Sam and Miss Fries

Sam was born 7 years after Andrew died. He is my pride and joy. God made me whole again.

Sam started reading very early, and here he is at two years old reading to my American teacher. She was so impressed that she made a recording of him reading to take back to America.

An immigrant learns to drive in LA.

An immigrant learns to drive in LA.

Whenever my siblings gather with their families during our parents’ birthdays, we always tell this story of how our Korean mother learnt to drive in America without knowing how to speak much English, needless to say to read the language.

The story begins just after the Korean War, my dad Chin-Hwa had befriended a couple of US Marines when he was working as a medic driver in Seoul. They suggested that he would have a better living in the US of A.

In Korean, my Father’s name Chin-Hwa meant the most wealthy one. “How would I become rich if I continue to drive an ambulance?” lamented Dad. He kept thinking about his American friend’s invitation to go to the US even after they had gone home and the war had finished.

It was in 1961, my mother Hyun Jae finally agreed to follow my father to America. You see, my mother’s name means wise and full of respect. Father and Mother went to pay their respects and farewell to both my paternal grandparents and maternal grand parents.

“It’s not good bye, but we will be back when we have earn our fortune.” My father told his elders.

Mother was tearful, she didn’t know when that day would be.

Father’s marine friend Joe met them at the LA International Airport with his wife Ashley.

Ashley tried her best to make the Chos feel at home, “Annyonghashimnikka.” Intonating each syllable slowly. “ Am I saying hello correctly?”

“Gomapsupnia, thank you for speaking in our language.” Replied Chin-Hwa.

“We live in Anaheim and you can stay with us until you find your own place.” Said Joe.

The Chos found a small corner grocery store with an apartment at the back of it near to Joe’s apartment.

“This is good to start off with. We don’t need too much capital.” Said Chin-Hwa.

Ashley offered to teach the Chos English lessons. “You will need to speak English and some Spanish in this neighbourhood.”

Chin-Hwa took up this offer and two afternoons a week, Chin-Hwa became a student again. We, the babies, started coming, almost like clockwork, one ever year.

Dong came the first year. Chin-Hwa and Hyun Jae named him Dong. The name Dong in Korean mean East. They wanted to reminded Dong that though he was born an American, he was Korean and came from the East.

Then came Dong-sun. The meaning of Dong-sun is Eastern integrity. Chin-Hwa and Hyun Jae wanted their children to grow up with integrity. “We are immigrants, but we are not crooks.”

My two sisters have names of Eun Mi and Yun Hee. These are feminine names. Eun Mi meaning Grace and beautiful. Yun Hee meaning Lotus flower. The girls hated their names. They were American girls, who are not wall paper and are born with equal rights to men. Though at home, they didn’t feel they had equal rights. They had to do all the house work and help out in the store.

I am the youngest and if my sisters hated their names, I dreaded mine. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know why. My name is Duck-young. Duck-young meanings Integrity lasts. From when I knew it, the neighborhood kids and grown ups were forever teasing me, “Quack! Quack!”, “Donald Duck.” The Chinese were worse, the called me “YaYa” which I found out that it meant a male prostitute. So I learnt to protect myself. I was this scrawny Korean boys with Bruises, marks and scraps.

The store wasn’t doing very well as it can’t compete with the big supermarkets. Chin-Hwa decided to get a job as an ambulance driver in the hospital. This means that sometimes Mother would have to drive in case of emergency and we the boys were learning karate in a sport centre too far for us to walk, and out of the way from any bus routes. We were too poor to hail a cab.

***I fictionalised this story. This was how my Mum learnt to drive the car. She was among the earlist woman in Sibu to drive the car. our first car was S899, which meant prosperous for ever. All nine of us rode in the car, we are not prosperous financially, but we are successful academically.***

This is Jo Clary, she is a Leading Image Consultant in Singapore from Canada. A few years ago when I was still in Singapore, I organised a Mum-Daughter dinner and workshop evening with my American friend S. We organised this for the NTU Residents Nanyang Connect where I was a co-founder.

Jo still sends me her newsletter to keep me informed of whats happening.

Dear Ann,


Welcome to our December edition of e-style! I have good news to report and that is our fashion show ladies evening at PERFECT IN BLACK was a huge success! Everyone had a great time sipping wine while watching the latest collections saunter down the runway. With the tips being given for our dressing our various body shapes, many purchased items for the upcoming Christmas party season.






