“To conform to the expectations of others may be self-destructive for the individual”

Statement of Intention

I have chosen to write my story in a creative form. Not only does this allow me to express freely my idea, but it also enables me to describe aspects of my argument however I choose to, in as much detail as I want.

The language incorporated throughout is descriptive, and has been tailored to an Australian demographic audience, specifically those who were present during the eventful year of 2005. Notably, this was the year when Australian Van Tuong Nguyen was executed in for drug trafficking. His life is what I centre my story around.

All the information provided is as close to the actual source material as possible, but there may be some diverging plotlines. However, this was necessary in order to respond effectively to the prompt provided.

In my piece, I briefly describe the relationship between Van Tuong Nguyen and his brother, and how the expectations of his brother culminate in tragedy.

In addition, any readers of Alice Pung’s anthology Growing Up Asian in Australia may draw a connection between my story “White” with Emily J Sun’s “These are the Photographs we Take”. This is because both gravitate around the controversial issue of drug trafficking, and the dire consequences for those who fall victim to it.

The title “White” is an allusion to the drug that plays a major role in my story.

It is accepted that there may be some readers out there, or possibly some close friends or family members of the actual Van Tuong Nguyen, who might be offended by the contents of my prose. Please be aware that this is a work of fiction, and is not in any manner to defame or soil his memory.

White

My feet felt like lead, as I stumbled towards the outstretched hands of death. He was waiting to embrace me.

I limped across the slick mud, my toes digging into the cold dirt, which encased itself underneath my toenails. Each individual step was an effort in itself as I tried to stop myself from running, to stop myself from facing my destiny. My escort tapped sharply on my back, an indication that I was about to ascend my stairwell to heaven. Against my ghastly shallow breath, as flesh met wood, my footsteps sounded like gunshots. When the staircase ended, I could count the amount of steps that remained until it was all over. I turned around to face the crowd that did not exist. The words:

“Van Tuong Nguyen. You are hereby sentenced to death by , for the trafficking of illicit substances. Here in Singapore, you shall perish from the world. Do you have any last words?”

Silence… “I’m sorry brother.”

The necklace of rope wrapped around my fragile neck.

And then the drop.

***

“Come on brother. Help me out here. It’s not gonna kill you…”

Beads of sweat fell down in rivulets down my parchment paper skin. My knuckles were skull white as my fists tightened themselves into balls. Warm blood erupted, my fingernails burying themselves into my rubbery palms. My thoughts were like stars that I could not fathom into constellations.

My brother’s arm poked through the metal bars of the prison, his palm was outstretched and facing upwards. I felt sorry for him. Was he waiting for me to take it, and provide for him the guidance he has lacked these past few years? No, he was waiting for my answer.

He was my brother, and I was his. Between us, there was an unyielding bond. His eyes were mine, the blood that surged through his veins circulated around my numb body. Those familiar eyes: why did they have to stare so intently at mine? Why were they so hungry for freedom? They felt like white-hot knives that pierced my very soul. Was this what he expected out of me? To repay off his debts? To risk my life whilst doing so? I averted my gaze.

Even though the fan was turned on to its maximum capacity, the prison was still stifling hot, reeking of urine and sweat, mingled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. I felt my eyebrows knit together in sheer desperation. At my sides, my idle hands found their ways into my back pocket, and sub- consciously took out my ragged leather wallet. The contents inside: two thousand Vietnamese dong, two cigarettes, driver’s licence, and family photo. The latter was what I treasured the most, for it showed a picture of a woman smiling with her two sons. Although the image was slightly charred at the edges, its colour slowly fading, no amount of weathering could conceal the happy expressions on their faces.

I fixated on my mother’s face - so beautiful, so brave and strong to have suffered as she had and come out stronger. When our father left us, she was in shambles. Every day she would weep, praying at the family altar for our ancestors to forgive us. Two months after he never returned, she resorted to vegetarianism. For Buddhists, abstaining from meat is a way to cleanse both the body and the spirit. It was only when my brother and I found her collapsed from malnutrition did we force her to eat meat again.

