Saturaday morning. I opened my eyes to see the cob-web stained ceiling. The infesting hunger (I slept before dinner) probably distrupted the sleep. A moment of processing distinguished reality from illusion. I had a sweet dream that I almost didn't want to wake up from. The 13-hours long slumber created a portal to meet up with her. However the dream was all vague as I struggled to fix the jumbled up pieces together...
She was back in her black silky long hair like it was a year back. As usual, I pissed her off eaily without me realising the reason why. But soon she came back with a half-human-sized piggy soft toy. I had to carry it on my back as I strolled with her. We ended up in a house, with people whom presumingly were her parents and relatives. I forgot what we had discussed, but it was a joyous occasion. She commented on the amount of gained fats I had on my tummy compared to one year back. Then the scene switched to a void deck of a old HDB block, near a mama shop, where smooching took over..
She was a different character in the fantasy. One who had never appeared so lovingly. An unfamiliar soul within a loved shell. I had certainly gotten over with it, but it was a compassionate sense of sweetness in the dream. Ironically, I could only be ripped of my first kiss virtually. The dream seemed like it's trying to convince me that someone I would like would be of a different character from her, but at the same time, it made me miss her. I'm confused.
I laid on the bed for some time after the awakening. Adjusting back to reality, I knew that she was no more than a memory, and someone I had never ceased to care and concern about.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Black & Yellow
"Friendly match". I believe that this is a name given by soccer pioneers to an unregistered soccer fixture in an attempt to dispute the cruel fact that a game of soccer could easily turn into a mass brawl. At least within my circle of soccer mates, the Mayflowereans and the NYJCians, it appeared so to me.
Most of my teammates would most probably stir some shit on the pitch if arguments ever broke out. Past experiences, for instance, was the infamous match at Queensway. The fight got so heated to an extent that one opponent managed to bring on to the pitch one club in each of his hands. In this fight, Guoan was trampled to the ground by a group after some jerking of shirts. We almost had no reaction time to extricate him from the stampede when, fortunately, Jialong was in time to grapple to the ground a guy who was about to give Guoan a boot on his spine. That might have landed him paralysed.
Another atrocious incident was the match I arranged with my NYJC Soccer Team pals. A couple of injustice slides soon triggers the brawl. A real bad situation it was: MY Secondary pals VS MY College pals. Vulgars exchanged between Kenneth and Kelvin, fists was thrown by Jialong and retuned with Ah Pang's flying kick. Stranded in between, I could only try to break it up, however much in vain.
A small incident happened over the second soccer match at Woodbridge Hospital soccer pitch on the last Sunday afternoon. The singh I was playing against on my right flank was a very friendly and apologetic guy. A slightest brush with him when fighting for the ball and he would ask if I'm alright. At least he was in the same calibre as I am, in terms of friendliness.
After a couple claims of rough playing on us, a "gathering" soon took place in the centre of the field after a nerd claimed that Jialong slapped (again...) his face, when Jialong was actually shielding the ball. Inside the fuming mess an opposition named Mani kept on clamoring, "eh gangster ah? fight ah! fight ah!", when the only obvious gangster is him. The nerd (also the victim) wanted to get involved in the heated assemblage, but was wailed off by Guizhong, and walked away as though the clash never involved him when he actually sparkled the argument.
Now here is the gist of the clash. Guoan called out to Mani, "eh Indian boy..." The peaceful singh I was playing against earlier flared up all of a sudden. "Eh what's wrong with Indians? I'm also an Indian wad! You racist is it?" Subsequently, the bunch of indians turned hysterical. After much pushing, ragging and tugging, the match was abandoned 7 minutes to full time with us leading 6-3.
Back at the resting area, we are separated by a block of building, connected by a alleyway. Amusingly, they started branding us as yellow people. They tried to aggravate the situation by echoing in jeers whenever we talked loud enough to reach them. They were still a couple of years from reaching 20. We naturally regard them as childish. In the end we had a good laugh recollecting over the racist incident. It was just a casual remark by Guoan to tag them as indian boys. In fact, they are indians, and they are boys. It was not as if he was calling a black man a nigger. So why the big hoo-har?
