They broke the news to me last night when I came back from duty. The ward had been its usual chaos, but I’d managed to leave earlier than expected because one of the senior staff nurses had offered me a lift home.
I was on morning duty the next day, so I was already thinking about an early night. But as soon as I stepped into the house, I knew something was wrong. Mom was crying, her shoulders trembling as Miriam sat beside her, gently massaging her back. Father stood by the window, the curtains half-drawn, his gaze fixed on the darkness outside.
When he turned to look at me, there was a sadness in his eyes that spoke before his mouth could. On the coffee table lay a plain envelope, my name written on it in Sharil’s hand. Father picked it up and passed it to me without a word.
“She came earlier,” he said meaning Sharil’s mother. I sat down, opened the envelope, and pulled out the letter. The handwriting was steady but heavy, each word weighed down. It was full of regrets, apologies, and pleas for forgiveness. I didn’t read it all. I folded it in half, slipped it into my bag. I already knew what it said.
It happened on an ordinary Sunday afternoon. I had just come back from my morning shift when the doorbell rang.
When I opened it, there stood Sharil and beside him, his mother.
They stepped in with polite smiles, his mother holding a small paper bag of fruit.
Over tea, she spoke warmly to my parents, almost as if I weren’t in the room. And then, without preamble, she said she had come to ask for my hand in marriage to fulfil her late husband’s last wish: that their eldest son marry the youngest daughter of his dearest friend.
My parents’ faces lit up. I hadn’t seen my father smile like that in years. My mother’s eyes shone with quiet excitement.
I glanced at Sharil. He didn’t say much, just gave me a small, uncertain smile, as though waiting for me to speak.
And in that moment, I thought of Suresh. I thought of the time I’d asked him not directly, but enough for him to understand about our future. He had laughed, made light of it, turned my question into a joke. It had stung more than I wanted to admit.
Looking at my parents’ joy, I felt my chest tighten. I didn’t have the heart to say no.
“Yes,” I heard myself say. My parents were so delighted. From that day on, the wedding planning began. Or rather, their planning began. I let my parents take the reins entirely, telling them, “Whatever you decide, I will follow.”
Guest lists, menus, flower arrangements — I stayed on the edges, nodding when they asked for my opinion, even when I had none to give. The truth was, my mind was elsewhere. This wasn’t my dream taking shape it was theirs.
And Now this ! There was no shock. No anger. Not even hurt. The only thing that caught in my throat was seeing my mother’s tears. Even without the details, I understood his reasons and I didn’t blame him.
In a way, I was grateful it happened now, and not after the marriage. I had a case presentation scheduled for tomorrow during the unit meeting with our Higher Nursing Officer, followed by another with a group of second-year student nurses attached to our ward.
I had been working closely with the ward’s Clinical Instructor, who had asked me to assist with both the second-year students and the Pupil Assistant Nurses. There was no room for distraction not now. I couldn’t afford to get emotional. The last thing I wanted was to sabotage my own work after days of preparation.
I felt honoured that the Higher Nursing Officer had entrusted me with this presentation. Usually, it was the Staff Nurses who took the lead, but with our ward staff swamped with patients, the Ward Sister had chosen me to represent them.
It was my chance to show I could do more than the routine duties of an Enrolled Nurse.I cancelled my leave without hesitation. The Ward Sisters were surprised, even sympathetic.
They urged me to take the vacation anyway, to “clear my head,” but I shook my head. “What would I do at home?” I told them. At least here, in the ward, I could keep my mind and my hands occupied. At least here, I could breathe without thinking too much.The ward had become my sanctuary: a place where I could lose myself in the rhythm of work, where whatever weighed on my mind could be locked away in the staff locker with the rest of my personal belongings.
Once I stepped onto the floor, it was as though the outside world no longer existed. Now I understood what my old roommate in Toa Payoh had meant when she once told me, “As soon as I put on my uniform, I feel like a different person. You don’t have a name or a religion or a race. You are what you represent : The Nurse.”
I remembered the times I had gone to find her in her ward. I’d call her name and she wouldn’t respond. Frustrated, I’d raise my voice: “Nurse! I need to talk to you!” Only then would she turn to me.
Back then, I thought she was ignoring me on purpose. But later, she explained: “It’s good to feel like you don’t belong. When you become a nobody, nobody can hurt you anymore.”
I didn’t fully understand it then. I do now. And she was right it does feel good.
After duty and the presentation, I decided to go to the club for a swim. There was no reason to go home I wanted to disappear for a while, somewhere no one would think to find me. The pool seemed like the most logical place.
At this hour, it would be almost deserted the crowd wouldn’t arrive until after 5 p.m. I always kept an extra swimsuit and goggles in my locker for days like this, when the urge to swim came suddenly.
