Never will I forget this incident which constantly replays itself in my mind even after these years. It happened six years ago, barely four months into my first year at junior college.

Coming from an all boys school from the primary to secondary level, I found the sudden transition to a junior college very difficult. Perhaps, the main reason could be attributed to the fact that I had to come into regular contact with girls my age. This was something I never had to do before. Not to mention that some girls towered over a small-built guy like me.

Orientation time was supposedly the time to start socializing and get to know the other people in your class. But ice breaker was there none. Some already knew the others, because they came from the same school – in their hues of white and blue for one group, and white for another group. I felt tormented. The rest of the lone rangers, who did not find any familiar faces in this class of sixteen students must have felt the same way too.

Things started to get a little easier for me when the civics tutor paired us up to play some games. I was paired up with a girl. I remembered she was not very attractive. But what captivated my attention were her bubbly nature and that constant, almost transfixed smile on her face which never failed to brighten up my moodiest days. And when she smiled, two deep dimples would automatically appear on both sides of her cheek. Being in the same class, we saw each other everyday. There was no need even to find an excuse to see her. She was always around. Her mathematics was good and she often coached me.

I enjoyed being with her. In fact, I was even secretly delighted to find a new friend so quickly, someone who shared the same interest. Like me, she too enjoyed singing. Till date, I still have the hand-written lyrics of the two Disney songs which we loved – ‘Beauty and the Beast’ and ‘A Whole New World’. When I told her I was searching for the lyrics, she immediately copied them out and passed them to me the next day. I was over the moon.

As time passed, I felt I had fallen in love. It was a feeling I never had before. No words from the English language could describe it.

I ran through my diary which effectively captured the things we did together for the past three months. We ate together during lunch, walked to the same bus-stop after classes ended, sang Disney duets at some secluded staircase corners of the college grounds and even shared the same locker. But we never held hands nor locked lips. Well, fact was that she moved in with me into my locker. Cohabitation of the mildest degree? Fate had it that she was not allocated a locker although she applied for one. On the other hand, I was given a brand new locker which was strategically located just outside one of the most popular lecture theatres where we had our maths lectures. So when she asked me if I was willing to share my locker with her, I immediately obliged. I did not need to hesitate. There were even the best-laid plans hidden within me that could be used to capitalize on this golden opportunity not to be missed. What continued to fuel my delight further was the constant exchange of messages within the locker. It was a locker of wondrous joy.

But two and a half months after we started lessons, reality struck. I felt like a fish on land, gasping for water. Her daily presence continued to fuel my innate emotions. Yet on the other hand, I knew I could not possibly cope with the subject syllabus in the Science stream, especially my much hated nemesis – physics. No matter how hard I paid attention in class, all the concepts were alien to me. Laboratory experiments were the worst. I was always the last to complete my findings and hand in the reports. It came to a stage when I just copied the answers from my classmate seated on the same laboratory bench discretely. Somehow, it dawned upon me that I did not belong to the realm of physics and the other sciences. And there was no way she could have helped me as we arranged to be seated according to our surnames. I had to help myself.

I gave myself this ultimatum: pass the forthcoming physics common test and stay on; or flunk it and move on. But deep down inside, I knew what the choice would be.

My hunch proved right. It was supposedly an easy test. Nevertheless, I failed. It was a miserable failure which shocked the people around me – my parents, my tutor, my friends and her. It did not shock me though. As far as I was concerned, it was a grand failure that exposed my weakness early and paved my future into another field.

I had a good talk with my civics tutor and decided that it was indeed time to take stock of the situation. I asked for a transfer to the Arts stream.

She was emotionless when I told her I was going ahead with the transfer. When I asked her for her thoughts, she just displayed her dimples and gave a smile. A smile not unlike that of Mona Lisa’s, the enigmatic smile which continues to intrigue and spellbind its lookers after centuries. A smile open to different interpretations. If she was upset, she certainly did not show it. I could not decipher her inner most thoughts.

The locker was even more handy now as times for lunch cum other appointments like going home were fixed and confirmed through it. Though I was a co-user of the locker in name, I hardly ever used it. Her chemistry apparatus like test tubes and beakers, together with other textbooks and sweater were the commonly sighted residents found within.

I soon found a pest lurking around the locker at different times of the day. A life-sized pest threatening to destroy the fragile happiness which the shared locker brought to me. I detested this pest which took the form of another guy for one simple reason – he was my rival in love. Many a times have I spied on him from a distance and noticed him looking around cautiously before surreptitiously slipping in pieces of paper or cards into the locker. After he left, I would immediately open the locker and remove all traces of an avalanche of papers which peeved me off. He was obviously intruding upon my privacy, and dumping unwelcomed saccharinely sweet messages for her. His motive was clear even before I knew his name. He was clearly pursuing her and had an added advantage over me as he was also from the Science stream and took the same subject combination as she did.

With the appearance of this rival in love, somehow, I wasn’t so sure of myself now. I had to find an opportunity to test her and scour the depths of her inner most unconscious.

The karaoke competition proved to be the best chance to put everything to the test. I asked her if she was interested in us pairing up to take part in the duets section. She gave a curt ‘no’ with no explanation. I pressed her for a reason, but I did not succeed to get one.

A year later after this infatuation, I knew the answer. Her good friend came up to me and apologized for being the guilty element which wreaked my chance of a deeper relationship with her. This good friend who stood in front of me with pitiful eyes retold the entire tale. She was the one who warned the love of my infatuation to consider all the factors carefully before plunging into another relationship. She claimed she did it out of the purest friendship for my infatuated target after she learnt from the horse’s mouth that I was very much interested in her. There was a sudden urge to unleash a strong barrage of words against this seemingly concerned friend. But I shrugged and walked away. As far as I was concerned, she was already out of my life.

After the cold ‘no’ reply I got from her about the karaoke pairing up scheme, I knew that things would never be the same again. It was just the first instance of a supposedly close relationship turned distant. Could it be because we were no longer in the same class? But then, think again. As the Chinese proverb goes, ‘if love is to last for a long time, there is no need to see each other daily.’

I was right. The messages which used to bring me much joy stopped altogether. She was indeed sending a strong signal, all thanks to that concerned friend of hers who was manipulating her mind at this crucial moment in time. We could only become friends? It was then when I decided to adopt a laid-back strategy. I was tired, both physically and mentally.

In the meantime, my rival predator was out in full force to snare his prey. He could be often found finding some excuses to get close to her, whether it be to discuss contents of the lecture or to borrow her notes. I saw it all but chose to remain inactive, choosing not to pursue an immediate contingency plan. Whatever will be, will be. That’s a sure thing. If she’s destined to be mine, fate will send her forth to me. If not, then let it be. After all, life goes on.

