28 January 1819: Trust
He flicked the dust that had settled on his tailored black coat, and winced inwardly when he accidently stepped in a puddle of muddy water, dirtying his Hessian boots. His lips curled with contempt as he surveyed the area, taking in the dilapidated wooden shacks that the locals called houses with distaste, and wrinkled his nose at the stench that permeated the vicinity.
The local guide pointed at one of the shack and Britain at the condition of the hovel before raising a brow incredulously. Did these barbarians actually place their personification in that place?
He sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he would have to approach the houses. Titling his head, he gestured at the house, speechlessly communicating with the guide with the international body language for, 'Let's go.' The guide pointed violently at the shack again, speaking and loudly in that gibberish they call a language before, eyes widen with fear and horror, shaking his head furiously then bolting in the other direction.
Slightly amused and irritated by the antics of the guide, he slowly made his way towards the ramshackle shack, taking extra care not to step into any mud puddles lest he soil his shoes.
He rapped on the wooden door filled with holes before cautiously pushing it open, grimacing at the foul stench, worse than the smell outside, that rushed to meet him. Squinting to see better in the darkness, he took a tentative step into the house. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he blinked at the sight before him.
A trembling form huddled beneath a sheet, more like a rag, greeted him. Pathetic. This is the personification of Singapura? He was… smaller than expected. Then again, what could he have expected from a minuscule island inhabited by barbarians? Shaking his head, he cleared his throat to indicate his presence and the form jumped, obviously startled by the sudden sound.
"A-abung (brother)?" The lump rasped and his eyes widened. The voice sounded like it belonged to a boy. Just how old is this Singapura? He took a tentative step closer to the figure before ripping the rag off the smaller nation.
A boy, no older than the age of 13, sat before him. The boy had a distinctive Chinese look, with almond shaped eyes and yellow skin unlike the Malay locals on the island. The boy had dark dishevelled, dirty shoulder length hair and a gaunt figure that screamed of starvation. How on earth had the locals treated their representative?
Something within him soften at the sight of the boy as he remembered the days when he took care of a younger America and Canada. The deer-in-the-headlights look, however, was not something that he was used to. "Do you understand me?" He asked as slowly and as gently as he could so that he would not startle the boy before promptly smacking himself in his mind for asking such a redundant question.
"Siapa kau? (Who are you?) Mengapa kau di sini?(Why are you here?)" The boy said, confusion blatant in his tone as he shrank further into himself, grabbing his blanket and attempting to hide himself with it.
He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, mussing up his neatly combed hair before he extended his hand, palm up, towards the boy. He could not speak a word of Malay and the boy obviously did not understand English. He could only hope that the boy could understand the significance behind his gesture. "Would you like to come with me?"
The boy stared at the offered hand before looking up at him, fear swirling in the pair of deep and jaded brown eyes that, for reasons unknown to him, glinted with a hesitant hope.
"Berjanjilah bahwa kau tidak akan pernah meninggalkan aku sendiri? (Promise me that you would never leave me alone?)" The boy asked and he felt compiled to answer despite not understanding the boy. He just knew that the boy wanted to know something important and he had to confirm it, to reassure the clearly lost and broken boy before him.
"Yes."
The boy beamed, and for a moment, he was transported back to the times when the sweet and innocent America was still with him. The boy reached out for his trembling hand slowly, hesitating slightly before placing the small, fragile looking hand onto his hard ones and he let out a breath he did not realise he was holding. He knew a sign of trust when he saw one and he could tell that this young one's trust did not come easily.
Returning the smile, thankful at the chance that the boy had given to him, he closed his fingers around the little hand on his palm. "Let's go then, Singapore."
28th Jan 1819 – the day Sir Stamford Raffles' expedition arrived in Singapore. Of course, after all the political manoeuvring with the Dutch and the local Sultan (King), the formal treaty to allow the Brits to establish a trading post in Singapore came much later, but 28 Jan 1819 was the beginning.