Recently, I was quite busy at KL until now only i stand a chance to sit in front of a PC to really workout something...
Then only i realized my email is full with lots of blogger's messages, reporter's request to grab the photos and so on... Sorry for that, because of my daily routine that can't even squeeze anymore "internet entertainment" into my tight schedule....
Here's of the email that requesting me to post something for them....
Really sorry if i'm a little bit too late...
From Durian Lover: Hi there, I actually don't quite know you, but got your email from your blogger profile which I linked from the Campaign 17 blog. I'm writing on the behalf of my friend and I, and also perhaps the entire community of Penangnites currently in Singapore our age. We're both currently studying in Singapore and was extremely saddened when we recieved the news on Sunday. And also, after finding the Campaign 17 blog, we think that it's a very beautiful effort you're doing to preserve memories of them. Attached to this email are actually two documents that both of us would like to contribute to the blog. The word document is actually a recount on the fateful day and how everything started, and ended. The second is in a series of three scans of a letter. If you see these two documents fit to be published, then please do go ahead. I have actually asked another friend to ask another friend to ask Chienming, which is the friend's friend's friend. (....-.-) to publish it on his blog. But now that we both came across Campaign 17, we think that it'll be more apt if it was published there instead. Thanks! PS:/ we would like to remain anonymous..because the tributes aren't about us. It's about them.
The Chung Ling Dragon Boat team gathered at the MaCallum Street Ghaut seafront for practice at 8am on a cloudless Sunday morning in January. Dutifully, each of them woke up early at 6am to prepare for the practice, while the rest of the world slumbered on. After their usual chit-chat, and warm up exercises, they climbed into their longish, familiar white dragon boat. On board, were two instructors, a teacher advisor, and fifteen Chung Ling students.
Everything was going well. Other than the occasional groan and moan from the newcomers in the team, things were going on schedule. Their routine was perfect, their strokes were timely synchronized, and the light sea breeze that sprayed their faces every so often as their oars plunged the water melodiously refreshed each of them.
They finished their practice at around 8:50am. A little early. Why not go for a final round then? You know, just to give their training that little extra oomph. They finished up nicely, and proceeded to maneuver their sleek boat into a U-turn, before heading back to shore. The thoughts of finally being able to stretch their poor aching legs and rest their fatigued arms spurred them on.
Then, a particularly strong wave knocked their boat off course. Confused members tried to regain their bearings before the wave carried their boat and crashed it into a tugboat. Another ruthless wave came, and disaster struck. Their boat capsized, mercilessly emptying its contents of eighteen fragile lives into the frigid waters of morning.
Three of them had life jackets on, but a majority of them did not. They were all seasoned swimmers. Out of the eighteen in the waters, twelve managed to swim up and stay afloat. Seven out of this twelve were rescued by Indonesian fisherman who happened to witness the tragedy. Though I'm not sure of this, I'm guessing that the five others, swam some 400m back to shore and safety. Out of this five, one of them is Alex Kua. Why did I put that name in, no particular reason other than to make this recount as comprehensive as possible.
Twelve were safe. Those who made it back to shore made a frantic call to the Police. To their dismay and sheer panic, the police dismissed their genuine plea as a prank. Five more calls later, and some running all the way to the station, the police finally bought their story. They arrived one hour later at the site, at an estimated 10:10am.
By that time, the six missing persons had been identified. They were: Teacher advisor Mr. Chin Aik Siang and students Brendon Yeoh, Goh Yi Zhang, Jason Ch'ng, Chia Zi Jun (17 years old) and Wang Yong Xiang (16 years old). Rescue efforts crawled at a snail like pace. Frantic parents hurried the authorities, only to be rebuked for interfering in return. Anxious family members who have recieved news gathered at the dusty plane, enduring the afternoon heat, gazing out intently at the blue waters which looked so deceivingly calm and serene.
Scuba divers were brought in. A helicopter was brought in. But they did nothing. Common fishermen saved lives; scuba divers sat around fretting about rigid procedures. The only helicopter in the air, was from Bernama; the one for search and rescue operations, sat idly on the field. Things moved slowly, and time stretched on for an eternity for friends and relatives who could only watch helplessly from under the shady tent put up temporarily praying and crying their hearts out.
11:15am. A now familiar orange tug boat with 'BOMBA' in-scripted on its patterned side comes chugging into view. The people at the site see news reporters rushing in toward the narrow cemented walkway that came out perpendicularly from the shore. A body had been found. Families surge forward and squeeze their way through the gathering crowd, dreading to see the face, yet anxious to know the answer.
