Since the last time my mother brought my brothers and me to visit my aunt and cousins in Singapore during my school days, I have grown to love visiting the city in December – drawn by its charming Christmas atmosphere and the warmth of our family gatherings. My relatives would always enliven Christmas Eve with a hearty homecooked feast.
In 2005, after completing my Penilaian Menengah Rendah (PMR), the then national examination for Form Three students, I decided to visit my relatives in Singapore on my own that December.
Despite her worry, my mother agreed, reassured that my aunt and cousins would be waiting to pick me up at the old Customs, Immigration and Quarantine (CIQ) complex.
That morning, I boarded an express bus in front of an Indian grocery shop that doubled as a ticket agency for a company called LPMS. I had an aisle seat, beside a young lady to whom I offered a polite smile.
In those days, I didn’t own a mobile phone, so the journey felt long and uneventful, save for two short stops.
At the first rest stop, after the passengers had taken a quick toilet break, I waited for my seatmate to return and stood up so she could pass through. We exchanged another courteous smile.
Later, we stopped for dinner at the Ming Ang Restaurant lay-by in Yong Peng, Johor. I finished my meal quickly and returned to the bus early.
When my seatmate boarded, I stood again to let her in. To my surprise, she handed me a slice of honeydew melon. I initially declined, but she insisted, saying she didn’t have a younger brother.
I accepted, touched by her gesture – and that simple act began a light-hearted conversation. Her name, I learned, was June.
When we reached the CIQ in the evening, June knew my relatives would be meeting me there. Kindly, she offered me her mobile phone so I could call my elder cousin to let her know I had arrived safely.
My cousin said she and my aunt were already nearby and would walk over to the waiting area to find me. I thanked June and wished her goodbye before she headed off to catch her connecting bus.
I felt blessed – it was heartening to have met such a kind and warm stranger on my first solo trip.
The checkpoint was heaving with people. I stood alone near a dustbin, watching the crowd surge past. Then, when I turned to my right, I noticed a skinny Chinese man rummaging through the bin. Suddenly, our eyes met.
He approached me and asked in Mandarin whether I was waiting for someone. I nodded and told him I was. Then he asked where I was from.
When I said Selangor, his eyes lit up. Switching to Cantonese, he said, “Ah, then we’re family – I’m from Selangor too!” His tone changed as he continued, “I need some money for a taxi. Can you lend me some?”
Uneasy, I told him I didn’t have any. But he persisted, insisting that I must. I kept repeating that I didn’t, and his patience wore thin. Then, reaching behind his back, he pulled something out of his pocket – a syringe.
“This has HIV,” he hissed. “If you don’t give me your money, I’ll poke you with it.”
Terror shot through me. My heart pounded as I quickly opened my wallet, showing him what was inside – just a few small notes in ringgit and Singapore dollars.
Luckily, my mother had told me to keep the bigger notes hidden in one of my socks.
To my surprise, the man didn’t take everything. He grabbed only a few notes, then melted into the crowd as swiftly as he had appeared.
Moments later, as my pulse began to settle, I heard familiar voices calling my name. My aunt and elder cousin were waving, smiling warmly as they approached. Relief flooded through me.
That day remains unforgettable – a journey that took me on an emotional roller coaster, revealing the two extremes of human nature: the kindness of June and the cruelty of a desperate stranger.