We are glad that hear that you had a great time and more exciting future events are going to be planned for you in 2009!



Due to popular demand and so many requests, we are having another Clothes Swap to be held on the 15th of January for those of you who could not make our last two. Be sure to register you and any friends for this event as soon as possible as registrations have been full. We are looking forward to seeing you again for this.



As always, we are here to help you with your dressing and image needs and look forward to seeing you soon at one of our fun and informative beauty consultations, workshops or special events!



With warm regards,

Jo Clary Maughan – AICI FLC
Leading Image Consultant

Conflict of cultures

Conflict of Cultures

This is a fiction, but many similar situations are still happening. Even girls who are college educated are forced into marrying men arranged by their parents.

Parts of this story are similar to my Nadine Story. This is because girls like Nadine and Shoba live through such grotesque night mares.

Conflict of Cultures

Shoba grew up in New York to immigrant parents from India. Bal and Archana left India when Shoba was two years ago. They borrowed heavily from friends and relatives to pay for their way to America and start a small business in New York.

One of his creditors was his distant cousin, Rao. Rao wasn’t generous, he had sinister ulterior motives.

“I trust you, bro. There is no hurry for you to return the money. But there is one traditional condition. When my son, four years old Raj grows up, you will send for him to America and marry your daughter Shoba.”

Bal was happy to oblige, the loan wasn’t much of a dowry to pay for Raj. Besides, it guaranteed an Indian husband for Shoba.

Bal and Archana were busy in their shop and Archana had no control of her American daughter Shoba. Shoba turned wayward. With her friends, they became bullies, dressed gothic clothing, and metal studded belts and accessories. They played truant, shop lifted, tagged graffiti and were caught by the police. Her high school principal threatened to expel her. Night upon night, Shoba did not come home. If she did, she came home very late and she made Archana's life hell because she claimed that Archana played favoritism and preferred her brother Prasad to her.

It was always, "I am an American, not Indian."

“But you know that you are Indian.”

Archana and Bal made a big mistake. They thought Shoba will settle down if she is married.

"In India, girls at fifteen are already married."

"Maybe if she had a husband, she would grow up."

They asked his cousin Rao to send for Raj for the wedding. They would pay for his air ticket.

“Sorry, Raj is only seventeen. He is too young to get married.”

“He can come here and go to school.”


Rao craftily proposed, “Well, I suggest a better solution will be for me to chaperone Raj to America.”


Meera his wife jumped at the chance of going to America though her coming wasn't part of the original agreement.

"If I can't go, Gopal can't go either." Meera insisted.

Bal had established quite a reputation among the Indian community. It would be a fine wedding. Everything was paid for by Bal, of course, according to the Indian custom. Bal invited his Indian friends from all over New York.

Archana gave Shoba very expensive red wedding sari with gold thread trimmings. Bal gave Shoba were a big box of jewellery.

“Come, Shoba, all Indian girls wear a sari on their wedding day. I have asked my sister to send you the finest sari she could buy in Mumbai.”

"American girls don’t wear a sari and I am not about to wear one now," she swore and refused to let Archana help her dress.

Her auntie Sudha persuaded her to put it on.

Sudha coaxed, “Come Shoba, give dad face and make him a very happy man even if you don’t care for Raj.”

Reluctantly Shoba let Sudha wrapped the yards and yards of blazing gold red sari around her. Then Sudha fixed a big safety pin among the folds of the sari and clipped it to the petticoat near her navel.

"See, in this way your sari would not drop off." Advised Sudha, “And make sure you walk tiny steps like a demur lady.”

Sudha pinned a gold brooch studded with rubies on Shoba's left shoulder so the pallu would stay in place.

"The pallu is the open end of the sari, during the wedding, you will use it to drape it modestly over your head," said Sudha.

Shoba's girlfriends came in their Gothi black jackets and black jeans to join in the fun to make Shoba the most beautiful Indian bride in New York. They painted red and white bindi, little dots all round her eyes. They painted modern henna designs on her hands, feet and legs and they had a good laugh. Shoba was their Nouveau Indian bride, after all, she was a American. The girls gawked at the beauty they had created. Shoba had a nose ring attached to a chain that went to her ears. It was such a beautiful picture that even Shoba was getting to like being a bride. She looked like an Indian actress that Archana watch on her videos.

