On a cool weekend night, our Chan family marched into Labrador Park like a professional fishing squad — hats on, snacks packed, rods proudly carried like legendary treasure hunters. The sea breeze was perfect, the sky looked cooperative, and everyone agreed: today was the day we would catch The Big One.
Uncle Yew Thong supervised like a sea captain. The kids named the worms. Someone dropped the bait. Twice. One rod got tangled before it even touched the water — a new family record.
We cast our lines with confidence.
And waited.
And waited.
A monitor lizard walked by and stared at us like we were the exhibit. A crab showed up briefly, judged our technique, and left. Every tiny ripple in the water caused wild excitement — “FISH! FISH! FISH!” — which turned out to be seaweed, or our own line, or pure imagination.
After two hours, zero fish were caught — but six sandwiches, four packets of chips, and one mysterious melted chocolate bar were successfully consumed.
We packed up proudly anyway.
Final score:
Fish: 0
Laughs: Too many to count
Family memories: Fully caught and kept forever
