I was born into an environment that wasn’t ideal for a child. Hanging out with my Lion dance group in Geylang, I was constantly surrounded by gangsters, gambling, and all kinds of illegal activities. Without proper role models, I learned life lessons the hard way, often leading others into wrongdoing instead of following a righteous path. 

By the time I was 14 or 15, I was already deeply involved in soccer betting and gambling just to support myself and my struggling family.

My love for money and attention from women pushed me further into the shadows. The need to sustain this lifestyle drove me to sell drugs, compounding the illegal activities I had been involved in since my teenage years. 

Eventually, my choices caught up with me and in one devastating night the police raided my house. I lost everything: my wife, my two sons, and even my mother’s joy. The realization that I had broken my family left a lasting scar, and it was my mother’s unwavering prayers and visits to the prison that kept me going.

In prison, my perspective began to change. The weight of my actions and the pain I had caused hit me hard. The turning point came when I encountered the Roman Catholic Prison Ministry (RCPM) volunteers. Through their love and dedication, I started to learn about God and His mercy. I began reading the Bible and realized that the suffering I endured was a call to come closer to God, to build a new life armored in His grace.

One unforgettable moment was when I prayed fervently for my mother’s health and the chance to be by her side. God answered my prayer during a cooking competition in prison when I was allowed to cook for my mom and spend precious moments with her during an open visit. This strengthened my faith and showed me the depth of God’s love and mercy.

Accepting Christ wasn’t easy. It meant giving up the habits and friends that kept pulling me back into my old ways. But with God’s help, I replaced toxic relationships with a community of church brothers and sisters. The story of St. Paul, who once persecuted Christians and then became a devoted servant of Christ, resonated deeply with me. Like him, I found redemption and strength in God.

Today, I am committed to helping others who feel lost and broken, just as I once was. My journey with God has taught me that while challenges never stop, with His guidance, we can overcome them. Freedom, peace, and love are gifts from God, and they’re worth more than anything this world can offer.

To those still struggling, I say: open your heart to God. Life doesn’t get easier instantly, but you’ll find strength and purpose in Him. Trust that He is walking with you, even in your darkest moments.

Now, I dedicate my life to being a vessel of God’s love, striving to be humble, loving, and supportive to those in need. God has not only transformed my heart but has also given me the courage to rebuild my life, one step at a time.

Joseph Ang

Incarcerated from Year 2021 - 2025

I came into this world on January 28, 1990, the firstborn in my family. My parents married young—my mother was only 17 when she had me. My two brothers followed in the years after.

If I were to describe my childhood in two words, they would be fear and darkness. Those memories still cast long shadows over my heart. It all began after my second brother was born. I was around 8 or 9 years old, and he was about 6 or 7. Whenever he misbehaved, I would scold him. If he argued back, it would escalate into fights.

That’s when the darkness truly began.

Most of the time, our father beat us because we quarreled. But there were other reasons too—bad grades, disobedience, or even what he perceived as disrespect. At first, he used a cane and forbade us to cry when we were hit. But we were just kids—how could we hold back our tears? Our crying only angered him more, and he would beat us harder, sometimes all over our bodies.

There were nights when he made us kneel on a tortoise shell as punishment, forcing us to stay awake until morning. Even when our mother begged us to sneak into bed, we didn’t dare—because we knew that if he found us sleeping, there would be more beatings.

Our hands and legs often bled from his canings. The wounds left marks—reminders of our shame when we went to school the next day. I was only a child, but the pain and humiliation were seared into me.

One incident I’ll never forget is when he lined my brothers and me on the sofa, stepped back, and ran at us—kicking each of us so hard we hit the wall on the other side of the room.

But the deepest wound came the day my mother tried to take her own life. After one of the worst beatings, she screamed that she’d had enough. She ran to the kitchen and climbed halfway out of the window.

Terrified, I ran after her, grabbing her arm and begging her not to leave us. I promised we would never fight again, that we would be better children if only she would stay. My brothers were crying too, pleading with her. She eventually came down, but the fear stayed with me.

When we stepped out of the kitchen, I saw my father sitting calmly at the dining table, smoking as if nothing had happened. Hatred burned in my heart. I kept asking myself—why was I born into this family? Why couldn’t I have parents who loved me?

For years, those thoughts haunted me. I even wished I’d never been born.

The Search for Belonging

When I was in Secondary 1, my mother finally divorced my father. She remarried, and I thought things would get better. My stepfather promised to protect us and treat us well. But that hope quickly faded.

