A new direction

On his first day of school this year, Haziq* overslept.

He woke up only 15 minutes before he was supposed to leave home. Usually, he needed an hour to get ready.

The lanky 22-year-old hurriedly put on his uniform and slicked up his signature spiky hair. From his family’s rental flat in northern Singapore, he needed over an hour to travel to his school in the west.

As Haziq put on his shoes, he worked around the bulky electronic tag on his ankle. The boxy device made sure he was home from 10p.m. to 6a.m. everyday.

This was his second time going back to the same tertiary institution.

School had always been challenging for him. After a series of stints in Boys’ Home and Boys’ Hostel, the young man had tried to attend school last year.

He had reoffended and dropped out, instead spending the rest of the year at maximum security facility for youth offenders, the Reformative Training Centre (RTC).

When the Ministry of Social and Family Development (MSF) extended post-care support last year, its end goal was to help youths remain engaged in school, training or employment. But as former residents like Haziq try to move on from their past, even with support from people around them, they struggle with temptations and distractions.

Reality hits hard

Helping juvenile offenders is like a game of tug of war, said Robin Tay, a prison counsellor who has previously conducted programs and counselling in Boys’ Home. While social workers try to help, there are also powerful negative influences that hold them back.

“It’s always a battle between the good and bad… it’s either we pull them over, or we lose them,” said Mr Tay, who is also the manager at the New Charis Mission, a Christian based halfway house for ex-offenders.

The social worker doesn’t always win. Mr Tay once mentored an ex-resident of the Boys’ Home who felt like he couldn’t fit back into school. The boy eventually went back to his old gang and was arrested again, he said.

Three weeks before starting school, Haziq met us at the void deck below his block. He agreed to share his story because he had received much community support, and he wanted to give back to others, he said.

The youth, who sported electric turquoise hair then, spoke candidly about his life.

He had first been arrested for glue-sniffing at 11 years old, and had to get his mother, who works as a domestic helper, to bail him out.

At 13, he was arrested for 23 counts of drug and inhalant abuse and was sentenced to a year in Muhammadiyah Welfare Home (MWH), a community home for Muslim boys. He then broke probation repeatedly, and spent over a month in Boys’ Home, followed by a year in Singapore Boys’ Hostel.

The effects of drugs were alluring.

“When we took these substances, we were in a world of our own. We could have superpowers, or go anywhere we envisioned. Our imagination was the limit. It was a nice break from reality,” he said.

Reality hit him when he was in the Boys’ Hostel, where residents are required to attend school or find work. He realised he was only qualified for hard labour jobs.

“I couldn’t see myself doing this for the rest of my life,” he said. “And I realised how important it is to have a [certificate] to secure better jobs in the future.”

A tutor’s heartbreak

When Haziq left the Boys’ Hostel in 2018, he tried to study for the N-levels as a private candidate. His social worker, Narasimman S/O Tivasiha Mami, found a volunteer tutor to help him.

Ms Lien Dinh, a 23-year-old Vietnamese final-year student at Yale-NUS College, was part of Project I’mpart, an initiative started by some of the college’s students to tutor at-risk youths.

She met Haziq two to three times a week at his void deck, or a nearby McDonald's restaurant. In one and a half hours, including Haziq's smoke breaks along the way, they tried to cover Mathematics, English and Science — a tall order, given that the youth had missed years of school.

He was a quick learner when he tried, said Ms Dinh. But it soon became an uphill battle.

Haziq, who was also working at a fast food joint at the time, would cancel tutoring sessions or oversleep for hours.

“I would be calling him from under his block when I’ve already arrived there, and he would say ‘I don’t want to have the sessions today’. And I would be like, ‘nope, I’m going to wait for you’,” she said over a phone interview.

The youth seemed like he had other pressing issues to handle, said Ms Dinh. Sometimes, he told her he would do better, but those promises did not last long.

Two months before his N-levels, Ms Dinh stopped tutoring Haziq due to scheduling conflicts and personal reasons. They have not kept in touch since.

“I was quite heartbroken,” her voice cracked as she said. “He’s a good kid, I can’t say that enough. I think he was just born into a lot of distractions.”

Rapid changes

Drugs are still a temptation for Haziq, said Mr Narasimman.

