I was waiting for my father inside a British supermarket on the day of my grandmother's funeral, when I spotted a familiar face.
It was Ms Bernice Wong.
The former Miss Singapore was smiling at me from the pages of a British newspaper.
"I don't believe it," I exclaimed. "I know that woman!"
"Of course you do," my dad replied. "It's your sister."
"No, not her...Her! There, on the front page of that newspaper."
My father stared at the photograph.
"I wish I knew her too, son."
Even on the day of his mother's funeral, my father isn't one to lose perspective.
I read the story and remembered where I knew Ms Wong.
Back in 2003, I covered her beauty pageant, writing humour columns about the Miss Singapore contest. I was never short of material. When you're dealing with folks whose idea of an existential crisis is losing an eyelash curler, punchlines are pretty easy to come by.
I'd be lying if I said I remembered chatting with Ms Wong. And I'm certain she wouldn't remember me. I used public transport every day, for a start.
As Briton Anton Casey's dramatic fall from grace unfolded in Singapore, I had sensed something was brewing from afar, as unusual tweets began appearing on my Twitter feed.