Breaking In, Losing Out

2.00PM
"Did you bring your laptop with you?" my mother asked over the phone. I could hear a disturbing urgency in her voice.

I was bemused. Out of the blue I'm being asked if I brought my laptop with me? I told her that I didn't bring my laptop with me.

Then I heard her voice crack. "Someone broke into our house!" my mother wailed helplessly over the phone.

I tried to find out more to no avail because she was apparently very distraught. Her heavy sobbing and sniffling made my hair stand on ends.

I, for a moment, was lost. As lost as I've ever been in my life. "I'm going home now," my mother managed to whimper. We disconnected.

I thought for a moment, trying desperately to organise ideas in my head and rationalise the reality of truth.

Therefore, off I went, hailing a cab, heading home as calmly as possible. The cab driver was recounting the grievances she had with previous customers, but my mind was obviously else where.

My MacBook! I thought. I did a great job controlling myself. I was constantly calming myself down, putting my thoughts out on more positive things. However, the sense of urgency and despair in my mother's voice reverberated loudly in my head.

"Everything is going to be okay," I consoled myself.

2.30PM
For the first time in eons, I ran like the wind. I lunged out of my seat and sprinted to the lift lobby. Similarly, the lift ride up to the 13th floor was arduous. My heart pounded on my chest. I felt it almost at my throat. I was well ready to throw up. I really hate to see the reality of the situation!

I dashed to my house on the 12th floor.

Fortunately or unfortunately, a group of people had gathered along the corridor. They were made up of neighbours and relatives. News spread fast.

I was just stunned when I saw what the bastard(s) did.

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There was no way they could have made it through the main door, I thought to myself. But I've never expected the windows to be the break-in point!

I hastily let myself into the house. Again, it seemed like an eternity before I got in because my hands were trembling and I fumbled carelessly with the bunch of keys.


Notice the aluminium louvres on the left and right. Look at how they're just lying there like the useless things they are. I assessed the damage very briefly, all the time feeling very light-headed. It was a delirious moment; I couldn't know for sure if it was real.


The wardrobe. It dawned on me how insensitive and barbaric the burglars are. Chest of four drawers hastily emptied. Mind you, they were all locked. Top left drawer, cleared clean. I had a few bags of savings in coins. I would say approximately one to two hundred bucks. BUT ALL IN COINS.

Notice the bottom right drawer. In it is a chopper. Yes, a chopper. MY chopper. As the kitchen cabinets suggest, the monsters were looking for some kind of tool to use. It's appalling how they don't even have their own tools.


The store room. Yes, it's a mess. A haphazard and futile search in the store room, I've to say. Before the break-in, the store room was already in intermediate stages of a break-in mess. I doubt the pigs found anything to their liking. Even on a regular day, I find myself deterred from getting anything from the store room.


The next room was wrecked too. At this point, I'd really love to imagine the looks on the faces of the burglars when they find that all there is in the shelves and drawers are MY SCREENPRINTING AND ART SUPPLIES and A HELL LOT OF VINTAGE MUSIC CASSETTE TAPES!

My mother arrived shortly after me, let out a desperate and hopeless moan. Immediately she burst into tears, body shaking uncontrollably. She saw the wardrobe wreck and would not stop wailing. She let out a series of incoherent sobbing and screaming. Consequently, she collapsed.

"Called the police already?" I asked amidst the flurry of activity as the aunts and neighbours gathered round my mother.

The policemen arrived 20 minutes after I called them. CAN YOU BELIEVE I'M THE FIRST FUCKING PERSON TO CALL THE POLICE?! I WOULD HAVE BLOODY EXPECTED THE POLICE TO BE THERE AT THE SCENE ALREADY! WHAT'S THE WORTH OF THE CROWD IF NOT ONE FUCKING SOUL BOTHERED TO REPORT THE MATTER TO THE POLICE?!

Why why why?! I don't understand why no one called the police. I really cannot comprehend why not a single person called the police. What? Is it because they're not the home owner? Is it because they are scared? WHY DIDN'T ANYONE CALL THE POLICE? It's common sense isn't it? The more I think about it, the more puzzled I get.

This is probably the best part of the break-in: The Loot.

The loot of the burglars consisted of many, many, many coins, which amounted to roughly 300 bucks, SOME Singapore dollar, SOME Malaysian ringgit and SOME not-too-valuable jewellery. Oh, did I mention they made away with A LOT of coins?