Archana knew that Shoba hated her and would not listen to her. Archana asked Sudha to talk to Shoba, “It breaks my heart to make this request, but what to do?”

Sudha gave her a good prep talk. "Shoba, I wish it was your mother who is doing the talking. As an auntie who had known you since you were two years old, you are like a daughter to me. As of this day, you are Raj's wife. Listen to him like all Indian wives listen to their husbands."

Shoba rolled her eyes, cursed and made a rude sign with her middle finger behind her back to her friends.

Shoba and Sudha hugged for a long time and Sudha's eyes were misty.

“You come to me when you have any problem, promise me.” Sudha whispered in her ear.

Deep in Sudha’s heavy hearts, she questioned if this was right for Shoba. She herself was arranged to be married to her husband. She came all the way from India. She did not know her husband before but she grew to love Kumar. She had a nagging feeling that this was not going to work for Shoba.

During the ceremony the priest put a sacred rope around Raj's and Shoba's necks. They were now married!

The priest then instructed, "Raj, you walk first, then Shoba, Raj you lead Shoba, and Shoba, you follow Raj. This is very important for Shoba to be obedient to Raj."

Shoba was appalled, she had not settled for this. She couldn't back out and make a scene, not in front of all Dad's friends. She was like a trapped animal. Raj kept tugging the rope, she had no choice but to follow him. This old fashion Hindu custom was like a noose to her neck.

Bal heaved a sigh of relief. His willful daughter was at last married, and he did not have to worry about her anymore. After the wedding, Bal drove his cousin Rao to the airport. He gave him a bear hug.

“Bro, have a good flight home, I will take care of Meera and Raj.”

Bal rented an old apartment for Shoba, Raj and Meera so they would not be too far from him. It was less than ten minutes walk away. He only had a smattering of English conversation lessons in his village school, and he refused to speak English because he said the Americans laughed at him every time he opened his mouth. Raj hated school and soon dropped out. Shoba pretended she did not speak any Tamil. Raj did not work, he did not have to. He stayed at home and drank and watched TV.

Raj's repertoire of words was bullshit', f* you' and shut up'.

There was hardly any conversation between Shoba and Raj.

On top of this, Shoba had mother in law trouble. Meera made herself the queen of the house. Meera only spoke Tamil which didn’t help.

She kept on saying, "You are an Indian girl, and you must listen to everything I tell you because I am your mother in law."

Meera made Shoba do all the house work and the cooking. If Shoba refused, the mother-son duo locked Shoba in her bedroom. They said that she disgraced them for being a shameful wife because she didn't listen to her mother in law and her husband. They hoarded the television watching Bollywood videos. Meera insinuated that like some of the poor brides in the videos, who disobeyed their husbands and mother-in-laws deserved to be starved and beaten up.

Raj loved his drink, and when he was drunk, he became violent and he beat up Shoba. She was covered with bruises. They fore bade her to go out with her unruly American white and African American girlfriends; they did not like them to come to the house. They locked her in the apartment.

They argued, "Girls in India are gentle, demure and never talked back to their husbands and mother in laws."

Meera rang Rao and her relatives that Shoba was a bride from hell. Her friends were bitches and witches and they had no respect for her and Raj. This would never happen in India. She was ashamed of her. Shoba was either stupid or so stubborn that she refused to learn to make traditional bread like Roti prata and chapatti.

When Raj’s friends came and watched cricket on TV, everyone ignored her. Rai ordered her around to serve them beer and curry chicken and chicken tandoori.

Bal could not do anything because it was a disgrace to an Indian father if his daughter was not a good wife. Archana couldn’t help because she herself was steeped in traditional Indian custom where a girl was treated like cartel and had to be subservient to her husband and mother-in-law. Bal pleaded to Raj and Meera to treat Shoba better or to leave since he did not love her.

Raj spelled out, "I will go when I am ready. Don't forget, you cheated me. Your daughter was no virgin and had been sleeping around with many American boys. Besides, she is a cold bitch. You can see for yourself: in India, most wives would have been pregnant long ago. But no, your slut thinks she is too good to sleep with me."

Poor Bal did not realize that Raj had a selfish plan. Raj did not intend to make Shoba his wife indefinitely. He had a sweet heart back home. He only wanted to come to live in America. Marrying Shoba was his ticket to his American dream. He just had to tolerate this wild girl until he got his green card. Then he would send for his home-loving village girl, Aditi to be his wife.

