The day I died, every news outlet in the country called it a suicide. A love suicide, to be exact.
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
Now, drifting out of the long-abandoned Ambang Motif Building—me, Leong Wai Ling. Sixteen years old. Well… sixteen when I died, anyway. Car accident. But the media spun it as some tragic teen melodrama: "Heartbroken Girl Commits Suicide, Dashes Into Traffic."
"Pft!" I spat at the air—even though, as a ghost, there's nothing to actually spit.
Love suicide?
Yeah, I was heartbroken. Not gonna lie. But I didn't throw myself into traffic.
I was just standing at the side of the road, zoning out. It was that reckless bastard speeding like a maniac who hit me.
Goddamn it.
Sorry. Got a little worked up there.
I didn't finish school—dropped out halfway through form three—so don't expect me to sound all refined or whatever.
My parents died when I was a kid. I had no family except my grandma. She worked day and night washing dishes in a restaurant just to raise me. Because she was always working, no one was really watching over me. I flunked most of my classes and spent more time helping her scrub plates than studying.
That's where I met Ah Dung. He was ten years older than me, worked in the back as a kitchen assistant—or, to be real, just another gofer. We got close fast. He was one of those guys—always out drinking, popping pills, hanging with shady types. And he brought me along. I was fifteen then, still in school. But after a night of clubbing with him, school didn't matter much.
Eventually, I dropped out. Not long after, my grandma passed away. I barely scraped together enough to handle her funeral, then moved in with Ah Dung. The place I lived with Grandma was rented, and after she died, I couldn't even pay the deposit.
Living with him was the happiest I'd ever been. We'd sleep all day, hit the clubs all night. No future, but for once I didn't care.
Then one day, just like that, he met someone else. A new girl. And I found out. We fought like hell. Screaming, crying, throwing things. He told me to leave. Threw me out.
That evening, I wandered the streets. I had nowhere to go. No family. No real friends—only his junkie buddies. I was broke. Homeless. Alone.
I don't know how long I wandered before ending up in front of the Ambang Motif Building.
I was just standing there, zoning out by the intersection—
And then that goddamn car hit me. Just like that.
Fucking hell!
That's how I died.
Swear to whatever's up there—I didn't jump. Yeah, I'd been thinking dark thoughts, but that? That was never the plan. Not like that.
You know what's messed up? The moment I died, my soul just slipped right out—and there I was, staring at my own body. Broken arms, twisted legs, head cracked open, blood everywhere… lying in the street in the most grotesque pose imaginable. It was fucking disgusting.
People walked up to check if I was breathing. Then someone came back with newspapers and gently covered my body like I was already garbage.
Then the van came. Two guys zipped me into a black bag and drove off.
I tried to follow, but I couldn't.
I can't leave a thirty-foot radius from where I died. It's like being trapped inside an invisible dome.
I'm not exactly sure what I am now—but a ghost, yeah, that much is clear.
Now I float here, outside Ambang Motif Building. Sun's just gone down, sky turning that weird dead grey.
The shopkeepers nearby start pulling out joss paper, candles, incense, even paper clothes, fruits, and biscuits—laying everything out on the sidewalk for offerings.
Today's probably Qingming Festival…(a Chinese holiday for honoring ancestors, usually involving grave visits and offerings) I think? Not totally sure.
I look up at the giant signboard on the fourth floor—Ambang Motif Building.
Used to shine so bright. Now it's dull. Dusty. Forgotten.
It sits at a perfect corner in downtown—prime real estate. Back when it first opened, the Chinese-style architecture made it a landmark. The place boomed, especially when a fancy restaurant moved in.
It was packed for years—at least until… five years ago? Or was it ten?
Maybe twenty?
Hell, I don't know. Time doesn't really mean much when I'm dead.
Anyway, I got hit by a car.
Died right here in front of this building.
And everything changed.