Indeed, Singapore, as a a multi-racial nation, the new generation has grew up in this munipulated cosmopolitan community. It was deemed a ingenerated course to have a different coloured family as our neighbours in a flat, a classmate beside our desks, or our army buddy. I must acclaim the government for making this kind of community possible, which seemed almost impossible in the olden days. It is heartening to witness an increasing statistic of cross racial relationships and even marriages. Harmony from within different skin colours has became a feature of the proud city.
However, racism remained a sensitive issue even in Singapore. The existence of racist jokes are often publicly shared (well, most of the time by Chinese). I had a handful of friends who admitted that they could not stand Malays or Indians hanging around them. Personally (no racial offence at all) I dislike the smell of the jasmine bath from Indians. Therefore I tend to avoid sitting with them on the trains. Sadly, the promotion of racial harmony does not totally spare the fact that colour does make a difference. At the bottom line, there are diversities in ways of lives, languages and religions.
The seed of self-interest naturally sets in everyone, some to be nurtured, some to be tamed. While conflicts are common among individuals, it is more prone to happen when mob mentality takes over. Thus racism will always remain an issue of mankind. The best one community can achieve is to educate and suppress it like Singapore did. Afterall, in the end, Guoan went up to the singh to elucidate the ambiguous misunderstanding.
Most of my teammates would most probably stir some shit on the pitch if arguments ever broke out. Past experiences, for instance, was the infamous match at Queensway. The fight got so heated to an extent that one opponent managed to bring on to the pitch one club in each of his hands. In this fight, Guoan was trampled to the ground by a group after some jerking of shirts. We almost had no reaction time to extricate him from the stampede when, fortunately, Jialong was in time to grapple to the ground a guy who was about to give Guoan a boot on his spine. That might have landed him paralysed.
Another atrocious incident was the match I arranged with my NYJC Soccer Team pals. A couple of injustice slides soon triggers the brawl. A real bad situation it was: MY Secondary pals VS MY College pals. Vulgars exchanged between Kenneth and Kelvin, fists was thrown by Jialong and retuned with Ah Pang's flying kick. Stranded in between, I could only try to break it up, however much in vain.
A small incident happened over the second soccer match at Woodbridge Hospital soccer pitch on the last Sunday afternoon. The singh I was playing against on my right flank was a very friendly and apologetic guy. A slightest brush with him when fighting for the ball and he would ask if I'm alright. At least he was in the same calibre as I am, in terms of friendliness.
After a couple claims of rough playing on us, a "gathering" soon took place in the centre of the field after a nerd claimed that Jialong slapped (again...) his face, when Jialong was actually shielding the ball. Inside the fuming mess an opposition named Mani kept on clamoring, "eh gangster ah? fight ah! fight ah!", when the only obvious gangster is him. The nerd (also the victim) wanted to get involved in the heated assemblage, but was wailed off by Guizhong, and walked away as though the clash never involved him when he actually sparkled the argument.
Now here is the gist of the clash. Guoan called out to Mani, "eh Indian boy..." The peaceful singh I was playing against earlier flared up all of a sudden. "Eh what's wrong with Indians? I'm also an Indian wad! You racist is it?" Subsequently, the bunch of indians turned hysterical. After much pushing, ragging and tugging, the match was abandoned 7 minutes to full time with us leading 6-3.
Back at the resting area, we are separated by a block of building, connected by a alleyway. Amusingly, they started branding us as yellow people. They tried to aggravate the situation by echoing in jeers whenever we talked loud enough to reach them. They were still a couple of years from reaching 20. We naturally regard them as childish. In the end we had a good laugh recollecting over the racist incident. It was just a casual remark by Guoan to tag them as indian boys. In fact, they are indians, and they are boys. It was not as if he was calling a black man a nigger. So why the big hoo-har?
Indeed, Singapore, as a a multi-racial nation, the new generation has grew up in this munipulated cosmopolitan community. It was deemed a ingenerated course to have a different coloured family as our neighbours in a flat, a classmate beside our desks, or our army buddy. I must acclaim the government for making this kind of community possible, which seemed almost impossible in the olden days. It is heartening to witness an increasing statistic of cross racial relationships and even marriages. Harmony from within different skin colours has became a feature of the proud city.