Two weeks later, I sniffed the smell of triumphant victory on his part in the air. He was winning this human tug of war. I think she must have been upset with me for not initiating any positive actions. It became more obvious when I found them sticking together in the canteen, library or study rooms.

Interestingly, it was also around this time when I chanced upon her one day at the college carpark with another Chinese guy who came with a bouquet of roses. That guy was rich, but not good-looking. She got into his car and they drove off. Another prospective suitor? The competition is heating up, for sure.

It did not take long for me to reflect upon the events of the past four months and how things have not exactly turned up in my favour. I decided to be gallant and back out of the competition.

I caught up with her a few days later and announced my decision to move out of the locker. The locker, which once proved to be a nest of innocent puppy love that brought me much joy now irked me so. In fact, it was sticking out like a sore thumb, reminding me of the unhappy events which repeatedly unfold themselves in my mind. Misinterpreting my words and intention, she apologized sheepishly for having dominated the locker all along. She added that if either one had to move out, she should have been the one. I told her not to bother and dropped the second locker key which was in my possession into the locker later that day.

I did not want to have anything to do with her anymore. This was not mutual love but rather infatuation on my part. She never did once reciprocate and I, the giver, was really weary of giving. Enough was enough.

I did not know if he shifted into the locker with her, but I couldn’t be bothered. It was none of my concern. Thinking back, I think I was real silly. I even took pains to avoid her totally in school. If she was heading towards my direction, I would choose to take another route to get to my destination, even though it meant having to walk a longer distance.

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Two months later, a sensational story in the Sin Ming Wan Pao (a daily night edition of the local Chinese newspapers) spread through the college grounds with much fervor and excitement. Photocopies of the article were distributed in the lecture theatres and others stuck on the noticeboards. It had to be scandalous, I thought.

After I read the article, I knew the reason for the sensation. It had to do with her. She was the protagonist in the tragedy. The lead actress in this self directed tragedy. It was an act with several scenes fit to be serialized into a soap drama.

Two evenings ago, she and my ex-rival were walking towards a block of flats in Yishun with the latter acting as an escort. She was attending her piano lessons at that particular block of flats on the fourteenth floor.

But even before they could get into the lift, they were cornered by that Chinese guy whom I saw in the college some time back. His identity was now made known. He was an Indonesian Chinese who came to Singapore to study. He was her first boyfriend. Being rich, he showered her with expensive gifts and they were together for about three years. In fact, she was still with him even during my self imagined courtship period at college.

When this Indonesian Chinese boy knew of her change of heart and the existence cum constant persistence of my ex-rival, he was heartbroken.

At the bottom of the block of flats, he gave her an ultimatum. She was to choose only one guy. She did not hesitate and told him her choice. He was not her choice. My ex-rival was the one she chose. He could not believe his ears and she repeated the answer again. She was seeing him only for his wealth.

Failing to keep her with him even though they had been together for three years, he told her crudely to return him all the gifts he had given her during their courtship days. She said ‘no’. Perhaps it is true. A gift once given should not be retrieved.

Failing in this second attempt, he handed over his identification card to her and told her to take care.

She and her publicly announced new boyfriend then proceeded to take the lift up to the fourteenth floor for her piano lesson.

Two hours later. The piano lesson has ended. Chatting happily, hand-in-hand, they take the lift down. The lift door opens…they walk out.

They see a group of people surrounding the grass patch below the block of flats. The victim is lying in a small pool of blood, face down. It is a case of suicide. The victim had jumped off the HDB rooftop. It was a successful suicide.

Walking towards the grass patch, she lets out a scream. She knows the victim. He is none other than the Chinese Indonesian boy, her first boyfriend. He must have jumped as a consequence of her change of heart.

That very night, the police came knocking on her door in Thomson. They asked for her. She knew the reason for their presence. She handed over the identity card of the dead first boyfriend and answered some questions.

At the funeral, she was there too. But she did not cry. There were no tears at all. I wondered why. Could she have already cried her heart out the night before? I doubted so. As I said before, she was an enigmatic figure. You never knew what she was thinking of.

He jumped because he was heartbroken. He jumped because of her change of heart. He jumped because he decided the world had come to an end. He jumped because he knew he had lost her forever. He jumped because…

Jerked out of my inner most thoughts by my classmate, I crushed the photocopied article and threw it into the nearest trash bin. Lesson time.

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I saw her a few days later after the incident. She is still as bubbly in nature as before and that smile remains on her face. It seems that that incident did not have any effect nor bearing on her.

She knows that her college mates are gossiping about her and her fickle-mindedness which cost one life. Yet she does not care. What is she really like?

Sometimes, I really shudder to think what would have happened to me had I continued this relationship with her. I could have been her next victim.

Author: Lionel L (14 December 1999)

Give Me More Stories

When the first bomb was dropped in Singapore in 1941, my second uncle, his son and my brother were in the Southern Hotel at Eu Tong Sen Street on a business trip (now Yue Hwa, Chinese Products Pte Ltd). We were all very relieved when they returned home safely after three days. They told us of the incident of how they heard the loud bang and the noise outside. They were not afraid thinking it was an air raid practice till they stepped out of the building and saw the mess with debris all over the place. They even switched on the lights till the first aiders told them not to do so. I did not take the matter seriously as at that time, I was young and innocent. My mind was set only for the coming Senior Cambridge Examination (equivalent to the present day ‘O’ levels)

But after my last paper on Dec 1941, on my way home, the streets were all deserted, quiet without a soul or vehicle on the road. I felt very uneasy, wondering what had happened. You can fathom my inner feelings at that time. I did not know what to do, as that was my first experience of the great disaster though I had heard and read about what happened in China when the Japanese invaded the northeastern part of China earlier on when I was in Chinese school.

My heart went pit-a-pat and almost jumped out of my mouth. I only wished I could find someone to talk to but this was not until I reached home. My second uncle’s family had moved to Muar. My elder brother had gone to his mother-in-law’s house with the family, leaving my mother, my youngest sister cum brother and myself. As there were only four of us in the house (all females and a teenage boy), we had to ensure that the doors and windows were securely shut and locked. The staircase board for the back staircase was let down to prevent intruders. There were two staircases in the house. There was chaos at that time. Many turned to looting. Many of the neighbours’ houses were cleaned out literally as the owners had evacuated.

To protect ourselves, we had brooms, sticks, gong, hammer and anything we could lay our hands on to be our weapons. My mother told us to make as loud a noise as possible whenever we heard any voices and asked everyone to get up and be ready. This was only a coverage so that the uninvited guests would not enter the building to harm us thinking there were many people including males indoor. How frightened I was at that time. If only the secret was unveiled, you could imagine what would be the consequence. I was young, inexperienced and did not realize the danger. I must thank my mother for her wit that we pulled through safely.

