One year ago today, I was hosting a birthday dinner in Singapore with my nearest and dearest and surprised myself by bursting into tears. Around twenty of us were gathered in two long tables at Tempt - the (now-closed) special concept by juicy chef extraordinaire Candice Leong. It was a balmy tropical evening hidden in one of the historic shophouses lining Purvis Street, and we had the space to ourselves.
Well hydrated by spicy margaritas, someone had started a speech round. She was one of my wildest friends, and in moments, could also be one of my sweetest. As the mic went around, with guests pitching in impromptu Lisa stories, I began to feel weird. My usual composure got shaky. My husband was in Milan and had been too tired to travel with me. After being ground to dust in his world, such adoration felt almost illegal. It was just me and the friendships I’d built over 18 years in Singapore.
The mic ended with me. In work situations, I always know what to say. Or when it’s about someone else’s life, someone else’s problems. But in this case, I was speechless. I babbled on auto-pilot about feeling so overwhelmed from the love, and then from somewhere deep within, I shared a truth that I hadn’t known before it escaped my lips. Tears came. My voice was high and stretching to a finish line.
We ended the night with deep conversations and DIY karaoke - made particularly better given that we had some proper musicians in the house. Looking back, my subconscious must have known that something bad was about to befall me, only one month later.
I always liked dramatic men. What others found perplexing, intimidating or unhinged - I found charming. Especially if they had good style. I’m a Leo, an entrepreneur and run a fashion business in a retail downturn that should have my wee brand in liquidation already. I wear my heart on my sleeve and have an appetite for risk.
Without sharing personal details that are not mine, I let myself be convinced that this marriage was a healthy choice due to his heroic offering of amends for the past. Apparently, this time around, our relationship would be safe, calm, and finally, the much needed peace that I had been craving.
His proposal felt real, as there was a dually notarized contract, laying out each detail. I let him lead - his legal team drafted it all. I had no Italian legal advice. I assumed this was all to protect his wealth, as it was the most unequal prenuptial agreement that my Singaporean lawyers had ever seen. I didn’t mind the cheapness. I knew it was because he liked to always be in control. It was enough for me and I trusted him.
Marriage across two passports and two countries takes a lot of admin work. To even go through all the paperwork and two weddings (one in Milan and one in Singapore), felt like evidence that this wasn’t just another grand gesture or empty promise. It felt like real commitment. Italian men are good at passion. I was overjoyed that there was also practical planning this time too. In return, I gave all my love and loyalty, and made him the centre of my existence. My feminine era began.
This was my second Sagittarius ADHD husband. The first Sagi is still one of my best friends. This second Sagi will not be.
Being neurodivergent myself, I understand this specific mode of intelligence that is either too fast (for normal thinking/conversational speed) or too slow (the epiphany comes much later in a totally different context). I like deep, committed relationships where you can get to know each other over time. ADHD/ADD people are radically different aspects of themselves depending on which slice you magnify. Its only by zooming out on the timeline, and connecting the dots, that you can understand the whole thing. There is a coherency. I will always find this way of thinking refreshing.
I spent the third year of my relationship with him mostly in our countryside home. He supported my fashion brand, but we put it on the back burner. The main priorities were his work, and there was something feminine about caring about my partner’s goals more than my own for once. He was the driver, I was in the passenger seat.
However, one year after our Milan wedding, I was asked for a divorce. No cheating on my end. No betrayal, no lying, nothing. It was a preemptive move.
It seemed as though there was some awful surprise coming, and he needed to reduce all liabilities from me ahead of time, and also not rock the boat - so as to keep me dumbly assuming that it was still safe to trust him. The comforting realness of a marriage that had been detailed and planned dissolved in front of my eyes.
Apparently his lawyers had already started drafting something that he wanted me to sign whereby he would not have to honor the agreement from when we married. It was a cheap marriage, but he needed it to be cheaper.
Before I get into the figurative murder, the saddest and the most difficult piece for me to reconcile has been that I was never given the basic respect to be told the truth. Even worse, I was further lied to as a cover-up. If you’re currently someone in a relationship where you are doing wrong - trust me, the other person prefers to know everything, and have a heartfelt sorry. It helps both of you to at least know that during the good times, it was actually real. Otherwise, everything is fake.
So, last year, mid September: I’m asked for a divorce on the eve of Milan Fashion Week - and Paris is around the corner. This means that my husband and I will be both hosting and attending events for the next two weeks together. I am asked to pretend to be a happy wife. I have a wardrobe of designer clothing - the kind that actually flexes; overpriced ready-to-wear made in limited quantity sold in a few fleeting boutiques, and appreciated by even fewer fashion nerds. No Birkin bag. No Chanel. I have friends and business contacts flying in for the next few weeks of programming. I am on the verge of breakdown.
All this happens in one week-
I tell him I cannot pull these fashion weeks off. I’m in shock. We need marriage counseling. I need to be around family and friends in Singapore.
We agree that I skip the fashion weeks. My return flight gets me back to Milan around the time he returns from Paris - giving us a few weeks of space.