In the meanwhile, he would take full advantage of his situation. He enjoyed an American life-style of booze and cricket and being a couch potato, watching all sorts of TV. He was provided with free food and lodging courtesy his father-in-law. He liked sex and domineering over Shoba. The more she resisted him, the better he liked it. He imagined he was sleeping with the popular Bollywood actresses.

He knew that immigration officers were monitoring to see that he didn’t come to America for a marriage of convenience. In the interview when he applied to come to America, the officer had grilled him and kept asking if his marriage was a marriage of convenience, since he did not even know Shoba and Bal.

The grotesque nightmare went on for months. Shoba appealed to Sudha, but her husband Kumar told her not to interfere.

One morning, Raj urgently rushed to Bal's shop.

"Please come quickly, Shoba is having a baby."

Bal and Archana made a quick dash to Shoba's apartment. Shoba was lying in the bathroom on a pool of blood. A baby was lying between her legs. The umbilical cord was not cut. Shoba was barely breathing. The baby was blue and had died.

"Have you called the ambulance?" Archana asked.

"No, we were afraid and decided to come to you."

By the time Bal called 911, and the time it took for the ambulance to arrive, Shoba had died.

When the autopsy was performed, the baby was a fully formed baby and there was no reason why she had died. She was a victim of female genocide which is so common in India. Forensic evidence found that Shoba had delivered the baby at least twelve hours earlier. By the delay in medical attention, Shoba bled to death.

This was such a great tragedy when Meera and Raj brought their prejudices to America, and Bal and Archana blindly followed an out dated custom of match making Shoba to a complete stranger.

USA

Alice in Wonderland in Knotts berry Farm in LA,

USA

The kids "made" it to the cover of the National geographic.

Lu Ping's Paintings

My friend from China/Canada Lu Ping drew these painting of NTU accommodation. The red roof buildings are students hostel. The other brown roof is staff accommodation. For fourteen years I stayed in apartments like these. They are masonnettes, and two units in each building.

The stills are papayas and watermelon.

***Lu Ping now lives in Canada. She is both an artist and art teacher.***

A child's drawings of New York.

We came back from a boat ride to the Statue of Liberty. On the way back, there was a Puerto Rican Parade. D drew these pictures at the hotel. We bought giant slabs of rectangle pizzas.

***D was about eight or nine years old.***

Living in Canada

When I first arrived in Canada, I stayed at Laurier Hall, a female only hall of residence. Windsor university was founded by the Roman Catholic Church, and the rules about boys visiting girls in the hostel was very strict.

If he was a casual guy friend, he would have to make a prior arrangement for her to come to sign him in. If she had a private phone, he could call from the front desk, and she would come down. But many like me, who were as poor as church mice, and didn't have a phone, we either were stuck with no male visitors, or the guys would really had to make prior arrangement. Our visitors would be given a ordinary pass.

If a girl had a boy friend, she could request for a permanent pass with his details recorded in the front desk. He could come and go without registering, but he had to leave by mid night. But we know that the security guard who sat at the booth infront of the door did not normally go and bang at the doors of our rooms. On my floor, was a girl from America. She had a permanent boy friend who was so permamnent that he didn't go back to his room in the boy's hall. Her poor room mate had to be as discrete as possible, or was it the couple who was discrete?

I arrived at around mid night when my friends P. K and W brought me from the airport. I had thirty hours flight from Singapore, and was quite tired. I was glad to have a bed to lie down.

When I told this to my dad, he didn't quite believe me. In fact, nobody believed me. Finally some time in the 2000s, a Canadian friend, a fellow faculty wife in NTU verified my story. She too had studied in Windsor University.

If you think this story is too far fetched, please bear in mind that this was 1970s.

All you can eat.

I don't eat out often in Auckland, and even if I do, I always order prawns or shrimps as they call it in America. The water engineer asked me why I always do this, and I tell him because we don't have it at home often.

On the water engineer's birthday recently, G requested we go to Cinta Restaurant. This cosy restaurant is run by my second sister Elizabeth's old school mate, William in Methodist School. The service is friendly. We ordered assam curry prawns, and Emily the co-owner suggested that she would give us a butter prawn, free of charge if we ordered a fish curry. We didn't mind, we ordered a snapper fillet assam fish curry.

During the meal, and as always I rehash this few favourite story of "when I was in Canada." By then, my cheeky husband would shake his head at the "Hungry ghost." This was in an era before he came into my life.

