About

Our Brother & Our Mother

Ah Yen was born with colour blindness, and growing up was not always easy. Yet, through the many challenges he faced, there were people who quietly walked beside him and made his journey a little gentler.

Our mother was one of them.

She accompanied our brother to the ceramic classes, music performance with Faith Music, and countless medical appointments. She was the quiet strength behind so much of his journey, finding ways for him to continue his education, advocating for the support he needed at school and seeking help from hospitals and doctors who were willing to listen, understand, and take the time to see our brother as a person, rather than simply another case to be attended to.

Our mother was his support and, in many ways, his quiet strength.

Ceramics Journey

Ah Yen’s journey was shaped not only by the challenges he faced, but also by the people who chose to walk alongside him.

One of them was Mr Tan, one of the ceramic instructors at Toa Payoh West CC, who became an important part of our brother’s ceramic journey.

Mr Tan is one of the instructors at Toa Payoh West CC. He gave our brother something that meant so much — space, patience and the freedom to work at his own pace, just like every other student in his class. He was friendly, caring and understanding. For someone like Ah Yen, who simply needed a little more time and patience, that kindness made a difference.

We remain grateful for the people who chose to understand rather than judge; who offered patience instead of pressure; and who took the time to see the person behind the difficulties.

These may have seemed like small acts of kindness at the time. But small acts of kindness can become very large memories. And those moments of kindness stay with us.

Growing up

Ah Yen grew up in a very different time. It was a time when there were far fewer social resources and much less understanding for someone who was seen as “different” or outside what society considered “normal”.

But what does normal really mean?

Growing up, our brother was often called “blind”, even though he had some vision and was, more accurately, living with low vision. The term “visually impaired” only became more commonly understood and used in later years. Back then, there was simply less awareness, understanding and support for people like Sean.

Despite his difficulties with sight, our brother developed a deep love for reading and writing. He used large visualizer that helped him read and he made the most of the vision he had.

Our brother had an incredible memory too. He would read the TransitLink guidebook and remember bus numbers and routes almost by heart. Whenever his elder sister needed to figure out how to get somewhere, Ah Yen was often her go-to person. He knew the routes, the connections and the buses better than any of us.

As the years passed, our brother’s vision gradually deteriorated greatly. Moving around became increasingly difficult, and eventually he needed to rely fully on his cane to find his way.

But losing his sight did not take away his curiosity, his love for learning or the remarkable way he remembered the world around him. The bus routes that he remembered gave him the independence that he had — the way he explored places in Singapore, meeting up with his friends and met Pastor Kevin of Bartley Christian Church and discovered his faith journey with the Lord.

OUR Story

Growing up, the four of us all had our little squabbles — running around the house, chasing one another and screaming at the top of our lungs until our mother’s stern warnings finally brought the four of us back down to earth. They were ordinary moments. Noisy, messy, sometimes irritating, but just the everyday moments of growing up together.

As we grew older, each of us began walking our own paths, caught up in the busyness of studies, work and life. We became young adults and adults, with our own responsibilities, routines and things that seemed important at the time.

Then Ah Yen left us.

It changed a lot of things when Ah Yen left us.

Sometimes, it felt as though time had stopped. Yet somehow, the Earth still rotates and the Sun still rise. Perhaps because moving forward was the only way we knew how to keep going, keeping the raw pain away.

In memory of our brother in this lifetime. May we find our way to one another again. When the time comes, in a faith-neutral space, where we can simply meet again. Till then, miss you.