As I walked toward the pool, a memory returned a Sunday evening at MacRitchie Reservoir. She and I had sat on the grass while the school band played, their music drifting across the open-air theatre. She had just finished her run and joined me while I was making an entry in my journal.
The late sunlight dappled the water, and I remember wishing I could sketch it MacRitchie would have made the perfect picture. She told me then, “Water reminds me of purity, calmness, and peacefulness. But deep within, it holds secrets and wonders you can’t understand until you dive in. When you reach the bottom, there’s a stillness, a place untouched by the chaos above. And when you rise again, it’s as if you’ve been cleansed. In the water, you can be invincible. You don’t need to explain to anyone why you’re there, or what you’re doing. It’s your own world.”
Standing at the edge of the pool now, I understood exactly what she meant. It felt good to be in the water to feel its coolness wrap around me, its weightlessness carrying me forward. I wanted to be the water. To dissolve into it. To be invisible.
“How?” I had once asked her. She didn’t answer, just smiled and said, “Maybe when the time is right, you’ll understand.”
For a while, as I swam, I forgot. In my mind, I was far from the pool, out in a blue, endless ocean, swimming without fear, without caring if there would be land ahead. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep moving, to follow a journey without borders, without end.
The voice of Barbra Streisand echoed in my head: “I feel like a train on a perilous track, with no way to stop and no way to go back…” The words matched the rhythm of my strokes. “…Like a snowball that’s gathering speed down a hill…” Faster, and faster, until my muscles burned and my lungs ached.
A sharp cramp seized my leg. I pushed through, forcing the last lap out of what little strength I had left. I reached the far side of the pool, gripping the edge with both hands, panting hard. Slowly, I focused on my breathing, letting the ache fade.
That was when I noticed him. A figure stood on the veranda of the second floor, still and watchful, overlooking the pool. He was looking down at me.
“You know what you just did?” he said as soon as I stepped out of the change room. “You just broke the club’s 200-metre freestyle record. You should seriously think about entering the club swimming meet.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re teasing me again.”
“No, I’m not. I had my stopwatch with me. You really broke it.”
I shook my head. “Nah. No competition for me. I swim because I love swimming. Competition spoils the fun. So… how long have you been standing there watching?”
“Long enough to see what I wanted to see.” His tone was light, but there was something deliberate behind the words.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for my hand. “Let’s go for a walk. Our usual place.”
I let him lead. In that moment, I didn’t feel like resisting anyone’s suggestion. Sometimes it’s easier to go with the current and see where it takes you. Don’t think, just move. Halfway down the road, he stopped suddenly and began rummaging through his jeans pockets.
“Damn! I left my wallet in the toilet! Wait for me here. Please don’t run away from me again...…” I didn't.
I stood there waiting in front of a row of two storey shop houses, as he run back towards the clubhouse. An egg landed right in front of me. I looked around searching, saw eyes peeping through the window in one of the shop houses. I could hear giggle, saw several pebbles lying on the side of the road, collect them in my hand, aim at the window where the giggles were heard, and throw the stones directly at them.
“hey! Who throw stones at us?" Somebody shouted
“That is for the egg you throw at me... next time I will throw bigger stones!” I screamed back. Suresh rounded the corner just in time to see me in mid-throw.
“What did you do that for?” he asked.
“They threw an egg at me.”
He gave a short laugh. “You know who those people are?”
“Who?”
“Transvestites.”
“Why would they throw eggs at me? I’ve done nothing to them… and this isn’t the first time.”
He shook his head, still laughing, and took my hand. “I’ve never seen you react like that before.”
“So? Do you feel good about it?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Next time, they’ll think twice before throwing anything at me again.” And with the last stone in my hand, I took careful aim at the window, thunk! — before tossing the remaining pebbles aside and dusting my hands.
Suresh burst out laughing as he pulled me away. We walked to Serangoon Road, caught a bus from Tekka Market to East Coast, and got off at Marine Parade. At the hawker centre, Suresh ordered dinner, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat.
I sat across from him, watching him eat, my thoughts elsewhere.
Afterwards, we strolled along the beach toward the jetty. The sound of the waves and the salt in the air slowly eased the sharpness of the evening, though the sting of the egg — and my quick retaliation, still lingered in my mind.
“Why didn’t you call me?” His voice was quiet, almost cautious.
I laughed without humour. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hello, Suresh… guess what, I just got dumped two weeks before my wedding.’ You think I wanted to hand you that kind of story? To be your next joke?”
His brows drew together. “Joke? How can you say that? You’ve never been a joke to me.”
“You did,” I said sharply. “When I told you about my parents wanting me to get married do you remember? You laughed. You made jokes. And I realised… maybe I was only ever something to laugh about. All this time I thought there was something special between us… or maybe I just wanted to believe it. I was wrong.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt heavy.