I was studying in Windsor University, which is by the Detroit River, facing the city Detroit.

My friends knew that there was a "All you can eat" seafood restaurant in a small town. It was quite a drive away, and a group of about twelve rented two cars and headed there. The American cars were very big, if my memory serves me right, we went in two Oldsmobile cars. We would have been okay if we didn't have two very obese friends who wanted to be resident passengers in the front seat. When the four of us squahed at the back complained, they retorted if we wanted them to sit at the back with them.

We were really hungry students, and as soon as we were seated, we signalled the waitress to take our order. All of us ordered shrimp, except one. A. very smartly ordered scallops. The orders came in a basket with chips and the shrimps were cooked in a thick batter. We ordered and reordered, ate and ate and then wishing we had split our orders to half of us ordering shrimps and the other half, scallops because A. was selfish and didn't want to share his scallops. We took some off him any way.

We ate and ate and our stomachs were bloated. At around 9.30pm, we were peeling of the batter and eating the shrimps. Perhaps the waitress saw us doing this.

She came and asked nicely, "Would you like to have your last order, the kitchen is closing soon."

We felt very embarassed and replied," No thank you, the shrimps were very nice."

Actually, the shrimps were not nice because there were more batter than shrimps, but we didn't have the heart to tell her.

If we did, the Canadian "Gordon Ramsay" might throw his pot of boiling oil that had been frying his shrimp fritters and scream, "F***! Out of my restaurant."

***Re: Eating out, when I was in Singapore, my girl friends and I used to have lunches. One of my favourite places is having "High Tea" in Shangrila Hotel***

Crossing the picket line, K-Mart

I was basically a student in Canada, and there were not many things that I consider eventful to rehash about. There was however, this incident involving K-Mart. My friends, P, K and W got wind that the workers at K-Mart were on strike, and the management was putting on a big sale.

The Windsor University where I was attending was about two kilometers from that shopping mall, and there was no bus service there. Students used to walk there and walk back pushing their trollies of grocery. There were trollies left around the residential halls, and I think K-Mart paid boys to come to retrieve them.

On that occasion, it was winter, and the ground was thick with white snow. My three guy friends persuaded me to go for a bargain. I wasn't very keen as I didn't have anything in particular from K-Mart to buy and I didn't fancy walking in the cold.

I didn't mind going on an outing, and when we got there, there were workers holding placards and shouting slogans about unfair treatment. There were some Canadians crossing the picket lines despite the loud heckles. I was quite nervous when the workers started to push and joist me and shouting," We supported you, you should support us."

I panicked and froze, I was in tears and my three guy friends came to rescue me and dragged me inside the store.

The irony was the merchantise didn't seem any cheaper than before. I picked up a white cotton sleeping gown which looked like what Arab man's dishdasha. I didn't wear it very often and I brought it with me to New Zealand. Years later, after I got married, the water engineer and I went to a Navigators' fancy dress party. He wore it as an Arab man wearing his dishdasha and a white single bedsheet for his head gear.

K-Mart came and just as swiftly went in Singapore. One day we were there, and they had the red light special. They were selling American vases very cheaply. I bought a couple, and I still have one with me. When I see it, or when I go near K-Mart, at St Luke Square in Auckland, I think of the brush I had with the strikers in Windsor, Ontario.

Red Trees in Rotorua

Remind me of Canada

souvenirs kept by a proud mum

When G was four, we went to America. It must have been after our visit to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC that she drew this picture at the Grand Hyatt Hotel.

We encouraged her and Dto draw and record things of our trip. In deed those drawings forge our memories of the White House, the Big Apple, Disney Land the the lesser known Knots Berry Farm and the "su me" by the immigrations officer.

You promised me.

“You promised me! You promised me!” Greg heard Felicity sob inconsolably while unsuccessfully trying to stifle her cries with her shaky hands. Even with her slurred speech, the words pierced his ears like a sharp needle.

Greg’s fingers shook as he clutched the carton the courier had delivered eight weeks ago. He stood in the hallway and glanced towards the north facing corner of the living room which was now Felicity’s room and sick bay. Felicity could not walk and it had become too strenuous for him to carry her up and down the stairs to sleep in their bedroom.

