarten at the time so this was her only exposure to the language. She scored an A in the subject at PSLE, but at Secondary 1, is starting to hit some roadblocks.

READ: Commentary: What hope do monolingual parents have in raising bilingual children?

As she weighs the options available to support her daughter’s learning, Evelyn lamented: 

Why should parents have to bear the burden of becoming their kids’ second teachers? If more support could be given to them within the school environment, such that we don’t have to agonise over the best ways to teach them ourselves, or hire tutors, that would be ideal.

I think the answer is clear – as long as there are no major intervening factors, like a role model in the home, a good quality tutor, or a passionate teacher at school, the child will face overwhelming odds in the journey towards bilingualism.

THE BEAUTY AND NECESSITY OF DAILY USE

Perhaps the beauty of our mother tongues lies not in culture or identity, important as these are, but in the everyday use of it – the joy of being able to connect with relatives, help a stranger with directions, and simply be understood.

When children experience language in the form of a special mooncake-making event or a rhythmic dikir barat performance, engaging as these efforts may be, it becomes relegated to a rare occasion, like something that belongs to a museum.

On the contrary, it is the social aspect of language that we’re lacking here in modern multicultural Singapore.

READ: Commentary: We can’t save the Sentosa Merlion, but can sure protect other aspects of Singapore’s heritage

While I may still make small talk with a neighbour in Mandarin, there is little opportunity for my kids to use the language.

To help them along, we’ve started playing songs from the Pandarin YouTube channel and watching local Channel 8 dramas on Toggle.

I also take a greater interest in their school work, making sure to revise their tingxie (spelling exercise) more regularly, even after the actual spelling is over. During the holidays, I also arrange for their Chinese tutor to bring them on excursions to various parks and museums.

That said, I think there’s nothing more effective than us walking the talk and putting in more effort to live and love the language.

UP THE FUN FACTOR

In the battle for higher standards in mother tongue, both parents and teachers stand on the frontline.

Could teachers in school be better equipped to capture the fledgling interests of their charges? Could teachers and parents work closer together to make learning more integrated and therefore palatable to children?

Maybe it’s not really about giving each student a tablet to master Chinese characters or Tamil scripts, or getting them to act in a play, but more of a willingness to use unconventional methods.

Like the Science teacher who used Pokémon to engage his students, we can consider giving kids essay topics that are more fun and appealing.

Kids will probably find it more engaging to write about their favourite superhero or pop idol, than about an elderly woman crossing the street with a heavy bag of groceries.

Many kids today have come to associate their mother tongue language as a problem, when in reality the language itself is not at fault, it’s the pressure of having to perform well in them in the major exams.

READ: Commentary: Want your kids to have a headstart in life? Build their vocab

We would do well to acknowledge that mastering mother tongue in a Singapore that lives and breathes in English is really hard for our children, who are a few generations away from native speakers of their mother tongue, and refrain from piling on the pressure.

Instead, we can help them appreciate the language – both its beauty in its literary or art forms as well as its function in conversing with others – by making it fun and empowering them to take the lead in their learning where possible.

If nothing shifts in this equation – neither the academic pressure nor the relative inaccessibility of the language – then the only clear winners are the tuition centres serving the majority of our youths today.

June Yong is a mother of three, an educational therapist and owner of Mama Wear Papa Shirt, a blog that discusses parenting and education in Singapore.

SINGAPORE: Five times out of six when Iskandar Ibrahim applied for a job in the cosmetics line, he was accepted. After all, he was an award-winning make-up artist who had a decade of experience at MAC.

But when he had to sign the contract or start work, he always hesitated. In his heart, he knew he was more than qualified — but each time, he questioned his ability, and whether his potential employers would really accept him.

In 2014, he was diagnosed with photoreceptor dysfunction, an eye condition in which the cells in the retinas degenerate prematurely. It means he cannot see in bright light, nor tell shades of colours apart.

“I was afraid that they’d reject me because of my condition,” says the 44-year-old. “Perhaps it was a pride issue … But I felt like I was lying to myself and lying to them.

“So every time it was time to sign the contract, I couldn’t.”

It has been five years full of longing, loss and trying to find his way back to his first love.

Iskandar, who prefers to be known as Shawn, still sees in shades of grey. But the excuses have stopped, and he is now giving himself a chance to bring colour to others as a make-up artist once again.