However, racism remained a sensitive issue even in Singapore. The existence of racist jokes are often publicly shared (well, most of the time by Chinese). I had a handful of friends who admitted that they could not stand Malays or Indians hanging around them. Personally (no racial offence at all) I dislike the smell of the jasmine bath from Indians. Therefore I tend to avoid sitting with them on the trains. Sadly, the promotion of racial harmony does not totally spare the fact that colour does make a difference. At the bottom line, there are diversities in ways of lives, languages and religions.
The seed of self-interest naturally sets in everyone, some to be nurtured, some to be tamed. While conflicts are common among individuals, it is more prone to happen when mob mentality takes over. Thus racism will always remain an issue of mankind. The best one community can achieve is to educate and suppress it like Singapore did. Afterall, in the end, Guoan went up to the singh to elucidate the ambiguous misunderstanding.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
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Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Liar Liar (II)
Polygraph aka Lie detector. The pen scribbles on...
(a sequel to Liar Liar)
A short greeting was exchanged upon meeting the investigator. Without much delay he led me to a room, or rather, a cell. He explained to me that the purpose of my called up today was to go through the polygraph test. The brief was precise: pass the test, and you are out of the suspect list. I was told to stay in the room before he left to get the polygraph operator ready. I looked around the four corners of the 5X5 metres cell. This is the third time that I've gone through interrogation, and it definitely isn't a nice feeling. After how Eugene had described it to be, it seemed to me that it would be a yielding experience. Alone in the cell, I can only try to divert my attention to the swinging of the doors outside along the corridor. My heart is wildly racing away with every swing of door and footsteps outside the wooden door...
The investigator entered once again to guide me to the room next door. A brighter cell this time, there laid a table with wires twingling out of it. The polygraph set sat in the center of the table. There were three chairs in the cell. I was invited to take the most comfortable looking one, with the armrest. Once again I was left alone while he went out to inform the examiner. I looked around the room again. Looking composed on the outside, I was utterly disturbed by the slightest sound produced in the vicinity. The air in the room is heavy and pressurising.
In came a young man in his late twenties. The examiner introduced himself, and established himself as a neutral party of the whole incident. His main task was purely to tabulate the results from the lie detector and thus eliminate me out of the case if I were to pass it. He then conducted a short interview and got me to brief him on my statements. What seemed neurotic in the beginning turned out to be an easy interview. It helped relaxed me as I reflected to him my point of views to the case. Of course, I vouched for Eugene's innocence. I even found myself a chance to narrate him the $200 con incident. Well, he seemed amused by my foolish generosity.
Soon, the polygraph test started proper. First, I was "chained" to the chair by two wires, one across my chest, and the other across the abdominal. There were 4 sensors to track the heart beating rate. Next came the sweat glands detector. 2 meatal plates were wrapped around my right hand's second and fourth finger tip. Lastly, the blood pressure was to be measured by the strap around my left bicep. My left arm started to grow numb, then the sound of my heart pounding became so prominent that it sounded as if the heart was repositioned right next to the ear drum. The pounding grew harder and rapid as I heard more of it. Butterflies were bumming about inside my stomach. I can't calm myself down, I literally lost control to the hidden panic.
I maintained my composure on the outside despite the upheaval inside. He asked me how I was feeling. Nervous, was my response.
On a piece of paper, he wrote 4 numbers: 2, 3, 4 and 5. I was asked to choose a number. I chose 3. The first person that came to my mind was Kenneth. It is still an unsolved mystery that he would appear in my mind in this moment of time. Anyway, his jersey was number 3. The examiner then filled in 1 and 6 on the paper. I had to close my eyes. With no visual distractions, the heart beat amplified. Subsequently, the instruction for me was to answer only NO to all questions. "Did you circle number 1?" "NO" "Did you circle number 2?" "NO" "Did you circle number 3?" "NO"... and the question goes on for the rest. The 3rd "NO" was answered differently inside me. The heart momentarily contracted when the third question was asked. He took a glance at the results, then announced, "you are eligible to take the test."