But here's the interesting bit: What's NOT in the loot.

Not in the loot of the fuckingly retarded pigs are:

MACBOOK (prominently displayed on the table in the room.)

OLYMPUS COMPACT CAMERA (strewn on the living room floor.)

PANASONIC LUMIX COMPACT CAMERA (strewn on kitchen table.)

STASH OF MONEY (stashed away in top secret stashaway.)

STASH OF JEWELLERY (stashed away in top secret stashaway.)

It's either the burglars are fucking stupid or terminally retarded.

Remember my nightmare of not so long ago? The contents of my bag were stolen, so was my MacBook, but the bag and laptop sleeve were still there. I cannot help but find the occurence uncannily coincidental. A warning of some sort, I suppose.

As suay as we were to encounter a break-in, we were still very blessed that we still had the most valuable stuff. What a bunch of fucking losers. They may have broken in, but they've definitely lost out, in my humble opinion.

I asked the police officer, "Will the housing board know of this? I mean after all, these windows were 'upgraded' by them,"

He replied, "There should be a Liaison Officer in charge of this particular block. You should probably go down to the office to inform them."

So off I went, stormed my way a couple of blocks down to the Information Centre for the upgrading works. To my dismay, the receptionist was that retarded lady that came by once to my house when they were carrying out major works within my flat.

Anyways, I was bloody agitated at that time. But I managed to tell her calmly but disapprovingly about the break-in. Instead of being empathetic, or sympathetic at least, she gave me the fucked up blur look and asked, "You got call police?"

HELLO?! She obviously lives in her own retarded and delusive world where all people lack common sense and are tragically dense.

All I'm saying is, if not for the 'upgrade', there might not have been a break-in! The HDB Upgrading Precinct Programme promises a better living environment. Despite the very positive connotation the name suggests, it is in truth far from such.

'Upgrading' is the very act of raising something to a higher level. It is the act of adding or replacing components to improve equipment or machinery, a flat in this case.

I asked Little Miss Retarded if there was an in-charge I could speak to. She said she'll get the manager.

She made her dim-witted exit to look for the manager. Heard the manager chattering like a monkey. Little Miss Retarded returned, said, "Oh, my manager say that this type of matter if you call police then we will let the police handle already," in the most let down tone.

For an information centre, it is bloody useless. I couldn't be bothered to blow my top on her, so silently I stormed back home.

Back at home, the Investigating Officer had arrived and was speaking to my mother and brother in the living room. I simply recounted what I saw when I first arrived at the scene. Similarly, I expressed my displeasure for the sub-standard windows 'upgraded' by the fucking housing board.

Supposedly influenced by Little Miss Retarded, Mr Fucking Fat appeared apathetic to my concern. As though the we were not traumatised enough, Mr Fucking Fat IO decided to throw in a couple of self-prevention tips.

Rubbing salt into the wound, while at the same time adding oil to fire. Mr Fucking Fat said, "If you know that there is going to be no one at home, then you should take your own prevention. Like playing some music when no one is at home,"

My jaw abruptly hit the floor.

"Curtains? Do you have curtains? So without curtains, people can see into the house and realise that there's no one at home,"

I grew wide-eyed, jaw still on the floor, and gave the meanest frown. Mr Fucking Fat ignored me. At this point, it is apparent that he was indeed under the influence of Little Miss Retarded.

Not willing to give up my case. I insinuated that it's because of the housing board's 'upgrade' that this unfortunate incident happened. Then Mr Fucking Fat just came up with some vague and ambiguous explanation about the 'upgrading' project not being handed over to the housing board.

Frankly, I grew desperate, and continued fighting my case. I was at this point, very agitated. My mother asked to not go on. My brother hollered rudely at me, "Eh, you can shut up or not?!" He then politely apologized to Mr Fucking Fat for my unruly behaviour.

WAH! Whaddya know? Hero brother siah! For many years we haven't talked, he suddenly shouts DIRECTLY at me for me to shut up.

Seeing that I was the only 'crazy' one around, I figured I should leave. Furthermore, tensions were running high. I knew very well I couldn't get anyone to see my point about the fucking housing board. What I said couldn't get through Mr Fucking Fat's layers of blubber, my mother's distraught mind and my brother's 'heroic' let-me-see-the-burglars-I'll-beat-the-crap-outta-them attitude.

I left at 4.00PM.

I felt so sore afterwards. So sore, so very very sore.