21 July, 1964 – Singapore racial riots
The Singaporean girl
1.
The metal pole slams to the floor.
I scream and stumble away.
I am lucky.
The Malay rioter is not.
Blood pools on the floor.
I run for my life.
My white t-shirt is stained with ashes.
I trip over my long, black skirt several times.
Flames dot the streets like burning flowers.
Violence reigns.
2.
My father said it was called a merger.
It was meant for the good of both countries.
But it transformed into a curse.
Now, the two countries are fighting each other.
Peace is gone.
We wanted independence.
The price is blood.
3.
Finally, I reach my house.
My parents envelop me into a tight bear hug.
“ We thought we lost you. “
I promise them I will not roam the streets freely until this is over.
My father nods, reassured of my safety.
I am not sure what will happen next.
My father cannot predict the future too.
He stares blankly into space,
a faraway look in his eyes.
Just like our country’s independence.
So close, yet so far.
4.
9 August 1965.
Finally, we are free.
The black-and-white television crackles as we watch the emotional scene.
The future looms ahead like a gargantuan shadow.
We have the determination.
We have the perseverance.
But is it enough?
The present-day Singapore night skyline screams out a definite yes.
54 years later…
15 March, 2019 – New Zealand mosque shooting
The New Zealand girl
1.
Gunshots explode.
I duck for cover.
In my mind, I keep asking myself,
Is this really happening?
What is happening to our peaceful, terrorist-free country?
Then, I look up, only to stare back at a gun barrel.
My life flashes before my eyes.
At that crucial moment, a flash of green lunges at the attacker.
Screams pierce the air.
My older brother takes the bullet for me.
The price?
His life.
My debt is paid with bullets and blood.
“ Run.”
Those are his last words.
“ No!”
It is too late.
He is gone forever.
2.
I scramble out of the doomed mosque.
No, we used to call it a mosque, a place of prayer.
Now it has become a well of blood.
Tears stream down my cheeks like a cascading waterfall.
My knees buckle with every step.
At last, I am a safe distance from the building.
The building that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I fall to my knees.
After that, all is a blur.
Paramedics whisk me up and onto a stretcher.
The ambulance bumps along the rocky, uneven road.
My physical pain is gone with the wind.
My mental pain takes stage.
My older brother, who loved me so much, sacrificed his life for me.
I shall never see him again.
3.
I am reunited with my parents at the hospital.
My mother holds me close in her warm embrace.
I can almost hear her saying: I don’t want to lose you too.
My father looks like a half-dead panda.
My older sister’s eyes are bloodshot.
It is just the four of us now.
We hug, as a grieving bundle of a family.
4.
In the aftermath of the tragedy, our country remains united.
Taxi drivers offer free rides to the survivors.
Caucasian women offer to wear shawls and escort the Muslim women around.
My late older brother’s favourite football team’s motto resounds in my head.
“ You’ll never walk alone.”
That is my only comfort.
That he is watching, looking after me from up above.
Our Prime Minister tells us she will never speak the perpetrator’s name.
He seeks notoriety for his vile, selfish act, but it will never be given to him.
Our country stands strong. Unbreakable.
We remain united. Unwavering.
We will never crack. Ever.
Different eras. Different countries. Different races.
Similar resilience to overcome unspeakable pain and challenges.
The same unwavering spirit to persevere and survive despite the odds.
The common bond of standing strong and united against adversity.
The one desire to build a better tomorrow for future generations.
Sharing hope, love and peace in a world without war.
Footnote: This poem, written by a 12-year-old, has been awarded a Bronze Award in The Queen’s Commonwealth Essay Competition 2019.
Follow My Rainbow 