Next, the examiner came out with a two sets of questions. The first set was the "controlled questions", for instance, "are you in Singapore now?" The second set was case related. The test proceded again, except that I had to answer the questions in my mind when asked. When controlled questions were asked, it was answered with ease, without pressure. On the other hand, every single incident related question triggered the contaction of the heart without fail, even though my answer was truthful. I obscurely deem my test to turn out a failure, and was even mentally prepared to face more grillings later on. Later on, I recollect to him that the fact that I had experienced different level of anxiety with the 2 sets of questions. He asked me why. I was dumbfolded for a second before replying, "it was intimidating."
The test was repeated for another 3 times with the same sets of questions. I had to answer YES or NO with eyes shut. (at this very moment NOW that I'm writing this blog, I am experiencing déjà vu) The reactions was almost simliar to the previous test. By the third test, I had already grew accustomed to the two wires tightly strapped across my body. The heavy heat beat still appeared as a matter-of-course. The immense tension in the atmosphere had never left the cell.
In two hours, the test officially ended. The examiner left the cell to conclude the results from the four tests. Alone again, it was a strong sense of relief this time round. The feeling was similiar to time that I finished my last 'A' levels paper.
The examiner re-entered the room. Upon sitting down, he kept me in suspend, "your investigator will tell you your results later on." I lied in my respond to him, "I believe I passed the test."
Out went the examiner and the investigator came in soon after. "You can leave now." Still hung in suspend, I attempted to confirm, "so does that mean I passed the test?" He paused momentarily, then repeated, "you can leave now."
I persisted, "am I still subjected to call ups by your department again?"
"Unlikely," was his reply.
The air in the cell rose in weight. I could finally breathe the light air, in relieve.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Liar Liar
Eugene returned to camp at around 3pm. I noticed a fatigue expression from him, and his eyes were so filled with vexation. It was indeed rare, my first time, in fact, to have witnessed him in this state. An unshaven chin attributed even more to his state of seemingly perturbed self.
It was the baffling theft case that made everyone in the office a suspect. The authorities, after much delay, had approached us for the second time.
Eugene stands out most with his unbeatable aura of confidence that always lingers around him. Today the aura seemed beatened. Being accused as one of the prime suspects, he had most probably underwent some psychological barrage from the interrogation. The air in the office was warm and yet he felt cold. He had gone through the polygraph test. Palms grew cold and it perspired as the heartbeat sensors were sticked to his ribs. The test failed him, thus branding him to be a liar.
I vouch for his innocence with my live.
He described today as the worst day in his life. A day when he was grilled as if he is being pinned down as the culprit. He had lost all appetite for the lunch earlier, making him hungry. He bought a packet of hot french fries, but still to only consume a couple of them. I happily took over the remaining. On our way out of camp, I was still heartily munching away when a clerk approached me, "Sir, you've been called up to go for the investigation." Subsequently, the fries suddenly turned cold and tasteless.
On the train, I stared into the newspaper, but absorbed no words. I was so perked up by the anticipation of the upcoming interrogation. So much so that the first task off the train was to get a pack of cigarettes to suppress the racing emotions. The pack is definitely a requirement if there should be polygraph tml.
(to be continued...)
It was the baffling theft case that made everyone in the office a suspect. The authorities, after much delay, had approached us for the second time.
Eugene stands out most with his unbeatable aura of confidence that always lingers around him. Today the aura seemed beatened. Being accused as one of the prime suspects, he had most probably underwent some psychological barrage from the interrogation. The air in the office was warm and yet he felt cold. He had gone through the polygraph test. Palms grew cold and it perspired as the heartbeat sensors were sticked to his ribs. The test failed him, thus branding him to be a liar.
I vouch for his innocence with my live.
He described today as the worst day in his life. A day when he was grilled as if he is being pinned down as the culprit. He had lost all appetite for the lunch earlier, making him hungry. He bought a packet of hot french fries, but still to only consume a couple of them. I happily took over the remaining. On our way out of camp, I was still heartily munching away when a clerk approached me, "Sir, you've been called up to go for the investigation." Subsequently, the fries suddenly turned cold and tasteless.
On the train, I stared into the newspaper, but absorbed no words. I was so perked up by the anticipation of the upcoming interrogation. So much so that the first task off the train was to get a pack of cigarettes to suppress the racing emotions. The pack is definitely a requirement if there should be polygraph tml.
(to be continued...)
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Angry Samaritan (II)
(a sequel to Angry Samaritan)
Bitch. That's what most of my guy pals called her when I told them my silly encounter.
