It was two years back, a Friday evening after a long day of classes. My girlfriend and I were at IMM shopping centre, to satisfy her craving for Shih Lin’s XXL crispy chicken, as it was the nearest outlet to campus. All was fine and dandy. She usually complains of boredom when I’m shopping for anything gadget-related, but as she was happily pre-occupied with her food, I took the chance to pop into a mobile accessories store to browse for a new case for my iPhone.
“Oh shoot, shoot, SHOOT!” – Her voice, steeped with panic, suddenly rose from the crowd. When I turned around to look, I saw her frantically scrambling through her bag, her face scrunched up as it always does when something is wrong. She couldn’t find her phone. Being the ‘meticulous one’, I took over the search and carefully combed through the items in the bag, and then dialed her number, hoping to get some haptic feedback. Alas, it was nowhere to be found.
I could feel her distress rise. Just a couple of weeks ago, she lost her two-month-old Apple MacBook Pro (laptop). Her eyes pooled with tears and she started mumbling about how she was going to break the news to her parents. I didn’t know what else to do, so I dialed her number again. And again. Finally, after several attempts, a man answered. He could not speak much English. I could not understand much of what he said either, but when I asked if he could come to IMM, he hung up. I wasn’t sure what that meant. We were skeptical about him turning up, but nonetheless headed to the entrance of the shopping centre to wait.
Scores of passersby went by, and we scanned the faces of as many as we could. After ten longest minutes, a Bangladeshi construction worker, who was still clad in his slightly tattered work clothes, caught our attention from the crowd as he was crossing the road in our direction. He was looking left and right, as if searching for someone. We walked toward him, my girlfriend anxiously muttering, “I hope it’s him” beside me. He seemed to acknowledge us. He pulled out a handkerchief-wrapped parcel from his pants pocket, carefully unfolded the cloth to reveal the phone, and handed it to us. As we thanked him repeatedly, he responded with just a small shy nod before walking back to where he came from.
Like many fellow Singaporeans, I had – I admit with shame – previously viewed migrant workers with distaste. Yet, this Bangladeshi worker reminded me of the cultural universal – distinguishing right from wrong. Knowing what is right or wrong and acting accordingly transcends cultural boundaries. Even so, we tend to overlook this and are often quick to (mis)judge people of other cultures simply based on hearsay or external accounts. Moreover, the way the Bangladeshi had wrapped the phone with a handkerchief suggested that he respected the value that the phone had to its owner, even if it belonged to a stranger. It made me feel sorry for misconceptions I had in the past, and I realized that mutual respect is necessary for different culture groups to coexist harmoniously, as lack of respect impedes understanding of the other.
Also, while I have never thought of it until now, it was quite a phenomenon that without words, we still managed to locate each other out of so many people in the crowd outside the shopping centre, just based on body language and in this case, very anxious facial expressions.
