A Mama Friend

Sundays at home during my childhood were often spent watching English football with my dad, followed by an afternoon matinee. I remember watching many Indian movies as well. I am not sure why. I think it is because the stories were usually quite easy to follow for a kid: Good Guy versus Bad Guy; Good Guy Saves Village; Good Guy Gets The Girl; Comedic Sidekick Leads Village In Celebration. And of course, the courtship dance around some tree.

When my dad watched football, he would be in his singlet and shorts slumped on the sofa end-to-end as if it were a day bed. Sofas in those days were not soft and fluffy; they were metal structures with long vinly cushion seats and backrests. They had wooden arm rests as well.

Our sofa seat had colorful geometric patterns like those found on bags from Zazzle. Two small pieces of formica wood screwed to the frame acted as armrests (a prime example of 1960s furniture) Often, during these afternoon TV sessions, my dad would send me to the provision shop downstairs to buy Guinness stout to enjoy along with his football. He would get me to buy those Rothman and Benson "555" cigarettes too! - Oftentimes in loose ones from a tin.

On some Sundays, I would sneak away to a mama shop located at the end of a row of terrace houses diagonally across ours. The shop was also at the entrance to Sar Kong, an industrial area. Passing vehicles would often stop by to pick up a newspaper or a pack of cigarettes. The shop was also beside a four-storey Chinese primary school, so there were always students there before-and-after school. But because I usually go there on weekends, it was quieter. I would pitch in to help replenish stores for the following week.

One such main activity involved sealing small packets of kiam sirn tee (Hokkien for sweet/sour tibits) with a candle. We would put a little tidbit into a tiny plastic bag, fold the top over a little to form a crease, and then run the crease against a flame. The plastic melts to form a seal. Besides kiam sirn tee, we also sealed packets of kuti kuti and sugar coated candies of many colours.

Kuti kuti was both a game and a thing. As a thing, they were tiny little plastic creatures (animals typically). As a game, you knocked them against one another with your knuckles to see who'd win. It's played on a flat surface and usually starts off about a hand distance away. Then you nudge the creatures closer and closer to one another. Eventually you take that leap of faith to see if you could send your creature onto the other one. If you do, you win.

As kids we often looked out for kuti kuti that had a whipped-up tail. Or any feature that would give an advantage for a win!

The mama he also sold a kuti kuti that was a favourite of mine. It came in the shape of a 'G' (without the horizontal dash, ends knobbed). What this does is you can actually link the kuti kuti up to form a chain. The more you win, the longer the chain is. It was a source of pride to have a long chain of this kuti kuti sticking out of your shorts pocket or one that hung around your neck.

By Primary Six, I had such a long chain of this that it fitted into a shuttlecock tube and then some. It was my precious thing. But I gave this away to a good friend in secondary school when he went away to study in the UK. I've lost touch with this good friend and still wonder if he understood the significance of that gesture. I heard he got into drugs and was jailed. Maybe that's the reason why he never wrote.

My reward for helping to seal the kiam sirn tee was free-play of tikam tikam. In this game, you pay a small sum (5/10 cents) to peel off a piece of paper from a vanguard board. Unfold this tiny slip, then match the number to the one on the board. If it's there, you'll get a prize. Sometimes you get money. It's a game of luck or chance, why when people say "It's tikam tikam!", they usually mean a 50-50 chance of something coming true. Or that an action had a 50-50 chance of success. I believe "tikam" still means gambling in Malay.

Many games and kids paraphernalia in those days came stapled on a vanguard sheet. Stamps, stickers, toys with sweets, etc. If you wanted something, you just rip it off the sheet. One particular toy was this wheel that you would spin holding a looped string between the middle finger of each hand. This loop passed through the wheel via two pin holes. When you pull on the loop after swinging it around a few times under your chin, the wheel spins. You 'fought' one another with this. The one that breaks is the loser. I couldn't care much about the toy but I liked the sweet that came with it. It was a short paper tube with colored ends. Inside was filled sweetened coconut shavings. You tear one end and have a shot (like in drinking whiskey). It was very flavourful and very addictive!