**********
7th Jan 05
Kenneth accompanied me in the event of looking her up to demand the money back. Kenneth knocked on her door with me out of sight. After a few moments of silence, Kenneth tried the door, and it swinged open to display a vacant unit. Red walls and a seemingly dusty mattress laid in the centre of the living room, and nothing else. The switchboard above the door seemed pretty loused up as the dim room was only lit by the street lamps outside the windows. It echoed lightly as we called out for the bitch. (we called out her name, not bitch...)
So we decided to turn to the neighbours. The chinese lady on the right side had just moved in months ago, and she stated she had never seen her neighbour before.
Then we followed up with another neighbour on the left side. A malay man in his forties answered the door. Behind him were his kids, two to three of them, watching TV. We began to question about the bitch. On the mention of the neighbour, he turned his head behind and shooed his kids to go back to their rooms. The typical pot-bellied uncle then unlocked his gate to come out to the corridor with a pack of cigarettes. He went on to talk about this bitch in greater details...
She was recently released from the locked-up, followed by the release of her husband. They had three daughters. The malay uncle had helped in taking care of them as infants some years back. He claimed that I was not the first victim of her fraud. The previous man had lent her $450, and the bitch had even gave him the wrong address. She gave him the address of the unit next to hers. With that, I conceded that the chance of getting back the money is as good as nil.
We proceeded on to the policce station, intending to lodge another report on the incorrigible bitch. I was told to contact the Investigation Officer, but he had not got back to me til today, after 2 days... I wonder if he really gives a damn about it.
9th Jan 05
It was 10 days since I had survived without cash. A few lendings here and there had allow me to pass on the days indulging mostly on soda cream biscuits dipped in Milo, and instant noodles. This very Sunday, dinner was the only meal for the day. Coincidentally, it was so for dad and bro as well. Dad had slept his day through to wake up in time for dinner. Bro was sleeping as he had exhausted himself after a whole day facing the computer screen. Dad was going to eat out, and I tagged along. Scrapping the last $4 in my wallet, dad and I went separately to order our food. He had chicken rice while I had claypot rice. As we ate, I found things were not right. We did not order drinks. This was the first time I saw dad eating without his usual cup of kopi-o. The claypot rice was scorching my tongue. But still, we did not bother to ask each other what drinks to order. Or actually, we could not.
**********
While I can easily conned into believing in people's words, I am not swayed by beliefs and superstitions. I do not give in to religious beliefs, neither do I trust that good deeds eventually results in good returns. I don't agree that evil-doers suffer retributions. Retribution, to me, is an act of coincidence. Fate is a easy explanation for everything that happens on earth. I can only pray that the police do put in effort in hunting down the bitch, and prevent further recurrence of the fraud. I would not be surprise to see her get away scot-free. But before that, I would like to say to Farra, 'Fuck you bitch.'
Bitch. That's what most of my guy pals called her when I told them my silly encounter.
**********
7th Jan 05
Kenneth accompanied me in the event of looking her up to demand the money back. Kenneth knocked on her door with me out of sight. After a few moments of silence, Kenneth tried the door, and it swinged open to display a vacant unit. Red walls and a seemingly dusty mattress laid in the centre of the living room, and nothing else. The switchboard above the door seemed pretty loused up as the dim room was only lit by the street lamps outside the windows. It echoed lightly as we called out for the bitch. (we called out her name, not bitch...)
So we decided to turn to the neighbours. The chinese lady on the right side had just moved in months ago, and she stated she had never seen her neighbour before.
Then we followed up with another neighbour on the left side. A malay man in his forties answered the door. Behind him were his kids, two to three of them, watching TV. We began to question about the bitch. On the mention of the neighbour, he turned his head behind and shooed his kids to go back to their rooms. The typical pot-bellied uncle then unlocked his gate to come out to the corridor with a pack of cigarettes. He went on to talk about this bitch in greater details...
She was recently released from the locked-up, followed by the release of her husband. They had three daughters. The malay uncle had helped in taking care of them as infants some years back. He claimed that I was not the first victim of her fraud. The previous man had lent her $450, and the bitch had even gave him the wrong address. She gave him the address of the unit next to hers. With that, I conceded that the chance of getting back the money is as good as nil.
