The next day was my ninth birthday. My brother, Kiat, wanted to celebrate it for me. We were in one of our nicest attires given by a welfare organisation for we were street kids.
We were roaming about in the Micasa shopping centre. Jovial chatter filled the air. It was so packed that we had to squeeze through the boisterous crowd who were hustling and jostling one another. Countless varieties of merchandise were on display and prices were slashed ridiculously low to entice customers but we could not afford anything.
"Kiat, where are we going now?" I spoke in a chirpy voice, gazing at my scrawny brother with tousled hair.
"Jamie, you sit here and wait for me? Okay?" he asked.
"You must come back for me quickly," I insisted, tugging his sleeves. He gave me a reassuring wink and set off.
Kiat went to the sales area. He scanned the area and spotted a plump lady in dark shades with porcelain skin and a lovely sundress. She was carrying a red, unzipped handbag. Kiat approached the lady surreptitiously. What was he up to? His beady eyes darted from side to side. Finally he threw caution to the wind and, as quick as lightning, he swiftly nicked a Louis Vuitton wallet from it.
Upon seeing that, my jaws dropped open. I was flabbergasted! How could Kiat steal? Even though we were very poor, Kiat has never stolen before and has supported both of us by working as a shoe-shining boy. This must have been his first attempt. Shivers ran down my spine instantly.
As quick as lightning, Kiat clutched the wallet and headed towards me. Righteous instincts revved up in me and I searched my brain frantically for a solution. I had to stop Kiat! I had to make him return the wallet!
"Kiat, the pastor said stealing is wrong. Don't steal, please. I want you to return the money now," I pleaded in a whisper.
Kiat did not reply but held my hand and we whizzed off, right to the popular Polar cake shop. "Choose your cake," he spoke, flashing a brilliant smile. I stared at all the cakes and they all seemed to be beckoning me to buy them. But I wanted nothing of it.
All of a sudden, there was a tap on Kiat's shoulder. A hoarse voice hollered, "Kid, follow me now!" We whipped around and saw a posse of security guards glaring at us. We were in hot soup. Fear besieged us and our faces blanched in trepidation. My brother squeezed my hand and we took to our heels and fled. The guards were in hot pursuit. Within minutes, they pounced us and we struggled like wild cats but to no avail. The guards took my brother in custody, leaving me behind.
Soon, the police came and took my brother to the nearby police station and placed him in a detention ward. My salty hot tears fell uncontrollably as I ran after the patrol car which disappeared down the road. That night, I reached the station and wailed aloud, pleading for Kiat to be released. The officers turned a deaf ear and chased me out. I squatted outside the dusty steps, sobbing to myself. I was paralyzed with guilt. If it was not for my birthday, Kiat would never have stolen. It was a high price to pay for us.
The tower clock facing the police station began to chime. It was twelve midnight. It was my birthday. As I cried, I heard a loud and familiar voice:
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to Jamie.
Happy birthday to you.
It was Kiat, singing from the detention ward. That was the loneliest birthday I had ever had.
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