I was at home waiting for my fiancé to take me to Singapore to be married. My marriage was arranged on 27 Dec 1941. My father-in-law though conservative, wanted me to complete my studies instead of stopping halfway. I was in Standard 7 (equivalent to Sec 2). Thus my fiancé came to pick me up for the Big Day after the exams. At that time, I was considered to be old as most girls were married between the ages of sixteen to eighteen. If they had passed these ages, they would be regarded as ‘old maids’, ‘left on the shelves’ and ‘unwanted goods’.

We came to Singapore by a taxi as there was no air flight. This was not the first time I visited my in-laws’ house at Hougang, as I used to spend my school vacation in the house. This time round, everything was different. Everywhere, it was quiet, silent and in darkness. Everybody did not talk much. The doors and windows were shut, locked securely and the crevices were sealed with paper to prevent lights from shining out. The lampshades too were covered so that its light only shone in one direction (i.e. downwards). This was to prevent being spotted by the enemy.

At my age, I had never seen an air raid shelter. This was the first time I saw it in the open space next to the house. It was homemade with planks for seats, pillars and the ceilings. There were two doors leading to the shelter, one on either end with steps leading down. It was dark, gloomy and stuffy when occupied. The roof was covered with earth and there were big trees around to form shade and protection. Due to my shortsightedness, I had to be doubly careful when I had to enter the shelter. If I missed one step, I would be slipping down and thus hurting myself. I prayed silently and hoped nothing of this nature would happen.

Whenever the siren sounded announcing the arrival of the enemy plane, everyone in the family would run to the shelter and wait till the coast was clear before returning home with peace in mind, yet at the same time still wondering when the siren would sound again.

There was also a well nearby and this became the main source of water supply during the Japanese Occupation when the water was cut off. The place was used to keep cows to supply milk to the neighbourhood. Only a few people stayed there – a Chinese lady, a baby and a servant. They shared the same shelter with us.

Life was hard and uncertain, not knowing when the siren would sound. My father-in-law had foresight as he stored bags of rice, provisions, ikan bilis, salted vegetables and salt in the house; and urns of soybean paste in the garden. He had to feed twenty mouths in all. The soybean paste would be scooped out and put into a big pot to boil. After cooling, the sauce was then stained and put into bottles ready to be used. The paste would then be put back into the urn and salt added for future use. The urns had to be opened whenever the weather was sunny to prevent them from getting mouldy. This became our main source of food as shops were closed and there was a shortage of food supplies which jacked up the price.

Owing to the damp weather, the stored rice had to be taken out, sunned, sieved and removed of maggots. This was my first time seeing maggots and how the sieving was done by my mother-in-law. The portion sieved out would then be saved to feed the poultry and piglets later on.

My father-in-law also had something else stored in the attic. It was aspirin. Medicine was expensive and hard to get in those days. Also, he kept British currency and jewellery in a biog urn, which he then buried, deep into the ground. There was not safe deposit box then. All the currency came in useful as he sold them for Japanese currency or what was commonly known as banana money to keep the family going and to buy property. $100 Straits currency could be exchanged for as much as 5000 – 6000 Japanese currency.

My wedding was held as scheduled on 27 Dec 1941 but it was a quiet one because no one knew when the siren would sound. It could be anytime. My sister was the only representative from my family as she too came out from Malacca to get married. All the girls then tried to settle down before the Japanese came. The wedding was supposed to be a happy occasion but due to the war, everything was simplified. It was a home affair as nobody dared to venture out to attend the simple ceremony. I was very sad, homesick and did not know what my future would be. After the wedding ceremony, I was all alone in my bridal room while everyone was downstairs. I felt lonely, deserted and frightened. But luckily, there was to be no siren till late that night.

There was no radio nor television nor other means of communication. The news of the arrival of the enemy came from the British armed forces. The enemy advanced from the north, via Thailand, the then Siam and moves southwards down the Malay Peninsular. The British army was taken by surprise and did not put up a fight. They retreated to Johor. When crossing the Straits of Johor, the enemy swam across with the help of coconuts as their form of disguise. The British had disconnected the suspension bridge earlier on.

As the defence force did not know the geography of the island, they could not do anything but retreat. On the contrary, the Japanese were in Singapore long before the war as merchants. They were the ones who supplied the spying intelligence. When war broke out, they adorned the military uniform and went to fight. This difference between the British army and the Japanese army was why Singapore fell so easily.

Before the war, the Japanese were in Singapore as merchants in Waterloo Street, Middle Road and the neighbouring area. The area was then collectively known as Nippon Street due to the number of Japanese there. Just before the bombing, their families had returned to Japan so that the males could serve the country.

Nobody dared to go out and food was scarce. Luckily for us due to the foresight of my father-in-law, we had porridge, instead of rice, with salted vegetables and soybean paste to keep us going. Many starved to death due to the lack of food, water supply and medicine. Another lucky thing was that there was a vacant land near the main road, across the house. There was also a well there and my husband, third uncle and his son together with fourth uncle stayed in the wooden hut at night and came over for food. They planted tapioca, sweet potato and green vegetables. This was where I started to rear three piglets with the capital from my mother-in-law who also helped me to prepare the fodder consisting of banana trucks, tapioca leaves and anything left over. I had to carry the fodder in a pail twice a day from the main house across. I wore clogs as we could not afford to have slippers, let along buy shoes. It was tough walking up and down the slope with a big stomach and a pail of fodder.

Before the war, my father-in-law suggested that the two married sons with their families to go to the rubber estate in Johor so that all would not be killed at the same time. However, my elder sister-in-law said that if it was fated to die, all should die together. That was why we did not go. Yet tragedy struck.

My third uncle, my father-in-law’s brother was in the estate all the time. He had a family of sixteen and all were massacred except my third uncle and his eldest son. The teenage boy was scolded by his mother and ran out of the house. On returning home and having understood the matter, the father went out to look for his son and thus both were saved.

The worst was not over. The British had surrendered and the Japanese were now in control. We had to use Japanese banana money and the Japanese language was taught in schools. Of people wanted to survive, they had to learn the Japanese language to communicate. We also had to bow at least sixty-five degrees or even lower whenever we saw the kempeitai soldiers. Those who failed to bow low enough were kicked, slapped or even killed.

At that time, whenever the Japanese came to the house, the males would entertain them with food and drinks and see to their needs. The females had to run for shelter and were forced to hide without being seen by them in the attic, using ashes and paint to smear our faces as a form of disguise. I was also made to wear my mother-in-law’s clothing – the samfu which was broad and high-necked and characterized by sleeves stretching out to the elbows. In addition, I also wore black trousers. As such, I “aged” considerably so. To get up to the attic, we stacked two stools together to climb up the wall of about 10 feet. When the Japanese left, we would then climb down. I never met the Japanese face to face or else it would have meant danger. They were capable of doing anything.