HIS DREAM JOB

Before things went downhill for Shawn, he was living the dream with MAC, feeling as if he had it all: Glamorous fashion shows with top local designers, overseas trips with his team for conferences, and most of all, the prestige.

“When you’re at MAC, you’re something,” he says. “Everybody knows.”

It was hard work, but he enjoyed it. Beyond the glamour, he loved the brand and what it represented: Creative, flamboyant and colourful — the same qualities he would ascribe to himself, and was known to be.

“When I went to work, I dressed so stylishly, with boots and all,” recalls Shawn, who had been posted to the duty-free hall at Changi Airport. “And when everybody saw me, it was like, ‘Wah, celebrity come already!’”

Dressing to the nines every day meant polishing his boots, ironing his T-shirts and, of course, wearing make-up.

He favoured bold, dramatic lines: Thick, winged liner and sparkly eye shadow, with a deep red lip colour — Ruby Woo or Russian Red.

It was, he says with a smile, a hallmark of his style, which he had developed in his early 20s from making and dressing up in costumes and wigs to perform in drag at clubs.

He was known then as Shawn Flower. But to his friends, it was clear that drag was simply his hobby. His real love was MAC.

“He shines at drag, but I think when he got his job as a make-up artist … you could see that it was different for him,” says Aidil Abdullah, who has been his friend for more than 20 years.

“You could see how confident, how radiant he was, and he knew what he was talking about … He was in his prime when he was in MAC.”

THE MISTAKES BEGAN

But one day in 2012, he realised his eyesight was not what it used to be. There was a slight fuzziness, and at times, he saw black dots dancing in front of his eyes.

It seemed worse in places with bright lighting, such as the harsh sunlight of the early afternoon or on the shop floor of the cosmetics counter.

Then there were the waves of giddiness and the migraines, which sometimes caused his eyes to water from the pain.

He realised he was having problems reading the codes on the products that came in. He started making mistakes: Stocks of make-up ended up in the wrong place, and he started giving customers the wrong products.

He began using a magnifying glass discreetly to read product codes. He began directing customers who had come for makeovers to sit in a chair with dim lighting, so he could do their make-up without straining his eyes.

But the mistakes kept happening. And customers started to complain. “My colleagues started asking me … Shawn, what happened to you?’” he recounts. “Normally, you don’t make any mistakes.

“They asked me: ‘Are you okay? Is there something wrong with your eyes?’”

But he kept quiet.

“I didn’t want to tell people because I didn’t want people to look at me as if I wasn’t normal,” he explains. “So I just tahan.”

Until he could no longer hide it. Growing increasingly concerned about his performance, Shawn’s managers urged him to see an eye specialist. And in early 2014, he was diagnosed with the condition.

In bright light, what he sees is a sea of white and vague black or grey shapes. In dim lighting, things are still a bit blurry. While he can see primary colours such as red or yellow, he cannot make out the different shades.

Working at MAC was his dream, but he was torn. With the mistakes mounting and his vision deteriorating, he was no longer sure he could do it.

So he left.

WATCH: The visually impaired makeup artist (4:45)

HIS LOWEST POINT

In his darkest days, there were times when Shawn admitted to himself that he had perhaps never wanted to acknowledge his condition. “Sometimes I just blamed myself,” he says.

He made excuses to avoid meeting his friends. Only one or two close pals knew about his situation.

For six months after he left his job, all he did was sit at home and cry. Paralysed with grief, he could not bring himself to apply for another job. It was the lowest point in his life.

When he did have to go out, there were times midway through a journey when he came to a standstill and cried because could not see where he was going.

He was referred to the Singapore Association of the Visually Handicapped (SAVH), which gave him special red-lensed glasses to reduce the glare of bright light so he could go out in the daytime.

Even so, he estimates his visual improvement at 50 to 60 per cent at most.

Things got worse for him when his ailing mother died in 2017 from pneumonia. He had always been close to her and had been planning to buy a new flat where she could live.

The day she was buried was the first time Shawn’s close friend Abdul Malik realised the depth of his problem.

“We had to walk to the cemetery, and he couldn’t even move … He had to hug me to go through the graveyard,” he recalls. “I carried an umbrella to shade him, and he was wearing his sunglasses. But he couldn’t see.”

He pauses to offer a tissue to Shawn, whose tears are flowing down at the memory.

“He couldn’t see his mother’s face for the very last time.”

THE TURNING POINT

For a time, Shawn lived off his savings. As his bank balance dwindled, his desperation grew. But he ended up in a quandary over his job applications.

