“Always me! Every time, must be me,” she grumbled as she walked over to the tree and plopped herself down on the rock beside him. “There’s so many other girls just sitting there watching, but nooo, it’s always me.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“The boys. Abang Razali wants me to run. I’m not a runner. I’ve never run before. How can I take part?”
“Of course you can run.”
“No, I can’t. Do you know who they want me to race against? That Chinese girl, Cindy.”
“So?”
“She’s the school runner! I’m not. I’ll lose for sure.”
“You haven’t even tried. How do you know? I saw you that other day—even in your baju kurung, you outran Guan and his boys.”
She remembered. After religious class, she’d bumped into Guan and his gang outside the Chinese grocery. They tried to block her, maybe tease her—but she ran. Fast. Straight toward the community center. The malay boys were playing badminton, and when they saw her running, they came out. Guan and his gang turned back immediately.
“So why can’t they ask the other girls?” she huffed. “Plenty of them sitting around. What’s the point of being there if they’re not doing anything?”
“They’re not you,” he said simply. “Razali knows you can do it. Come on. Just try.”
He paused, then grinned. “I have an idea. When you’re running… imagine Guan and his boys chasing you again. You’ll run like lightning.”
She stared at him. “Not funny. I swear, I’ll punch you in the face.”
“Okay, okay! No laughing. Just give it a try. Go—they’re calling for you.”
They gathered at the starting line—Chinese boys and their lone female runner on one side, Razali and his team on the other. Selvam, acting as referee, stood in the middle.
At the community centre, the adults were busy preparing to welcome their newly elected MP. Her father was among them, helping to hang decorations.
He looked over and called out: “Children—no quarrelling, ah! We’re expecting a very important visitor!”
“No, Pak Cik! No quarrelling!” the children chorused back.
“All right, listen. These are the rules,” Selvam said, standing straight, arms folded, eyes scanning the group like a seasoned coach. He was serious. Always was. Selvam stayed at the rubber plantation on the fringe of the kampong, where most of the Indian families lived. He went to the same school as Nonie and Razali — known for his long legs, fast sprints, and always coming in first during the 800-metre races on sports day. He wasn’t just fast. He was fair. The other kids liked him. Respected him. Even if they teased him about bringing school rules into kampong games.
Today was no different. “Listen up,” he continued, drawing a chalk line in the dirt near the starting point. “No cheating. Anyone caught cheating, your team is disqualified. Automatic win for the other side. Understood?”
“Yes!” the children chorused, giggling but attentive.
He pointed toward the far ends of the route. “I’ve stationed my boys at key points. They’ll be watching. You all agree on the route, right?” More nods.
“Okay. This is the line. You can only pass the stick within this 3-meter zone. If you pass outside of it—you’re out.”
Nonie watched as Selvam moved around with his usual quiet authority, laying out rules like he was officiating a real tournament. He probably was imagining this was the SEA Games, she thought. But honestly? They all loved it.
Selvam made the game feel like it mattered. “The boys run first. The last runner is the girl. The one who crosses the finish line first—that’s the winner. I’ll be there to judge. Any questions?”
“No!” all shouted in unison. The first runners crouched at the starting point. The whole field went silent. Selvam raised his red handkerchief high. Then dropped it. They were off.
When her turn came, she stood at the handover line, hands trembling. “Oh man. How did I get into this?” she whispered to herself. “I can’t run. I can’t run.”
She saw him from afar, giving her a thumbs-up. You can do it. Say you can. Run, run, run! The Chinese boy came into view first. Rahman followed, five meters behind. She reached out, hand ready. Cindy already had the stick and was taking off. Then Rahman passed her the baton—and she ran.
They passed the first kampong, younger kids cheering on either side. Cindy was still ahead. “She’s good,” the voice in her head said. “But you’re better. Close the gap. Just a little more. You can do this.”
They climbed the hill into the second kampong. Cindy was slowing. “You’re a hill climber. This is your chance. Go. Go now.” By the time they entered the third kampong, they were side by side. Breath matching breath. Step by step.
At the community center, the guest of honor had arrived, surrounded by smiling adults. But as the commotion caught his attention, he turned to watch the race. The two girls were neck and neck, running towards the finish line. Children shouted their names—Nonie, Cindy, Nonie, Cindy. Her legs ached. Her lungs burned. But her spirit held. “No… you’re not getting ahead of me,” she thought, pushing herself.
“Our girl crossed first!” shouted Razali and the Malay boys.