Climbing the steep wall to reach the attic was challenging and dangerous. But at that time, the only main though on my mind was to escape from being seen by them. There was nowhere I could hold on to support myself in the climb except by placing my hands on the wall. If there were a slip, then I would have suffered quite a severe fracture as the staircase was nearby. The attic was dark, gloomy and stuffy as it was not meant for human beings. Again, had I missed a step and trodded on the asbestos, then I would have fallen down from above and ended up with injuries or even be dead. I was in tenterhook as I have never in my life climbed such a height before.

The soldiers came in dirty uniforms and in groups. They would then have their bath and later washed their uniform, which were laid out on the floor to dry. Then they would come out totally naked to eat the food. Before they left, they would adorn themselves with the dry clothes and not hesitate to take whatever they could find, ranging from watches, mosquito nets, pillows, mattresses, blankets and clothing. There was the saying that the Japanese were very good mannered (always saying arigato and bowing) but poor in shape. In Chinese, they call it ‘You Li, Wu Ti’.

During the occupation, the roads were narrow, muddy and dirty. Transport was simple. There was only the tram running from Upper Serangoon Road 5^th Mile to Clifford Pier. On most occasions, it would be very crowded. There were two sections in the tram – the small portion which was more expensive than the rear one. One only paid a few cents to get to town. To avoid the jam, my father-in-law used to walk to Upper Serangoon Road 6^th Mile to get on the tram.

As life was difficult and uncertain, I had to do many things which I had never done before. First, I had to do my own laundry including the double bed linen with my two bare hands. At home, the servants were the ones who did the chores. My duty was only to study. There was no such invention of a washing machine then. My tears automatically rolled down my cheeks when I realized what I had to face. Yet on second thoughts, I had to control my emotions in front of the other members of the family. It was tough.

Another thing I learned to do was to grind rice for cooking. The grinder was a flat, circular stone that turned on an axle. It was placed on a wooden box while the operators sat on low stools on either side; one to feed the grinder while the other did the grinding with both hands on the wooden handle. At home, I never did such a job. If we needed anything, we could get it from my elder sister’s noodle shop. Being a big family with more than twenty people to feed, we had to do everything ourselves as it was more economical. The rice was first washed and then soaked overnight. The next morning, the grinding began. My grandmother-in-law would feed the grinder and another did the grinding holding the axle. I did it with much difficulty and felt very tired and worn out.

For the first time, I saw the condom made by the Japanese in the rubber goods manufacturing factory in Paya Lebar. My elder brother-in-law brought home some, and his five year old son used to blow it up or filled it with water just like a balloon.

The bombing and noise made was deafening. I remembered thinking everything was calm and clear. I was in the garden then. Then suddenly, there was the loud thundering noise from above and the whole ground shook as though an earthquake was approaching. At that crucial moment, I had the sense to quickly lie down flat on the ground until everything was over. The story was that the bomb was supposed to have been dropped nearby but due to the existence of a temple and a mosque on the main road, the enemies missed the target and thus we were saved.

At night, I could hear the moans of screaming and crying as the women (both young and old) were raped by the soldiers. So no one could imagine the kind of life I went through as compared to the present one. One could not blame the Japanese as they had to satisfy their six basic needs – air, water, food, clothing, shelter and lastly sex. Then there was the censure at certain checkpoints where the Chinese males aged between 18 to 50 had to go and report. If they were found to be suspicious or anti-Japanese (i.e. supporting the Chinese government in their war efforts earlier on in China), they would be signaled aside while the others marched clear past. Those who were detained were then put on lorries to be sent to the East Coast where they were shot. The site is near where the present St. Andrew’s Community Hospital stands (the old St. Andrew’s Orthopedic Hospital). The people living in that area said that they could see the long queues of people, both young and old, males and females passing the area at night.

There was to be no stealing at all during the Japanese Occupation. If any one was found guilty, he and his family would be killed and their heads hung at Market Place or Clarke Quay as a deterrent measure. I did not actually see what happened, but the hearing was enough to give you the shivers and goose pimples.

Food rationing came in the form of bread and noodles. The amount given would depend ion the size of the family. The bread was hard as rock and the noodles soaked in red palm oil.

Due to the shortage of water supply, poor sanitation, food and over crowding, many diseases were prevalent. Examples were pulmonary tuberculosis, malaria, diarrhoea and many other infectious diseases to name a few. Beri beri was very common due to a lack of Vitamin B as most lived on tapioca.

Parasites were common too. I remembered I had louse too. Louse is a small, flat, wingless insect living and feeding on the bodies of animals and men. The eggs were called nits. They were white in colour and transparent. There was no scientific treatment at that time. I used the traditional treatment using a fine-toothed comb to comb the hair after it was soaked in kerosene oil. I had to be careful or the nits would fall all over the place. The nits were then put between two fingertips and pressed to test if they were empty or still able to live. After that, the nits were disposed off and wrapped in a piece of paper.

I was homesick and worried about my family in Malacca, as I had no news from them at all. But no news meant good news. There was no television or telephone and the mail service was poor, as all letters were said to be censored first by the Japanese. The good news came when my father-in-law sent my husband on a business trip to Malacca together with me. I was very much relieved on arriving home to see that everyone was safe and sound. My youngest sister was married. My younger brother was dispatched to Thailand (the then Siam) to build on the railway from Thailand to Malaysia. It was nicknamed the ‘Death Railway’ as very few made it back alive, including my younger brother. He died due to the hard work, poor food, sanitation and the climate. My mother told me how the few tins of biscuits I sent home saved her from starvation. The biscuits were produced by the Thye Hong Biscuit Factory in Alexandra Road. My father-in-law was the agent for it. There was no transport so manually peddled tricycles were used to transfer the goods from Alexandra Road to Telok Ayer Street. It was a hard and tedious job. I was then in town and came home during the weekend.

The news came that the Americans had joined forces with the British as an Allied Power. Then news came that two atomic bombs were dropped on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. This led to the death of many innocents and the Japanese then surrendered. Before the signing of the treaty and the return of the British administrative system, more killing was carried out. The victims were the people who were too excited upon the impending return of the British.

Peace came at last. Though the transitional period was short – three years and six months, life was hard. I was transformed from a carefree, happy-go-lucky schoolgirl into a young pregnant widow, as my husband died of pulmonary tuberculosis.

