Before you read this, I would like to say that this story is similar to the 1st draft.
It was the year 1909 and I was a skinny, undernourished ten year old boy with the typical single long plaid behind my back. There was civil war going on in the country of my birth, China. As the only grandson of my family, it was my responsibility to carry on my family’s surname, Lim. My family had borrowed money for the boat passage for me to Nanyang. They thought I would have a better chance at earning a better life. My father had signed up to work as a coolie in Singapore’s port and I was to go with him. I puked several times in the crammed boat as the sea was choppy.
When we arrived in Singapore, we stayed in the Hokkien Huay Kuan clan’s quarters. Since my father only could afford to pay for a bed space, he slept on the floor, leaving the dilapidated rattan bed to me. The room was filled with many men. It was stuffy, dark and my senses were assualted with the stench of sweat and smoke. There were so many mosquitoes and flies around. It was also scary to go out in the dark to relieve myself.
At dawn very morning, my father and the men would go to work, leaving me to my devices. That was when I missed my mother the most. I kept playing her last words to me in my mind. She told me to listen to my father, not to get into trouble, to make good use of my life and never to cut my plaid. I would hug my one set of well mended spare clothes tightly. I made friends with the ‘tok tok mee’ man and I would help out at his stall to earn myself a few cents. I got to eat half a bowl of plain noodles too.
When my father returned at night, I helped him cook porridge with firewood. I always had a bowl of watery porridge with black bean sauce. Sometimes my father would fry me an egg and I was over the moon. After dinner, I would go to listen to the story teller tell stories. Once in a while, my father visited the letter writer to help him write a letter home and he would send whatever money we could spare.
My father was introduced to opium and he became addicted. He often borrowed money from the triads and when he could not pay back, he got beaten. I constantly went to the temple to pray for my family in China and for my father and I desperately hope my ancestors’ gods would answer my prayers.
One day I saw my father talking to a neatly dressed braidless Chinese man with weird looking clothings and pointing at me. Later that night my father told me he had agreed to let me be that man’s son and I had to change my surname to Tan. I would be able to attend a mission school and I would never be hungry again. I burst into tears and begged my father to let me stay with him but father said it was the best way for me to better my life and when I grew up, I could look for my mother and sister and look after them.
That night while my father was sleeping together with the cacophony of snores, I gathered my one set of tattered clothings and quietly slipped away into the frightening darkness. I had decided that I would not let my ancestors down by changing my surname into a Tan. As hot tears ran down my cheeks, I told myself I was not going to be disobedient to my mother by cutting my plaid, it was the mark of a proud Chinese man; and what happened if my mother could not recognise me anymore? I walked and walked along the five foot ways until I was dog tired, passing by many vagrants who made themselves comfortable sleeping on newspapers lined along the five foot way. Soon I melted amongst them covering myself with a large sheet of Nanyang ‘Siang Pau’ I had picked up from the ground.
And so my days were passed by my wandering around the alleys, rivers and climbing trees. Sometimes I would join in the mindless games of skipping ropes, throwing marbles and hide-and-seek with other children along the five foot ways. Often, their mothers would chase me away after seeing how grubby I was. When my stomach growled, I would take food at the roadside left by worshippers who left food offerings to the earth god. When I felt brave, I would even go to the temples and steal the buns and fruits left at the alters by worshippers, hoping the gods would understand and forgive me. Sometimes I would earn my keep by running errands for the shop keepers. However, often they bullied me and did not pay me for my efforts. The nights were the worst, before I went to my spot to sleep, often I would surreptitiously go and check on my father. He was also reduced to sleeping outside the clan association. He was unkempt with wispy hair straying out of his plaid. His face was sallow and he was always coughing and spitting out to the ground. I caught him being kicked and beaten by the triad’s men until he lay writhing on the ground. One night he was beaten so hard that blood flowed freely from his nose and mouth, he was beaten with thick logs until he was bruised blue black all over. He lay on the floor limply as if all his bones were completely broken. I was very frightened and wished I could chase the bullies away but I could only watch silently from behind a pillar across the street. When the bullies had gone, I ran swiftly to my father and held him in my arms. That was when I made a decision – I would go and live with the neatly dressed plaidless man and call him father. I told my father my decision and saw him give me a forlorn smile.
Hence, that was how I became George Tan Wei Lin. I attended a mission school and learned English. I was always smartly dressed with my hair combed with grease. I spoke to my adopted father in English and my adopted mother and grandmother in Malay. I learned to eat spicy food. My new family treated me well but whenever I could, I would go and look up my birth father who continued to work at the dock. He had managed to kick his addiction, probably his guilt at being a disappointment to his ancestors helped him to do so. As for my birth mother, I may not see her for a long time, and I have started to forget the dialect we used to speak…
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