The Father, the Son and the Shark

On a warm and humid Friday night, three men sat in front of the coffee table. Even though three, the dinner was a pretty quiet one. As the three men, or rather, the three generations, consume the food that seem tasteless to them, they each was troubled.

The grandfather, who survive one near death experience, is now thin almost to the bone. He now live his days, even though leisurely, expecting his end nearing. Still, he tried hard sustaining the frail live hassling from hospitals to chinese physicians, from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore. Easily wearied, he rested his wrinkled body against the cushion, troubled over the unknown number of days left that he is granted to see the soothing light and breathe the purest air.

The son, a grown man now, had felt his weight gradually increasing, attributed by the responsibilities of sustaining the maintenence of the house and other necessities, now that his father had lost his ability to do so. He thought that this had come too soon, thus distrupting the assumed proper route that he should take. After some hopeful attempts to approach potential organisations for help, all was but in vain. He worried over the limitations of himself, and an unstable future path which goes against his initial ambitions. He do not like the idea that he will fall behind other people of his age.

The father is at a vunerable period of his life. For a 50 year old man like him, things are worst for him when both career and marriage had came to an abrupt end. His ego were being trampled upon when he realise that he could no longer provide for his family. Even when he discards many other debts, he met with emotional disputes that spurred the thoughts of suicide in the worst scenario. At this very moment, as he sat in the melancholy living room, he probably could not rest his head to the back of the couch, for his head is rounded up by bandages...

On the previous night, Thursday, the son finally found the chance to unleash all the fustration brought about by the boring job at the KTV. He was enjoying the company of a buddy and four other ladies. He proudly showed off his gifted ability with the microphone in front of the new people. Perhaps he enjoyed it when praises showers him. From 8pm, they did not want to leave the room until it was near 1am. It was the last proposed song when the son's handphone rang a familiar ringtone. Going outside the room to answer, he thought his father wanted to ask him if he was going home. However, the son could answered only to hear an unfamiliar voice from the other end.

"Are you ####'s son?"
"Yes"
"He was admitted to Tan Tock Seng Hospital. He had quite a serious head injury, and is bleeding quite badly."
"What had happened?"
"It should be a fall"
"Ok.. I'll come over right now."

The group had waited for the son to finish his last song, he came back to the room with a worried face to break to them the sudden news. The son left hastily, leaving the rest to settle the bills. The son went into the lift with another guy. The guy held the lift door open, awaiting his friends who dragged themselves like slugs toward the lift. The son expressed his urgency to the guy, who replied in an unconcerned manner. The son almost wanted to smash his head off the lift wall.

Upon alighting at the A&E, the son was just in time to see the father being pushed on a trolley bed. The father was wearing a light grey shirt, cruelly smeared, with blood of his own, across his chest, from collar downwards. Dried blood stained his chest through the unbuttoned. He had a bandage cast on his head, leaving little hair to pout out on top. His left eye was wide, for the tight bandage had pulled up the left side of the forehead. The son frantically rushed to him. The father remained in a daze, which however, seemed to be mixed with rage and anguish. His face was obviously still red from the liquor. The son greeted the father, pained to witness such tragedy. The father looked at his son in the eyes, as if dying to tell him something. He did not speak, not knowing unwilling or unable to. He merely passed his mobile phone to his son. The father was pushed away to the treatment ward.

A man in blue shirt then approached the son. He, too, smelt of liquor. Upon confirming that the son's identity, he introduced himself as the father's friend. They stood outside the building in the midnight breeze. The son eagerly wanted to know more from the man. The first thing he wanted to know was how had the father injured himself. The man described that the father had drank too much, who then fell after he suddenly lost his consciousness. Unconvinced, the son went on to clarify the exact details of how he fell. He replied that the father fell off his chair. The man went on to advise the young son about the dire and stressed situation the father was in. Of course, the son knows it better than anyone else. But what the son did not expect is that the father still could not get over the broken and betrayed marriage, and he lived everyday in misery, at times thinking that life isn't worth carrying on. The son shook his head in disappointment.

Finally, when only one person was allowed to visit the father, the son went in. The nurse allowed the poor son into the ward where the wounds were going to be stitched. The father lied under a rotating light similiar to those in a dental. In this room the father spoke his first words to the son. "Is my handphone with you? Call him. Call X, ask him how is he going to pay for this." Puzzled, the son leaned forward to question. The father was fury, yet unable to be loud, "how do you think I got this? You really thought I fell?" The son could guess that the father was referring to the man in blue. He got increasingly agitated as he speaks. Noticing the unstable condition of the patient, the nurse had to invite the son to leave the room.

