Our last day as Pupil Assistant Nurses will be February 28th. Then, on 1 March 1982, we’ll officially cross that small but significant line stepping into the wards as Enrolled Nurses.
The change might seem tiny to an outsider: trading our white with red stripes epaulettes for maroon ones. But to us, those colours carry weight.As Pupil Assistant Nurses, we wore white epaulettes with red stripes one stripe in our first year, two in our second.
A quick glance at a shoulder in the corridor and you could tell instantly where someone was in their training. The maroon epaulettes of the Assistant Nurses marked the next stage. Above that, the Registered Nurses wore solid blue, and the Nursing Officers the ones with authority that could be felt the moment they walked in had blue epaulettes with a single white stripe.In the government hospitals, the uniforms themselves were still crisp white, the kind that caught the light and demanded you move with purpose.
And, of course, the nurse’s cap perched just so, a small square of fabric that somehow carried the weight of the profession’s history.It’s funny how a sliver of coloured cloth on your shoulder could mean so much.
A promotion, a shift in responsibility, a sign that you were no longer just learning — you were expected to know. I was torn about going back. The house would be empty, anyway. Mom and Dad had a wedding reception to attend that evening the whole family was invited, but one by one, we’d all found excuses to skip it.
My sister Miriam was in her first year at Singapore University, staying in the hostel. She could’ve gone into law or any other faculty, but she’d chosen social science. Well… at least one of us made it to the “big U.”
My brother was in the middle of his National Service, deep in BMT. No book-outs for three months, so he was out of the picture too. Which left me if I went home, I’d be dragged along to the wedding.
And I hated weddings, especially family ones. Not because of the food or the music, but because of the relentless interrogation. When are you getting married? Don’t wait too long, not good for a girl. My father’s relatives had been working overtime to matchmake me with one of their elder sons. They’d even told my father to “just give them the date” and they’d turn up, ready to make it official.
After that, I’d made a quiet vow: find any excuse possible to skip every wedding from now on.Going home didn’t appeal for another reason I knew his letter wouldn’t be there. I’d called Mom a few days ago still nothing.
I didn’t have Sharil’s Shah Alam number, and his mother’s house in Johor didn’t even have a telephone. They borrowed the neighbour’s phone when needed. So there it was an empty house, no letter, and a night stretched out before me with nothing but my own thoughts for company. I wasn’t afraid of being alone.
I just wished I could… do something else.“Why not come with us to the beach? We’re having a barbeque tonight at East Coast,” my roommate said, leaning against the doorframe like she’d been waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Only then did I realise this was the barbeque they’d been planning the “last hurrah” before our postings scattered us all over different hospitals. After block study, it would be all shift work, different rosters, different wards. We’d only see each other at graduation, and even then, most would have to rush back to the wards the moment the ceremony ended.
If you were lucky, the ward sister might give you the day off.“Not at the chalet,” she added quickly, “but near the People’s Association campsite. The guys will be there too. We’re putting up a tent for anyone who wants to crash but who’s going to sleep? It’s Saturday night!”
“I do,” I said.
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re an alien from outer space. Come on one last time. Have some fun. Oh, and you know what? I’ve invited three guys. Medics.”
“Medics? As in… army medics?”
“Ya! Ya! They’re all so cute.” Her “army boys” thing was a mystery to me. I still didn’t understand what she saw in them. One time, I’d asked, “Why not the police instead?”
She’d waved her hand dismissively. “Nah. They’re a boring lot.”
“Boring?” I’d said, raising my eyebrow. “You mean they’re less likely to faint dramatically into your arms?”
She swatted at me, grinning.
“You just don’t get it. Soldiers are more… exciting. Less rules, more stories. And medics? Best of both worlds they know first aid and how to have fun.”
I leaned in. “Police also got medic, you know.”
“Nah,” she scoffed, “police medic not real medic. If got emergency, they also call ambulance.”
I burst out laughing. “So in other words… police medic is just a guy holding a first-aid box until the real medic shows up?”
“Exactly! Army got their own medic and their own ambulance. They can patch you up, carry you out of the jungle, and drive you to safety all in one go. Tell me that’s not more exciting.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“Sounds like an advertisement for military recruitment.”
Apparently, she’d met the medics during their hospital attachment, yes, medics had attachments too. Our guys knew them as well, and one of them had just come back from Brunei. He was bringing tiger prawns, fresh from there.
“Have you seen tiger prawns from Brunei?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“They’re this big.” She held her hands apart to show the length and if she was exaggerating, it wasn’t by much. “I’m told they’re really tasty.” Oh, great. Now I was tempted… all for the sake of a prawn.
