From Chapter 3

© 2014 Christopher Ong. All rights reserved.


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The night flew by and I then contended with my unwanted free day, setting off to make this productive….


I wasted no time in the repository before starting on the exercises for class…. After working, I indulged in some brief web-based research. My mission: to Facebook-stalk this curious creature named Chris Ong. I’d give the lad credit for crafting an elusive profile. My longish search concluded when I checked our classmate Ashley’s profile and found him among her friends.


I’ll describe my brief look at his profile, which had him as ‘Topher Ong’. Aside from being search-shy, the bloke had the barest of information available to the public. His profile picture – which couldn’t be enlarged – featured Chris wearing a black shirt as he spoke upon a mike. His current cover photo included a dreamy panorama with rock formations and the sea. A snap of the Three Sisters, dated 2011, served as prior cover before being replaced by a koala pic. I was appreciating his Facebook presence when a message flashed on the screen, reading ‘your time’s up. Please go to the counter to pay if you require further computer use’. The screen went blank. Penniless, I hung around the park.





‘This is Kitty and I watching Good Will Hunting (1997).’ He showed us clips of the pair as they chomped on some popcorn. He might have even played visuals of his cat hanging near his TV and fiddling with the remote. I couldn’t be too sure as I was thinking, what the hell is this? Is he trying to make a mockery of how clueless and dim-witted he thinks of Asians?


‘Who teaches your class in Writing Simplistic Documents?’ I bumped into Stan, an acquaintance from another bloc, during lunch break.

‘Antonio’, I replied.

‘That guy’s a fucking prick, how unfortunate of you.’

‘Yeah, if I could only quit his class I would have done that the first time I saw his ominous face.’




‘So what was the final straw for you?’

‘He asked me this really complex question just today and when I requested that he rephrase it by querying ‘About what?’ he shot back ‘About anything’.

‘What an asshole.’


‘Exactly. How can that bigot sleep at night?’

‘Some racists sleep tighter than others’, came his swift reply. ‘I love it when he scrunches his eyebrows and gives the impression that he’s a thinker.’


‘Can’t believe there’s anything else between those ears other than massive xenophobic mush.’

‘Fucking A. I remember the first day this term when he asked us what we read over the break, like Dostoyevsky and Kafka?’

‘I know! Like all we ever have time for are dead Russian writers. I mean, sure, that’s what he goes for during his spare time, right?’

‘Stupid prig, no wonder I catch him eating lunch alone by the lake and getting attacked by those merciless seagulls. Anyway, I’m off.’

‘See ya Stan.’









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