This episode is in no way dramatized one bit for the consumption of public entertainment. This encounter is exactly what took place in Masjid Jamek that fateful afternoon.

I couldn’t believe at first it was tear gas that they fired, until I heard people shouting “Lari! Lari!” A few females amongst us were shrieking as we run in all directions.

I didn’t heed the warning, which I deeply regretted moments later as the smoke began to engulf the entire crowd with the aid of the strong wind.

The immediate effect of the gas was wasabi-like sensation in the eyes, and then as we inhale, it smelt like chinese fire crackers, but only more lethal. Breathing becomes almost impossible. You want to breathe, but your lungs seems to absorb nothing but painful throat cracking sensations. The more you try to rub your eyes, the worst it gets.

Closing your eyes don’t seem to help much either, hence, you start weeping intensely to counter the stinging sensation around your eyeballs.

Everyone’s trying to take cover by rushing into some buildings, some was climbing into the mosque, some running into stalls, some men were offering salts and some ran into bank’s atm machine room. A traffic police was kind enough to advise me to wash my face with the rain water flowing on the pavement. It did help to ease the pain abit.

Such is the treatment we get. It somehow felt like we were bullied, but the crowd knew better than to retaliate. The crowd knew that we were not there to show who has more guts.

We were all there, and we just wanted to be heard. Why was that so hard?

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