Once upon a time...

My first lesson in life was probably when I was seven or eight years old. One day I came home from school with a 'new' wallet and my mother asked me where I got it from. She knew she had not bought it for me. I told my mother I found it in school and my mother went ballistic. “You stole it?” she screamed.

“I did not steal it, I found it,” I protested. “Someone had dropped it, I don't know who, so I picked it up.”

The next day my mother followed me to school and marched me to the headmistress' office. I was made to hand over the empty wallet and apologise to the headmistress. The headmistress lectured me and told me that the ‘empty wallet’ must belong to someone. So the right thing to do was to hand it to the lost-and-found department so that an announcement could be made and the owner could come and claim it back.

I was so embarrassed that I never dared pick up anything again, never mind how worthless it may have been.

When I was about 9, I got into a fight with three ‘Melayu’ boys. One of the boys called me “Melayu celup” because I could speak well during English class. Well, I had just transferred there from the 'Mat Salleh' School so what would you expect? By the way, today I can speak well in malay even I can write ‘cerpen jiwang’. Challenge me if you dare.

I took a swing at the boy and landed one on his head. It was not that hard a punch really. I think I hurt my hand more than his head but this happened right in the classroom in full view of the rest of the class so he was not about to let me get away with it.

After school I discovered that someone had let the air out of my bicycle tires. I felt a tap of my shoulder and turned around in time to meet the clenched fist of the ‘Melayu’ boy. The punch got me right in the face and I hit the ground in a total daze. I had never been punched before and the sensation was quite astonishing. It is actually true when they say you will see stars. I did.

I did not dare pick myself up from the ground until the ‘Melayu’boy and his two friends had all walked away. Then, with my face throbbing with pain, one eye puffed up, and my mouth swollen like I had been stung by a bee, I pushed my bicycle to town to pump up the tires again.

By the time I got home I was already almost an hour late and my mother was pacing the floor in anxiety. She was shocked to see my swollen face and I explained what had happened, which was why I was late home from school.

When my father came home from work I expected him to rush to my aid but, surprisingly, he took one look at my face and just said, “Hmph.” He did not follow me to school the following day to complain to the headmaster or to insist that action be taken against the three boys who had assaulted me. The message was quite clear: I was on my own. I got myself into it so I will have to get myself out of it.

From that day on I was very careful about getting into trouble. I knew my father would not help me get out of it so I had to make sure that whatever I did there would always be a back door or escape route in case I needed to beat a hasty retreat. That first 'let down' sort of taught me that I need to strategise and size up the situation. I must assess whether the battle I might be taking on is too big for me to handle. The cavalry is not going to come to my rescue if I screw up.

The lesson I learnt from this is: you are on your own. No one, not even
your own father, is going to bail you out