When she remarried, we thought life would return to normal once again. We were wrong. Our new father was nothing like what we had expected. He was vile, selfish, and evil. He was abusive, an alcoholic, a tyrant. But whenever he would succumb to drunkenness and take it out on our mother, my brother would always be there to intervene. He would take beating after beating, deflect his caustic words, and soothe my crying mother. One day, our father went too far. Brandishing a knife and threatening to kill her, it was inevitable for my brother to disarm him and in a flash of rage, stab him. He had sacrificed himself for the good of the family.

***

I grasped his hand, and returned the smile he gave me.

“I’ll do it brother, but only for you, and only this one time”.

***

Back in I did as my brother instructed me to. I dialled the numbers, and from the other end of the line, a heavily distorted voice answered my call.

“Yes?”

“It’s me, Nguyen. Are you Tan?” “Ah yes. I’ve been expecting your call. Listen to me very carefully, and if you do exactly as I say, all of your troubles shall disappear. All of your debt will disappear…All of your loans will be repaid- both you and your brother’s... Your brother will be freed… Your mother will smile again…”

I struggled to hold onto the payphone, my fingers started to loosen, and I could feel my body convulse - how did he know that information? Nevertheless, for the sake of my brother, I pressed the earpiece closer.

“You are to travel to Sydney this afternoon. You will meet a Vietnamese man at the airport. You will know him as ‘Sun’. He will be waiting for you at the domestic flights terminal at 3pm sharp, where he will give you further instructions. He awaits your arrival…”

Dial tone.

***

Sydney airport, I met Sun. His eyes were concealed behind sunglasses but I could feel them boring into mine. Very simply he gave me three items: a plane ticket to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, some travel expenses, and the business card for the “Lucky Burger” restaurant. Written on the back of the latter was one simple word: “white”.

***

Although my heart was still ambivalent, my mind was sure of its convictions. At least I thought I was, until I arrived in Cambodia. For the first time, I truly felt liberated from my shackles. The iconic images of pagodas and Buddhist temples were not exaggerated as they appeared to be on the travel pamphlets back in Australia. The Cambodian skyline was both artificial and natural - a mesh up of nature and man, where each party seems to have reached a stalemate. Skyscrapers shot like bamboo saplings from the ground; the lush green mountains dominated the background, rolling on for miles. A river cut through the city, its murky water tainted by the city’s sewerage, boats idly skimming along the surface. Tall trees and houses lived together like neighbours.

My feet so desperately wanted to run, to run away from everything - my past, present and future. I could elope from my destiny and start anew, where I would accustom myself to the Cambodian culture. I could take on a new identity, and never have to worry about looking behind my shoulder again. I would never have to care for anyone else, or have anyone else’s expectations weigh me down. Nevertheless, I knew that if I did, I would live every day in regret. I would wake up at night in a cold sweat, always wondering about the safety of my family.

It was for that very reason alone – the expectations of my family that I stepped into the taxi, and as a consequence, ended my life.

At the restaurant, a man in a sharp tuxedo debriefed me. I was to return to Melbourne the next day, bringing back “white” for his client Sun. I did so without complaint; my thoughts were on my family.

It was a sad, downcast day - the sky was the colour of tears. The air was humid and sickly outside the Singaporean airport. So much so, that my thick cocoon of clothing stuck to my skin. Despite this, I layered on a jacket to conceal the protrusions from my abdomen. With each step, my package would slip across my lathered stomach, and it was all I could do not to rip it off there and then to purge me from my moral sins. I wanted to scream, to rip my hair off, to kill myself. But the image of my brother kept reappearing in my mind, and my final promise to him resonated within my head. I stepped into the terminal.

I vaguely remember three things happening in succession afterwards.

1. I put my luggage through the metal detector

2. The metal detector goes off

3. All fades to black