Survivors of the team, too, crowd forward, and one boy breaks down after identifying the body. It is their teacher advisor, Mr. Chin. The team sobs uncontrollably as their beloved teacher's body is re-wrapped into the ghastly black plastic, and carried on a stretcher into a malevolent looking dark blue van. Nearby, a middle aged lady goes a little hysterical. Her youngest son, her hardworking, filial, and dedicated son, dead. She remembers the dinner they had the night before, the casual chit-chat over rice and soup, their last meal together. He was such a wonderful son; and to his students in Chung Ling High School, there never was a more caring, a more devoted teacher than Mr. Chin.
Soon, the commotion dies down. The sweltering heat of the unforgiving sun blazes down on the remaining people. Prayers fly about, support groups start pouring in, and more shellshocked friends and relatives alike who had just recieved news enter the site. For another four hours, they wait with their hearts at the pit of their stomachs.
3:40pm. Another boat swerves toward the jetty. For some, their worst fear had been confirmed, for others, deep down inside, they clung on to whatever faith and hope they had left as they approached the boat. It was a student this time, still clad in the bright orange life jacket that ironically symbolized hope for a life. A man, in his late forties, and a technician in PDC, inches forward with his family, afraid of what they would see.
Jason Ch'ng. Their beloved son. A tender age of seventeen with a whole bright future in front of him. President of Chung Ling's LEO club - a leader to all, secretary of the Peer Counseling Society - a dear friend in need, and vice president of the Judo club - a wonderful teammate to all, Jason lay motionless in the same orange boat. A shirt covered his face while the volunteers wrapped him up and transferred him onto a stretcher. Then, following the same route as Mr. Chin, they led him into a similar van, and drove him of to Penang Hospital for a post-mortem.
SMS-es flew around the cellphones of many in the little island distraught by tragedy, some reaching as far as another island called Singapore. Friends faraway from the site, upon recieving the grave news, feel their heart wrench and their stomachs squeezed. Suddenly, they find themselves unable to stop tears and mucus from cascading down their distorted faces. And frankly, they didn't care anymore about how they looked. Not when a great person they knew had died.
Ten hours into the accident, two out of six had been found. Four more students were still lost at sea. As night crept by to replace light, rescue efforts were halted at 7pm. It was simply too dark to continue, the search was to commence again at 8am the next morning.
No one would be able to sleep that night. The minds of most were still fixated on the fate of the rest; their hearts were still mourning the death and loss of the recovered two. Families and friends refused to give up hope. They imagined the four, afloat and very much alive in the waters, hanging on precariously to some wooden plank, and mentally, they shouted out to these four, "Hang in there! Wait for us! Just a little longer..." Facebook pages were set up, and all around the profiles of the missing four, heart wrenching messages surfaced. There were promises to pole dance; invitations to tease the invitee as much as their heart desired; halfhearted threats of blackmail; and even the sweet promise of a year of zero harassments from their peer prefects. But no matter how or when or where these messages were written, essentially they all said one thing, "Please please please please, just come back safely."
Morning came rolling by painfully slow, and finally 8am came round the corner. Boats were geared up, and sped of towards various locations for the continued search and rescue operations. The crowd was significantly less than the day before, probably due to the fact that most who were there the day before, were all hauled up into little compounds called school. At Chung Ling, the atmosphere was bleak. No one was in the mood to do anything. No one wanted to talk; no one wanted to teach. Eager to be updated on the most recent happenings, many brought their phones to school, not caring for anything as fickle as 'school rules' at that point in time.
8:15am. Just a little while past the time they restarted the search and rescue, a third body was found, some 1 kilometer away from the accident site and the Tanjung City Marina seafront. This time, the same dreadful scene replays, and the families of the remaining four missing students trudge toward the boat. Camera crew and field journalists surge ahead of them, intending on capturing this in time for the midday news. The body is uncovered by any black plastic or pieces of clothing, and as he is brought up onto the stretcher from the boat, some cameras catch footages of Goh Yi Zhang before a blanket is thrown over the exposed body.
As Yi Zhang is carried past the anxious crowd, three families heave a sigh, whether of relief or further worry, I do not know. One mother however, takes a look and recognizes him as her darling second son. The sight of him is too much for Mrs. Goh to bear, all the apprehension and pure unadulterated fear built up over the night comes bubbling to the surface. As the two doors of the blue van shut, she clings on desperately to her oldest son, Goh Ee Teng, for comfort.