This mama shop was not really a shop. It's more like a 5-foot way stall with its cupboard of wares set into the wall. The cupboard was often large and glass panelled so you could see the sort of wares the mama was selling - typically sundry goods like talcum powder, razors, etc. Or medicines like Sloan's Liniment, Tiger Balm and Axe-brand Headache Oil. By the way, "mama" was how we used to address Indians. For Singhs, we'd call them Bayi (pronounced ba-yee). A game we used to play whenever a Bayi passed by was "Bayi What Color?" This was in reference to the turban he wore. If you didn't respond quick enough, you would get pinched. Sometimes you get even because a Bayi happened to come by in the other direction!

Besides the cupboard, this mama shop also had low trays of sweets and kiam sirn tee laid out in front. Sweets were often sold in glass or plastic jars. In those days, five or ten cents would get you a handful of sweets. The popular ones were Hacks or Hudson. As a mama helper, I often had free helpings of tidbits.

On the other side of the shop, hanging from a nylon string strung between two pillars and shaded from the sun were the toys and games. There was also a low long board set up between two trestles that we used as a sort of a work space. It was here that we sealed and packed the kiam sirn tee.

The mama in question was a tall skinny man. He had a gaunt kindly face that smiled often, no doubt from welcoming too many children to his sweets haven. Like many Indians then, he wore a white sarong. For a top, it was a short-sleeved shirt with a pocket. He reminded me of Indian barbers at those quintessential Indian barber shops: Always smelling nice and dressed crisply.

At night, this mama would stow his store wares into cupboards beneath the glass panels. Then he would board it all up with long planks that slotted nicely sideways with one another. Some of these planks had a rung through which a long iron rod could be run. This had a swivel latch at the end that was secured by a padlock.

When it came time to retire, he would climb his ladder into the alcove above. This is actually quite common at the time. Alcoves above 5-foot ways could be rented. His obviously came with the shop. For security, he would pull up his ladder as well. I noticed he also had a square peephole that was normally covered in the daytime. With this he could spy on the goings-on along the five-foot way while safely ensconced in his 'home'.

I did not speak Tamil nor the mama Chinese... but we got on fine. One time, he even showed me the letters he wrote home. I was very touched.

Over the years, I would drop by whenever I felt nostalgic. He would smile his pearly smile, shake my hand and give me a bar of Van Houten chocolate for old times sake. But because we couldn't speak with one another it got rather awkward after a while. Like a sand dune being slowly whittled away, the area around Sar Kong similarly changed. The children disappeared when the primary school became defunct. I can imagine the drop in income for this mama gentleman because of that. However, one day, his shop simply disappeared.

That was a bad sign indeed. It marked the peak of the many changes that had taken place along Sims Avenue since I moved away. I knew then that my hometown would never, ever be the same again. The place where I had spent many a languid Sunday sealing kiam sirn tee, buying razors for my dad, playing tikam-tikam, helping sell single-stick cigarettes from a 555 round tin, watching boys play basketball in the school next door, etc. would only be a distant memory. Only green painted-over boards are any indication that a kindly Indian gentleman ever lived there.

Next story: First Blood

Backlane Fun

One feature of Geylang (made famous by a red light area) is its many backlanes. They were built when clearing rubbish or night soil buckets was still in practice. The lanes allowed collection of such foul stuff away from the main road.

When sanitation improved, these backlanes were 'shut' and a single low and lone concrete pillar was erected at the ends of the lanes to prevent traffic from ever entering. They thus became safe playgrounds for children to loiter in. Kids only needed to worry when crossing the lorongs (Malay word for street) when to get from one backlane to another. Back in those days, the lorongs were indeed parked with cars on both sides, many climbing the kerbs to avoid the congestion. Kids usually did not have to worry about a fast car zooming along. The narrow lorongs were indeed less than ideal for two-way traffic. It was only much later when the main roads were converted to one-way that these narrow streets followed suit.

In our backlane, many games flourished. Because it was T-shaped, we often played a three cornered soccer game. It sounds like fun but in reality it tested everybody's patience. When is that ball ever gonna come back this way?! we often wondered in exasperation.

Besides football we played basketball as well. There was no proper court so the young workers who worked at a corner welding shop below my home put together a backboard and ring (with net) and hung it on the fence above the alley wall. 

In the evenings, these workers would have a game of three-on-three with one another; I learned quite a few nice moves from watching them. At the time basketball was a big thing in Geylang and many international games were often conducted at the nearby Gay World Indoor Sports Stadium. I am sure quite a few of these young workers were fans of the games there.

The corner welding shop worked only half-day on a Saturday, so on weekends, we kids had this makeshift  basketball court all to ourselves.