The son sat impatiently outside the ward with a confused state of mind. The doctor came looking for him. "Your father can be discharged already. But he seemed to be an unstable state of mind. On the ambulance, he had been saying things like 'why don't you all let me die? Why save me? Let me die...' We had initially wanted to send him to the Institute of Mental Health instead... You must be able to take more caution taking care of him.." These words sent trembles down the son heart. Suicidal thoughts again. The most fucked up adn irresponsible statement one could ever make, he thought.

The son pushed the father out to the corridor on a wheelchair. He insisted on walking, and went straight up to the man in blue. The worried, yet outraged, but confused son followed on.

At their very first exchanged of glance, the father gave him a wide smile, showing all his teeth that glitters with an exhibition of ingenuity. "死不了... 烂命一条..." The father showed his arms around the man's shoulders and together, they walked out into the chilling night breeze, the son tagging behind. The son, who earlier had a good nice chat with the man, now sticks his face near the man's, a glare so stern that it never blinked, as it travelled so deep into the man's guilty eyes. It did not require the son to ask "did you hit my dad?" for the man to give a reply, "you can believe 50%, I know you will choose to believe your father, but I swear I did not beat him." In fact, the father could not remember a shit about what happened. He did not recall where exactly he fell, who was there or whatever. He only knew he woke up in a cell that is moving, and accompanied by paramedics.

It did not take long for the 'friendly gesture' to evolve hostile between the father and the man. Vulgars and middle fingers erupted in a seemingly peaceful night that should not tolerate such audacity in the first place! The son knew it's time to intervene, well knowing that a body contact would possibly sparkle off some violent scenario. The son dragged his father away as he called for the man to disappear out of their sights immediately.

That fucker is a money lender. The son's stepmother had borrowed a small sum of $1,500, with dad as the guarantor. The outstanding debt is $750. Unable to locate her, the fucker looked for the father. Then some incident occurred outside the country club before which the father found himself in the ambulance.

The father was at the limit of what rage can reach. He lost the battle to rationale - he did not even give a fight. The insistent father brought the hesitant son along to the stepmother's mother's home. The poor cab driver was chided violently by the infuriated father when he could not find the way. It was about 3am when the father and son stood outside the unit, talking to the stepmother's brother. The brother's main concern was, well, to keep reminding the father to keep his voice down in the silent night. But the father had been taken over by emotions. The son watched in silence. The weeping, hopeless, and angry one-sided conversation echoed mournfully down the corridor. Nothing could prove to work out, even by talking to the family. The father was unsure why he went there in the first place. He was confused, he did not know what to do. The son advise him to go back home, and then to the neighbourhood police post.

Walking past the seven-eleven and the MacDonald's, the midnight punks were chilling out beside their stunt bikes. Every mother's son turned to look at the bloody man walk pass.

Back at home, the father was startled to see himself in front of the mirror - his bloody self. Looking at himself in the mirror, he probably had recovered a majority of his rational sense, lost earlier. He told his son, "my anger had subsided." Torn down by the series of incidents, he dropped on his bed, unchanged out of his bloodied shirt. The son asked if they are going to the police. The father replied, "we'll see tommorrow. I'm tired..."

A week later, nothing had yet been done to seek justice. The father probably had let it rest, since the shark agreed to forget the $750 sum. He probably fear further complications if matters were brought up to legal level. Anyway, the father owe him another few thousands separately. The fuckers who survive by under table - fuck you.

If a sum of $750 could be resolved with 3 stitches behind the head, the son would not mind taking five smashed of bottles or on the wall, and stitching up some 15 stitches on the scalp to settle the father's debt with that fucker. One day I shall call him up to discuss.

5 minutes back at home

Beatened up after a much eye-straining in the office and distant travelling to an interview, I stepped into the house wearily. Grandpa came over to stay for a couple of days. We conversed as I lazily sat down to pull the socks off. Not before long, we reached the money issue. Grandpa had no money pull through for the coming days, and thinking that dad was broke, he asked me for some cash. Back in my room, bro starts talking about money. He need to borrow. The bills are still lying underneath the files - a deliberate attempt to hide them. Even when mum didn't call, I'm reminded daily of the debt.

Now that my hopes to study in SIM almost seem impossible, I began to consider alternatives. Retaking 'A' levels might seem a wise choice since I am already not going to school this coming year. I'll see how it goes this coming Friday at the meet-the-people session with the MP.

I used to envy people who brag about the wonderful things in life. Now I get jealous. Haha damned.