At the end of last year, he received a phone call from his social worker at the SAVH. A fragrance company named Firmenich was looking to hire sensory panellists, who would smell and profile the fragrances the company produced.

Though it was only part-time, the job gave him a steady income. It was also a turning point for him.

As he worked with others who were visually impaired, he realised that there were opportunities for people like him. “My friends who were totally blind could do so many other jobs,” he says. “So why not me?

“They always told me … Shawn, if you get any job, just go for it,” he adds. “If we can do it … you can as well.”

Seeing the way his Firmenich trainers, Siau Choon and Thibault, adapted the work practices to accommodate the panellists’ disabilities also made him more accepting of his condition.

He promised himself that should he apply for other jobs in future, he would declare his condition up front. “Whether I get (the job) or not, that’s another story,” he says.

ALLOWED TO BE HIMSELF

Another job that helped him regain his confidence, he says, is one that has allowed him to be himself, dress up flamboyantly again and, best of all, work at night — away from the glare of the daytime light.

This is now the sixth year he has participated in Universal Studios Singapore’s annual Halloween Horror Nights, first as a make-up artist and then as a part-time scare actor.

“Whatever character they give me, I try my best to become that character,” he says. “This has made me want to try more things and do more things that I’ve never done before.”

In this year’s edition, he plays a victim in a Japanese-themed haunted house filled with eerie dolls. Dressed in a checked shirt and with fake blood and gore running down the side of his face, he certainly looked the part.

“Help me!” he yells as people are ushered through a darkened passageway. “Yumi’s coming!”

From his animated chats with the make-up artist in the holding area, to the gleam in his eye when he stretches out his hand towards a screaming visitor, it is clear that he enjoys every bit of the acting.

“Today,” he says, making a dramatic gesture with his hands and flourishing his puppet Yumi, “I’m Mariah Scary!”

Halloween Horror Nights has been an escape for him, says Aidil. “He always seems extra cheerful when he’s doing it.”

But the issue is that there is a limited run every year. Shawn has been approached to work at the theme park for its Christmas events, but as these were in the daytime, he had to decline.

“I always ask them … do you have any night one?” he says. “If there is, I want to join.”

When he puts on his costume, his demeanour changes. It offers a glimpse of what he could have been like years ago as a flamboyant performer in a blonde wig and a glittery dress.

PINING FOR HIS FIRST LOVE

Today, the remnants of Shawn’s drag days are packed away in boxes in his wardrobe. There is a leopard-print tunic with butterfly sleeves; a rainbow scarf; and a brown wig that he quips makes him look like supermodel Tyra Banks.

But he has long since closed the door on that part of his life. In his bedroom, his make-up collection takes pride of place. In a clear drawer under his mirror, there are eye shadows in every colour of the rainbow.

As he slings his make-up belt over one shoulder, he has the look of a dedicated professional, ready to showcase his skills on a model.

As far as he is concerned, he remains a professional. Despite his sight, he is able to do make-up in dim lighting. Besides the various part-time jobs he juggles, he also takes on freelance make-up assignments.

Although he uses a magnifying glass to read the product codes, it is sometimes unnecessary; he knows MAC products so well that he is able to tell — from memory — what the colours look like and how the products behave.

“Sometimes I can’t see,” he says as he sweeps a shimmery mineral eye shadow onto his friend’s eyelids. “But I know that mineral products always fall off because of the pigment, so I’ll take a brush and sweep it off.”

He makes minor adaptations to accommodate his condition, he says. Sometimes he gets his customer to help him read product codes or identify products. He also places a mirror in front of his customer and would ask from time to time if what he is doing works.

It does for the most part.

Today, not only has he accepted his condition as a part of him and regained some confidence, he also accepts that the experience of losing part of his vision has made him a better person — humbler and nice to everybody.

“Before, I was very proud,” he admits. “I’d always thought of myself as a make-up artist … so glamourous. But … everything changed.”

In his heart, however, he longs to return to his first love, MAC. With the bright lights, he knows it would be a challenge. But perhaps, he thinks aloud, he could work in a dimmer environment?

“If there’s a chance for me to come back, I’d come back without hesitation,” he says. “Part-time also (I don’t) mind … I just want to be with the team.”

He feels wistful about what he has lost. But as he sweeps a bright pink blusher on his model and selects a bronze lipstick for her, it is clear that he can still add colour to people’s lives, as he did at the height of his career.