I was born in Singapore, spent most of my childhood abroad, and only moved back at 17. Maybe if I grew up there I would have known more seriously how they treat crime and misbehaviour.
Was arrested subsequently for ‘armed’ robbery
I didn’t pay much attention in school and got involved in crime in my late teens and earlier 20s, eventually escalating to robbery. I didn’t use a real weapon but pretended I had one, and it worked well for a while in a place where most people are unaccustomed to street crime, until inevitably I eventually got caught.
This was during the early pandemic so they maybe factored that in when giving me a comparably short prison term at only 2 year, but I think the judge made up for it by ordering 12 strokes of the cane, a bit higher than I expected. I knew it would hurt but I had no idea how bad it actually would be.
They keep you in suspense, not telling you your caning date till its near
Prison was no fun, of course, but the worst was that they don’t tell you what day your caning will be. So every day I wondered if today would be the day. I started to get very anxious after hearing a couple other prisoners say how serious it is.
They left me in that suspense for the first 14 months of my sentence or so until I began to try to hope, after hundreds of “false alarms” of guards walking by the cell for some other purpose, that maybe they’d forget or something and it would never happen. But nope, finally I was told that today’s the day. I had to submit for a medical exam and a doctor certified that I was fit to receive my punishment.
My heart was racing all morning, and finally I was led away to be caned. It’s done in private, outside the sight of any other prisoners. It’s not supposed to be a public humiliation event like in Sharia, the punishment rather comes from the pain.
I had to remove my clothes and was strapped down to the device to hold me in place for the caning. There was a doctor there and some officers worked to set up some protection over my back so that only my buttocks was exposed. I had to thank the caning officers for carrying out my sentence to teach me a lesson.
It’s only 12 strokes, I can do this!! But after that I start to kpkb
I tried to psyche myself up thinking “OK it’s 12 strokes, I can do this!” But finally the first stroke came. I remember the noise of it was so loud and then the pain was so shocking and intense, I cried out in shock and agony. I tried then to get away but I couldn’t move.
By the 3rd stroke I could barely think straight, I remember feeling like my brain was on fire and the pain was all over my body, not just on the buttocks. I think I was crying but things become blurry after that in my memory. I remember the doctor checking to see if i was still fit for caning at one point and giving the go ahead to continue.
After the 12th stroke they released me but I couldn’t move, 2 officers had to help me hobble off. They doused the wounds with antiseptic spray and then took me back to a cell to recover. My brain felt like it was melting from the pain so my sense of time is probably a bit distorted from that day but I remember I collapsed down in the cell and either passed our or went to sleep.
But little did I realize that the real punishment of Caning is more the aftermath, than the caning itself!
When I woke up the pain was still incredibly intense, but not so much that it was distorting my mind, which almost made it worse in a way. My buttocks had swollen immensely and any pressure on it felt like fire that immediately crippled me, almost worse than a kick to the groin.
My first time I felt like I had to use the toilet, I was filled with dread because of the pain…I managed to do it squatting instead of sitting, but still, just the motion of going “#2” agitated all the wounds and the pain was so sudden and intense that I threw up. I tried to avoid eating for a week because I didn’t want to have to use the toilet.
After a couple days the officers told me I couldn’t lay without wearing anything in my cell anymore and had to wear clothes. This was scary because they would agitate the wounds. I spent most of the day trying to lay face-down and totally still because even small movements would hurt so bad as the clothes rustled against it.
Almost a month before it healed
This continued for about a month before things started to heal, and even then, these actions remained very painful, just not cripplingly painful. I didn’t sit or lay on my back for many months. By the time I got out of prison I had mostly recovered but even to this day, there are severe scars and the area can be a bit sensitive.
It was way worse than I expected the experience to be. I know it’s my fault but I do wish my parents had warned me more about the seriousness of justice here when we moved back – though I know i wouldn’t have listened as a stupid teen.
Thankfully they were supportive when I got out and I’m getting back on my feet – literally and metaphorically.