The first 5 minutes back at home, supposedly a cosy place to de-stress, was enough to dampen my mood for the rest of the night.

人情

人情 - a form of debt unmeasured monetarily, but by the efforts and actions (out of kindness or pity) of a person (creditor) for the sake of the debtor, which normally results in enormous returns of gratitude. The level of gratitude by the debtor will not be proportional to the amount of effort by the creditor. In fact it will be a increasing exponential curve.

人情, a loan that one would need desperately in times of despair. To receive the loan would be similiar to a situation when one receives water from another person, after struggling to survive for days in a scorching desert. Ironically, sometimes I would hoped that this much appreciated needy helping hand do not appear at all. I felt shit knowing that there is nothing I could do to repay the debt, when what lies ahead in my life journey is still a massive fog. There is only an outstanding debt of indefinite gratitude that engulfs over me forever.

3 years back, in JC2, I can vividly remember Kiat passing me a stack wrapped in a piece of white paper. It was over a hundred dollars in cash, pooled in by a group of friends. It's a regret that I do not recall all the members involved, but the act was touched me deeply. They saw that I only brought less than a dollar to school each day, barely enough for a proper snack. Looking back, I feel ashamed. These are money I should not accept, for my friends are mostly as broke as myself. I developed a philosophy which states that a man, given his natural in-born ability to hunt for his own food, will never allow himself to be starved, moreover in a modernised society. I can find my own food without taking from any other people. 人情, I owe them a deeply appreciated one.

My beloved teacher from NYJC had listened to all my problems. Unable to pay for A-level exam fees that very year, she had applied financial aid for me, and the school eventually paid my exam fees.

I have never mentioned it openly before, but I'm sincerely deeply grately for their help. Gan and his family had been concerned about my situations, in fact, more than anyone else. Gan's dad had, through his network, introduced me OCBC bank (Ang Mo Kio branch) manager to discuss and negotiate my study loans. Gan's mum was so worried that besides finding me councils that might be able to provide study aids, she actually volunteered to be my guarantor using her CPF. She is a housewife and a babysitter.

Mum's husband is a wise man when it comes to dealing with money. He had saved enough to last him and his family of 3, and support the son til University studies. The son is 11 this year, and the parents have retired. I do not like to ask for money which comes from their retirement savings, but he finally did agree to lend me the 1.4K to pass the tide.

A month back, Eugene and Enping gave me an EZlink card as an much unexpected ORD gift. While I was prepared to keep it as a souvenir from them, one day I had no cash at all to support my transportation. Reluctantly, I had to resort to tap the new card to report to work. The card worths a total of $67.

Just last week, Daniel intended on passing me some cash of over a hundred, which I was insistent of not accepting.

I deeply appreciated the gestures and all.

At the same time, I feel pathethic.

Cataclysm

I was awakened by the my handphone ringing this morning. The time was 9.12am. It was Ailing from Citibank, "did you got to the law firm?" In a daze, I replied, "I did not go, and I'm not going already..." I dropped back to my bed. An hour later, I was, again, awakened by the knocking of the door. "The bidders are here," I thought to myself as my heart raced.

Last night was a night of emotional upheaval, ever since the traumatic family feud some years back.

I called up the bank, Ailing, and Immigration & Checkpoints Authority (ICA) to get more infomation on how I can handle this case. Due to the fact that the properties in my house were purchased as common product with dad, they have legal rights to charge these stuffs to my stepmother. Ailing adviced me that the only solution to prevent the auction was to pay 3 times the sum of the properties' value to settle everything. I have to come out with $3000 before 9am next morning, when I barely had enough for dinner later on. After my work, I went to meet up with Gan while on his job. I needed company.

Even though 3K is not a big sum, we did not have the ability to produce it in such a short time. Dad began calling all his (broke) pals, and I attempted to look for mum. It was hard for me to ask her for money. She hated dad to the extent that she prayed him to be dead. To lend me the money is as good as helping dad. She rejected my initial approach. I sensed her reluctance, and I did not persist. Believe me, it feels fucking cheap and terrible to beg for money.

I knew that mum was the last person whom I am able to ask money from. I thought all hope was gone after her rejection. I called dad up to inform him. "Forget it. Nevermind it already, let them take it..." he said, which matched what I was thinking. We should not keep the properties we could not afford. I feel unjust by the fact that they are paying a thousand to confiscate properties that worth over ten thousands. I knew dad did not want to let those properties go. I received calls from bro, I sensed his helpless. He laughed hopelessly. Forlorned and fucked up. I loathed myself for being unable to do anything to rescue the house of its belongings. I felt like a good-for nothing useless ass. I can't even save my family from such a minor incident.