I told her I’d have to go home first — my parents would expect me for the evening, and I’d need permission to skip a family wedding. They would definitely ask: Which is more important your relatives or a barbeque? I’d need a convincing answer.“
Tell you what I’ll come over to your house. I haven’t seen your mother in ages, not since after her operation. Let me work my charm on her.”
She laughed, already sure of herself. And she had reason to be, my mother adored her. More so after she found out we were roommates. She even told her, “Keep an eye on my daughter. Make sure she doesn’t go astray!”
I always thought it should’ve been the other way around. She arrived at 5 p.m. and spent the next hour and a half chatting with my mother, while I kept myself busy in my room, listening to the rise and fall of their voices.
I have no idea what they talked about, but when she finally emerged, my mother smiled at me and said, “Go. Stay the night if you want.” By the time we reached East Coast, the guys were already there, setting up the pit.
Rosli, Arul, Gopalan, and Michael were crouched over bags of charcoal, while a few of the girls arranged food on the side tables. More people drifted in as the night fell. She tugged my sleeve, steering me toward three men unpacking boxes.
“Hey guys! I want you to meet my roommate.” She turned to me.
“This is Kevin, Richard… and Suresh. He’s the one who brought the tiger prawns all the way from Brunei Darussalam.”
Suresh glanced up, and for a moment, I thought he might actually blush, the same warm pink a tiger prawn turns on the grill.
We were back in our hostel few days later, sprawled on the beds, talking about our next postings. She had been collecting past-year exam papers from seniors and was eager to trade them with me.
She would be going to Changi Hospital next. I told her about my last visit to Johor something I’d been holding in for days. I needed to get it out.
“I was so upset about something he said,” I began.
She looked up. “What things?”
“He started talking about people wanting to poison our water supply. Said the only thing stopping them were the Malays in Singapore.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s bad talk.”
“I know. I didn’t understand at first. I thought he was joking teasing me like he sometimes does. But the more he spoke, the more serious he became. No smile. No trace of humour.”
“What else did he say?”
“That the bumiputra policy in Malaysia is proof of how much better it is for us there. That I should come over, benefit from it. That I should influence other Malays in Singapore to do the same.”
“Oh…” Her voice was measured now, as if weighing what she’d just heard.
“That’s when I argued with him. I couldn’t keep quiet. I told him this kind of thinking is dangerous, it’s cowardice. Running away from where you belong, from your own people… it’s cowardice. We’ve built our lives here. You don’t abandon that just because someone waves privileges in your face.”
I could still feel the heat in my voice from that day. My hands had been trembling not from fear, but from anger. It wasn’t just about him and me anymore. It was about what he was suggesting we give up, and who he wanted us to be.
“He got angry with me,” I continued, “and said the current government doesn’t care for the Malays. That they would purposely create obstacles, make life hard for us, keep us as second-class citizens in our own country.”
I shook my head at the memory. “I told him that’s exactly why we need to stay, to face those obstacles, not run from them. I told him his ideas were radical, and that they’d kill the Malays here instead of helping them. Malays in Singapore should come together and find solutions. We can’t just abandon ship when the waves get high. Running away is not the answer.” My voice had risen when I’d said it to him, almost without meaning to.
“I even reminded him about Hang Tuah’s vow — ‘Melayu tak akan hilang dari Bumi Melaka.’ Malays will not disappear from Malacca. I told him we should be saying, ‘Malays should not disappear from Singapura.’”
She gave a dry laugh. “I think it should be: ‘Malays should not cabut from Singapura.’”
I smiled faintly but pressed on. “And then he looked at me and said, ‘Look at you. So far, what have you gained? You think you will go far in the nursing field? Hold any important post? No. They will never let you. You will remain an enrolled nurse till you retire that’s what they will do to you. But look at the Bumiputra policy in Malaysia. We have more Malay students in the university. We hold directorships.’”
His words had stung more than I cared to admit not because I believed them, but because they came from someone I’d trusted. That’s when I lost my temper.
“At least my sister got into university here because she earned it,” I shot back. “She worked for it, she had the grades not because she’s some Datuk’s or Tan Sri’s daughter. That’s the fact. And you, you’re so proud of your so-called directorship. But what do you actually do? What have you contributed to that company besides your name? Every month you take your director’s fees and you’re happy. Why work hard when you can spend your life sitting under a coconut tree, strumming a guitar, pretending that’s enough?”
“Gosh,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You sound like a politician now.”
His smirk only made me angrier. “And that’s how my mother’s been able to keep us going,” he snapped. “How do you think she supported us all these years?”
I sat back, shaking my head. “I don’t even know why we’re arguing about this.”
“Yes, why would you?” my roommate cut in later when I told her.
“I thought the only thing you two disagreed on was President Carter. Now it sounds much deeper.” She laughed but then her face grew serious.