I send a love note from the airport lounge. He blocks my cards.
At the airport at my gate, it becomes impossible to buy a bottle of water. I ask why my cards aren’t working. No response.
My flight lands in Singapore. I open my email to see notifications that my only income at that time (my brand was not making profit) has been switched off. I had been consulting for his company, and he has terminated me. This was bad.
I arrive with a few luggages to my best friend’s home in Singapore. I receive another notification that my Ibiza pop-up store that he had been operating will not be renewed. They will close my store. I need to collect my stock.
Meanwhile, he suggests we speak through lawyers, and skips three scheduled marriage counseling appointments. I get the feeling that I am being starved now into a position so desperate that I will settle for whatever he proposes to me.
I faint and get sent to the ER. My blood is hypoglycemic and I can’t stop shaking. I pay with my own Singapore bank card, because I have no other way.
I am discharged and upon returning to my best friend’s place get a flurry of new messages accusing me of stealing his passports. Plural. I mention that I’m weak and hope he can find them. I get berated for being an awful Stealer of Passports.
He finds his passports. He never apologizes. I lie like a mummy for many days.
Now we’re in early October. Before my return flight to Milan, I am feeling anxious and check my digital access to the house (two apps). I’ve been logged out of both. That was my only mode of access to my own home. I never used physical keys. I ask him why I can’t come home. He says if I want to return, I need to book an appointment with him first. At the time, I don’t realize that is illegal.
I receive a legal letter accusing me of ‘abandoning’ him and initiating our divorce proceedings. The irony…
“Abandoning”. They say that the most prolific cheaters accuse their spouses of doing what they themselves are ashamed of. It makes me wonder if he ever had the idea of stealing my passport.
I ask him to send a photo of all my belongings in Milan (art, furniture, clothes, etc) because I have a sinking feeling that he is trying to extinguish all of me. He responds that all of my things disappeared, and accuses me of magically taking everything with me on my flight to Singapore - as part of my master plan of abandoning him.
Its easy to lie when you’re the one in power. How can I respond, ‘but that’s not possible. I had two checked luggages. I would have needed a shipping container.’ Logic, truth, none of that matters. And some people sadistically love it.
Surprise surprise, I did not use my return flight. The truth had been revealed that nothing was done or said in earnest anymore. As an update - I got access to the house months later (organized by the Family Court) and of course, all my things were still there - albeit all packed up. No apologies for trying to make us all believe that I had somehow fit a bookshelf into my suitcase. Boh.
I’ve learned that some people will go to such gnarly lengths in order to free themselves of “liabilities”. In modern society, perhaps murder can be carried out in ways that are not physical; for example, character assassination and attempted bankruptcy. What’s strange is that…. is depravity ever worth it?
There are easier ways to do whatever it is that you want, while married. Ask permission. Apologize if you’re caught. Try to make amends. Go to marriage counseling. Or at a minimum, honor whatever agreement you had in place in case things go south. I think my soft spot for dramatic men is finally cured!
As of today, we are almost one year on from this debacle.
I went into work overdrive in order to turn profit from my fashion brand. This meant I had to close my Singapore store. Let go of all full-time staff, and then re-hire assistance on project bases. I have never worked so hard. Those who know me, know how much I stretch myself. My reward is that the brand still lives on, and so do I.
In fact, LVT continues to be celebrated as a brand partner with some of my favourite luxury lifestyle brands and shops worldwide. One of them is Agora at Six Senses Ibiza, recently named as one of the best boutiques in the world by BOF, and helmed by women who deeply care about sustainability and spirited design. Our network of wonderful hotel partners, who also value designer merchandise and creative collaborations, select members clubs, and award-winning spirits have come to us for partnership - not even knowing the steep hill I had personally been climbing.
What a year. Polite friends say, ‘Nooooo, Lisa’ when I tell them I’ve been aging in Obama years. I roll my eyes, and say its okay - I’m embracing every new line. Then with this reassurance of my hardiness, they offer, ‘well there’s so much new beauty technology these days… ’ But as much as I complain, I’m happy to age.
There was an aspect of myself that was very green when I met my ex. A little girl who wanted to be loved, saved, and taken care of by a father figure that I never had. Independence seemed overrated. Instead of being burned out, I wanted to be cradled.
Well as karma would have it, I married a mirage.
In coming back to myself, post crisis, I have finally realized that no one external to ourselves can save us. I saved myself. I’ve never felt so proud. And I have relatively so little.
At my birthday dinner a year ago… I cried because I had felt seen and loved. The easy permission to just be, without servitude, without expectation, without punishment, as the most natural thing in the world - it made me realize how stark my life had become. I blurted out into the mic, ‘I’ve been feeling so isolated, and so far from home’ - immediately embarrassed and hoping people would drink enough to forget.
But as luck would have it, I was pushed home, quite expediently. A hard shove back to Singapore, and back to myself.
I was moved by your story, and inspired by your strength in it!
Thank you for sharing your truth, you are incredibly strong