There were a few hilarious moments playing basketball in that backlane.

It was all due to a large metal plate the workers had used to cover the floor with. This was to prevent the ground from being further chipped and uneven when metal was beaten or drag over there. This metal plate, lying on the already uneven ground, gave a good "bonk" each time a ball was bounced on it. So a basketball game would come with sound effects. It also came with uncertainty as the ball would bounce away each time it hit the edge or corner of the thick plate. We would also slip on the well worn surface. Overall, it was a fun game of basketball. It was also the only game where the older kids would play with us younger kids - mostly to help make up the numbers. But the older boys were never mean or were bullies.

Being called to play with the older boys was special: it meant you were grown up somewhat. Our chest would swell with pride. But that soon came deflating back down really quickly because basketball is rather a physical game. I still remember the elbow knocks to my head for being a little too short. To get to play, it also helped if you had an older brother. I had one. So I think being a single child back then was realy sucky!

For some reason, another backlane connected to this T-shaped lane was not paved; it remained a sandy patch. It was well and good as we needed a place to play marbles on. With marbles you need to dig a shallow hole in the ground with the heel first - something that could not be done on concrete floors. However, some of us did not like playing in that sandy lane; dog owners would always bring their pets there to poo-poo and wee-wee, causing a stink and fouling our marbles with stuff that was less than charming. 

At the head of this sandy lane was a metal workshop that cut small E-shaped tranformer plates and washer rings. They would dump the excess in the lane. But we would fashion a sakulei-like game (a kind of tossing game) out of those waste washer rings. Sometimes, we used coins instead. But that game soon became a kind of gambling which I didn't like.

At one arm of this T-shaped backlane, we played badminton on a makeshift court. We also played crackers there during Chinese New Year.

With our bicycles, we would race from backlane to backlane - at times being splashed by folks who threw their laundry water out. We slalom around clothing lines or around wooden stools with mattresses left out to dry. Often times we had to duck our heads from makeshift awnings put up to shade trays of drying herbs or swerve to avoid a portly uncle snoozing away on a nylon-stringed deckchair. Yup, the backlanes had a life of its own and we had miles of it as a playground.

Calling friends out to play was not a problem even though we did not have mobile phones then (or residential phones for that matter). All we had to do was to ring our bicycle bells a few times and a familiar head would pop out from behind a kitchen blind or rear door. It's our not-so-secret call to signal that it's playtime now and for our buddies to come join the fun! That chorus of youthful voices still echoes in my head. But if you visit Geylang now, there's nothing but deadly silence. It has been like that for a long time since we moved out. My future eye can only see the old buildings giving way to mulitplex condos and the backlane becoming parking spaces. My childhood times would indeed become a bygone era. 

Next story: A Medium in Changi

Errands

I am not sure if it was because I am the middle child of the family or that I rode my bike well, but I would always end up running errands for my mom when I was a kid. No, I didn't mind it very much because I liked getting out of the house. Also, it was an opportunity to detour, to go roaming around the other parts of Geylang on a legitimate reason, like eat prata at the new hawker centre at the junction of Geylang Lor 1 and Upper Boon Keng Road.

One errand involved buying chap ji kee (a form of numbers gambling). The system involved just 12 numbers, hence chap ji kee (Hokkien for 'twelve numbers'). To win, you must guess right the combination of two numbers - kind of like a simplified version of 4-D lottery. You could bet the numbers in vertical or horizontal fashion. If vertical, the numbers had to come out in the stated order. 

To better her odds, my mom would use a chap ji kee 'dream' book. It's a thick booklet about B5 in size that's dark pink and with pages of of nothing but small pictures arranged in columns and rows. Each tiny picture bore a double number at the bottom. For example, if you had a dream about a comb, you could use its double number to buy chap ji kee with. I kept the family's CJK dream book for a number of years but lost it moving house one time.

The old couple who collected the CJK bets lived in a cluster of atap houses next to a morning market. By the main road was huge tree. The atap lot didn't look legal as there weren't any proper drainage. But the houses had address numbers nailed on them. Quite a few were raised on large stones that were perhaps naturally cobbled together. A leaky passage dribbled down the middle and acted as the central drain. Parts of it were reinforced by broken roof tiles. Much green moss grew on those stones.

