Someone has been through your stuff

Today, I was visiting RangeFinderForum and read about this guy in Hong Kong whose flat had been broken into.

The robbers made off with his Bessa L, a couple of lenses, his MacBook, Panasonic Lumix, watches and other stuff.

In one of the comments, a user posted “Sorry that you were violated and your property stolen…”

That word “violated” jumped at me and took me back to a time in Thailand.

I was about 13 years old or so. My family and I had joined one of these AA organised driving tours from Singapore to Thailand.

There are a few things that stay stuck in my memory on that trip.

At the Thai-Malaysia border, my elder sister was not permitted into Thailand due to an oversight – her International passport had less than six months validity on it. My father had a friend in Ipoh and my father would accompany her back to Ipoh.

Because I was sharing my passport with my father at that time, I had to go along with them. My eldest sister and my mother would continue with the drive. And my father and I would catch up with them in Thailand the next day.

What happened after that was pretty much a blur. It was late. And the town near the immigration checkpoint hardly qualified as a town. There was something dangerous and unkind about the place. The kind of town so small where everyone should know each other, yet don’t. The kind of town where solitary travellers come in for one night and leave. No history. No future. The kind of place where the safest place to place your gaze is on the dirt path ahead of you.

By the time we had made arrangements and got a taxi, it was past midnight. In these parts, there are no street lamps. I had started to fall asleep even though I didn’t want to. Only my father kept fully awake.

In the middle of this night taxi trip, I know the the taxi made a couple of stops along the way. The boot was opened. There was heavy shoving. There were men’s voices outside the taxi. Two or three men. But i didn’t dare turn around. I concentrated on the engine running and the two beams of light from the taxi. I only hoped that nothing would happen to us, that day would come soon and I could feel safe again.

Day did come. And it came with the friendly faces of my father’s friends. We had breakfast with them. We washed up a bit and left my sister with them.

After my sister was with my father’s friends, it was just me and my father finding our way back into Thailand. Funny thing is I don’t remember any part of this trip back. I don’t even remember how we got back. It seemed as if once my sister was okay, we’d all be okay too.

The other thing I remember was the day the windshield of the car ahead of us, cracked up. I remember thinking how easily it could have been us with that cracked windshield. I remember being fascinated at the web-like structure of the cracks in the glass. How it still held together in one piece.

I remember watching as everyone gathered plastic bags and laid them on the inside of the car. Various men started to chip away at the glass to completely clear the glass.

Even though the windshield was holding together, and it took effort to break away the glass, I remember the voices of people talking. How it would be impossible to drive with a cracked windscreen. The bits of glass would fly into your face and cut you if you did.

It would be impossible to replace the windscreen until Bangkok, still at least a week away. The owner and driver of the car there and then decided that his number plate was an unlucky number. He’d sell the car once he got back to Singapore.

When the driver went back to the car, he found it was impossible to drive. The drag created by the wind entering where the windshield used to be was so great, he could not get the car past 50km/h, even with windows down.

As soon as they could, they got a huge plastic sheet and wrapped it around the front. It was taped up as tightly as possible.

Driving improved. But the air conditioning, because of the plastic sheet wasn’t airtight, was useless. And Thailand in June is hot. And wet. Visibility was poor because the sheet wasn’t clear. When it rained, the wipers didn’t help And the roar of the wind against the plastic was so loud, the honeymooning couple didn’t really enjoy the rest of the rally drive. Their genuine smiles and laughter became more strained over the days.

The last thing I remember was the night we had dinner at our hotel, I felt nauseous near the end of the meal. As soon as I left the restaurant, I threw up outside at the drain. I remember thinking how I enjoyed all the green curries and tom yum and now it was all wasted in the drain. I thought I should chew my food more. A thought that always crosses my mind whenever I throw up.

Feeling slightly feverish, I went back to the room. My sister and I, discovered the door slightly ajar. We pushed it open with a finger, and found our things all strewn about.

Our bags, left on a bench were now on the floor. Overturned and emptied of all contents. Our t-shirts, shorts, bras, panties everywhere. It was like a hurricane had been through the room.

We knew we had been burgled. Slowly, the others in the motor rally returned to their rooms.

The scene was the same. The whole group had been targeted when they knew we’d all been at dinner. We knew “they” had to be a member of the staff. Perhaps a team of them because it was a large group.

As I walked through the room and looked at the mess, I heard voices behind me, yelling, “call the police, make a report”, “anything stolen?”, “do you have insurance?”

I was feeling stunned. Perhaps even breathless. I felt hot. I don’t know if it was from throwing up before.

But I felt this terrible feeling, of these hands, going through our stuff. Faceless. Nameless. I could imagine this person, sweaty, nervous, working fast, going through my stuff.

Violated.

“Don’t move anything, so we can take pictures!” someone yelled outside.

“Don’t touch the door, we can get fingerprints!” another voice rang out.

Violated.

And then we started to look for items that had been taken.

We gingerly lifted t-shirts, underwear, socks and put them back in the best way possible.

Violated.

A missing necklace.

Passports safe.

Anger.

Something else gone.

Anger. Anger.

They caught the guy. I never saw his face. He was a worker there. Sometimes I wonder if they said they caught someone just to appease us.

We filed for insurance.

We went to pick our sister up from Ipoh.

It was only two and a half weeks. But I felt so far and distant from my sister then. She had spent her days in Ipoh playing billiards and pinball and hanging out at the race track with my aunt to while time away.

Those things were foreign to me. And when I tried to get more information about what she’d done, she didn’t give many details. I really have no idea how she was in Ipoh.

All I knew was something had changed.

Now, as I type these things, I am amazed at what I remember. The things that I saw. The feelings that I had.

It makes me sad. To have lost trust. To have lost faith. To have lost…