He showed favoritism toward his biological son, my stepbrother, who was spoiled and rebellious. When I tried to discipline him, my stepfather sided with him. Eventually, he started beating us too. It felt like history was repeating itself.

By Secondary 2 or 3, I was desperate for something more—a place where I belonged. A friend told me about his classmate who went to church every weekend. I was curious. I had seen on TV how church friends were like family—kind, loving, and close. That’s what I wanted. So I asked my friend’s classmate to bring me to his church.

Encountering God

When I first attended a Protestant church service, I was surprised. It felt like a concert—guitars, drums, and people singing and dancing. But as the worship songs played, I noticed people closing their eyes, tears streaming down their faces.

I didn’t understand it, but I felt something stirring inside me.

Then the pastor began to preach. He spoke about God as our Heavenly Father. I flinched at that word—father. My experiences with my earthly fathers had been nothing but pain.

But the pastor said something that struck me: no matter how broken our relationship with our earthly fathers, our Heavenly Father is always loving, compassionate, and full of mercy.

As I listened, I felt a warmth in my heart—like a hand reaching out and gently holding my brokenness. It felt real, so tangible.

When the pastor spoke about Jesus dying for sinners, I knew I was one of them—unworthy and unlovable. But I also heard that God wanted a personal relationship with me. That was something I had never heard before, and I longed for it.

I accepted Christ at the age of 14 or 15.

The Fall and the Rise

For a while, I was deeply involved in church—praying, attending cell groups, and going to Christian events. But my faith was shallow. I was distracted by worldly pleasures—movies, games, and material possessions.

Temptations led me into sinful habits, and eventually, crimes. I was arrested in 2010 and sentenced to life imprisonment in 2013.

In my cell, I cried out to God for forgiveness. I was afraid He had abandoned me. But as I prayed and read Scripture, I found answers in verses like Ezekiel 18, reminding me of God’s mercy and forgiveness.

Still, something felt incomplete. The Protestant services lacked the one thing I longed for—Communion. They said it was symbolic, but I felt it should be more.

A Journey to the Catholic Faith

In 2017, I began reading books by Scott Hahn, a former Protestant who became Catholic. His writings on the Eucharist and sacraments resonated deeply with me. I spoke to a Catholic inmate, who lent me more books.

I realized the Catholic Church held the fullness of faith, rooted in Scripture and tradition. The Eucharist, which Catholics believe is the real Body and Blood of Christ, became the focal point of my desire to convert.

On November 19, 2017, I was confirmed as a Catholic by Father David Garcia, taking St. Francis de Sales as my patron saint.

Walking in Faith

My journey has been filled with ups and downs. There are days of dryness and doubt, especially as I face the uncertainty of life imprisonment. Yet, I’ve never lost my identity as a child of God.

I’ve learned to rely not on my strength but on God’s grace. Through prayers like the Rosary, Divine Mercy Chaplet, and the prayers of St. Bridget, I continue to grow.

I’m also grateful for the Catholic volunteers and counselors who guided me. They reminded me of God’s love and answered my questions during my struggles.

A Song of Gratitude

As I end my story, I leave you with a song I wrote with an ex-inmate, who has since been released:

感恩的心 (A Grateful Heart)

蓝蓝的天空 白云的飘过

心情也变得不错

无边的大海 大地的万态

自然中显露主爱

Chorus:

带着感恩的心 来到主的殿里

颂扬赞美上帝 一辈子跟随你

我要大声呼唤 耶稣是我的主

不再陷入迷途 走向天堂之路

Bridge:

Hallelujah！ Hallelujah！我要赞美主

Hallelujah！ Hallelujah！我要敬拜主

Final Words

Though my past was filled with pain, I now walk in hope. God has shown me that even the most broken lives can be restored. I may be behind bars, but my soul is free.

My prison term is ending in 6 months, and after that, I will be going home to stay with my wife and stepson. I truly hope this will be my last stint in prison as I was first incarcerated when I was 17 years old.

I deeply regret falling back into substance abuse after staying clean for four years. When I reflect on the days I was sober, my life was happy, peaceful, and fulfilling. I was working hard, first delivering food on a motorcycle, and later as a private-hire driver after obtaining my Class 3 license.

But things started to change when I began frequenting a coffee shop during my breaks. With time on my side and boredom, I met up old friends and spending more time with them and eventually relapsed. The rest is history.

