5 p.m., 21st July 1964. That day would always be burned in my mind. It was a day of great sadness and also one of great transformation. I was 10 at that time, and I not only witnessed one of the bloodiest and worst riots in Singapore history, I was also dragged into it.
“HELP!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I ran past buildings on the deserted street. Close behind me were a gang of Malay men who have taken upon themselves to liberate the life of every Chinese they saw. They took one look at me, a harmless 10 year old boy, and gave chase immediately, with parangs in their hands. I took off like my life depended on it, which it did. As I dashed from street to street, running faster than I had ever done in my life, no doubt due to the insanely large amounts of adrenaline pumping through my body, I saw a house. It looked like somebody lived in there. Salvation! I sprinted towards the house, my attackers close behind me. As I reached the house, I started banging on the door. “Open the door!! Help!!” I pleaded to the Malay man on the other side of the door who I could not see. ”Help!! They are coming to kill me!!” 5 seconds passed. “Please…..Open the door” tears were pouring down my cheeks. I was at the doorstep but that man just would not open the door to help me! The Malays would be here any second…. I continued to plead. Around me, groups of Chinese and Malays were brutally slugging it out on the street. Another excruciatingly anxious 5 seconds. Just as the Malay gangsters turned the corner, the door flung open and a pair of strong arms reached out and grabbed me. When I saw the big, burly Malay man grab me, my first thought was that he was going to finish what the gangsters started, but then he said a gentle voice said “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me. It’s going to be fine” Through the window I saw the gangsters looking for something in the chaos outside, no doubt me. They saw the house where I was hiding, and their eyes narrowed, as though they had x-ray vision, and they saw me in that house, shivering in fear. After another excruciating 10 seconds, by chance they somehow saw the Malay man. They were surprised and immediately gave him an apologetic look and joined their ‘brothers’ in their war against the Chinese.
“Thank you sir, thank you for saving me” words could not express my gratitude towards the Malay family who risked all their lives to help me from the horrors of racism. I could only thank them profusely “These are dangerous times. Why don’t you lie low for a while until all this dies down?” The kind Malay man asked me. I thought about my parents, caught in the riot at its worst, and figured that they would want me safe from this, at least. Hence, I accepted.
The following 12 days were the most fear-filled ones of my life. The government had imposed a curfew after the first 3 days of rioting. As a result, everyone stocked up on food. This led to a food shortage. The owners of the provision shop took advantage of this, and increased their prices. Food prices shot up faster than a rocket. Many times the Malay family had to borrow food from the neighbors so that we would not starve. I lived in constant fear that the Malay rioters would discover me and kill me or worse.
The riot lasted about 12 days. 12 days of fear and hiding. During that time I vowed to help the community improve the peoples’ lives to the best of my ability. A few days after the riot, I chanced upon my parents looking for me everywhere. They had put up posters with my face just about everywhere. The joy then was immense, it equaled my gratitude towards the Malay family, whom I found out were the Azhar family. After thanking them again, I left them and we soon lost contact, but not before Mr. Azhar gave me a keychain with a bird hand carved in the Malay style. “For good luck” Mr. Azhar explained.
15 years later, I was a young man of 25. I had already set up my own business and was a millionaire, one of the youngest in Singapore. True to my vow so many years back, I donated much of my wealth on charity, improving the lives of many whom I don’t know but who know me. I received many community service awards for my contributions to society.
One day I was in Kampong Glam. I saw this frail Malay old man. This man looked familiar. I knew him, yet I didn’t. His face was a mixture of familiar and unfamiliar. I racked my brains, trying to place find a match in my memory, but to no avail. I know that I knew him, but I just could not remember him. As I was lost in thought thinking about who that old man was, I accidentally bumped into him. “Sorry” I apologized. Still lost in thought, I started to walked off. “Hey young man, “the old man called to me “you dropped your-hey is that the keychain I made?” I turned around. The old man was holding the keychain that I received from Mr. Azhar so many years ago! “Really?” I asked “then that means….” I trailed off. As I looked at the old man closely, I began to see a resemblance. I saw past the wrinkles, the white hair, and I saw Mr. Azhar, the man who saved me from a terrible fate and helped me in my time of need. I immediately greeted him, and soon we started chatting. I realized that he was in a bit of trouble financially. Apparently he got cheated by some conman who said that he would help him ‘invest’ his money. Mr. Azhar gave him a good bit of his money, and the man was never seen again. I remembered how Mr. Azhar helped me in my time of need, so I decided to return the favor. I gave him a cheque to tide him over the tough times and we exchanged contact numbers and addresses.
After finding the man who saved my life, I was determined that I would not lose contact with him again. He and I became good friends and this time, our relationship lasted.
