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The Aftermath.
Bitched on: Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Time: 9/27/2006 03:25:00 PM
(See My Traumatic Holiday before proceeding.)Time: 9/27/2006 03:25:00 PM
Having 'lost' a phone on the bus and having someone snatching it away from your very hand are so different.
God, I felt his hand on my hand. I did...
All the time after he took my phone, I was thinking I had to wash my hands. To wash away the stink on my hand.
I felt his filthy stealing hand on my right hand. I felt filthy...
Furthermore, I saw my phone being snatched away from my hand, right in front of my face.
I saw him about to drop my phone but managed to catch it at the last minute.
I saw that he was wearing orange... Orange.
And I saw him speed of with my phone... just like that.
Now, I can't close my eyes without my mind replaying all that.
I can't sleep without 'seeing' it.
Its like a nightmare.
Its just a handphone, I know. You can always get a new one.
My family and friends have been consoling and jokingly telling me that its a good excuse to get a new phone.
I know...
Its not just that. He snatched something away from me. Its not just a phone. Its something non-physical. Something emotional. He took away my sense of security.
I feel so scared now if I'm left alone.
I had to have my non-Muslim friend accompany me down to the hotel's restaurant for sahur (early morning breakfast for Muslims who are fasting during the day) at 3 o'clock the morning after.
I was really scared to go down on my own, something I did alone for the last two mornings .
I have become so paranoid.
I am starting to look at Malaysians especially Malays differently now.
I know I shouldn't. But I can't help it.
I look at them with so much hate.
Yes.
I hated every single Malays... Mats. Mat motors...
How could they do this? To one of them? I hated them all.
I am sure this is just a passing phase. At least I hope so, otherwise I can't look into a mirror without hating myself.
I know not all Malaysians are like that.
There are the kind people just like the taxi driver who comforted me as we headed back to our hotel (post-theft) and the chambermaid who folded my clothes and left them nicely on the table.
Heck, I have a lot of Malaysian friends.
And I don't hate you. But its just... fear and disgust.
Hell, it could have been an Indonesian in the first place. People from my mum to the tour guide to the taxi driver were speculating that it was a foreign worker. I don't care, Indon or Malaysian... someone stole my phone!
And I am so fearful of bikes now. Sounds silly, I know. But everytime I hear one passing by, my heart skips a beat. My face pales. I am that traumatised...
You will never know how I feel unless you have been robbed or you were a victim of some other crime.
Its not just having something stolen from you. Its not only the materialistic thing.
There is this tremendous sense of lost, hopelessness, fear, disgust and regret.
Its a feeling that you have been violated...
I feel so victimised. So cowardly.
I used to imagine myself kicking the ass of anyone who would harm me or my family.
I had imagined myself doing some flying kicks and kungfu chops against the perpetrators, some serious ass-kicking.
But now, all that is gone.
And I went to KL, thinking I know it like the back of my hand.
But now, I don't.
KL is dead to me now.
I know it sounds dramatic but I will never step into Malaysia ever... Or anywhere out of Singapore for that matter.
I am a victim of a crime. Something I wouldn't have imagined I would be. I took Singapore's low crime rate for granted. And I thought it would be the same everywhere... (I know Singapore is far from being a safe haven but I haven't had anyone I know gone through anything like that here)
I know its just a handphone.
But I would feel just as crappy if he took an old phone or a lollipop for that matter!
He took something of mine.
So many things went through my mind when that phone left my hand into his in that split second.
But yet I was able to think rationally.
I was thinking clearly enough to think of ways to stop that motherf#cker from getting away.
I wanted to fling something at him. Anything.
I wanted to fling my sling bag but my mind was sensible enough to reason that if he caught my bag, there goes my digital camera too.
I had thought of flinging my plastic bags (of tees I just bought at Pertaling Street earlier) but the bags were twisted around my wrist.
I had thought of giving chase, but my legs were not responding. I just stood there, hoping the phone would slip out of his hand (which almost did).
I was hoping he would drop the phone onto the ground. I would rather the phone fall on the hard road, the last wheel running over the phone than him stealing it.
I was clearheaded enough to try to look at the license plate but my contact lenses were kinda blurry. And it was dark.