We proceeded on to the policce station, intending to lodge another report on the incorrigible bitch. I was told to contact the Investigation Officer, but he had not got back to me til today, after 2 days... I wonder if he really gives a damn about it.
9th Jan 05
It was 10 days since I had survived without cash. A few lendings here and there had allow me to pass on the days indulging mostly on soda cream biscuits dipped in Milo, and instant noodles. This very Sunday, dinner was the only meal for the day. Coincidentally, it was so for dad and bro as well. Dad had slept his day through to wake up in time for dinner. Bro was sleeping as he had exhausted himself after a whole day facing the computer screen. Dad was going to eat out, and I tagged along. Scrapping the last $4 in my wallet, dad and I went separately to order our food. He had chicken rice while I had claypot rice. As we ate, I found things were not right. We did not order drinks. This was the first time I saw dad eating without his usual cup of kopi-o. The claypot rice was scorching my tongue. But still, we did not bother to ask each other what drinks to order. Or actually, we could not.
**********
While I can easily conned into believing in people's words, I am not swayed by beliefs and superstitions. I do not give in to religious beliefs, neither do I trust that good deeds eventually results in good returns. I don't agree that evil-doers suffer retributions. Retribution, to me, is an act of coincidence. Fate is a easy explanation for everything that happens on earth. I can only pray that the police do put in effort in hunting down the bitch, and prevent further recurrence of the fraud. I would not be surprise to see her get away scot-free. But before that, I would like to say to Farra, 'Fuck you bitch.'
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
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Sunday, January 02, 2005
Angry Samaritan
30th Dec 2004
There is a session of mahjong with Jerry, Yik Ley and Edmund this night. Heading to Hougang, I took the train to alight at Yio Chu Kang to take a bus from there. I could not recall which is the bus that goes to Edmund's house, it's either 72 or76. But anyway the queue was super duper long. So I thought I'll go to Ang Mo Kio to take 159 instead. As I headed back to the MRT station, a malay lady in her twenties approached me, in a hysterical state. She told me her husband had met with a car accident, and was admitted to Changi Genneral Hospital. She had no cash and she needed to pay for the registration fee of $265. She pleaded me to follow her to CGH to settle the bills, so that her husband can go through the surgery. I was doubtful about her tales. Nevertheless, I agreed to lend her money despite it was the end of the month when cash flow is near depletion. I told her I had to check how much I have with me. So we hailed a cab to the nearest ATM.
The balance read $203. I had $50 on in my wallet. I drew out $200 and grudged the cash to the malay lady, Farra. I told her since I do not even have enough to foot the bills, I suggested that she get someone else who can afford to lend her the total sum. But she claim that with this $200, she could at least foot part of the bill, and negotiate for the surgery to go on. She had even asked for money to foot the cab fare. Incredulously, I asked her to use the $200 I handed her. She had promised to return the money the next morning. I got her mobile no and address before parting with her. But I could not even check if she had given me her a right number, because my phone was spoilt.
I alighted at Ang Mo Kio and got the cab to carry on driving her to CGH. I was feeling uneasy about it all, as I got myself mentally prepared that I might not hear from her ever again. Then I boarded 159, having "The Bachelor" on the TV Mobile entertaining me on the ride. I never realised that I was going away from my destination until I reached Toa Payoh Bus Terminal. Followed by some cursing at myself with vulgarities, I hunted for a coin-based pay phone to inform Jerry of my tardy. I managed to dig two 10-cent coins to make the call. I inserted one, and the call was not activated. I tried a second, but to no avail. I then took a peep in the coin hole, only to see a dozen of 10-cent coins stuck inside. I found a toothpick lying around, and utilised it to dig out the two of my coins. Disgusted at my luck, I approached another malay lady and borrowed her phone to call. Needless to say, I got a dressing-down from the gang of three who had waited one hour already. Reluctantly, I was compelled to lavish on cab.
The cab uncle seemed a nice guy at first as we had some conversation. Then another cab cut into his lane recklessly. When there's only the two of us in the enclosed steel shell, he pointed his middle finger, scowling away, "ch** by*! ch** by*!!" I really wondered to whom the words were meant to be dedicated to... But soon after that, the ch** by* cab driver reverted to his friendly self once again. In the process of paying him, I dropped a couple of coins under the seat, and I was in no mood to bend down to dig.