At night, the whole place was wet and cold. The atap planks were not in good condition either, with many crippled by rot and decay. The old couple there lived by a single kerosene lamp - a small table one that danced shadows on the walls. If I let my imagination run wild in that dim light, they could be qiang shi (zombies) waiting to devour me. Their neighbours were better off, they had bigger floor space that was covered by a blue and yellow patterned vinyl mat. I would sometimes see a baby crawling about, tended to by a rotund woman with a jolly face. A TV usually blared out from further back.

Once there, I would hand over the cash and rolled-up numbers to the couple and bid my farewell. If it was tontine money, it was recorded in a 555 booklet. On moonlit nights, the wet moss on the stones glistened giving the place a kind of surreal beauty. But I know it must have been rather miserable living there.

Once past the large tree, I would get on my bike and head home. I sometimes walked. Years later, while climbing Mt Ophir, I realised that the place smelt like a dank wet cave with green algae overtones.

Another errand I was often tasked with is the buying of bread. Especially if it was zeem tow lor ti, the local version of the French loaf. Many coffeeshops sold the chef-hat shaped bread, the ones where you would have to shave off the thick brown crust on top before slicing the loaf. The guy who sold this pseudo French loaf came on a bicycle. The bike was equipped with a brown cupboard that opened up at one end that served as a buttering platform. You could buy slices from him and he would Planta or kaya it to your choice. The kaya was of the orange kind: sweet, coconutty and finger-licking good. He also sold our favourite cream buns. They were like sausage buns except that the bread was flavoured with either chocolate or strawberry. This gave them them a two-tone color. Sandwiched in between was cream. Oh, what luscious cream! Kids would peel the bread apart and lick the cream. They still sell these buns at NTUC supermarts but a majority are stale for having been on the shelf for far too long.

This roti man would often come around our place at 6.30pm everyday. But on one occasion, I missed the timing and had to chase him all the way to Mountbatten. I knew I would get a good scolding if I did not bring home the bread. It was the first time I cycled that far from home. It was already dark and the big shadowy angsana trees were scary. But I got my bread and was rather proud of myself. I must have been five or six.

Next story: Backlane Fun

The chap ji kee dream books. Note the number coded pics. 
The pink ones are about the size of a passport.

A Start in Badminton

As a young man, I played badminton pretty well. Well enough to qualify as a national player judging by the competitive matches I used to play against Malaysian and Indonesian state players. But because I had moved to the north of Singapore, coping with the resultant long travel to town and Pre-U studies meant joining a hectic national training scheme (such as the F&N one) was out of the question. (This is an example how a decision to relocate to ulu-dom can affect a person's interests and sporting progress!) But even with all the talent in the world, if it hadn't been for my Geylang neighbour, I would only be good at swatting flies.

My neighbour lived downstairs in that shop that distributed those Ken-Ken cuttlefish snacks. He was one of the sons of the owner. I think he was 15 or something but in our youthful eyes he appeared much older. He was strong and well toned. Each day, I would find him loading the many bundles of goods into those signature VW vans (with the giant cuttlefish signs) that the family owned. The vans were always parked outside the shop along the road at the end of business day.

This young man had younger siblings and all the kids in the neighbourhood loved going to their place for birthday parties. Being in the snack business, there were for sure a variety of snacks and sweets. And despite being busy, they were a very open and friendly family and I recall the many times I would pop into to their shop to play. Their shop was lined with several large shelving rows of cubicle boxes painted green that reached into the ceiling. Into them went giant bags of snacks and sweets. Tall bamboo ladders were used to reach them and I especially loved to climb up on them to hear them creak.

I don't remember the name of this young man but his badminton skills must have been quite considerable at the time. I recall he was once featured in a newspaper competing in a tournament. When we saw that pix, we were all impressed and asked him to teach us the sport. He did not hesitate and proceeded to set up a badminton court outside his home in our common backlane. Our backlane was not as wide as a normal badminton court but that did not matter - we just included the side drains as the court double tramlines. We later drew visible lines over the area with pale blue paint. It was quite fun working together as we kids pitched in. To hold the net, this young man knocked a couple of nails into the opposing walls. When this was done, we were all set to play.

Our parents bought us kids racquets and a net from that Chinese Sin Wah Emporium in nearby Gay World. The net was of dark brown cotton strings topped with a white cloth trim; it was made in China. I think the brand was either Aeroplane or Double Happiness - the same fellas who made those ping-pong bats (and nets).