Author: Lionel L. Orated by Tan S S (25 August 1999)

Give Me More Stories

“Parting is such sweet sorrow”. This summed up my feelings at the Depot Road Central Manpower Base on that fateful morning of 05 January 1995. My parents were also there at the send-off gallery to see me off. After the ceremonial pledge, we were bundled into different buses (thank God they were air-conditioned. We were quite fortunate as the previous batches took the three-tonners instead.) Owing to the fact that I was the only one whose hair was cropped close to the scalp, I felt quite uneasy on the bus. I attracted the stares of the others who must have laughed at me silently inside their hearts. All of us on the bus were strangers alike, thrown into an unknown destiny. The bus ride was dead silence, much to my amazement. No one talked, no one bothered to do the customary self-introductions anyway.

We were all issued with a duffel bag – a cylindrical, long green canvas bag which was known as the Ali Baba bag. But from what I could remember hearing from my childhood days, Ali Baba was the name of the man who became rich instantaneously when he found the gold inside the cave. I was all excited and wondered whether there would be any gold inside my Ali Baba bag. Gold there was not to be, but the Ali Baba bag would be used to contain all my necessary clothing and accessories. The initial stage of item collection was fun. I enjoyed myself thoroughly. We were given different coloured tags with their pink, red, yellow, blue, purple, green, orange and brown shades. Our “catch” for the day was a bountiful harvest consisting of camouflaged uniforms, vests, shorts, socks, boots, a helmet and a pair of jogging shoes (which they nicknamed the SAF Reebok)

Nee Soon Camp. 3rd Brigade Training School. Basic Military Training. My second home for the next three months. We are finally here! The place is big. In addition, the colour of all the buildings are in a soothing shade of cream, which reminded me of the colour of the buildings of my junior college. That alone put me at east at once.

We were ushered into a training shed to be divided into different platoons. Thereafter, grabbing my belongings, I followed the rest of my new section mates to our bunks. After the initial settling down in my adopted home, I heard my name being called. I was to have my first interview and was also given my military identity card.

Lunch that day was served at the cookhouse. The food was surprisingly quite appetizing, contrary to tales which I heard from my friends. However, the numerous cookhouse fatigues which I had to do proved to be a hair-raising experience.

Eddie, Yong and myself were assigned to wash ten huge metal rice containers. Inside these ten containers were heaps of fermented rice which was awaiting to be thrown away. After much heaving and grumbling, we managed to deposit the contents into the polythene bags which we then dragged to the rubbish point. But that was only part of the job. Next, we also had to clean the containers thoroughly. While the three of us squatted in a circular fashion and started cleaning the containers amid exchanging the latest gossips, I was reminded of the women in the hit movie “How To Make An American Quilt” who sat around a round table and exchanged their life experiences.

We were also taught how to do the correct webbing for our army backpack, known as the skeleton battle order and the proper lacing of our army boots. After these lessons, there was considerably much time for us to socialize. My bed is very near the window and it offers me a very good view of the surroundings. I can literally smell the fresh air. Not to mention the fact that my bed was also directly under the ceiling fan.

On the third day, we were escorted to the medical centre. My first impression of the medical centre was that it was very old. Even the corridors were dark and emitted a sickly medicine smell that lingered on. But I heard the authorities were building a new medical centre directly opposite the old building. Well, the site had been chosen but whether of not I had the chance to see the physical new building would be another question altogether.

Home was so near, yet so far away. The very thought of the Parents Visiting Day was what kept my spirits high. The actual training began five days after my enlistment. Needless to say, life was tough. On one starry, starry night, the entire platoon was assigned to dig mud at the open grounds behind the administrative block. Although all of us kept quiet and carried on with our task, I could identify with some of the expression on the face of some of my platoon mates. Shocked, bewildered, and surprised – their facial expressions gave them away. The rain only made our job harder.

After the initial orientation week, the tempo graduated from andante to allerando, picking up much speed along the way. First, there was the swimming test, followed by the M16S1 rifle technical handling test, the live firing test practices and the individual fieldcraft lessons all packed into one single week.

It was only the second week, but I was already well equipped with both the theoretical and practical knowledge cum competence of handling the M16S1 rifle, touted as the most commonly used rifle in the world. Despite this, I remembered very clearly my disappointment when I failed my first day range practice. I was a bundle of nerves when it came to the actual firing, hence being nicknamed the “bobo shooter”. I could only console myself and promised to shoot better during the next practice. Well, all came to a point when even my platoon sergeant almost gave up hope on me. While my other section mates were discussing the finer aspects of range practices that would get them a marksmanship award, I was still struggling to clear the range practices. I was simply hopeless and I knew they were sniggering behind my back.

My fortunes took a dramatic change for the better when the night range package started. And that was when I proved my critics wrong and made them eat humble pie. Among all my peers, I am the only one who does not have a nightlife. In fact, I am usually in bed latest by ten o’clock. Yet I performed credibly well for all my night range practices to the extent that my platoon sergeant changed his opinion of me and labelled me a “party animal” this time round. Personally, I found night firing much more tantalising and inviting than day range. The only reason I could give, even up till today was that it was definitely more cooling shooting at night, under the beautiful coverage of the stars and Night’s brows. It was a therapeutic balm which soothed me and made me feel at ease. Gone was the garish sun and the heat waves that made my heart boil. I welcomed the night instead. Basically, night firing comprised of various types of targets illuminated by different amounts of light ranging from the silhouette to the blinking targets which would light up when engaged.

Parents Visiting Day. The day I had been waiting for so earnestly. It finally came. Emotions rained and spirits were at an all time high. Experiences were also related and encouragement given. To me, it was a testimony of the strength of the family bond. It is the family bond which is the strongest, surpassing even the metallic bond which I learnt in my Chemistry lessons. But something also touched my heart which made me sit down and think real hard.

Yap’s family did not visit him at all. I asked myself. Why? Did he not tell his parents or did they forget about it? At that particular moment, I felt sorry for him, despite all the eccentric things which he had done.

I remember the time when I first met Yap, who was Eddie’s buddy. With his hair uncut, he was like the demon incarnate himself. He asked me to put his mattress cover in for him. I obliged. While I was doing it, he simply stared in another direction and refused to help. This was my first encounter with Yap, my section mate. Initially, I pitied him and offered to help him, but a week later, I changed my mind.

