Erm, what old story? (Now I remember)

It was after school. Year 1992. I was just released from the principal's office after I got into a fight with some Filipino kids who were bullying another Filipino kid. His name was Thomas. With a small, frail figure and buck-teeth, I can see why they like to bully him.

We all speak in English in the class, I'm the only Melanau-Iban. The other are either Filipinos, Thais, Bruneians, Europeans or Australians. Some are of mixed parentage, just like me. What happened on that day is fuzzy. All I know was some kids were screaming for me to stop and then I realised I got bloods(and hair) on my hands. Not mine. They belong to the kids who bullied Thomas. I was called into the principal's office (yes they call him principal, not the headmaster) and stayed there until the bell rang. No punishment. The principal knew I was not at fault, even though it was not my first time getting involved in a fight.

Some guy picked me up from school. My mum's boyfriend. In the car, he told me that my uncle just passed away that afternoon. I smiled. Then I asked how did he died. He told me he died in the toilet.

Why did I smiled? Simple. I don't like him. He was a bully. My aunt(my mum's sister) and my cousin were constantly abused on daily basis. And sometimes that includes me, when my mum left me in their care. I wanted to fight back, every single time, but he is not some Filipino kid. He was a soldier for the Brunei Army.

Thinking back about it, I'm glad I am the cool, level-headed person I am now. I think of consequences. I was a bully. Now I'm not. No one is strong forever. Al-Fatihah to my late uncle(he is Muslim).