Kim was a boy of age thirteen when he sailed from the Fujian province of China to a little island in the south called Singapore. The dock was crowded with several men and youths like him, all clinging to the hope of a better life down south. Kim looked around at their gaunt faces. His friend was late. But the barge could not afford to wait, and Kim stepped across the wooden plank, and pushed through the crowd to the interior. There he found a dry corner, and sat down feeling stifled and slightly faint. The dark and musty air made him sneeze and sneeze again.

"Kim, there you are!" A tall lanky youth called to him, and stumbled across the room to sit beside him.

"Jing." Kim answered simply. He was his best friend in the village, and his only companion on this weeks long voyage on the sea. A gregarious person with natural charisma, he had talked his way into getting these tickets. Back in the village, the little money they could borrow was barely enough to purchase some preserved meat and buns. Their families were impoverished, and could nigh support them with newly patched clothes and shoes. Kim's siblings and surviving mother made him pledge to write back home.

Now the barge left for the new world, one where thousands of immigrants hoped to find wealth and riches to change their lives.

The voyage was long. The destitute passengers found themselves running out of food and water, and could only starve and choke in the sickly damp air of the barge. Several died, mostly the old and brittle. Kim and Jing held on. Days passed; weeks crawled by. When the barge arrived at the docks in Singapore, the immigrants poured out onto the pier, grasping for air and space. Their new lives had begun.

The two young pilgrims walked ashore, caught aback by the hustle and bustle of the port town. Towering ships dotted the harbour, and magnificent colonial buildings greeted them at every turn. They explored the streets, in search of work, food and lodging. Hope was very much alive in this place, they thought. And soon, they found a fellow Chinese from their village, who kindly loaned them rickshaws for use.

Day and night they toiled at their rickshaws, fetching anyone who would pay a meagre sum. When the first light of morning dawns, they wake and start working, awaiting lunch. In the afternoon under the sweltering sun, their drenched backs beg for dinner to arrive. In the cool evening, the young boys work for a couple of hours before retiring for supper together at a local noodle stall. Now they talked about their long day, their old village lives, their hopes and aspirations. This was their favourite pasttime.

"Kim, I'm going to be the wealthiest man in the world one day!" Jing exclaims one night. "I will have ten houses and factories, hundreds of men working under me, and several wives and children by my side. But I wonder, am I too foolish to be asking for the moon in the water?"

Kim quietly thinks for a moment, before saying, "I believe in you, Jing. I have always thought you were special. You could talk over the girls back in the village, you outwitted the boatmen to get the tickets, and you persuaded the towkay to lend us the rickshaws. Someday I know you'll make it big."

Jing was flushed with gratitude for his friend's sincere faith in him. Kim had always stood for him, and though he was a person of simple thinking, he was a true and invaluable friend. "Pray tell me, Kim. What is your greatest dream?"

Kim thought silently. "I want a comfortable house to live in," He said hesitantly. "Maybe a small and prosperous business to run, and a good wife and many children under my name. I think that would make me a happy man."

Jing smiled at his honest friend. "I, too, believe that you'll lead a happy life one day. Let us work towards our dreams! Ah, the night is still young, let us order another bowl of noodles, shall we?" Their laughter ringed through the narrow alley as they talked and laughed, cheerily and heartily under the bright moon.

Several months passed. Kim acquainted himself with everyone in the neighbourhood, the rowdy Teochew shopkeeper, the genial Malay barber, the cheerful Indian carpenter. He grew interested in the shopkeeper's daughter, and started to woo her.

Meanwhile Jing gradually began to associate with the gangs in town. He gained knowledge of a lucrative drug dealing business, and was attracted by the enormous profits. Excitedly, he told Kim about it that night.

"It's crazy! We'll stand to earn thousands of dollars for one deal. Kim, join me and leave this trodden place and decrepit rickshaw behind. I will teach you everything I know, and we'll make partners, both of us."

"Jing, this is illegal! These drugs are addictive and damaging, why would you want to bring in more of this stuff? Don't do it, I beg you, you will bring harm to yourself and others."

"But Kim, it's our only chance out of poverty, out of this destitute place! Don't you understand, it's our only chance at life! This is just a step to wealth and riches beyond imagination. Join me, Kim. Let us fulfil our dreams together."

