Lose the House, Gain a Lesson

THE RECESSION
- Foreclosure is painful, but it isn’t the end of the world

From WEEKEND TODAY, Voices
21-22 March 2009

ESTHER FUNG
esther@mediacorp.com.sg


AS A reporter covering the business beat amid Singapore’s worst recession in memory, I often have a sense of deja vu whenever the issue of home foreclosures crops up.

My family and I have been down that road before.

Back in 2000, my parents, whose business had yet to recover from the 1997/98 Asian Financial Crisis, managed to stave off bankruptcy. But our family had to move out of the semi-detached bungalow that we had called home for five years because the bank was breathing down our necks.

I watched as my parents, who were in their late 40s, overcame feelings of inadequacy, anxiety and angst when they were forced to sell our home.

I remembered how sad I was when my parents told the six of us — we were then between five and 18 — that the red-roofed home, along with the sushi dinner parties and garden barbecues, had to make way for something simpler.

As a 16-year-old caught in this unexpected setback in life, I had to make some mental adjustments quickly. The house that I had imagined I would live in until my wedding day had to go.

My parents also had to swallow their pride when relatives, friends and business partners asked about our downgrading.

But later on, I realised that children could be pretty resilient in times of adversity. Rather than wallow in self-pity, my siblings and I kept our chins up and learnt to be more accommodating towards each other.

The spacious Volvo was sold and the whole family adapted to squeezing ourselves into the more economical Hyundai Elantra.

This reduction in personal space soon became a regular fixture in our lives.

Moving into a rented, smaller terrace home packed with unopened cardboard boxes subsequently made me a wee bit more responsible da jie, or eldest sister.

There were many nights when I would sit and chat with my younger sisters on the mattress to help them feel more comfortable in our new home. I shared with them my personal stuff when they could not get theirs from the still-sealed boxes.

We were definitely not miserable and managed to get by staying in a house that I suppose could constitute a fire hazard.

We had to share our rooms with two other siblings — it used to be two to a room — and throw away a significant amount of our possessions that were deemed of little monetary value.

As I watched my father’s apparel machinery business teeter on the brink of failure, along with its attendant ramifications, I developed a sense of humility that was, in some ways, liberating.

My siblings and I learnt to accept that certain luxuries that we had long taken for granted would no longer be there.

I didn’t know much about business then, but I did remember reminding my sisters — frequently — to be thrifty. I didn’t want our parents to worry more than they already had to.

Looking back, those days weren’t really so awful, after all. While at times we argued because it was really easy to step on toes, literally or otherwise, we gradually adapted to living in a smaller and less attractive house.

It helped that we were never hungry at home, as my mother made sure we remained adequately “prosperous” at the waistline.

We enjoyed our new surroundings enough to make them the backdrop of many a family photo. Pictures of my sisters posing with an orchid plant still grace the walls of our current home.

My parents eventually got over their colossal loss of “face” as they realised that they still had many things to be thankful for. If nothing else, all their six kids were still healthy and adequately well-behaved during this trying period.

Then guess what?

A year later, we had to downgrade again because the much-hoped for business recovery took much longer than expected. This time, we moved into an even smaller, four-room HDB apartment, permanently.

But having been through it once, we became more numb to yet another humbling experience. It was really not such a painful experience any more: We already knew what it was like not getting our first, second or eighth choice.

Soon, we got over the fact that we were unlikely to live in a big home with a fancy address for a long time to come.

Downgrading — not once but twice — was a difficult transition. But it toughened my family up and gave us the confidence that we could cope with whatever hand life might deal us. WEEKEND XTRA