At the medical examination, Yap kicked up such a big fuss about not being able to see and even told the medical officer that he was partially blind, much to our disbelief. As such, Yap insisted that the medical officer should excuse him from range. Miracles of miracles, Yap succeeded in obtaining his excuse. However, we were not convinced and decided to test him. Adrian was eating M&M’s and dropped one on the floor intentionally. Lamenting his own carelessness, he requested Yap’s assistance in helping him locate the M&M’s which was on the floor. In less than two seconds, Yap kicked up the chocolate M&M’s which was on the floor and popped it into his mouth, with a big grin on his face. On another occasion, Tan dropped a ten cent coin on the floor. Without hesitation, Yap rushed forward immediately and retrieved the ten cent coin for Tan, who was much amazed by the agility and accuracy of a self-proclaimed “partially blind” man. We had enough proof to overturn the medical officer’s decision, but decided not to expose Yap out of plain goodwill. Well, we still had to live with him in the same bunk for the next three months.

The Yap episode did not just end there. Worst times lay ahead of us. Despite being a big lair, Yap is also very disgusting by nature. I was also a primary witness to this. Every night, he sleeps only with his underwear on and never fails to scratch every part of his body before he sleeps, including giving his crotch a very good massage. Perhaps he needed some superb flights of fantasy to send him into deep slumber after a hard day’s training.

But the best was yet to come. In the toilet, Yap would deliberately take his time to bathe. Many a times have I witnessed Yap popping his head over to the next cubicle to admire the well-sculpted, naked male physique of his platoon mates who were also taking their showers. While some would just ignore him, others would reprimand him. What Yap would do in response was to laugh away. Yet others like Daniel would scream at the top of his voice and run out of the toilet, with a towel wrapped around his body, dripping wet. He would only continue part two of his bath after making sure Yap was not around.

Yap enjoys parading himself in his underwear. A spot-check by our platoon sergeant in preparation for our forthcoming field camp revealed the truth that Yap had only two pairs of underwear – a purple one and a green one. The green one is the spare one while the purple one is the one he wears on a daily basis. I really shudder to think. Moreover, Yap only utilises two sets of his army uniform, keeping the other three sets still neatly wrapped in their plastic covers.

But I must give Yap credit for his excellent toilet washing skills. Being assigned to wash the toilet was the last thing I wanted to do. He would always be the first to rush to the toilet to carry out this chore, while the rest of us would drag our feet to the toilet.

Book-out time is also the most important event, besides the passing out parade which we all look forward to. But before we could book out for the first time, we had to pass the hand grenade assault course, after one and a half weeks of hand grenade lessons. I passed the theory test with full marks and then went on to the next stage. I was basically swimming in a mud pool. My uniform was mud soaked and I stank. But I pushed myself to finish the entire course, failing which I would have to do it again until I complete it. After the test, all of us headed straight to the showers and awaited for the night snacks to come.

We were also taught first aid skills and had to attend the National Education cum General Military Knowledge lessons. The buddy system, guard duties and army discipline were the topics discussed, in addition to basic survival skills and how to render first aid to victims.

Suddenly, the passing out parade was just three days away. Preparations for this event went into full swing and the next thing I knew was that my three months of Basic Military Training was all over. The different feelings of euphoria, a lingering sense of goodbye is still there, hanging in the air at Nee Soon Camp.

I have to get on with life and complete the rest of my National Service liability. Life had been good so far. There would be a better tomorrow for me somewhere out there. The memories of Nee Soon Camp, I hold dear to my heart. The friends I have made too are also the best gift the army has given me.

Pack your bags, get off the train at the main station. Now take the next train to your new destination and enjoy the ride. Remember to fasten your seatbelts. Good luck and thanks for the memories!

Author: Lionel L (30 June 1997)

Give Me More Stories

The five daughters were all present at their mother’s deathbed way back in 1970. The eldest daughter, May Fern was twenty years of age when the heavy responsibility of looking after her four younger sisters fell on her shoulders, following the bereavement of their mother. She had to put up a brave front before her sisters May Leng, May Hong, May Tin and May May in descending order. Cry she could not afford to. She had to fight back her tears even when May May, the youngest who was only nine then tugged sorrowfully at the skirt.

But the dying words of Old Madam Neo did play a very big role in shaping the lives and personalities of the five daughters as they grew up and attained adulthood.

Money is and has always been the first love of the first daughter. In comparison, the second daughter loves gossip and the third daughter stray cats. Men and beauty are the only loves of the two youngest daughters respectively.

May Tin, the fourth daughter often allows her head to follow where her heart goes. She remembers her mother’s dying words very clearly and preaches them in her everyday life to the extent that it becomes her only principle. Every week, she is with a new boyfriend. As May Leng puts it very simply, she changes her boyfriend as quickly as she changes her clothes. May Tin works in the entertainment line and returns home in the wee hours of the morning.

Rumours are rife that she is a professional dance hostess and that is why she is able to dump her guy so quickly and be in the arms of another so easily. Being so much in ‘love’, she tells May Leng, who is known as the unofficial neighbourhood network reporter of her most recent amorous triumphs which surprisingly, managed to last for two weeks.

He was a Caucasian named Jack. It all started when she bumped into him at Orchard Road on a rainy night. She was thoroughly drenched and was shivering in the cold. He was as if Godsend, offering to share with her the use of his umbrella. She obliged, her wet bra only accentuating the fullness of her breasts and this imbued in her a sudden feeling of excitement she had never felt before. She was the proverbial damsel in distress and he was there to deliver her from Hell’s flames. They ended up making love in his apartment, with the rain still beating furiously at the window plane.

“Leng, tell you a secret. When I snuggled close to him, I could feel the strength of his rippling biceps and ooh, his tight bottom…But what really turned me on was the size of his penis. Good heavens, it was so big. And the way he shook it…He was so potent, so strong when he entered me…” After this two-week fling, May Tin only befriends Caucasians whom she strongly believes are more capable of performing sexually than the locals. She is still on the lookout for that Caucasian who will marry her eventually and love her always. Always.

And May Leng listens with intense interest.

She, unlike all her other sisters, loves gossip. She strongly believes that only with the glib of her tongue and her ability to source out ‘reliable news’ will she be able to nab her future husband. That very evening, the whole neighbourhood knew of a certain Miss K’s sexual experience with a Caucasian. First hand information is always transmitted from May Leng’s reliable sources to her keen listeners, most of whom are homemakers who also enjoy indulging in the latest gossip. “Did you know that the Tan couple living five houses away quarrelled so loudly last night? They even threw some flower pots out of the window.”

“That Sam, I tell you people, is so rich. Yesterday, he bought a new furniture set. Cream colour. Said to be pure leather. And just an hour ago, I saw him driving a new BMW Compact home. Filthy rich. Must have strike 4D. Lucky guy.”

Her love for gossip has only increased over the years. Although she has now aged considerably over the years, her eyes and ears, her two most valuable assets are still very receptive to the latest happenings in the neighbourhood. Very often, she sits on a rattan stool outside the house and informs her audience (her fellow gossipers) of what they have missed out. But what makes her ‘news’ worth listening to is that she will inject some exotic flavour and serve the gossip dish with added ingredients, which is what her listeners want. The attention and fame she has gotten from her gossip spreading fame  - she relishes. This is what keeps her going. Gossips and tales, both old and new, no one knew them better than May Leng.

