As far back as I can remember I always wanted to be a fireman. Not just any fireman. I want to be the guy that drives the fire engine. The fire engine is the bomb. It’s big, it’s fast and it has sirens. Get out of my way or I’ll ram your ass. I would also like to be the guy that holds the fire hose. I’m not much of a hero so don’t expect me to break down doors and barge into burning buildings to save people. Giving morale support while dousing the fire with my hose from 20 meters is good enough.
It all started on one particular lantern festival when I was about 6 or 7, my friends and I decided on making a bonfire instead of playing with lanterns. we were so engrossed in building the fire that it got out of hand. Putting my little toddler brain to work, I took out my penis and start pissing on the fire. We’ve seen it many times in the movies, water puts out the fire right? From that instance I wanted to be a fireman. How wrong I was. Burning candle wax, water and a very hot metal plate just doesn’t mix well. It was a good thing I was at that age and I didn’t have any pubic hair, the fire crackled and jumped up almost roasting my manhood. Don’t play with fire kids! When you least expects it, the fire will jump up and bite you where you least expect it.
When I was into primary school I was made a school prefect. That kind of rocked. Later I decided that I wanted to be a policeman. Being a prefect and a police is almost similar right? We catch the bad guys and maintain order. Now before you read any further, I’m not implying or suggesting anything. This story is about me and what I would do. I had this conversation with my Dad when I told him the good news:
Dad: don’t ever take money from students
Fawked: why?
Dad: cause its wrong
Fawked: why would I ever want to do that?
Dad: sometimes if they do something bad they will bribe you money so you wont report them
Fawked: ok
It wasn’t much of an advice, I took it more like a hint. It got out of hand after some time. I started extorting money from innocent kids. I threatened to frame them. It was actually quite a lucrative business. But one fine day somebody reported me to the disciplinary teacher. Boy did I get my ass kicked by the teacher. Kids get it easy nowadays, if a teacher so much as touches you, you give him a law suit. If they spanked you for sniffing glue in the toilet, you get your daddies lawyer to sue his butt all the way to Bangkok. If a teacher pinched you, you report to the police that you were sexually assaulted in an SM kind of way. During our good old days, when you so much as sneezed without asking permission you get an ass whooping like never before. Back then, teachers were still using chalks on blackboard and they used to have this long yellow wooden ruler. I think it was about 2meters long. It was so long even if you sat right at the back of the classroom the teacher could still jab at you with it like a jousting pole. From then on I decided I didn’t want to be a policeman. What if somebody reported me to the disciplinary policeman? They don’t have rulers, they have guns.
Its tough growing up being able to speak Cantonese, English, Malay and be brown skinned. Primary school kids are dumb, they see a brown kid speaking Cantonese and they think you’re weird. Malay kids see a brown kid Cantonese they think you’re weird. Nobody really wanted to mix with me, at least not the Chinese kids. So I mixed with Malay kids. I used to get bullied quite a lot in school.
Well anyway my dad got tired of me bitching about the bullies and told me to defend myself. He enrolled me in Taekwondo class. That rocked. I loved it. I decided that I wanted to be a fighter. Things turned out pretty well, I got into many fights and I won. When I was 7 I got into this one particular fight with a kid and he stabbed me on my arm with pencil. The pencil nip broke and got stuck in my arm. The class monitor brought me to the teacher and she just simply said "good, you naughty boy". Obviously she doesn’t know the severity of the situation? Blood was coming out a little cause the nip was still stuck. Anyway I administered minor surgery on myself with a pair of scissors. I got it out. It never occurred to me at that time that becoming a doctor would be a good choice.
Islamic studies and Morale period would start together. Muslim kids would go to another class room and the non Muslims from that class would come to our class. At first the teacher got me mixed up and sent me for Islamic classes. The whole period I didn’t know what was going on. Anyway they got it sorted out and sent me back for morale studies. In my Morale class I remember there were a few kids that I didn’t like. I was brown and everybody was yellow so I was some what an outcast. So they started making fun of me. I was 9 then. But when I was 9 I found my dads hidden Platoon VCR. When I watched it was shocked at the language. At that age you don’t know what it meant but some how your little conscience kept telling you that the word fuck, mother fucker and asshole aren’t good words. I was shocked. But I still finished watching that movie; 10 times I think. A couple of years later I saw that movie again and I noticed a couple of soldiers were raping a Vietnamese girl. Before that I thought they were just trying to exorcise Satan from her. After watching Platoon I wanted to be in the army.
Anyway back to the story. Starting up my little brain I started using the bad words I learnt from Platoon on them. Not being able to keep up with my superb cursing skills they challenged me to a fight at the school field during recess. There were about 5 to 7 of them and only 1 of me. So I did what I had to to survive. In the ending of Platoon, Charlie Sheen stabbed a few people with his bayonet. Since I didn’t have a gun or a bayonet, I compromised.
During recess they showed up as expected and charged at me… I came prepared. I took out 2 pen knifes that I had bought a few minutes before at the stationary shop. I was going to cut them up. Well of course nobody got cut cause they ran away like little girls screaming "KNIFE! HE GOT A KNIFE! HELP ME!". Anyway the prefects busted me and reported me to my class teacher. I got myself a real ass whooping.
She beat me up like a rag doll and called my parents. I cannot explain how bad she beat me up. She’s very tall, took my right hand and held it up. I was literally standing on my toes. She hit both my hands because those were the hands that were holding the knifes then proceeded to hit my legs like a hundred times with the long yellow ruler. I don’t know why she hit my legs though, maybe she wanted to cripple me. I guess wouldn’t I be able to chase them if I couldn’t walk. But then again, wouldn’t I be able to catch them faster in a wheel chair? That seemed logical at that time anyway. Anyway nothing really happened after that, except for the daily fights. The school got bored at my antics and they made me assistant head prefect. Maybe with the extra responsibility I would behave myself.
When I was about 12 I wanted to be a Pilot because planes were cool. Well it didn’t take any plane crashes to change my mind. When I went into secondary school I started to think straight. I want to be have the best job in the world, and that is not having a job. I would stay with my parents until it was time I inherited the house. I still haven’t inherited anything yet so when I do, this blog will be updated.
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