Whenever we had time, we would go down to our self-made backlane badminton court to play.

I remember this young man teaching us how to serve, hit the shuttlecock, and smash. My brother who is four years older, learnt quickly. He proceeded to play for our primary school team. I wasn't far behind and became the school's youngest member even though at P2, I was deemed too young to compete. Nevertheless, I would follow them to competitions just for the experience.

I remember one time making my way back from the Singapore Badminton Hall in Guillemard Road on my own after a competition. It gave me a sense of accomplishment crossing the unfamiliar lorongs to get back to my home along Sims Avenue. I also saved the 20 cents of bus fare that I usually had to spend.

Around our neighbourhood, we had a bunch of kids who were very interested in badminton, so this young man would come and play with us whenever he could. It was his attitude (a better player taking time to play with novices) that inspired me to train others later. The racket we used then were the wooden sort and I remember mine as having a wooden shaft as well. It was decorated with decals that later peeled. One time I was so excited to play that I didn't bother to go home to get my racquet. Instead, I shouted up to my house on the third floor for someone to throw the racquet down. I'll catch it, I said. Someone did throw the racquet down. It bounced off the floor once before I managed to catch it. I then checked. No cracks. Great!

My father later bought my brother a Yonex racquet. Amazingly, Yonex is still a popular brand today. That first Yonex racquet my brother owned had a wooden frame and a steel shaft - an innovation at the time. I believe it was the B-9100 model, brown with the old logo still. In those days, racquets like these had to be kept in a wooden press to keep them from warping. We sometimes had to clean the strings too as playing in that backlane court meant having shuttles fall into dirty drains. We often had to knock them on the floor first to get the black, icky muck off!

As we got older and busier at school, we saw less of this young man. I wished I remembered his name or that he was around when I last visited Geylang. In badminton I went on to represent my junior college in singles, something I think he would have been very proud of. And we almost won the National Championships if not for a slight technical hiccup. But that's another story!

Previous story: A Firecracker Fight; Next story: Errands

A Privileged Childhood

Reminiscing about growing up in Geylang has made me realize that I actually had quite a privileged childhood. Privileged not in the sense of riches but in the sort of neighbors I had. Many of the shops below my home were some sort of industry. Today, such businesses have all been moved to specially planned industrial estates. Children now grow up instead in separate residential areas. Kids only consume goods and don't get to see how these goods are made.

I used to live along Sims Avenue and below my home, at a corner, was a metal workshop. The folks there beat and welded grills of all kinds - windows, doors, etc. Further up the row was a laundry shop and beside that, a shop that distributed all sorts of sweets and snacks. Remember Ken-Ken Cuttlefish? Its giant cuttlefish logo was painted on their VW vans and stood out like a monster billboard. Of course, there's that noodle and g cheong fun factory I have often spoken about. In an alley from Lorong 17, I've also mentioned before that ice factory and scoop ice-cream maker. Their neighbours were themselves into the lubricant and car parts business. Living amongst them afforded me the chance to see how some things were created, made and even traded then.

(Here, I use the term 'factory' and 'shop' interchangeably. Although purposed differently, they were essentially the same kind of living space. Owners of factories also lived on their premises and their shop fronts were usually boarded up with planks at closing time or shut with those accordion-style metal gates.)

A good friend of my mom's lived on Lor 17. She was called Tan-soh or Egg Aunty. She sold eggs from her farm from her living room. Further along Lor 17 were a couple of printing presses. I used to be fascinated by their tiny letter blocks (made of lead) that were often strewn all over their production floor and also outside along the 5-foot way, especially after a press run. It was here along the corridor outside that they arranged the letter blocks. I remember one day finding a small lead statute of a deity among the litter of blocks. Did the company who made those tiny letter blocks also made such statutes? Or did someone fashioned them out as a hobby?

My aunt dated a guy whose family owned a tailor shop along main Geylang Road. Nothing out of the ordinary except that it was near to a shop that specialized in making straw hats: the kind made from flattened plastic drinking straws sewn together. We used to buy the wide brimmed ones as sunhats! And we also learned to make them on our own (just intertwine two straws into a hexagonal shape strip.)

At Lor 19, a business dealt with raw rubber. Bales of which (painted in white) would come and go from their premises. I tell you, rubber import/export is a pungent, stinking business! Further ahead from this (along Geylang Road) were the usual provision shops and shops selling temple and joss wares. These joss shops also made their own funerary paper houses. Some of these paper houses were rather sophisticated and featured scenery screens that revolved!