Nasty as this sounds, I had hoped the bike would get knocked down as the bike turned into the mainroad from the bend. A fatal accident... Their just desserts.
And I hoped beyond hope, that they were fooling around and returned the phone to me.
I did. Stupid, I know. But I did hope that.
I had hoped it was a prank.
I hoped and I hoped. But when the bike rode away, all that evaporated. All my hopes. All my thoughts.
As cliche as this sounds but my mind went blank.
I felt empty, hollow... dead.
I felt lost. Disorientated.
My legs wobbled, I forgot I was still standing.
My mouth went dry, I forgot I was still holding my breath.
And my body temperature shot up, despite the cold night.
Literally, my heart stopped beating.
I forgot I was still alive...
For that moment, I lost my will to live. Really. That was how disorientated I was...
I had wanted to dash across the road to give 'chase' but I was hoping a car would knock me down instead. I contemplated suicide. I was that hopeless...
And amongst the hopelessness, I sat down there by the side of the road, waiting for them, hoping they would return my phone to me...
A small glimmer of hope...
I hoped it was all a dream...
I hoped I could rewind all this and do something to prevent all this from happening.
I should have seen the signs...
I should have used my dad's phone instead.
I should have gone back to the hotel with some of my friends instead of going down to Pertaling Street.
I shouldn't have volunteered to walk but instead take a cab back to the hotel with the girls.
We shouldn't have gone to Dataran Merdeka late at night.
I shouldn't have happily take pictures with my phone by the side of the road.
I should have been more careful, seeing all the mat mat motors lepak-ing (loitering) by the pavement or the side of the road.
I should have listened to my friend and head back to the hotel.
I should have seen that the first bike was trying to steal from us.
I knew I shouldn't have taken that last picture...
If only I knew all that.
All that happened so fast.
From the time I snapped my last picture to the time the bike sped off.
Gone, just like that.
He made me feel like shit, a coward, a loser...
He even rode pass me to mock me.
Yes, the two bikes rode past us again.
My friends didn't think so.
But I know.
I know.
I thought I heard one of them shout something in Malay, "Just sitting there?"
That was painful...
They must have planned everything. From having two bikes, one a backup, to waiting for us to reach that bend of the road. Come to think of it, I do remember the two bikes riding into the road and U-turned.
Where they had waited to pounce on us... on me...
They must have done it before. That wasn't their first time, neither would it be their last.
I couldn't report it to the police. They can't help. I couldn't get the license plate number.
What can they do?
The least I can do is warn all you readers to be careful.
Be very careful.
Trust me, having something snatched from your hand is different from losing it because of your carelessness.
It is so much more painful.
And all that time after I walked on the same sidewalk back to the mainroad, I didn't shed a tear. Instead, I felt hatred.
I detested all those bikers loitering at the square.
I was disgusted by the very sight of them.
Especially those who were using their phones. All I could think of was that they must have stolen those phones...
Good-for-nothings. Slackers. Sons-of-bitches. Thieves. Unemployed disgrace to the society. Stupid low class morons. Uncivilised babarians. Losers. Criminals!
I had even hoped that all the bikers there would get knocked down by a car one of these days.
I glared at them as we walked along that same road as my friends tried to flag for a cab.
It was only when I alighted from the cab, did I break down and cry. I cried because I was so touched by the taxi driver's kind and comforting words. Not all Malaysians are like that.
And he was right.
I broke down by hotel lobby where we had alighted.
It was strange cause I have never cried so much in my entire adult life.
I sobbed like a baby.
And that was also strange, having laughed so much earlier that day (till I had to throw up) on the rides at the theme park.
But there I was, crying.
Angry, hurt, regretful and hopeless...
And I sobbed some more when I called back home to my family.
I felt really bad. I felt like a disappointment.
If only I had called more often. My Mum and sisters would have warned me not go out late at night or flaunt my valuables.
I blame myself.
I hate myself more than those who stole my handphone.
I blame myself for everything...
But on the other hand, I curse all those sons of bitches.
May you all die of horrible deaths.
Remember, what goes around, comes around...
PS: Thanks, Weiqi and Gilbert. God bless your souls.
Labels: handphone, snatch theft
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