“Are you Singaporean?” a middle aged Chinese man asked us.
We were in queue to get our books autographed by a writer at the festival. “Uh, yes?” answered Max who actually wasn’t. And he should have proclaimed his Malaysian-ness to all instead of answering for the majority of us if we would have known what would happen next.
The man continued with, “Did you know this festival is by tax payers money?”.
I turned around, facing towards the start of the queue, my backpack towards him with the sudden need to see how many was left in line. My other friend, Raven looked into her bag as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. That left Max and Jo to face him.
Why. Why was this happening.