At where Aljunied Road intersected with Geylang Road (Lor 22 actually), there's a shop making and selling luggage. My sister's school bag (the small hardcase type) was repaired there once. If you had a design, they would make it for you. Diagonally across from this shop was the post office which itself was near an aerated water plant not far across the road.

Besides these industries, some of the back alleys were also occupied by food businesses. One of my favorite sold starfruit juice from a small wooden cask. Another cooked up delicious Hokkien Mee. Yet another provided neighbors with loh g yuk (or lor bak, a soy-sauce stewed meat). The food businesses might have their own stalls but they were also inclined to send an employee out with a shoulder cart to sell their wares around the neighbourhood. The LGY fella in particular would stop by the coffeeshop below my home. I think I learned to eat chilli from dipping those crunchy loh pig ears in the sauce. Oh, how I miss those loh pig ears! You can hardly find them these days although there was a revival of sorts some years ago. These days there's a surfeit! The stalls are run by Chinese PRC nationals and set up outside neighborhood kopitiams. Their meats, however, have improved a lot. It used to have an orange hue, rather a turn-off look. Still, their stewed chicken feet aren't too bad.

If you ask the older folks, they would remember Sa Kong off Sims Avenue. It is right opposite Lor 17 and was an industrial place as well. I think the industries there dealt with sand  or "sa" and timber. One key plant made Suave hair cream and I was often tasked to go buy some for my mom and sisters. It was supposed to be the best for wavy hair. (Suave or Helena Curtis was one the the earliest factories to support our government in its economic expansion in the 60s, providing jobs for the local populace.) My dad didn't use Helena Curtis products. He would ask me to buy him Tancho (a green waxy hair cream) from the provision shop. It was also sold at the mama shop just outside Sa Kong too.

All these businesses gave character to the place. It was very painful to see them being slowly replaced by closed-up offices and nondescript businesses (usually moneylending businesses). Sims Avenue widened from a two-lane road into a three/four-lane one-way street. There is more traffic now but it's not as bustling anymore. It has become a very transient place full of foreign workers especially from the PRC.

Previous story: Race Riots; Next story: Book of Life

Race Riots

The other day went by like any normal day but it was Racial Harmony Day. I didn't grow up during that violent period of our country's history when races had running street battles with one another. But still, years later, it would come back to haunt my mom and her neighbors.

If you visit Geylang, you'll notice that it consists mostly of three-storey terrace blocks. Shops below, living quarters above, winding staircases behind. I lived nearby Lor 17 that had both terrace blocks and kampong houses (the wooden sort built on concrete pillars quite typical in Geylang). Each of these kampong houses was also fronted by a curved cement staircase that led to a small courtyard. Altogether, it was all quite neat. In those few houses lived a couple of Malay families while the rest were Chinese.

I often went marketing with my mom and siblings to the butcher and veggie shop at the other end of the lorong. One day, on the way back, someone whispered to my mom that "the Malays are beating up the Chinese!" This was a common cry during the earlier race riots!

We could see other people walking away quickly, concern on their faces. Ahead of us, a group had gathered, some holding big sticks. They were just outside the homes of the Malay families. My mom recognised a few of them. One Chinese uncle approached and told my mom to quickly bring the children home. He then added: "Don't worry, we will protect them." By that he meant his group of neighbors would stand guard outside the homes of the Malay families. No riots happened that day but I realised at the time it was something folks from my mom's generation guarded against.

In the past, my mom often told stories of pregnant women being hacked to death, of children being shown no mercy, of running battles between mobs, etc. Oftentimes I wondered if she got her WWII events mixed up. But she lived through the riots, had to hide sometimes, so maybe the violence was either true or worse. Because of the actions of my neighbours, I never felt the need to be on my guard whenever I walked along Lor 17. I knew then that that Malay uncle and aunty would look after me just like they were similarly looked after by others on that scary day.

That was the one and only racial riot incident I've experienced in my time. Although this incident turned out to be just a rumour, I think by then, racial incidents were on the decline or became a non-issue. With HDB housing (and its controlled racial tenancy), the interracial situation became better and we became even more tolerant racially as a result. I can't think of a place when growing up, skin color really didn't matter.

Previous story: The Backlane Wu Ladies; Next story: A Privileged Childhood