“No! Ours did!” shouted Guan and the Chinese boys.
Selvam looked unsure. He called over his “boys,” and they huddled.
Before a decision was made, a gentle voice cut through the noise. “Children… children…” The special guest stepped forward, smiling warmly.
“You both did well. To me—you’re both winners.” The adults nodded, clapping.
“This is what I like to see—our children, playing together. No fighting. Just effort and heart.” He turned to the assistant and whispered something. They exchanged looks with the committee members, who beamed with approval.
The announcement came: “Because today is such a special day, En. Shaari is sponsoring a movie next week here on the field!”
“Hurray! Movie! Movie!” the children cheered.
“What movie?” someone shouted.
“Tora! Tora! Tora!” came the answer.
“Hurray Tora! Tora! Tora!”
“And everyone gets ice cream!” The children scattered, running towards the grocery shop. Among them, the pair everyone called The Siamese Twins. She paused for a moment, turned back.
Her father stood watching proudly. She waved. He waved back. She knew—without needing words—he was proud of her.
Later, in the quiet of her room, she smiled as she placed the photographs on the wall above her desk. There were others. Pictures that had travelled with her over the years. Memories. Moments. A photo of a young girl and boy, walking with books in their hands, laughing. She didn’t frame them for decoration. She framed them for remembrance. They were her quiet companions through lonely nights. Proof that she had always been someone worth becoming.
“There she is!” her roommate called out as Nonie opened the door. Behind her, several girls followed.
“Come, come—let’s all gather here. The Chinese girls said they’ll join us later.” They streamed in, their voices light and familiar.
“Ah, hello…” Nonie smiled as she recognised most of them—ten girls in total, all Malay. All Assistant Nurses like her. All from different hospitals. She had met them during the interview, and worked alongside a few during her various postings.
Tomorrow, they would all begin together at the School of Nursing—the first day of their student nurse training. Nonie had chosen to stay in the hostel. Not because her house was far—it wasn’t. She didn’t have to stay in. But she wanted to. She told her mother it was to save on transport. More time to study. More focus. But deep down, she knew the real reason: freedom. Space to think. And maybe… it would be easier for Poh Poh to meet her. He could take the train, and they could meet halfway at Chinatown—for dinner, for walks, for time without eyes watching.
Her father had seen right through her reasoning. He didn’t object. “I know you want to be on your own,” he said gently. “It’s good. Independence is good. Just… take care. I trust you know your limits.” “I do,” she said softly. “You don’t need to promise me anything,” he added, placing a hand on her shoulder. But she gave it anyway. “I promise I’ll never let you down. You’ll be proud of me.” Her father looked at her the way he always did—with quiet pride, and a touch of wonder. “I used to worry about you, you know,” he said. “What you’d grow up to be. But now… I see it. You’ve become someone good. I know you’ll be alright.” “Study well. Work hard. Never forget your duty.”
“I won’t.”
“What are you doing?” Masita, her roommate, asked. “Unpacking my things,” Nonie replied, carefully laying out her books and personal items. One of the girls, Samsiah, came over and picked up a photo from her desk. It was the picture of the VIP surrounded by the children of the kampong, the one she had just pinned to the wall.
“I know this man…” Samsiah said, leaning in. “Isn’t that En. Shaari Tadin? The MP for Kampong Chai Chee?” Nonie nodded.
“Yes. Before that, he was also the MP for Kampong Ladang—where I lived before we moved to Chai Chee”
“Kampong Ladang… wasn’t that near Jalan Ang Teng?” Samsiah asked. “I heard many families from there were resettled in either Bedok or Chai Chee.”
“Ya, that’s right. After we moved, he eventually became the MP for Chai Chee too.” She smiled as the memory returned. “My father was one of his greatest supporters. During election time, he’d be the busiest man in the kampong—running around, putting up banners, organising events. He said they went to school together. So when En. Shaari entered politics, he pulled my father along.”
The other girls were chatting away in little pockets of nervous energy, voices rising and falling across the room. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through the training,” sighed Kak Aminah, sinking into a chair. “My head already rusty. Cannot retain anything. I’m so worried now.”
Everyone knew Kak Aminah—even the Chinese A/Ns who had trained at Alexandra Hospital during their PAN postings. She was the most senior A/N among them, and a legend in the CSSD department. Always smiling, always helpful. Whenever a trainee messed up during their sterile handling practical, she’d quietly step in to fix it—no scolding, no drama.
So when word got around that Kak Aminah would be joining them in the student nurse training, there was real excitement. “You’ll be okay, Kak Minah,” one of the girls said.