Even after umpteen visits to Edmund's residential, we never failed to give him a call to ask which floor was it before taking the lift. There was was no exception this time either. However, I did not possess a mobile, and yet again resorted to pay phones. But the one at the void deck had to discriminate coin users. Tired of all these shit, I reckon I can recognise the gate and the door without needing to cross a street to fish for a coin-based pay phone. I tried 9th floor, which I thought it did not seem any familiar. Following that, I went to 6th, 10th, 7th, before deciding on the door at the 8th floor. I knocked and pressed the doorbell. Nobody answered the door. Depressed, I bitch my way across the street to fish for a coin-based pay phone.
I had already sensed a wretched night coming up at the mahjong. Unsurprisingly, I had a tough night minimising my loss from $70 to $40.
31st Dec 2004
In the morning, I could not track Farra as I was very seriously irritated by the baby crying recording she used for her ringing tone after consecutive unsucessful call attempts. It was until 2pm that she reached me to tell me that there had been unforeseen occuring medical fees that had emptied her and her mother's wallet. I told her that I must get the money back as I had nothing else to survive on. She said she will try her best to get the cash and will get back to me by 4pm. Once again, Farra played disappearance for the whole of new year's eve with her fucking irritating baby crying ring tone.
1st Jan 2005
I was awakened up by Farra's call in the morning. She told me she could only return me the money on Monday, saying she had no means. She would be at her mother's residence for the weekend. I had started with talking understandingly in a friendly tone. I explaint my situation to her, that I could not survive until Monday without any money. Moreover, I had gave my dad $30 out of my remaining $40 in my wallet as he was short. And I sucked out the rest for the food at the New Year party in my house. We soon engage in a heated argument when she kept on insisting that she will only repay two days later. I soon found myself enraged as I talked in a hostile tone which evolved to a nasty one. I reasoned that I had lent her the money only on the basis that I could get it back the very next morning for I was giving her almost every cash I had to her. I could not believe that there was no kin or friend for her to borrow $200 to return a complete stranger! I could emphatise that she could be from a poor background, but she had not emphatised at my situation. As Guoan told me, it is as if a blind was leading the blind. It was incompassionate and irresponsible for her when her promises break like water running from tap -- endless stream... I reached the point of repugnance and I swear that I had used my virgin vulgarity on a lady on her. She kept repeating, "I will contact you on Monday..." When I couldn't tahan no more, I roared with no respect,"What the FUCK!! What else can I say?!" before slamming the phone.
I was utterly displeased despite that it had only involved a small sum of money. I simply could not stand her lack of gratitude for a complete stranger had helped her. I swear I would rather donate the sum to the homeless people who survived the tsnami. I had asked and surveyed that majority would not offer to lend and help in this situation. After all that arguement, now I'm wondering if I can get the money back...
(to be continued...)
There is a session of mahjong with Jerry, Yik Ley and Edmund this night. Heading to Hougang, I took the train to alight at Yio Chu Kang to take a bus from there. I could not recall which is the bus that goes to Edmund's house, it's either 72 or76. But anyway the queue was super duper long. So I thought I'll go to Ang Mo Kio to take 159 instead. As I headed back to the MRT station, a malay lady in her twenties approached me, in a hysterical state. She told me her husband had met with a car accident, and was admitted to Changi Genneral Hospital. She had no cash and she needed to pay for the registration fee of $265. She pleaded me to follow her to CGH to settle the bills, so that her husband can go through the surgery. I was doubtful about her tales. Nevertheless, I agreed to lend her money despite it was the end of the month when cash flow is near depletion. I told her I had to check how much I have with me. So we hailed a cab to the nearest ATM.
The balance read $203. I had $50 on in my wallet. I drew out $200 and grudged the cash to the malay lady, Farra. I told her since I do not even have enough to foot the bills, I suggested that she get someone else who can afford to lend her the total sum. But she claim that with this $200, she could at least foot part of the bill, and negotiate for the surgery to go on. She had even asked for money to foot the cab fare. Incredulously, I asked her to use the $200 I handed her. She had promised to return the money the next morning. I got her mobile no and address before parting with her. But I could not even check if she had given me her a right number, because my phone was spoilt.
