WHEN I first read the news on Krishna, a 31-year-old woman who was stabbed to death by her alleged boyfriend, 23, at her home in Ipoh, it struck a chord deep within me. It was a familiar fear.
More than 20 years ago, fresh from graduation, I was in a relationship with a man I had met in the most innocent place on Earth: a library! As a young woman ready to explore the world, having someone love you unconditionally seemed like one of the greatest joys in life. The freedom to make your own choices – who you decide to date, and eventually, be in a relationship with – felt empowering to 23-year-old me.
I had just secured my first job, one that I was proud of as I beat out many candidates, I was told. Back in 1999, getting a salary of RM2,300 was quite a benchmark – as was graduating with first-class honours from a prestigious local university. I was also travelling the world in my line of work – from the Philippines to India, and even the United States – oftentimes in business class. I was hopeful and full of potential.
Everything seemed just perfect.
And then, things took a turn. Almost every day before lunch hour, my boyfriend would call me and insist that we eat together. When I requested to have lunch with my colleagues, it was often disregarded – I thought, perhaps, he really loved me and wanted to spend time with me. When I travelled to the Philippines for work, he would call to ensure I didn’t leave the hotel for dinner (even if it was with a colleague). He would insist that I order room service. He informed me of the “people” he knew in the Philippines who would “watch over me”. The voice in my head thought (with a little fear this time), that perhaps, he really cared for my safety, as it could be dangerous being alone in a foreign country.
I wanted to believe that these were acts of love.
Less than a year into my dream job, I was pressured to resign. I was told that his family business needed me, and was whisked off to a different state, far away from home.
That was when the nightmare began. The abuse became physical and violent, but I had nowhere to turn to. I had no friends to confide in, and he would often “guard over” the calls I made to my parents. I was left with no money, too, thus, I depended on him greatly. He did not “allow” me to go home to see my parents. But when I did, I had to wear long-sleeved tops to hide my bruises.
During one of our altercations, I swung my arm so hard in defence that it dislocated. He and his sister took me to the emergency unit to get the ball of my arm bone back into my shoulder socket. I was in a sling for weeks. I asked to return home to see my parents, which he “permitted”. I met my parents briefly, but was quickly taken to his rented home, where I stayed. My family were told that I was returning to his hometown.
At my lowest point, unable to bear the abuse and with a desperate need to escape, I attempted suicide. My recollection of what happened afterwards is hazy, but I clearly remember a nurse making me feel guilty by telling me how silly I was and that I could be jailed.
Finally, one day, when he went out to buy lunch, I realised it was my best chance to escape. It felt like now or never. I called my brother and informed him of where I was. The moment my family came to rescue me was my first taste of freedom in nine months.
The days after that continued to be challenging. Police reports were lodged over the illegal possession of my car that he had taken away, and also for “access” to his house to collect my personal belongings, accompanied by officers. And yet, he continued to stalk and harass me. I was always fearful of his presence and intimidation tactics.
“I will kill you and your entire family,” a threat made at my gate months after I escaped, still rings in my ears. He told me about his underworld links, and constantly shared stories of his “brothers” who were shot at by rival gangs. I was traumatised, and vividly remember one episode where I was so afraid of being tailed by him that I walked with a knife in hand.
The thought of being stalked and him lurking around wherever I went is terrifying. But in Malaysia, stalking is not a crime. There was nothing I could do about it, so I lived in fear for a long time, not knowing how to protect myself.
The Domestic Violence Act 1994 provides for restraining orders against abusers who are a current or former spouse, but this does not extend to unmarried couples, and most certainly, does not protect us from stalking and harassment.
Stalking is an extremely harmful and obsessive behaviour that disrupted my life and made me feel very unsafe, even in public spaces.
No woman should be forced to carry a knife to protect herself as I did. The need for an anti-stalking act is now.
And, awareness on stalking is more crucial than ever.
Despite the lack of legal protection, I count my blessings that I am still alive. I could have very easily shared the same painful fate as Krishna.
For those who are lonely, distressed or having suicidal thoughts, please contact Befrienders at its hotline at 03-7627-2929 (Kuala Lumpur), 04-281-5161 (Penang) or 07-331-2300 (Johor Baru), or via Facebook Messenger, or email [email protected], or visit its website. – The Vibes, May 5, 2021
This account was written by a domestic abuse survivor
