I have been cheated by a friend today, who asked me out to meet me up. I thought we'd probably sit down at a coffee house or something, enjoy drinks and just chat and catch up with one another.

She wants to meet me at Raffles Place MRT - I find it a little weird because the CBD is deserted on a Sunday; furthermore there is nothing of worth during the weekends. Then she tells me to walk to Lau Pa Sat. I think: how is it possible we chat there? That place is nothing but a food court where the prices are astronomical and the food uninteresting, save for the night outdoor food trolleys along Boon Tat Street.

Yet the strangest thing is that I hardly keep in contact, or even communicate, with this friend since we entered JC - she being in the Science stream and in a different CCA. I doubt we even say hi to each other along the corridors very much. She calls me out of the blue on Deepavali, stunning me for the moment as I struggle to make sense how she would try to find me when I'm not even close to her.

So I walk to Lau Pa Sat, and there she is, dressed almost formally like she's working. In fact, she is working. I ask her, as she eaten lunch? She has. We buy drinks and sit down. She asks how is life in the army - that is perfectly normal in a way to start a conversation with long-time-no-see friends. Guys are often asked about - and talk about - national service, while the preferred topics for the girls are their experiences in the university.

Speaking about university - she goes on to talk about her dreams to study at a foreign university. She asks where am I going after I ORD - overseas or remain in Singapore? She inquires about funding. She talks very quickly, very confidently. She seems to know what she is saying and what she is GOING to say.

Then she talks about her part-time work. She offers to bring me to her company to take a look - I am beginning to get more puzzled: bring me to her company? What on earth is she trying to do? I thought this would be any ordinary conversation on a boring Sunday, but it seems she is trying to sell me something. In order that I may not offend her, I follow her along.

She brings me across the road to one of the slightly older office buildings. There are lots of people milling about the entrance to the lobby. We walk past the bank of elevators and through the door behind the lift shafts. Along the way, she meets some of her colleagues. "Have you eaten?" they ask her. "No I haven't," she replies.

Remembering what she told me earlier, I ask her incredulously, "But I thought you told me you had lunch already?"

"Well, I ate breakfast."

I observe some tinge of dishonesty, but I shrug it off.

The room is of a completely different setting from the marbled and dimmed lobby: here the walls are white-washed and the place is brightly lit with fluorescent lights, almost reminiscent of tuition centres. There are lots of round tables, where people are seated in groups and discussing things. There are pigeonholes for bags. There are lots of posters and papers bearing handwritten notices on one wall.

She sits me down at one of the tables, tells me to wait and goes off. I read my book rather apprehensively. What the hell is this place? Why did she bring me here?

She leads a well-dressed young man to the table. In fact, he is formally dressed in a business suit. In his hand is a plastic file with plain white papers. "This is Mr V (not his real name), my mentor," she introduces.

We shake hands, and sit down. I briefly introduce myself. Then Mr V asks what I want to do in university. Music, I tell him. I want to be a composer and a conductor. He asks where I want to do this. I tell him, I'm not sure. I am very cautious about telling him my details, very cautious when phrasing my sentences. I am very sure he is trying to sell me something, or to coax me into doing something. From the way he dresses, I can tell, or at least sense something. He is dressed to impress, to make people believe him. Fortunately I may have the ball in the court. He may be ignorant about the music education and its associates. I can probably reveal and manipulate details that will put me towards an advantage towards fending off whatever he is trying to push to me. He keeps implying that I need extra money to take on courses to learn the skills required for what I'm going to do later . . . I tell him some of these courses he perceives are really unnecessary, and I'm frugal enough to realise the possibility of paying for my further education. Which is true, yes, because I am still going on the allowance system of a fixed amount per month, no more no less, although the money now comes from what I earn as a national serviceman.

He comes to the real motive behind his talk: taking up a part-time job with his company to earn extra money faster before I go to university. I'm aware that the SAF forbids its personnel to hold other jobs besides theirs inside the army. For this reason I'm not really interested in taking this job, because it can possibly land me in serious trouble. We're talking about the whole fucking SAF, not just the company. It's not just extra duties or whatsoever, but there could possibly be legal dealings involved. Most importantly, however, I want the weekends to myself, and I honestly am not about to spend my time working to earn money when I have to work so hard myself from Monday to Friday inside the camp. Come on, Saturdays and Sundays are important to my relaxation. I feel pissed off even when I have to spend Saturday mornings attending any important function that is not related personally to me.

Mr V reassures me that this job won't take up much of my time. It's a networking business whereby I only have to call "friends out for coffee and then persuade him or her to join the network", like what my friend had done. I am flabbergasted: I've been cheated by my own friend, and I'm not about to cheat others just to earn money. I think it's dishonest. I don't tell him this of course, but put it another way: well, I'm not really interested in doing business, and I'm not a good talker.

"Everybody does not start out being a good talker," he assures me. "But you can learn." End of the road: I switch back to the previous statement about needing relaxation time. All the while, I am adamant about my lack of interest in the job. Strangely the thought of money doesn't sway my decision. The only thing on my mind then is getting the hell out of there as fast as possible without cutting any deal.

I think he gives up in the end. I refuse to be swayed by his smooth-talking. We shake hands, and I can sense the disappointed look in his eyes. After he leaves, she tries to talk me into the job, recounting her own experiences of how she manages to earn back whatever she invested into the business within three months. I tell her, sorry, I'm really not interested. I didn't tell her: yes, you can earn back your investment in three months. I may not be able. I might not even earn back the money at all. Everyone takes and do things at different levels of proficiency. She may have the business acumen. I definitely do not. Finally, like Mr V, she has nothing more to say, but merely escorts me out to the bright sunshine. I'm grateful to see the traffic once again. She is almost pleading, but doesn't show it. "Think about it, won't you? I'll call you in a few days' time for your decision."

Well she hasn't called back since. I'm unsure if she has gone to meet other friends for coffee. Yeah, call me a sceptic towards my own friend, but from what she has done to me, I feel my trust being belittled.