I alighted at Ang Mo Kio and got the cab to carry on driving her to CGH. I was feeling uneasy about it all, as I got myself mentally prepared that I might not hear from her ever again. Then I boarded 159, having "The Bachelor" on the TV Mobile entertaining me on the ride. I never realised that I was going away from my destination until I reached Toa Payoh Bus Terminal. Followed by some cursing at myself with vulgarities, I hunted for a coin-based pay phone to inform Jerry of my tardy. I managed to dig two 10-cent coins to make the call. I inserted one, and the call was not activated. I tried a second, but to no avail. I then took a peep in the coin hole, only to see a dozen of 10-cent coins stuck inside. I found a toothpick lying around, and utilised it to dig out the two of my coins. Disgusted at my luck, I approached another malay lady and borrowed her phone to call. Needless to say, I got a dressing-down from the gang of three who had waited one hour already. Reluctantly, I was compelled to lavish on cab.
The cab uncle seemed a nice guy at first as we had some conversation. Then another cab cut into his lane recklessly. When there's only the two of us in the enclosed steel shell, he pointed his middle finger, scowling away, "ch** by*! ch** by*!!" I really wondered to whom the words were meant to be dedicated to... But soon after that, the ch** by* cab driver reverted to his friendly self once again. In the process of paying him, I dropped a couple of coins under the seat, and I was in no mood to bend down to dig.
Even after umpteen visits to Edmund's residential, we never failed to give him a call to ask which floor was it before taking the lift. There was was no exception this time either. However, I did not possess a mobile, and yet again resorted to pay phones. But the one at the void deck had to discriminate coin users. Tired of all these shit, I reckon I can recognise the gate and the door without needing to cross a street to fish for a coin-based pay phone. I tried 9th floor, which I thought it did not seem any familiar. Following that, I went to 6th, 10th, 7th, before deciding on the door at the 8th floor. I knocked and pressed the doorbell. Nobody answered the door. Depressed, I bitch my way across the street to fish for a coin-based pay phone.
I had already sensed a wretched night coming up at the mahjong. Unsurprisingly, I had a tough night minimising my loss from $70 to $40.
31st Dec 2004
In the morning, I could not track Farra as I was very seriously irritated by the baby crying recording she used for her ringing tone after consecutive unsucessful call attempts. It was until 2pm that she reached me to tell me that there had been unforeseen occuring medical fees that had emptied her and her mother's wallet. I told her that I must get the money back as I had nothing else to survive on. She said she will try her best to get the cash and will get back to me by 4pm. Once again, Farra played disappearance for the whole of new year's eve with her fucking irritating baby crying ring tone.
1st Jan 2005
I was awakened up by Farra's call in the morning. She told me she could only return me the money on Monday, saying she had no means. She would be at her mother's residence for the weekend. I had started with talking understandingly in a friendly tone. I explaint my situation to her, that I could not survive until Monday without any money. Moreover, I had gave my dad $30 out of my remaining $40 in my wallet as he was short. And I sucked out the rest for the food at the New Year party in my house. We soon engage in a heated argument when she kept on insisting that she will only repay two days later. I soon found myself enraged as I talked in a hostile tone which evolved to a nasty one. I reasoned that I had lent her the money only on the basis that I could get it back the very next morning for I was giving her almost every cash I had to her. I could not believe that there was no kin or friend for her to borrow $200 to return a complete stranger! I could emphatise that she could be from a poor background, but she had not emphatised at my situation. As Guoan told me, it is as if a blind was leading the blind. It was incompassionate and irresponsible for her when her promises break like water running from tap -- endless stream... I reached the point of repugnance and I swear that I had used my virgin vulgarity on a lady on her. She kept repeating, "I will contact you on Monday..." When I couldn't tahan no more, I roared with no respect,"What the FUCK!! What else can I say?!" before slamming the phone.
I was utterly displeased despite that it had only involved a small sum of money. I simply could not stand her lack of gratitude for a complete stranger had helped her. I swear I would rather donate the sum to the homeless people who survived the tsnami. I had asked and surveyed that majority would not offer to lend and help in this situation. After all that arguement, now I'm wondering if I can get the money back...
(to be continued...)
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