The 36-year-old social worker said he had recently turned to alcohol to curb his cravings, but it was just “one vice replacing another”.

Haziq has remained tight-lipped on his old habits. But he did say that he was determined to quit drugs for good, so he does not disappoint his mother.

Things have since changed quickly. Two months since that first day of school, the young man is on shaky ground.

According to Mr Narasimman and his form teacher, he stopped school in March. They did not disclose any further details, and Haziq could not be reached for comment.

A marked improvement

Some ex-residents want to remove all marks of their past to move forward. 19-year-old Yusuf* used to have a tattoo on his forearm spelling his name in clear, bold letters. Now, it is just a faint scar. He started going for tattoo removal sessions when he was at Boys’ Home in 2017.

The juvenile detention centre had just gotten a new tattoo removal machine that year, and roped in general practitioner Dr Kevin Chua to run the sessions at no cost to the boys.

Ex-residents of the Boys’ Home usually remove their tattoos at their parents’ request, or when they want to find a job, said Dr Chua in an interview at his Queenstown clinic.

More boys have sought his help in the three years since the machine was bought. From 15 to 20 per year, now, he estimates that he helps around 60 ex-residents remove their tattoos.

Another doctor has also come onboard to help the boys, he said.

Depending on the type and colour of tattoo, it may take around eight to twelve sessions to erase it, said Dr Chua.

Besides the tattoo of his name, Yusuf also inked Lucifer holding a pitchfork on his back. He left the Boys’ Home in 2019 after a two-year sentence, and has to attend follow-up sessions to remove it.

As the second eldest brother at home, Yusuf wanted to avoid influencing his two younger siblings, who are both in primary school.

“I’m usually shirtless at home and they always see my tattoos, so I’m worried they might want to get some too when they’re older. When they ask me about my tattoos, I just tell them I draw them,” he said.

Transformed by tragedy

Every resident walks a different road to reintegration. With strong support from his caseworker and family, 20-year-old Jervin Tay is thriving.

He was a rebellious teen with a strained relationship with his mother, Ms Belinda Chin. Sometimes he would sneak out of the house to drink with his friends, and they would quarrel when he returned.

“Sometimes I also couldn’t sleep properly because I was scared that if I slept, he would run away again,” Ms Chin said in Mandarin, in an interview at their three-room flat in Woodlands.

Jervin's mother, Ms Belinda Chin, still has a wary look when describing her son's past illegal activities. The masseur, who now works from home, said that Jervin had frustrated her to the point where she'd just tell him: "I tell you, I will just send you to Boys' Home."

Jervin's mother, Ms Belinda Chin, still has a wary look when describing her son's past illegal activities. The masseur, who now works from home, said that Jervin had frustrated her to the point where she'd just tell him: "I tell you, I will just send you to Boys' Home."

During that period, the 53-year-old switched jobs from a masseur to a part-time bubble tea stall staff, so she could have time to keep tabs on her son. Ms Chin has been divorced from Jervin’s father since 2016.

When he was 16, the youth was sentenced to a year in Boys’ Home after a violent midnight fight.

While he was serving his sentence, his father, who worked as a forklift operator, met with a sudden work accident and fell into a vegetative state immediately.

Jervin pleaded to see him. According to Jervin, two guards cuffed his hands, secured his ankles together and escorted him down the hospital corridor as strangers stared.

In their living room, the family keeps a drawing from a bonding session in the Boys' Home. Jervin's two sisters and mother had come down for the activity, and they drew animals that best represented them. In the sketch, Ms Chin is a "lion", who does everything from disciplining the children and providing for them.

In their living room, the family keeps a drawing from a bonding session in the Boys' Home. Jervin's two sisters and mother had come down for the activity, and they drew animals that best represented them. In the sketch, Ms Chin is a "lion", who does everything from disciplining the children and providing for them.

He visited his father three times, before his mother and sisters cried and told him that they would rather he stop visiting. It broke their hearts to see him in this state.

“I thought, if I keep on doing this kind of thing, if anything happens to my family one day, I can’t even be there. It’s very useless,” Jervin said in Mandarin.

In his remaining time in Boys’ Home, Jervin wrote letters to his family promising to stay out of trouble. His mother marvelled at his drastic change.

“It felt like he became an entirely different person,” said Ms Chin, who now works from home as a masseur.