“Come on, babies. Feeding time!” May Hong coaxes the stray cats out of their hiding places. Like the Piped Piper of Hamlin, the stray cats crawl out from under the drains, cars and lorries. The stray cats listen attentively, then rush forward to May Hong and surround her, purring in unison. May Hong will then place the wrapped packet of food that consisted of leftover rice, some fish and meat on the ground tenderly for her ‘babies’ to feast on. And May Hong will look on from a distance, looking visibly happy. After the meal, the cats will then follow May Hong wherever she goes. At times, they will even follow her home. The colours of the cats vary from black, gray, white to the mixed coloured ones. In fact, they form a marching contingent, with their heads looking high into the air and their tails moving in similar rhythm.

Her favourite stray is the black cat, the one with the shiny black coat of fur. As a sign of affection, May Hong will cuddle it in her arms and stroke it gently, showing a degree of maternal instinct she has never experienced before.

Nearing her house, she hears May Leng telling the next-door neighbour of Richard’s impending marriage to a fat, short woman.

“Hong, please get the furry creatures out of the house. You know I’m allergic to their fur,” grumbles the youngest daughter May May, already in her nightgown.

“May, if you afraid, just stay in your room and carry on with your beauty programme. I thought you were supposed to do your facial?” enquires May Fern, the eldest daughter.

“Fern, why do I always have to give in? Fancy you siding with the stupid cats,” chides May May sulkingly.

“May, didn’t the government or was it the SPCA that told us to care for our pets?” questions May Hong.

“But Hong, this black feline is not even your pet, it’s just a stray. And look at the entourage you bring along. You don’t even know if they are clean, you know what I mean – any diseases, sterilized…”retorts May May.

“I intend to keep this black feline with me anyway. I’m naming her Goddess. She’s my very life. I’ll chase the rest away for your sake, dear sister,” proclaims May Hong.

“Stop squabbling, you two. Let me have some peace so that I can concentrate on monitoring the prices of my shares. Why can’t the two of you understand? Money is the most important in life. Remember what Ma said before she died?” The eldest daughter stamps her authority as head of the family of the unmarried sisters.

May Hong carries Goddess to the garden and plays with her while May May returns to her room to carry on with part two of her self-beautifying routine. She is obviously obsessed with beauty.

May May was fourteen then when she met her first and only boyfriend who dumped her. Her pock-marked face, a result of the remnants left by pimples was complemented by an obviously obese body which was badly out of synch with her small head. Besides, she had bad dress sense, very dark complexion and her hair was not unlike that of a Negro’s. In addition, her penchant for chocolates, snacks and sweets only aggravated her size. But she was so much in love then and she proclaimed that she was the most fortunate person on planet Earth. Well, things turned out differently as envisaged. It was love of a different kind – not mutual love but infatuation on May May’s part. She loved him, but her love was never reciprocated. One fine day, in fact, it was the third day of the supposed boy-girl relationship when he rebuked her publicly. He called her a total disgrace and thereafter dumped her.

May May’s failure at initializing and maintaining a proper relationship woke her up literally and set her thinking. The first thing she did was to take a good look at herself in the mirror. She almost fainted when she saw the horrible state she was in. “I look terrible, grotesque. No wonder he dumped me,” she moaned. “I have to do something quick, real quick. Yes! Beauty is the answer.”

Having made up her mind, May May embarked on an intensive beauty regime which included endless facials, slimming courses, body therapies, make-up lessons, popping vitamin cum mineral pills…

The next day, she waited at the front entrance of Latron, the largest department store in town for more than an hour. When it finally opened for business, she was the first one to rush in and headed for the perfume department. The brand names were all alien to her – ‘Red Door’ by Elizabeth Arden, ‘White Linen’ by Estee Lauder, ‘Chanel No. 5’ by Chanel, ‘Tresor’ by Lancome, ‘Fleur de Fleur’ by Nina Ricci, ‘Miss Dior’ by Christian Dior… The air was filled with the different perfume scents which delighted her so. She tried one perfume after another and bought four brands without any hesitation. Next, she moved to the cosmetics department and purchased the necessities like lipstick, eye shadow, foundation, face powder, blush, cleanser, toner and moisturizer. The clothes department awaited her next. Not forgetting the shoes and nightgowns.

Contented with all her purchases which added up to seven shopping bags, May May walked out, feeling very much a happier person.

May May is now a completely changed person. Her complexion is almost porcelain smooth and silky white. She never fails to leave home without her umbrella, shades and a good rub of the sun-block lotion. Her hair is long, black, lustrous and her skin glows with radiance. Yet she is not satisfied and sees herself as second best compared to the supermodels who grace the catwalks and the covers of many a fashion magazines.

“Henry, sell my Extron shares for me, all of them, when the price hits $4.80 per lot,” May Fern calls her reminiser over the phone.

Money is everything to May Fern. She goes for anything that makes the most money and recently, has concentrated all her efforts on the stock market. Till date, she has over ten counters of shares and can rattle them off without even thinking. Her principle for buying shares is to try to buy them at the lowest price and sell them once she has made at least a fifty percent profit. “It’s quick and good money,” she tells all her sisters. “If not for the money, I would not even strain my eyes staring at all the figures on the teletex.”

Nonetheless, May Fern has been the chief money-lender to her other younger sisters, especially May May, whose shopping list each month for beauty products reads like an official guest list of stars invited for the Oscars every year. But it is also the money she makes from the shares that keeps her going. She is no doubt a very shrewd woman who has made quite a neat pile from shares. Her back account is supposedly able to support the man she loves, if she finds Mr. Suitable.

“Hello Fern? Tin here. I’m not coming home for dinner tonight. Yah, got date. Bye.” The telephone conversation is short yet to the point.

7.30pm. Dinner time. The four daughters sit around the round table for dinner, their dead mother’s portrait hanging on the wall just opposite the dining table, emitting a sense of overpowering omnipotence which still dominates after so many years.

“So Fern, how much did you make today?” enquires May Hong.

“Two thousand dollars, after I sold my Extron shares,” replies the eldest daughter.

“Waah, so much, enough for me to buy four months worth of beauty products,” chirps May May, obviously delighted.

“That’s all you ever think about. May, if you have no money, how to have beauty? How to go for facials, buy cosmetics?” asks May Fern.

“Knowing how to talk is also important. If you have money and beauty but don’t know how to talk and gossip, you will be cheated, both money and body.” May Leng interjects.

