How amusing. I get locked out of my own home.

And a suspect too.

I leave home this evening with my parents this evening – they intend to give me a lift. Just as my father locks up the door, my mother asks me, "Did you bring your card?"

Ouch . . . I forget one of the most important things that I am supposed to have: the card to the main gate of my condominium. I have been away in Brunei for too long to remember what I usually carry in my pockets on any ordinary day in Singapore.

I want to go back into the house to get the card, but mother tells me, never mind, the door's already locked. When I get back home, I'll just have to call.

* * *

Later in the evening I arrive home. As I step onto the pavement outside my condo's main entrance, my phone rings. It's my mother, asking me if I'm home. I tell her I'm just outside. From this conversation I assume that the family's at home. All I have to do is to get through the main gate, go upstairs and press the doorbell.

Usually when I will wait for someone to come up to open the gate with his card, then we'll go in together and to our separate ways. Otherwise I'll just inform the guard that I'm a resident here by telling him my unit number. Very easily I'm able to access the compound.

But today is different. Somebody happens to come home and unlocks the gate. We enter the compound together. Suddenly the guard calls me: hey you, come here.

I go over to the guard house, preparing to defend my case that I'm a resident. I fish out my bunch of keys, intending to show him the key to the main door, which I believe, has the same design as all the other keys held by the other residents.

The key is not there.

Shit. Where is it?

I try to act confidently in front of the guard, so that he'll be convinced I'm really a resident here. I tell him my unit number, and how does he want me to prove that I am a resident?

Go upstairs and bring your card down.

Okay, fine. My family's at home anyway.

So I return to my unit. I hear the sounds of some programme on television through the door. I press the doorbell.

No response.

I wait, and press again.

No response.

Maybe my parents are not home, only that idiot brother of mine. And he's deliberately refusing to answer the door.

I bang on the door.

And at this moment I begin to think something's not right. I'm suspecting that the television sounds I hear are coming from another unit instead, and that there is really no one at home.

Oh gosh. What am I to do?

Just for one final confirmation check, I dial the house number. It rings, but no one picks it up. I call my mother – as usual her cell phone is turned off. I dial my father – he's driving, on the way to pick up my mother and brother from my grandparents'.

So they are really out!

I relate to him what has happened so far. I tell him I'm going to wait at the entrance, and when they return home they can prove to the guard that I'm their son.

And so begins the agonising wait for my parents to return. The guard makes me sit on a chair directly outside the guardroom (the guardhouse is away from the main pedestrian entrance, next to the entrance ramp to the basement car park). You can see that I am being treated like some prisoner.

Then he starts questioning me, why didn't I bring my card? I told him I'd just return from overseas and forgot to take them along when I went out today. The guard continues the interrogation: why did you go overseas?

For army training.

What camp you from?

What vocation?

When ORD?

When enlisted?

So you two and a half years?

. . .

Finally my parents return to claim their son. Thank goodness I am saved from that embarrassing and difficult situation.

And my stupid brother has to make fun of me . . .

When I get home, the first thing I do before typing this is to retrieve my card and key from where I placed them before I left for Brunei. Never am I going to be made prisoner of my own house again. You live here, yet the very guards who are supposed to protect you suspect you instead.

But I have to hand it to the guards. They are doing a very good job. It means that security will be tight, and we can avoid having strangers who are not supposed to be residents loitering about our compound. Honestly these guards are the best since I've lived here for the past year. And I feel like an idiot always trying to get past the gates without carrying a pass, which is obviously the wrong thing to do. You want security in your condo, you have to live up to the tight rules that the guards put down. Otherwise, don't blame people if your compound gets mugged.