"What is wrong with our life now? We can work some years and get money for a decent business. We have to live life upright, Jing. Please, forget about the drugs. It is wrong, really wrong."

Jing thought quietly. He saw the look in his eyes, and he knew then, that neither of them would give up their ideals.

"...then, this is where our paths part. Goodbye, Kim. Someday, perhaps, we'll meet again. And we'll know who is right."

Jing turned his back on Kim, and walked away. Kim looked on quietly, standing motionless in the night.

That was the only night they listened to each other without hearing a word. Days after, Jing left to the Malayan states. On every night since, Kim sat at the noodle stall alone, silent... thinking, waiting.

Years passed. Kim had stored enough savings to start a small hawker business in a food centre. It was tough, but the earnings bought him a new HDB flat in Queenstown. After a long courtship, he married the shopkeeper's daughter, Li. They led a simple but happy life. The flat was small, but cozy. As they had children, Kim worked harder at his business, sometimes into the wee hours, to earn for them to enter school. It was tough, but he never grumbled. Every night he came back to see his children deep asleep. And he was satisfied.

One night, late till midnight, he trode home, tired and worn out after an entire day at his hawker stall. Kim entered the flat, not noticing the fine pair of shoes at the steps. The light was on. Lush gifts and presents piled into tall columns in the living room. And a tall, plump man stood up from his seat, donning silver gilded spectacles, accoutred in a rich white suit, with slight wrinkles and greying hair like his, and a bright smile from twenty years back. Kim could hardly believe his eyes. It was Jing.

The night drew on late and sleepless. Jing told Kim how, after a few years in the gangs, he rose to the top with luck and charisma, and invested in factories across Malaya. His wealth and capital rose, and he retired from the underground scene and switched to legitimate business. With his fine business acumen, social skills and discreet aid from the gangs, he succeeded in many fields of business, dealing in manufacturing goods and logistics. He was, officially, a billionaire. He had come to Singapore to oversee his new factory business, as well as to visit his best friend.

"Kim, I want you to be the manager of my factory," Jing beamed. "I will make you a millionaire, and you and your family can live in luxury and comfort for the years to come. Please, dear friend, acquiesce to my proposal."

"Your kind offer touches me," Kim humbly replied. "But I think I shall prefer my humble life and my small hawker business. What would I do with the money? I have enough to get by, and that is all the money I need."

Jing thought moodily. "Do you still begrudge me for dealing in the dark triads, Kim? Is my money and wealth too dirty for you to touch?"

"No, Jing, you misunderstand. After so many years of life, I have come to realise that there is no true good or evil. Life is more than such petty issues. But I want to live by my own effort, and work with my own hands. Can you understand me, Jing?"

Jing smiled. "You're still the same old Kim, my friend. Well then, come be my chauffeur for these few days. We have much to talk about."

This Kim did, and he spent that week with Jing, reminiscing about the past, talking about their wives and children and exchanging their stories of life. He saw Jing's factory, and promised to pay his family a visit in Malaya. Jing too pledged to come regularly for visits.

And the years fleeted by. World War II ravaged and went, the racial riots pillaged and dispersed, the Asian economic crisis devastated and passed. Kim and Jing and their families survived through it all, fortunately. They still kept their promises, staying as fast friends and visiting each other once every few years. It was a friendship of a lifetime.

One cool evening in 2004, Kim collapsed and knocked his head against the floor. He fell unconscious, and was sent to the hospital, where he passed away. He was seventy years old, and left behind his wife Li, four sons, three daughters, and more than ten grandchildren.

A solemn funeral was held. The tent held overhanging under the HDB flats, bright with lights and surrounded with wreaths. The Buddhist monks chanted and recited sutras in the monotonous music. Friends and relatives sat at the tables eating, chatting, looking at Kim's portrait, remembering about him. His children and grandchildren, dressed in dull clothes, quietly thanked the visitors, and prayed and offered incense in respect. Li sat by one corner, trying to smile cheerfully. She cried often during the funeral.

Jing came to his funeral, an aged, wrinkled man dressed in a dignified black suit. The few who remembered him came to share their stories and memories, about how Kim often talked about him as a dear friend. Jing went up to pay his last respects. He stood there alone, silent... thinking, waiting. He lifted his hat, and bowed.





***
The true story of my grandfather's friendship-

In tribute of my late grandfather, Tan Kim Tay.

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