“I didn’t start it,” I told her. “He did. I can’t just sit there and listen to him talk like that about Singapore. The things he said were senseless. I told him, ‘You were born here — why are you talking like this?’ And then he says to me, ‘Well, my birth certificate says I was born in Malaysia now.’”
That, more than anything, made my blood boil. Then he started talking about how they were looking forward to the day Singapore would rejoin the federation.
“Nope,” I told him. “That’s not going to happen.”
“But they’re so sure it will,” he pressed. “They’re already preparing for it and when it happens, they’ll humiliate Singapore. Make you kneel. And it’ll be on Malaysia’s terms.”
The way he spoke frightened me. “Why do they hate us so much?” I asked.
“I think it’s deeper than hate,” I said, after a pause.
Then she start “Try picturing it like this: A father and child quarrel. The child refuses to accept the father’s decision. The father, angry, kicks the child out. He expects the child to starve on the street, to suffer and eventually, to come crawling back, begging to be let in. When that happens, the father will have the upper hand. He’ll make the child agree to his terms.But what if it doesn’t go that way? What if the child survives thrives, even and starts earning three times what the father makes? What if the child wins friends and support the father never expected?The father’s pride takes the hit. The child’s success becomes the father’s failure. And it burns. The conflict simmers on, because neither side will back down. The child, flush with success, may grow arrogant, forgetting the sensitivities of the father and of those who laughed when the child was cast out. The father clings to pride, refusing to admit the child is no longer a child. But in truth, he forced that child to grow up early, to become independent. And until the father can accept the child as an equal and let go of the ‘father knows best’ or ‘big brother’ mentality the quarrel will never end. ”Malaysia and Singapore it’s complicated. Sometimes friends, sometimes rivals. It’s politics, and it’s petty. And we, the people, shouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. “
I told him I wanted to go home. I didn’t want to listen to any more of that talk. It made my skin crawl.”
“So what happened?”
“I got out of the car at the Malaysian Immigration, and I walked all the way back across to the Singapore checkpoint. I just… I didn’t want to go back there again.”
“When was this?”
“Before our study block started. Later, he wrote to me again same tone, same issues, only sharper this time. He said he was upset that I wouldn’t agree with him. I wrote back and told him I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. That there are already people trying to pull us apart… and instead of uniting Malays, his words were just making the split wider.”
“I don’t think those are really his views,” she said quietly. “Sounds like someone else’s voice in his head. He’s being fed these lines brainwashed.”
“You know what he told me? At Shah Alam Campus, they watch out for Singaporeans who come to Malaysia to study. They target them. Rag them worse than they do other Malaysian students. He said it like it was normal.”
“That’s…” she stopped herself. “I was furious. And I haven’t heard from him since. None of my letters have been answered.”
“And are you going to spend the rest of your life waiting for his letters to come?” she asked, fixing me with that look she reserved for when she thought I was being particularly stupid.
“I don’t know… I’m just upset, that’s all. He frightens me sometimes.”
“Listen! We don’t know what’s happening with him over there. He’s surrounded by them every day, hearing that talk non-stop. Of course he’s influenced. But meanwhile, you have exams coming up… then graduation… then work. You’ve got friends here who care about you. Are you going to ignore them?”
Before I could answer, she leaned in with that sly smile that always meant trouble. “So… did you have a good time at the barbeque party?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
“What do you think of Suresh?”
“Who?”
“You know, the guy who brought the tiger prawns all the way from Brunei.”
“Oh… him.” I hesitated, because honestly, the moment she mentioned tiger prawns, my mind went elsewhere. Straight to my mother’s sambal sotong, the thick, spicy gravy, the chewy rings of squid that tasted even better the next day.
“Oh, come on! That guy was all over you. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. He spent half the night making sure all the best prawns and crabs went to you first while the rest of us were screaming, ‘More fish! More prawns! More crab!’ and getting nothing.”
I laughed despite myself. “ I don’t know… I guess he’s okay. He’s nice.”
“Nice?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief.
“He tells jokes. He makes me laugh.”
“That’s it! Done. Decision made. Tomorrow, we’re having dinner at the Botanic Garden hawker centre.”
“Huh?”
“Wait here.” She bolted out of the room like she was on a mission from the Ministry of Matchmaking. Ten minutes later she came back, slightly out of breath, looking far too pleased with herself.
“Okay, all set. Six p.m. tomorrow. We meet the guys there.”
“What guys?”
“Our guys. I called Kevin first, he said yes immediately. Then I asked if Suresh was around. Kevin said yes, so I told him you’d be there. Suresh said, and I quote, ‘I’d love to come along too.’”
I was speechless. Completely outmanoeuvred. She grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re welcome.”