“No,” he said finally, his voice lower now. “You’re not wrong, and you’re not a fool. Look at me. Look at what I have nothing. And those men come for your hand in marriage? Polytechnic lecturers, Police inspectors, Businessmen, Internal auditors. What am I compared to them? A medic in the army. I’m the joke, not you. You deserve better. Your parents are right, they’re only thinking of what’s best for you.”
I held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, searching for something I don’t even know what.
“I just want to be alone right now,” I said at last. “Away from everybody. I’ll be okay. This is something I have to go through on my own.”
He nodded, but his eyes stayed on mine, as if there was more he wanted to say. And then he looked away.
“No, you don’t have to. I’m so angry right now I want to punch his face. How can he do this to you?”
I stared at him. I had never heard Suresh speak like that before. It wasn’t in his nature to hurt anyone.
“Would it make anything better?” I asked quietly. “What’s done is done. The wedding’s off. Better it happens now than later. My concern is my parents especially my mother. She’s been crying. I spent half the night trying to calm her down. Miriam’s with her now.”
“It’s not okay,” he pressed. “What’s his reason?”
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.” My tone sharpened. “He asked for forgiveness, and I gave it. He did what he thought he had to do. Just like you once said it wasn’t the right time and you left. So he left. Where to, I couldn’t care less. I have my mother to think about… and my career. I’m not dependent on him or his family for anything.”
His shoulders dropped, his voice softening. “I didn’t leave you, remember? You took off ran off before I could explain myself.”
I frowned. “That day at the club?”
“Yes. One minute we were talking, and the next, you were gone. You wouldn’t answer my calls after that. I tried, over and over, but you shut me out. And then…” He hesitated, as if the memory still stung. “…the next thing I heard, you were getting married to Sharil.”
The words hung between us, heavier than the breeze coming off the water.
“I just… hate seeing this happen to you.”
We were on the bench near the beach, beside the jetty. I had climbed up onto the table, sitting cross-legged, letting the evening breeze wrap around me. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, the sky bleeding into shades of orange and deep red.
I’ve always loved watching the sun set and rise. There’s something about those two moments that feels sacred. Maybe it’s the colours, maybe it’s something deeper, the way the world seems to hold its breath.
One can marvel endlessly at the palette the sky offers in those moments, as if it’s revealing its truest self. John Ruskin once wrote, “Colour is the most sacred element in all visual things.” Sitting there, I knew exactly what he meant.
Suresh paced around the bench, his steps restless, words spilling out as if he couldn’t hold them in.
“N called me this afternoon around noon and told me what happened. The news drove me insane. I went straight to my Medical Officer and asked for leave. I knew I had to come. How could I let you go through this alone?”
He stopped in front of me, his hands gripping my shoulders, his eyes searching mine.
You know how much you mean to me… but I have nothing to offer you. They’ve warned me so many times, never fall for a Malay girl, stay away from them. By the time I tried to listen… it was too late. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But this whole issue of conversion” He shook his head. “it’s not right.”
“Yes, I agree it’s not right,” I said. But he didn’t seem to hear me. He was pacing again, speaking almost to himself.
“I mean it when I say I’d do anything for you go anywhere with you. But conversion… it disturbs me.”
“It disturbs me too,” I said softly. He stopped only for a moment before moving again, his hands running through his hair.
“Why is it,” he muttered, “that when I finally find the very person I’m crazy about… she has to be Malay? It’s not fair. It’s just not right.”
I gathered whatever courage I had left and said, “Somebody once asked me what I saw in this dark-looking guy. He’s not even that handsome, they said. Just some fellow from the army, not even an officer.“
My answer was simple I saw a kind man with a compassionate heart.”I paused, letting the memories rise. “I still remember that day at Mount Ophir… how I kept seeing your hand stretched out to me, pulling me up when I struggled. And I remember the same man who walked me to my night classes when I was taking my ‘A’ levels, who waited for me until class ended, just to see me home. And there was one evening… I was exhausted, drained. And yet, when I looked out the classroom window and saw you standing there at the school gate, waiting… I realised I didn’t just have a good friend. I had a man with a golden heart. And suddenly, I wasn’t tired anymore, because you were there, giving me the moral support I needed so badly.”
I met his eyes, steady now. “And yes, I agree with you, this whole issue of conversion is not right. But tell me… why should you have to in the first place?”
He stopped pacing, as if my words had landed somewhere deep. He stared hard at me, then stepped forward and took my shoulders in his hands.
“Look,” he said, his grip on my shoulders easing, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you and I want you to be the first to know. I’m planning to leave the army. Not right away, but soon. I don’t see my future there. I want to go back to night school, take my A levels, and then… maybe go to university. Here, or abroad. Things will be different then there’ll be better opportunities. And… it’ll give us more time to think about our future. We’ll be older, more mature. We’ll know what we really want and where we want to go from there.”
I felt a small smile tug at my lips. “It’s a good plan. You should and you will. And this time… let me help you.”