Jervin laughs as he chats with his mother on a Sunday afternoon, in the precious hours he has before booking in to his army camp.

Ms Belinda Chin sorts through a stack of letters that Jervin wrote to the family from Boys' Home. She still keeps them safely in a drawer in the living room, sorted by date.

At home, Jervin (left) describes how the family came together to hug him in court after he was sentenced to a year in Boys’ Home. Even his usually stoic father had cried, he said.

At home, Jervin (left) describes how the family came together to hug him in court after he was sentenced to a year in Boys’ Home. Even his usually stoic father had cried, he said.

Bettr days ahead

Jervin also completed the Workplace Literacy and Numeracy (WPLN) Assessments, an alternative qualification to the N-levels, a short Information Communication Technology (ICT) course, and even a five-day forklifting course in the Boys' Home.

With renewed focus, the teen decided to study for the WPLN examinations inside the Boys' Home. It was a far cry from his previous time in secondary school, where he had played truant multiple times.

With renewed focus, the teen decided to study for the WPLN examinations inside the Boys' Home. It was a far cry from his previous time in secondary school, where he had played truant multiple times.

When he was about to leave, he felt nervous. His father had been transferred to a full-time care centre and his family needed financial support, but he did not know where to get a job.

In the last three months of his sentence, his caseworker in the Boys’ Home, Ms Lim Li Min, connected him with social enterprise Bettr Barista.

For youths who undergo vocational training, their caseworkers and teachers will link them with potential employers, including Bettr Barista and Renci Hospital, said Ken Chelliah, Head of the Therapeutic Casework Unit in the Youth Residential Service, which oversees the Boys' Home.

This helps them to restart their life on a right footing.

The family keeps a clipping of a newspaper report from last year, about the newly extended post-care support for youth home residents. Jervin was interviewed then about his internship with Bettr Barista.

The family keeps a clipping of a newspaper report from last year, about the newly extended post-care support for youth home residents. Jervin was interviewed then about his internship with Bettr Barista.

Jervin’s stomach was in knots when he was interviewed by three staff from the company.

“They asked, ‘your case is fighting right? If I accept you and you fight here, how?’” he said.

The question threw him off guard, but he recovered quickly.

“I said I won’t, and I laughed. So I was accepted in the end,” he said.

He kept his promise. Jervin trained for two months at the Bettr Barista coffee academy in Tai Seng. He then left the Boys’ Home in 2018 and interned at Bettr Barista’s partner café.

Once, caseworkers from the Boys’ Home came down for a staff lunch at the café to surprise him. The memory still makes him smile.

Ms Lim passed him a handwritten card that he still keeps, tucked inside his Bettr Barista coursebook.

“Tough times don’t last, tough people do,” she had written in a mix of English and Mandarin. “We support you!”

In his last two months at the Boys' Home, Jervin learnt about the basics of coffee making at the Bettr Barista coffee academy. The youth, who had no prior experience in coffee making, said he was excited to learn the new skill. The hardest part was learning how to steam milk because he had to hold it at a correct angle, he said.

In his last two months at the Boys' Home, Jervin learnt about the basics of coffee making at the Bettr Barista coffee academy. The youth, who had no prior experience in coffee making, said he was excited to learn the new skill. The hardest part was learning how to steam milk because he had to hold it at a correct angle, he said.

Jervin, who is now one year into National Service, hopes to take the O-levels next year while working part-time at a restaurant or supermarket.

Sometimes, when he bumps into old gang friends around the neighbourhood, they still tell him to join them.

“Tough times don’t last, tough people do,” she had written in a mix of English and Mandarin. “We support you!”

Jervin reads a card that his caseworker, Ms Lim Li Min, gave to him while he was working at Clinton St. Bakery. At that time, he had just been freshly discharged from the Boys' Home, and some caseworkers had paid him a surprise visit at the café.

Jervin reads a card that his caseworker, Ms Lim Li Min, gave to him while he was working at Clinton St. Bakery. At that time, he had just been freshly discharged from the Boys' Home, and some caseworkers had paid him a surprise visit at the café.

But Jervin has more important priorities now.

“I tell them I don’t want to, because of my family. So I just don’t talk so much to them,” he said.

“Now everyone has grown up. We can think for ourselves.”

*Names have been changed to protect their identities.