“Compassion is also needed. We need to show care and love for the unfortunate, especially the stray animals. That’s why I adopted my Goddess,” adds May Hong.

“No, all of you are wrong. Beauty is the most important. With my beauty, I can go out there and live off the fatta the rich man. No need for talk or compassion. Remember Xi Shi, the ancient Chinese beauty who caused the rival king to neglect his state affairs when she was presented to him? I am the Singapore Xi Shi, with beauty personified in May May,” the youngest daughter speaks.

“Nah, money…”

“No, compassion for strays…”

“Beauty!”

“Gossip, can hook men, sweet-talk them!”

The four daughters continue to debate which is the most important element in life, each emphasizing on her love – money, gossip, strays, beauty.

“Hello, dear sisters, I’m back!” announces May Tin, as she enters the house.

“Aiyoh, men are the most important in life,” May Tin declares. “I just met my Prince Charming tonight. I’ll tell you people all about him. Michael…such a lovely name. We spent such a romantic night at the East Coast Beach, walking bare-footed, with his arm glued, yes glued to my waist. I’m so happy. I feel complete. He makes me feel so young again. He’s really a hunk, a real gentleman. Yes, Caucasian. I will gladly die for him…”

“Tin, judging from your praises, are you going to marry him or is he just another of your playtoys?” asks May Hong.

“I don’t know, when the time comes, I’ll tell you,” answers May Tin. “Love for men, men do make my life worth living. I live for my man,” exclaims May Tin.

May Tin joins in the discussion with the rest of her four sisters at the round table.

“Money!”

“Gossip!”

“Strays!”

“Men!”

“Beauty!”

The clock strikes eleven. Goddess finds a comfortable rug nearby and curls herself to sleep. Outside, the moon is shining bright.

Author: Lionel L (04 June 1997)

Give Me More Stories

It was then that I realized he was dumb.

He gets up very early in the morning and at about six, can often be seen with a straw bag wandering around the streets and the area beyond. Ever since I was a kid, I used to wonder what goodies he had in his straw bag, but I never had a chance to find out even till today. I could only guess. In the eyes of the others who lived in the same street, he was a deformed monster who was destined to suffer all his life.

He is the younger son of an old couple who had already passed away. Tale has it that he was not born mute. In actual fact, he was a very smart boy who was well-loved by all, much to the chagrin of his elder brother. Owing to a very serious illness at the age of five and because of family poverty, a Western physician was not called for. Instead, he was treated with medicinal herbs which were concocted based loosely on the family’s knowledge of Chinese medicine. And the end result was that he lost his vocal chords forever and became dumb. Grief-stricken by such an event and taking full blame for it, the father died of a broken heart.

Having lost his ability to speak, he became very desolate and withdrawn, constantly staring into space, with tears drooping down his cheeks.

He suffered silently. The jeers and mockeries – he saw them all, heard them all, lived through them all. To the others who did not know him, he was a comic scene, gesticulating wildly to make his presence felt. To his elder brother, he was a total family disgrace. To his mother, he was her constant heartache. He had no friends at all and nobody understood the pain he was suffering. But he had toughened over the years and this was evident from the way he had treated it. The world was a bad dog waiting for the opportunity to bite him, but he was not giving it any chance. When strangers pointed fingers and gossiped behind his back, he merely stared hard at them, gesticulated loudly and tried to shove them away. Sometimes, he would just ignore them.

Knowing that her son would not be able to cope with the harsh difficulties of life, she willed the house, which was reportedly worth two million dollars to him a year before she died of a heart attack. At her funeral, he cried until all his tears had dried up and his eyes were not unlike those of a goldfish. But her death only marked the beginning of the tussle for the ownership of the house.

His elder brother had always been jealous of him and now that the old couple had kicked the bucket successively, there would be no one to protect the mute brother now. His disability to defend himself was what prompted his brother to plot against him, for his brother coveted the house.

Despite the fact that he is dumb and did not attend school at all, he is by nature enterprising. A couple of times, I have seen him at the nearby bus-stop soliciting money from strangers. While some scoffed at him, others pitied him and gave him some small denominations. The money gotten would then be used to buy cigarettes or sweets to help him pass his time. Sometimes, he would even attempt to re-sell his purchases at a higher price at the bus-stop. Feeling sorry for him, many actually bought the cigarettes and sweets. When there were some surplus sweets, he would distribute them to his nephews and nieces.

On another occasion, I spotted him at Sunday church. I wondered why he was there. When it was prayer time, we whipped out our prayer books and read from them. What he did was also to stand up and pretend to read from the prayer book. But his prayer book was upside-down. And at the end of the prayer, while we would say ‘Amen’, he would also look up and try to utter the word in a moment of sudden enlightenment.

There was once when he did not return home even when the witching hour came. His elder brother was so worried and could not sleep. All the lights in the house were burning at their brightest. There was definitely more to it than it seemed. I even suspected his brother of kidnapping him so as to be able to ‘administer’ the house on his behalf, on grounds of him being classified as a missing person. The next morning, at about six, there was a loud knock on the door of the house. His elder brother opened it and to much amazement, saw two policemen escorting him. He had lost his way and was found sleeping in the park. This incident proved to be the catalyst in speeding up the reaction of his elder brother.

His elder brother had his lawyer friend draw up a transfer of property deed and succeeded in tricking him into signing it. The ruse employed was that the government wanted him to declare his assets in an annual asset declaration exercise which everyone had to go through.

Now that the transfer was complete and in effect, the elder brother was the de facto owner of the house, as recognized by the law.

He, the favourite son, had fallen from grace. He had lost everything. Yet he did not know anything.

Two days after the transfer of ownership of the house was completed, the elder brother made plans to knock it down and to build a new bungalow on its grounds.

Piling is now underway. They – the mute and his elder brother and his family have all shifted away.

The street seemed so serene and quiet. I could not hear the shouts cum curses of the elder brother and his wife. I could not hear the limited syllables the mute was trying to compose. Not a single sound. Only surrounded silence.

But suddenly, I spotted him in the streets again, moving his legs slowly as he starts to gesticulate at strangers. He moves his hands twice as fast as he moves his legs. In an unexpected and unplanned moment, our eyes meet.

He sees me standing at the window. He waves to me and beckons to me earnestly. I hesitate, taking two large steps away from the window.

Five minutes later, I found myself at his side. I waved back at him. He breaks into a rare smile. In fact, this is the first time I have seen him smile. Up close and personal, I could see the freckles and wrinkles on his weather-beaten face. But his face is benign and calm. I offer him my hand and he takes it. In it, he gives me a packet of M&Ms. I could not believe myself. Deep down inside, I know I have found a new friend in Ah Pong.

Author: Lionel L (19 May 1997)

Give Me More Stories