I was with Gan and his dad at the coffeeshop. I struggled so much to hold back the tears from the watery eyes, alas I gave up fighting the tears. I made my way to the washroom, and felt like bashing up every fuck shit person and obstacle that stood in my way. I broke down beside the urinal. I was just useless. Gan came in to give me a pat on my shoulders, as if a de-javu of a similar situation in school almost 3 years back.

I hated myself to act this way, for I perceive myself a strong personality. Now do I realise how little can I withstand.

After calming down back at the table, bro called. He sounded urgent. It seemed that dad had sourced for a guy who was willing to lend him the cash, with interest. Loanshark, it immediately striked me. This is not the first time. I thought he agreed to let the property go. How could he have been so desperate! Bro said that he had to use his IC to borrow the money. He had tried calling mum to ask for money, but also to no avail. I called dad to warn him. He told me everything's gonna be fine, and hung me up. I was brought to a frantical situation. I ordered bro never to sign any document, and to make sure dad don't. At that very moment the loan guy had already set his foot on our tiles. I rushed off home immediately, leaving my unfinished dinner with Gan and his dad.

On the MRT platform, mum called. She gave in for the sake of bro and me, and agreed to lend the $3K. I was utterly beatened up by that time. I made my way out of the MRT station, and to her house. I almost could not find my way there as I went into a state of daze. I felt useless.

On the lift up mum's house, I was with a middle-aged lady. I had a sudden mad urge to shine my jack knife on her neck to rob her. I thought it would be easy to rob from the nearby 7-11, or the cashier of the drink store. I was in the absolute wrong state of mind, everything thought ran wild. Before the lift door close, someone pressed it open again. In came another 2 person.

At mum's house, she repeated herself of how much she wanted dad to die. She wished that he jump off the window, only then she would not hesitate to aid us. I remained silent and waited for the money.

I finally headed home as it reached midnight. I was mentally exhausted by that time. But dad and I still have to plan for the auction next morning. We had 3 plans:

1. Bring $3K to the law firm to settle every fuck thing.
2. Negotiate and buy back everything from the highest bidder at a higher price.
3. Let them take everything, and we replenish with the 3K in hand.

We eventually decided on plan 2. And so I went to bed immediately, too tired to even wash up.

This very morning, I answered the door. I was surprised to see only a man in his forties. With his hair all combed up, he seemed like a decent businessman. He tried to appear angelic, "I'm here to help you." He suggested that we'll put up a show later, with his man to sucessfully bid the property, and sell it back to us. His sweet words does sound nice and touching, but it all came from his lion mouth. Apart from what he called "registration fee" of $300, he will charge an additional of $300 on top of the final bid. I left it to dad to discuss with him. The final decision: everyone will leave the house, and I alone would have to put up a show at the auction.

I had to show it to the bidders that I'm not interested in keeping the property anymore. I need to appear annoyed and try to push for the auction to end fast. All these would result in the bidding to be lesser, hopefully. I emptied the fridge to give them the idea that I was prepared to send it away, and not interested in negotiating to buy it back. And so I was left by myself in the house to anticipate their arrival. After a good night's rest, I was in a clear state of mind. I was calmer, but at the same time surprise to recall how pathetic I was the night before. It was disgusting.

The mob arrived very soon. A swarm of potential 'money-grabbers' packed the corridor rather unsightly. The auctioner came in to account for the property, before he called for the mob to come in and commence the auction. I stood high before all of them, then spoke in a commanding yet irritated tone, "eh, you want to auction, make it fast. I am rushing for time. Faster settle everything, take, and go." The auctioner assured me 5 minutes would be sufficient.

I went up to my room to hear the bid commence. He started it with $900. No noise from the mob. He then decreased it to $600, only then the mob started making noises. Every bid is $50, and every bid raised my blood pressure. My ears were running hot. In between I heard some quarrel from the mob. There seemed to be disputes over the bidding. In the end, the deal closed at $950. Everyone else then left, after 'dirtying' my home. The bidder was one of the 'actor'. As agreed earlier on, we proceeded to the transferring of the property to my name. Dad came back and they negotiated further, only to finalise the deal at $1,400. With that, the ordeal closed its curtain.

Perhaps a blessing in disguise, I estimate that I would only take the next 3 months to repay mum $1.4K instead of $3K. My plans to save for studies have to halt for now. I had managed to secure $1.7K for April after weeks of working, but it is demoralising to see it gone to repay debts before I can pocket it. I am tired of this thing. I am sick of money.