My addiction nearly destroyed my family. I was no longer the same Michael they knew. I forgot my role as a husband, son, and stepfather—and I even forgot that I was a child of God. I stopped going to church, lost my motivation at work, and turned to gambling for fast money. I became a man without hope, vision, or direction. My only concern was my next fix.

As my addiction worsened, so did my relationships. I argued with my wife and eventually left home, spending nearly a year living in hotels, drowning myself in drugs. I felt completely lost. But deep down, I knew the day would come when I would be caught again. And when that day finally arrived, I wasn’t even surprised. By then, I had already resigned myself to the life of an addict.

My arrest devastated my family. They told me how much they loved the person I was when I was clean. They missed the man who made them smile, who came home after work, and who enjoyed spending quality time with them. And I realized—I missed that man too.

I want that life back. I don’t want to live in darkness anymore. I’m already 44 years old, and life is fragile and unpredictable. I don’t want to leave this earth with regrets. I want my family to remember me as a loving, caring person, not a broken addict. By God's grace, I have reconciled with my wife, and we have chosen to leave the past behind and rebuild our relationship after my release.

I look forward to attending Mass when I am placed on the Residential Scheme (RS). I want to experience Mass in church, not just through RC counseling. Brother, through this letter, you now know what I truly want in life. I don’t need to be rich—money can be a dangerous temptation, just like drugs. I just want to live a simple, meaningful life.

I am learning to make better choices and decisions, and I know there’s still a lot I need to work on. But I am setting milestones to achieve the life I want. Please keep me in your prayers, and if possible, may RCPM help me to reintegrate into society.

Michael

Incarcerated since 22 years old

Breaking free from the chains of addiction is anything but easy. For years, it consumed me—a relentless vice that stole my life, my emotions, and my future. The worst part? Even in my darkest moments, I pushed away the very people who cared for me, the ones who extended a lifeline. I was lost in a fog of lies and deceit, spending every cent I had—or could beg for—just to feed my addiction. Kindness was met with contempt, and self-destruction became my only companion.

I'm exhausted. Nineteen years of this cycle—revolving doors of prison cells and broken promises—have drained me. I’ve tried countless times to break free, but the pull has always been stronger than my will. I know people have their own lives, their own families to care for, but I truly believe that God places people in our paths for a reason. I’m not asking for constant attention—just for the occasional guidance to help me stay on track.

My past incarcerations were marked by a complete lack of desire for change. I was a liar, a cheat, and utterly disgusted with myself. I even smuggled drugs into prison and found ways to continue my habit behind bars. I dodged the consequences for as long as I could—until I was caught and forced to face them. Yet even then, I wasn’t ready. The moment I was released, I returned to my old ways, and within just five days, I was back in prison. It was humiliating. I was angry—angry at the world, angry at myself.

But this time… this time, something feels different. My body is breaking down. The years of abuse have left me overweight, riddled with health issues, and watching my family grow weary of my empty promises. The slow, simmering anger I felt toward myself finally erupted into a raging fire. And that’s when I knew—I had to fight back.

I started with something small. A test of will. I challenged myself to lose weight, to prove that I could regain control of at least one aspect of my life. I lost 30 kilograms. And with that small victory, a shift began inside me.

For the first time, I understand that nothing is possible without God. My faith—though weak and wavering—has been my quiet anchor, keeping me from sinking completely. God’s hand has been on my life, even when I refused to see it. I know this because, despite my failures, He has never abandoned me.

One of the volunteers from the Roman Catholic Prison Ministry (RCPM) once helped me obtain a professional license in 2019, believing in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. But even success wasn’t enough to save me. The stress of the COVID-19 pandemic and financial struggles sent me spiraling back into the abyss. In my desperation, I even threatened this very same volunteer—a man who had shown me nothing but kindness. It was one of my lowest moments, a moment I deeply regret. But to my astonishment, he forgave me. That kind of mercy is something I never understood before, but now, I see it as a reflection of God's love.

This time, my incarceration feels different. I have learned something invaluable: I can’t do this alone.

As a Catholic, I cling to the unwavering support of God and my family. I believe in the intercession of Mother Mary, the guidance of the saints, and the presence of Jesus, who has walked with me even in my darkest moments. I’ve had experiences—moments of grace and warning—that I can’t fully explain. But they have left me with the unshakable conviction that God is real, and He has not given up on me.