“We’ll help you.”
“Help how?” she groaned. “I heard this training is no joke. So many things to learn. I’ve already forgotten all my A&P. Now must start from scratch. Just imagine—after six years!”
“Ahhhhhh—but I have a strategy,” Nonie piped up, eyes twinkling.
“Wait—let me show you something.” She dashed to her cubicle and returned with three plastic folders.
“What are those?” asked Samsiah, leaning over to peek.
“From a Staff Nurse. She was like us—used to be an A/N, then went through this training. She gave me her notes before she left the ward. You know she got distinction in both medical and practical nursing, and a credit in surgical.”
“Wahhh. Serious?”
“Yes! And she told me her secret.”
“What is it?”
“She said—don’t study hard. Study smart.” Everyone leaned in closer. “She said studying hard is not enough. You must know how to study. So here’s what she did…” She opened the folder and laid out her plan.
“We form a study group. Everyone must participate. Share notes. Teach each other. Use our own experience to explain things—not just memorise.”
“But they’ll mix us with the fresh intake students,” Kak Aminah protested. “You know those freshies… young, brain still sharp. We’re all rusty already. How to compete with them?”
“Not necessarily,” Nonie said. “You forgot—we have something they don’t.”
“What?”
“Experience. Most of us have been working in the wards for two years or more. We’ve seen what they’re still reading about. That’s our advantage.” Kak Aminah raised an eyebrow.
“Then how to use it?”
“Listen,” said Nonie, reaching into her folder. She pulled out a handwritten study plan—neatly drawn columns, coloured tabs, dates, and topic breakdowns.
“I’ve already started working on this. Weekly goals. Topics to cover. Peer-teaching days. Group discussions.” The girls gathered around her bed, nodding as she explained. They didn’t feel so nervous anymore. They were in it together. And with Nonie leading the charge, the energy shifted—from worry to purpose.
As soon as she made the decision to accept the student nurse offer, she picked up the phone and called her.
“I’m happy you decided to stay,” N had said. “We really need you here. You’re our right-hand person. Once you go, who will be with us? Even if we find someone new, she’ll still need to be trained. You’re a natural. We can never find another like you.” Her voice was still fresh in Nonie’s mind.
They had met for tea at Chatterbox—not long after that phone call. Just the two of them. A quiet table by the window. Two cups of teh. A few shared memories and one very real bond forming between them.
“You shouldn’t have any problem with student nursing training,” N said. Nonie smiled, but her fingers trembled slightly around her cup.
I’m not sure. I’m still worried… that’s all.”
“Don’t be. Let me share something with you. My style,” N said, her voice calm and confident. “Don’t study hard—study smart. Same goes for work. Don’t work hard, work smart. People won’t always appreciate hard work. But if you work smart, they’ll remember you.”
“How do you study smart, though?”
“Let me show you.” She sat there, listening—fully attentive. She had only known N for less than a year, and still couldn’t quite figure out how their paths had crossed so quickly, so tightly.
They’d met during the Advanced CPR course, organised by the Singapore Medical Association. It was held at the College of Medicine Building across from SGH. Nonie had been struggling with ECG interpretation. N came to her rescue. After that, they spent many late evenings doing revision together.
Both passed. “Multiple choice questions will pull down your marks,” N explained. “If you answer wrong, they deduct points. So when you sit for MCQ, you must know at least 80% of the answers. That’s the trick.” Nonie blinked. “Wait… you mean, you all knew the questions beforehand? Papers got leaked?”
“No! No!” N shook her head, firmly. “We never cheat. Never. That’s one thing we don’t do.” She leaned in.
“But we studied the way the questions were set. We worked out the patterns. Even the essay questions—we didn’t struggle. The in-service group in my batch? All of us passed with flying colours. In fact, we did better than the fresh intakes.” Nonie looked at her, a mix of admiration and curiosity growing in her chest.
“So remember this,” N said, tapping the edge of her teacup. “A/Ns are not hopeless. You just need the right strategy. The right formula.”
“And the right people,” Nonie thought.
Two weeks ago…..
She entered slowly. The High Nursing Officer everyone half-jokingly referred to as “the Fairy Godmother”—was sitting at her desk, phone to her ear. As soon as she saw Nonie step in, she ended the call without a word.
Her face was unreadable. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “Hmmmm. You again.” A pause. “This is your third time in here, am I right?”
Nonie nodded. “Yes.”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
Chpt 30 / 36
