Rich People Problems-Kwan 2017 (WWT)

“Why are these here?” Nick was completely mystified.
Jirasit gave Nick a serene smile. “Your grandmother was a very private person, and I
think she felt that this was the only place she could leave them for safekeeping, without
the risk of anyone seeing them or censoring them after she was gone. She never wanted
them kept in Singapore, and she never wanted them to leave this compound. You are the
historian, from what I’m told, so she wanted you to have access to them. She told me you
would one day come.”
“Is this all there is? These diaries?” Nick asked, bending down to peer more closely into
the dark safe.
“I believe so. Was there something else you were looking for?”
“I don’t know. I guess I had imagined that she would have some other valuable
treasures stored away in here,” Nick said a little disappointedly.
Jirasit frowned. “Well you should read them, Nicholas. You may find a great many
unexpected treasures within those pages. I’ll leave you be, and perhaps we can meet up
again for lunch at noon?”
Nick nodded, as he took a stack of journals out to the desk. Deciding that the best thing
to do was read the journals chronologically, he reached to the bottom of the pile for the
oldest journal. As he opened the cover gently, the leather binding cracking after decades
of stillness, he began to hear his grandmother’s young voice in her handwritten words.
March 1, 1943
It feels like we have been riding for a week, but Keng tells me it has only
been three days. Whenever we reach a new outpost I ask him if we are still
on the estate and he sighs frustratedly. Yes, we are. Apparently, my
mother’s family is the largest landowner in West Sumatra, and it would
take a full week on horseback to traverse the estate. The highlands are
glorious—rugged with a strange wildness to everything. On another trip, it
might have even seemed romantic. If I had only known we would be
spending so many days riding just to get to my brother’s house, I would
have brought my own saddle!
March 2, 1943
Finally arrived. They take me upstairs to see Ah Jit, and at first I don’t
understand what is going on. My brother lies unconscious, his handsome
face so swollen and purple I can hardly recognize him. There is a deep,
bloody gash on his right jaw that they are trying to keep from being
infected. I asked what was going on? I thought the cholera was under
control? “We didn’t want to tell you till you got here. It’s not cholera. He’s
bleeding internally. He was tortured by Japanese agents. They were trying
to get him to give up the locations of some key people. They broke his body,