May 14 2012
Six Hours
Today, my maid ran away.
She couldn’t have picked a better day to pull off this shit. If it was premeditated, she’s really cunning.
Cunning in a sense that it was one of those days any more bullshit will really damage you.
Hamstring injury recurred during field football today. I guess being able to run does not equate to being able to kick a ball. After a couple of defense splitting passes, I realised the old injury never left. But what was I to do? We had not enough substitutes. Played through pain as usual.
Well fine, injuries heal.
At around 2100 hours I reached home and was writing some really long emotional bit on my Mother’s Day card. Intended to go down a level and get my brother and father to write on it too but instead found out that the maid had ran away. Father and brother was out in the vicinity to look for her.
Come 2130 hours, they were back and mother was very upset. Broke my heart especially since it was Mother’s Day. Went to shower and think of my game-plan.
Realised that she left all her things at home. It was supposed to be a short and naughty sneak out of the house but she got caught. She had to come back.
2200 hours. D-Day for my club, Manchester United. Went to the first level as she had the keys to our back door and found a spot where my presence would not be detected by anyone outside my house. Lights and any noise were eliminated. Found it hard to focus on watching the match, since it was almost a done deal pre-match.
2345 hours. Manchester City scored two goals in stoppage time to seal the title. Heartbreak. Reality took around 15 minutes to sink in. That was the best moment for the maid to get in and out without me knowing.
2350 hours. Facebook/Twitter swearing starts.
0000-ish to 0300-ish hours. Time was spent accepting reality, staying focused and not using the golf club I had to protect myself in the worst case scenario where the maid brings a group of hoodlums to rob our house or kill us to smash everything in sight. Call me paranoid. But I don’t take chances on my family’s safety.
0300 hours. Hear the back door opening. Sneaked through the kitchen and to her room. She never saw me coming. Got the keys and we’re safe for now.
0305 hours. Whisky time. I deserve it.
In a nutshell, don’t fuck around with my family’s safety. I’m a loose cannon and a reckless person, but as long as I’m alive I’ll protect them with my life. I will maintain sobriety no matter how much I should not have had to. On any other ordinary night, I’d be knocked out by now, given United’s loss and the hamstring.
Don’t fuck with us Singaporeans. You foreign talents shite may scorn and mock our National Service, but it instills in us values that you will never understand. How fucked up this country is, I’ll still defend it till I die.
And don’t fuck with a sober me. I will think of all outcomes and scenarios and get you in the most logical way. Just ask the UK guy whose life I fucked up when he tried to cheat me. I hope he enjoys the pizzas I’ve ordered for him, the estrangement from his family and the fake lawyer letters. I’m born evil. I just control it very well until you bring it out in me.
Sorry for sounding arrogant and angsty. But no one upsets my mother on Mother’s Day. No one.














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