At his headiest high, he was raking in wins of S$100,000. But for *Michael (not his real name), gambling was never just about the money.

“I was looking for thrills,” he told Salt&Light.

Six-figure wins happened often enough to feed that hunger. But the peaks were always bracketed by long seasons of devastating losses. He once accumulated a debt of S$500,000 within a year. On another occasion, he parted ways with close to S$20,000 in just one casino visit.

He thought nothing of taking loans and maxing out credits cards to feed his habit. When the need to tango with Lady Luck deepened into an addiction, he resorted to begging from relatives, then stealing from them. Eventually, he called on loan sharks.

Explained Michael, 56: “In addiction, your head is re-wired. The thrill sets off dopamine. Over time, you have to increase the stakes to get the same excitement – from once a week to every hour, from once a day to the whole day.

“Another thing is, you’re chasing your losses. Those ‘miracle times’ when you win becomes ingrained in you. But most of the time, you don’t win.”

For 30 years, he lived in a haze of gambling addiction, ricocheting between intoxicating wins and stretches of desperation when the cash ran dry.

But Michael had not always been this way. In his teens, he was an enthusiastic champion of the Gospel.

A band of bad brothers  

Michael was 15 when he was invited to church by a friend. Within a year he was baptised and going door to door at the neighbouring housing estate to share his faith.

“I found there was peace in Christianity.”

The thrill of gambling drew Michael away from his first love for the King of kings.

Things changed when he went to junior college. He was placed in “the worst class in terms of our studies”. Together with the new friends he made there, Michael “did all the naughty things”.

“One of the things I regret is my life in college. Instead of going for lectures or tutorial groups, we played truant. We would go bowling, play snooker, go to a friend’s house to play mahjong.

“At the lecture theatre, instead of paying attention, we would play a gambling game with our calculator. We were so notorious we caused a lot of stress to the teachers.”

Because of that, Michael only passed three subjects, not enough to earn a full ‘A’ level certificate.

During National Service (NS), army friends introduced him to drinking and smoking. Friendly mahjong sessions and calculator gambling were exchanged for playing the lottery. By then, the infrequent visits to church also dwindled to nothing.

“I struggled, though. Is there a God? If He exists, why are there so many issues in the world? Why is life so unfair? I had a lot of questions.

“But I chose the world’s way out. I drowned myself in alcohol.”

Not-so-cheap thrills  

It was when he was 22 and a member of an airline cabin crew that he got into the “serious stuff”. Three months into the job, Michael landed in London and his colleagues took him to a casino.

This was 1991, long before casinos were introduced to Singapore’s shores.  He caught his first glimpse of the world of high rollers.

“I was captivated.”

Michael would return on his next trip to try his hand at the card game, baccarat. After that, at every major city at which he stopped, he would gamble at the casino. Within a few years, he racked up a S$35,000 debt. It would be the start of his cycle of debt.

It took him two years to pay off the five-figure sum on his own. During that time, he did not gamble.

“I had no resources. Whatever I earned went to paying the debt.”

But the moment his debt was cleared, Michael returned to gambling. Over the next decade, he would get into bigger and bigger debts. On three occasions, family members had to step in to pay off six-figure sums.

“I was punting by the thousands. Otherwise, I won’t feel the thrill. My friends said I was crazy. But I wanted more thrills.”

Broke and alone

Even getting married in 2005 did nothing to put the brakes on Michael’s gambling. In 2010, when casinos opened in Singapore and he was no longer working at the airlines, he signed up to be a member of the casino.  

“Every day, I would go in to play.”

The stranglehold of addiction tightened. When he wiped out his savings, he sold his car. When that money was used up, he dipped into joint accounts he held with his relative. When those were depleted, he broke into his relative’s house and stole their jewellery to pawn.

The losses came fast and furious. Within a year, he lost S$500,000. Moneylenders started showing up at his door.

When casinos opened in Singapore, Michael’s gambling addiction drove him to empty his savings and sell his car.

“Because of this, my wife and I had a major fight. I was shouting at her at the letterbox area. When we went back home, we were still quarrelling.

“In anger, I flipped over the bed. My son was one then and he was so frightened. My wife left home that day and went to her parents’. I was on my own.”