For years, I hesitated to share my story. I didn’t want to burden anyone. But now, I know that speaking my truth is part of my healing. I’m ready for change. I’m ready to fight for a life free from addiction—a life rooted in faith, sustained by family, and guided by God’s mercy.

This is my turning point.

And I’m asking for help to stay on this path.

Born and raised at Pearl’s Hill Orphanage, Dinamita never knew his biological parents. The only detail he had was that his mother was a single 16-year-old when she gave birth to him. The weight of this rejection and the mystery of his origins sat heavy in his heart, haunting him throughout his childhood.

At the age of seven, he was given up for adoption to a Catholic couple with three daughters. His adoptive father had wanted a son, but his mother was against it. Throughout his teenage years, she verbally abused him, constantly reminding him that he was "picked up from the longkang (drain)," while favoring her own daughters. Years of anger, rejection, and pain built up inside him—until, at 15, he finally snapped. He left home and found a new "family" in a notorious gang.

Dinamita quickly discovered his "calling" as a violent enforcer for the gang. His natural aggression, combined with his exceptional combat skills, earned him a reputation built on respect, fear, and vengeance. Operating mostly alone, he carried out violent acts without hesitation in the name of his gang.

Unsurprisingly, the law eventually caught up with him. He was detained under Section 55 of the Criminal Law (Detainee) provisions, which allow the Minister for Home Affairs to detain individuals without trial for security reasons—particularly those involved in secret societies, drug trafficking, or organized crime.

By his own account, Dinamita had spent more time behind bars than in the outside world. He was incarcerated more than eight times, not including two separate imprisonments during his army service. In 2013, a judge gave him a final warning before his release: if he committed another crime and was caught, he would face preventive detention for 20 years. That ultimatum made him think—if he was going to receive such a long sentence, then his next crime might as well be a deadly one to make it “worthwhile.” But another thought crept in: Maybe it’s time to stop.

Stopping was not easy. Upon his release in 2013, his old gang reached out, offering him a place to stay, money, and work. He knew he had to reject all of it. However, leaving behind a life of crime proved to be a new kind of battle—one that led him into deep depression as he struggled with the daily realities of normal life. At one point, he checked himself into a halfway house. It was there that he met his wife, a woman who accepted him for who he was. They married in 2020 on the Feast of St. Anthony.

Always a soldier at heart, Dinamita found strength in his faith. A devoted Catholic, he regularly attended Roman Catholic Prison Ministry (RCPM) sessions while incarcerated. Through the guidance and support of volunteers such as Father Paul Pang, Sister Enrica, Edward Chan, Morris Yeo, and Kevin Yap, he resolved to leave his old life behind.

His favorite saint, without question, is St. Michael the Archangel. His home, vehicles, and personal belongings are adorned with images of the warrior saint. For him, St. Michael serves as a constant reminder of God’s protection and the blessings that have transformed his life.

Today, Dinamita has found peace and happiness in his faith and family. A simple man who now appreciates life’s little joys, he especially cherishes his pet bird—a stark contrast to the violent man he once was.

RCPM session is invaluably engaging and essentially relevant to our impending exodus. Their effort reiterated the many events in the Bible which probed our thought and prescribed suggestions to assist recovery. I'm urged to look at the proverbial garden in Genesis at one of the session and found the first question God asked. He SAID, "Where are you?". Then He SAID, "who told you that you are naked? Have you eaten of the tree that I ordered you not to eat?"

A beautiful story! God is Omniscient and thus He said, not asked.   God is mercy and always seeking and reaching out to us, "where are you?"    Alas, it's not often the other way around! Who are you and what you want is the sum of "where are you".   Acknowledging and knowing that I am lost, naked, shamed and desperately in "need", is a good question also, to begin with.   In short, I need to go back to the basic fundamental episode at the garden and encounter God all over again.   When God closes the Garden - with sword of flames - He also offers the way back through the Cross.   Without first knowing the "where", knowing the "who and what" can distract and temper efforts and direction of our goal. 

The "where" appeals to our weaknesses and strength, is rooted in reality not dreams, objectives and not subjective.   It prompts, prepares, harnesses and equips us with the desire, determination, direction, discipline and tools to get to "where" you want and not the "what" you want, ie. the "$ chit pa bun", if not, "bun bun tan" - wait long²!   Everybody wants to walk on water but can't weather the storm. Many decades have gone by, and without renouncing our dreams, we learned that the impossible takes a bit longer. Don't try to jump the gun, adopt piecemeal episode and exercise patience!

Tay Poh Lim - awaiting Alvin's approval