Amidst the solemn silence of the Chung Ling school compound, a cellphone vibrates in someone's pocket. Gingerly taking it out, he reads the message and tears roll down his cheek. Another comrade fallen. Another friend lost. From that moment on, the world lost a vibrant, bubbly, and eternally cheerful person; a person whose smile touched the very core of someone else's heart; a person whose amazing cooking skills filled the stomachs of countless others; a person who danced to Super Junior's Sorry Sorry to the laughter and fun of his friends. In the solitary confinements of their classrooms, Goh Yi Zhang's friends wept openly for him.
1:00pm. NTV7's Edisi 7. A girl opens her eyes wide and her fingers jam the 'volume increase' button of her remote control. She is sure she heard wrongly. Two more missing and four found? But the previous Mandarin news at 12pm on TV2 and the Mandarin news at 12:30pm on 8TV both reported that there were three more still missing, with the last body recovered being Yi Zhang's. Surely, not within a short span of half an hour...
The girl glued her eyes to the TV in front of her and extended her ears to catch the newscaster. "Pada pukul dua belas jam tadi, mayat keempat telah ditemui oleh ahli bomba. Pelajar ini bernama Brendon Yeoh, tujuh belas tahun..."
The rest fades away as the girl slums back down into her sofa, numb. Her eyes continue to watch the screen as the images change from one in an air-conditioned studio with a well dressed newscaster to one of chaos and orange dust. She does not know him personally, but being part of a little interconnected island of Penang, she knows many who knows and cherishes him dearly, and strangely, she feels a pang through her heart as she watches the news. If a person, totally unrelated to him can feel like this, what more, those who knew him, who joked with him, who laughed with him, who cried with him, who loved him.
“不要把我的孩子带走！你不要走啊！不要！回来啊！回来！” A distressed and devastated mother cries out desperately as she runs along with the BOMBA men dressed in tiger suits who were carrying her son. All around her, the faces of those who are watching are red and their eyes puffy. Most are crying, but some, having cried since the day before, has no more tears to spare. The situation is no better when the news hits back at Chung Ling shores. Some who has held back their tears can no longer do so, not when another gallant soldier and leader had fallen; not when a loyal, sweet and charming friend was no longer; not when the seat next to KahBeng will forever remain empty. Utter distraught runs through their veins and chills their bones as harsh reality sinks in. Slowly, one by one, torrent of emotions comes pouring out of their teenage bodies. Another one taken. Another one gone.
The Goh family came with priests to retrieve Yi Zhang's soul at about 3.30pm. After they left, only two families were left behind in the humid shade of the temporary tents. There are people who still clasp their nimble hands together to pray for some miracle to happen, but in all honesty, hope is running rather low by this time. Chants and mantras fueled some of them to carry on and persevere, spiritual food was what they needed. The emotional wiring in everyone present was tangled up, and people were fatigued from crying and waiting, worrying and waiting some more. A few moments later, VIPs arrived in the area, and security heightened. No outsiders were allowed in anymore. The place was sealed.
Half an hour later, the reason for such security becomes clear. At 4.35pm, both the bodies of the two remaining missing persons were found - Chiah Zi Jun and Wang Yong Xiang. And as news spreads around the island, people all over Penang pause a moment to give some moment of silence to these six unfortunate victims of fate. They grieved for Zi Jun, who was always full of humility and grace, who though never was in the front of the battle yelling 'CHARGE!', but would always be faithfully behind, keeping watch over everybody else. They cried for a boy who was a fiercely loyal friend, and a filial loving amazing son. And when his parents mourned for him, the island mourned with them.
And with peers from a year below the rest, 16 year olds throughout Chung Ling and the rest of Penang cried their hearts out when the body of Yong Xiang was recovered. Affectionately called 'mushroom head' by almost everyone, he was an affable and charismatic boy, who was always full of zest and never hesitating to offer help. He brought joy and laughter to those around him, and with him gone, the world as we know it lost a little piece of sunshine together with him. He was a passionate lover to a very special girl, and though he may be gone physically, the memories of the times they had together will always be cherished eternally.
Mr. Chin Aik Siang. Jason Ch'ng. Goh Yi Zhang. Brendon Yeoh. Chiah Yi Jun. Wang Yong Xiang.
Your deaths will never equate to your disappearance from this world. More than just facebook pages, or photographs captured, you have all touched the lives of many around you, and will forever and ever remain alive in our hearts till the day we, who still live on planet Earth, die too, and join you in heaven.
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