Man on the ledge

Desperate, Michael allowed a family member to sign him up for a one-year, stay-in programme at a Christian halfway house for addicts.

“It didn’t work because of the company there,” said Michael.

Gamblers made up only a small percentage of the men who stayed in the house. The rest were alcoholics and drug addicts. Michael could not get used to the environment. After eight months, he left.

He decided then that he would quit gambling on his own. He found himself a job, having stopped work to stay at the halfway house. He wooed his wife again and she decided to give their marriage another try. For three years, Michael did not gamble. He even lectured his colleagues on the ills of gambling.

Then came a colleague who was a bookie on the side. The temptation proved too great. Michael started gambling again.

To feed his addiction, he borrowed from moneylenders and loan sharks. Within four months, he was in debt again. This time, he owed S$400,000. When creditors came a calling, his deceit was discovered. His wife, heartbroken, filed for divorce.

“I was very tired of my life. Why was I causing pain and hurt to my family? I decided to end my life.”

With his last S$15, Michael bought a bottle of cheap brandy and headed home. After penning his su*cide note, he stepped onto the ledge outside his bedroom window.

“I gulped down the last three-quarters of the bottle of brandy and looked down at the carpark below. Scenes of my life flashed before me. I thought of my son who was only six.

“Then I cried out to God. I was at my lowest point.”

Biggest encounter with God

Michael did not end up killing himself that night. Instead, he ran away, going from place to place trying to gather up the courage to end it all and sleeping in his car when exhaustion overtook him.

After a week, the police caught up with him. His family had made a missing person’s report. They had Michael admitted to the Institute of Mental Health (IMH) where he was placed in an isolation ward.

“When I was there, I had not bathed for a week. I smell myself, I could almost faint. The stench was so horrible.

“The first two nights there, I cried. I have never cried so much before. I cried till my pillow and bed were wet. I was just asking God, ‘Why?’

“Then I told Him, ‘I just want to come back to Your bosom and have that first love with You again.’ I had my biggest encounter with God in IMH.

“In those moments, it felt like Jesus was right beside me. He said to me, ‘You refused to hold my hand. What can I do?’”

It took Michael many tries but it was when he was finally warded in IMH that he encountered God again and began to change.

When he was released from IMH after seven days, Michael went to a gambling support group that was run by the social service arm of Blessed Grace Church. His relative had reached out to them to help Michael before all the mayhem but he had been resistant, going half-heartedly. Now he willingly worked with the programme.

Every week, he attended the support group. As part of the requirements, he also went to Blessed Grace Church and was integrated into a cell group made up of many from the support group.

“At every worship session, I would cry and cry, ‘God, just get my heart passionate again.’ I was so worried that my heart would grow cold. I was determined to change.”

The support group and church gave him a community he never had before.

“In the past, nobody had any problems in church. But here, they understand. They have the same struggle and the same background. There is no condemnation, no judgement. Everyone is walking together with you.

“Sharing openly at the group is also a form of healing. We need to bring it into the light to get rid of the darkness.”

No turning back

It has been nine years since Michael met God in that padded room at IMH. He now volunteers at the Gambling Addiction Recovery Centre which runs the support group. Though it is open to all, the Gospel is shared subtly.

The programme has only four steps: The person must be willing to change, he must be open to others and to God, he must be willing to follow the advice of the centre and he must be willing to share openly.

When members of the group need someone to negotiate with moneylenders, volunteers like Michael step in because they understand the system best.

“When I negotiate with them, I am reminded that I don’t want to go back again to the position where this guy is in.

“As I go through all this with them, it is the biggest joy, getting the person saved, the family saved, seeing their life being changed. That is the mystery of Jesus, how He transforms lives.”

Michael has not only gotten out of the grips of gambling addiction, he has also become a changed man in other ways.

“My temper really mellowed down. I used to be, ‘Wow, must win.’ Now a lot of things aren’t that important. I think of it in terms of character moulding and being changed by God.

“Christ has been placed in me. Everything is Christ-centred. God has been really good to me. I have been set free.”

If you are struggling with gambling addiction or know a loved one who needs help, visit Blessed Grace Social Services or call their helpline: +65 84286377.

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