Scene: Add on

     I remembered the first time I was robbed. It was a shady alley. The path made of tar, the building on the right was abandoned, and the building on the left was never completed. The paint was beginning to fade on both buildings. Dumpsters, graffiti, broken bottles, burnt cigarettes-- the only thing missing in this scene is a rat making a dash to the dumpster. I was ignorant.

     I should have listened to my friend’s warning, but I was young and considerably naïve (dumb). I gave the world and everyone in it more credit than it deserved. It was a sort of childhood innocence that had been preserved by the people who had raised me. I’m 20 years old now. Twenty years of being a Malaysian. Twenty years growing up in a city called Klang, which I’m proud to call my own. Twenty years, and innocence still spirals around me like vines around a tree. I was sheltered.

     So, I took the first step and my friend reluctantly followed. It was dark that night—the moonlight was dimmed by passing clouds—but I took note of the little things: water dripping from broken a pipe, and the echoes of crickets chirping. We were almost out when we heard the sound of a motorcycle speeding towards us. I was scared.

     There was little to identify about the person on the motorcycle, except that he was a stocky male—he wore a regular t-shirt and navy blue jeans. Before I could analyze the situation, he managed to get a firm grip on my sleeve. In an adrenaline-pumped situation, the man and I were engaged in a tug-of-war. He tried to pull me to where he was but I struggled—though it seemed obvious he had the upper hand in brute strength. When pulling was too much of a hassle, he shoved me—causing my foot to lose balance. Gravity played the role of culprit that night and led to my falling. I felt the impact of rocks pressing my back as the ground welcomed me with a cold embraced. I was hurt.
     In the heat of the moment, all my friend could do was stand perfectly still—he looked like he was screaming, but not a single sound was heard. My ‘fight or flight’ instinct was on high alert, and I chose ‘Flight.’ In a matter of seconds after the fall, I got up, grabbed my friend and said: “Let’s go!” I was confused.

     He clicked back into reality, and we ran as fast as we could from the scene. The man, however, decided not to pursue.

     For days, I tried to make sense of what happened that night—tried to find a reason behind the man’s actions. William Shakespeare once wrote: The eyes are the window to the soul. And I do so agree with Shakespeare.

     You can tell a lot about a person just by looking through their eyes; and I wished I had seen his. That way, I could try to understand his situation. Perhaps he had a family that needed food; or he was a lonesome man desperate for cash; or a man from an abusive family; or perhaps…

     But I did not see the man’s eyes. I only felt his clenched fist on my shoulder. And it lacked human touch.

I have made myself victim and my innocence paid the price. I no longer find comfort in dark places for fear of the unknown. No longer feel comfortable being feel safe around strangers in isolated spaces. I doubt good intentions extended by others. The world I knew was darker after that fateful incident. I was vulnerable

     Sometimes, my friend and I would talk about that day. Occasionally, he reminded me how lucky we were—narrowly escaping a robbery. I wish that was true. I wish the story would have ended after I had fled from the scene; but life is not a fictional tale. The scene never ends. I was unlucky.

     That day, innocence was robbed.