I met Yuan at a bus stop outside the factory he works at. It was just after 9pm and the street was mostly deserted. Other than some fluorescent light from the factory behind us, the dull orange streetlamps were the only sources of light around us and illuminated Yuan in an old cream-colored polo shirt and grey Bermuda shorts with a black washed-out backpack slung over one shoulder. Yuan must have been taller than he appeared as he had a considerable slouch, coupled with a sense of jadedness. His tired eyes examined me, and he seemed mildly surprised that I had turned up. As with most low-wage migrant workers in Singapore, Yuan works long and late hours as a store man and has limited interaction with Singaporean-Chinese women. It was only after several days of text-messaging on WeChat – a messaging and social media application which I had used to “discover” Yuan – that he agreed to meet me.

“Aren't you afraid to meet a stranger at so late an hour?” This was the first thing he said to me when we met. It sounded like Yuan was concerned about me, but I thought that he may be wary of me. I assured him that I was familiar with the area and suggested that we go to a coffee shop a few minutes’ walk away. Yuan, however, grew increasingly apprehensive as we walked. Not seeing the coffee shop, he began to glance furtively and suspiciously at me and our surroundings. By then, I was sure that Yuan was not worried about me. He was worried about himself; that I could be a scammer after his money.