The district health nurse had arranged for the loan of a hospital bed, and together, they tried to make the corner as merry as possible. Sometimes during the day, Greg would work just outside the bay window, putting in new flowering plants in the boxes in the hope of cheering Felicity up. In winter, there was not much he could do to brighten the place; he was a patient gardener, not a miracle worker. Felicity has been sick for so long that she would see the bleak winter twice.

*******

Twenty months ago, Felicity was once a physically active police woman . Twenty months ago, Felicity came home from her daily jog dragging her left leg. Her chest muscles were tightening and she could not understand why. Shocked by her pale complexion, Greg was ready to call the ambulance when she collapsed and hit the floor with a thud.

The thirty minutes ride in the ambulance seemed forever. The paramedics rushed her to the A & E and the duty doctor and nurses attended to her straight away. She underwent lots of tests to find out what was wrong with Felicity. Then they admitted her for further observation.

The Specialist doctor told Greg that Felicity has MND or Motor Neuron Disease and the prognosis was no good. He gave Greg a lot of information about MND and a lot of printed notes. Greg tried to digest as much of the medical notes as he could.

“Excuse me! Isn’t MND a disease that strikes men?” Greg asked after reading from the notes.

“Yes, there are more male than female patients.” The doctor replied.

“Isn’t Felicity too young to have MND?” Greg asked in disbelief and unconsciously shaking his head while talking.

“I am afraid that MND affects younger patients too.”

“Is it terminal?” Greg whispered hoping to get a negative reply.

“Yes, I'm afraid so but she might have quite some time,"

“How long has she got?”

“I cannot tell. It could be two years. Meanwhile we try our best to keep her as comfortable as we can.”

Felicity came home; her sickness progressed faster than other patients. She applied for sick leave in the hope that her sickness was just temporary and she would return to work once she was well.

Soon Felicity the use of her legs, and Greg got her a wheel chair. Though depression was not a symptom of MND, Felicity became broody and moody and went through periods of not talking to Greg or the nurse. She refused to go out or see any visitors.

When it came to the stage that Felicity was betting worst, Greg took time off to give Felicity palliative care rather than depend on the district health nurse. Greg thought that her moods might improve with him at home. It didn't, Felicity had mood swings and she wasn't the bubbly girl he had married twenty years ago.

Felicity hated it when she had to depend on Greg to change her tampons. She hated it when she had to wear adult diapers. She knew that Greg didn’t mind, but she hated it. She didn’t want to drink or eat thinking she would pee or shit less. Greg was unfazed, he continued to brush her hair and teeth with tenderness that the nurse couldn't give her.


*******

Greg’s thoughts came back to the parcel he was holding. He was getting cold sweat and his heart beat fast. Shortly after Felicity found out that she had MND, she searched all she could from the internet. She saw how shriveled up a man Stephen Hawking had become. She could not see beyond his sorry physical state and see the brilliant work he continued to do. To her, he was a far cry from the handsome scientist he was before he was struck down with MND. She didn’t want to look like him though she knew her looks were already wasted.

Felicity pleaded, “Let me have some dignity, please.”

Without looking at Felicity, Greg reluctantly agreed, “Yes.”

Felicity implored, “Look into my eyes and promise me that you won’t let me die like a dog.”

Greg felt compelled to look at Felicity, “I promise you, sweet heart.”

Every day, she asked, “Has the parcel arrived yet?”

“No dear,” Greg would reply.

What Felicity had done was secretly go to a website which showed her how to kill herself. She ordered for a euthanasia kit and made Greg promise that he would administer the drug to her.

Greg was in a great dilemma. He loved Felicity and wanted her alive as long as possible. He had a hundred and one questions. Was he being selfish? Was he so blinded that he denied that the quality of her life had diminished. Had it deteriorated to such an extent as to her own words: a dog’s life. Had Felicity the right to a peaceful death with dignity? Was he keeping her alive for himself? Was he prepared to go to prison? …………………..

Greg fought hard to keep his tears from bursting through the dam. He had already him told that big boys don't cry. He had not cried since he was eight years old, and that was permissible according to his mum because a dog had bitten him in the park. He wiped his tears with his shirt sleeve and buried his face in his hands while inhaling deeply.

Finally he stood up, glanced toward's Felicity who was staring out of the wiindow. He whispered," Sorry, sweet heart. I can't do it." He quietly tuck the euthanasia kit back into his closet.

**********

Recently Washington State passed an assisted death initiative, making it the second state in USA to approve some sort of medically supported suicide. Oregon enacted the Death with Dignity Act in 1997.