Personal Narrative Essay: The Experience Of A Friend's Personal Experience
I ride on the deserted one a.m. highways. The streetlights zoom past me one-by-one as I enter hyper speed into the road’s abyss. I ride to Sunway, second home to me and Ben, my closest friend. I forgot to print out the tickets for the Laneway Music Festival in Singapore I’m attending the day after so I pull out the “bro card” on Ben. We plan to meet at Bidara, the go-to restaurant for when we feel rebellious and sneak out of our homes, unbeknownst to our parents, late at night. I ride out early to avoid being late. I already asked for a big favour. I might as well wait on them - Ben invited a mutual friend - than the other way around. I pull over at the bus stop across the highway from Bidara. I would’ve stopped at the Caltex petrol station
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I’m just borrowing it for the night.” People tend to assume wealth upon seeing a bike like mine. When strangers compliment me on my bike, I reject ownership on all cases. He shares a couple more stories, I share a couple more cigarettes, and we warm up to our new friendship. “I came here two years ago from Sabah to make an honest living,” he says. His eyes glue themselves to the worn tiles of the bus stop floor. His choice of words hints that he didn’t have many cop friends across the sea. “I’m just getting by, you know. It would be nice if you could treat me to a meal.” My wallet carries thirty ringgit, enough for tonight’s supper and tomorrow’s lunch down south. I can’t afford to spend on someone else. Kanye West’s All Falls Down interrupts our conversation. I pull out my phone and see Ben’s name on the screen. My acquaintance stands up. He paces towards me. He grabs my wrist. I panic. “That’s a nice phone you got there.” He pulls out a knife. He holds it at me. I panic. I feel the blade. The knife is real. This is happening. I try to keep calm. I panic. I pass him my phone. Slowly. No sudden movements. I panic. I reach into my pocket. I grab my I.D. I grab my driver’s license. He takes my wallet. He takes my phone. I panic. My eyes stare out. I look at nothing. He runs. Into the bushes. Past the houses. The night is
I’m just borrowing it for the night.” People tend to assume wealth upon seeing a bike like mine. When strangers compliment me on my bike, I reject ownership on all cases. He shares a couple more stories, I share a couple more cigarettes, and we warm up to our new friendship. “I came here two years ago from Sabah to make an honest living,” he says. His eyes glue themselves to the worn tiles of the bus stop floor. His choice of words hints that he didn’t have many cop friends across the sea. “I’m just getting by, you know. It would be nice if you could treat me to a meal.” My wallet carries thirty ringgit, enough for tonight’s supper and tomorrow’s lunch down south. I can’t afford to spend on someone else. Kanye West’s All Falls Down interrupts our conversation. I pull out my phone and see Ben’s name on the screen. My acquaintance stands up. He paces towards me. He grabs my wrist. I panic. “That’s a nice phone you got there.” He pulls out a knife. He holds it at me. I panic. I feel the blade. The knife is real. This is happening. I try to keep calm. I panic. I pass him my phone. Slowly. No sudden movements. I panic. I reach into my pocket. I grab my I.D. I grab my driver’s license. He takes my wallet. He takes my phone. I panic. My eyes stare out. I look at nothing. He runs. Into the bushes. Past the houses. The night is