The year was 1985. I was in Form 2. Our class was having a picnic trip at the Tungku beach.

It seemed like any other Sunday. We were a bunch of 12-13 year olds goofing around, making music video lip-synching to a Duran Duran song. The Bandar kids got all the good stuff including cameras and camcorders.

We noticed a helicopter flying above us. We ignored it at first, then we noticed that the helicopter was circling the area, flying low. Later, some police cars arrived. We just watched from afar but we couldn’t make out what was going on.

Soon it was time to leave. As our bus exited the beach, we passed by the scene, our little faces looking out the bus windows trying to capture whatever we could see to answer our curiosity. In that split second, we saw something in the ditch.

Later, we found out that it was a car that was in the ditch. That day, they finally found the air force pilot who was reported missing days before. He was driving home from Jerudong the night he disappeared.

The car was upside down. The man was still strapped in his seat. His hand was holding bloody tissue papers.

He spent days in the ditch while people were looking for him. No one will ever know how long he was alive before succumbing to the loss of blood.