Somehow related to the previous post.
Theme: humans who hate because they got nothing better to do (EH YOU TAK ADA KERJA LAIN NAK BUAT KE?), and MPs that want to have a say, but cannot, as they are in a very difficult position!
I got one sweet friend, forgot his name but will say Faiz, starts with F one. Faiz and I were friends in Standard 6 after I moved to Subang from ulu punya Cheras. I sat next to him, a charming boy with wavy short hair who spoke very good English. In the Cheras primary school nobody spoke english liddat. He was very kind to me, even though I was a sissy and a cinapek, very insecure in this new pool of wealthy-looking people.
Once I made Faiz a Hari Raya card featuring a drawing of a mosque with a sun right above it. He saw it and said it was salah to depict Hari Raya that way. I am still very confused. Cannot have prayers during mid-day is it?
We were no longer in the same class in Form 2 onwards. He started assimilating himself into one of those ‘popular jock groups’, and developed heteromachochistic-bullyism. That’s not a word but I’m sure you understand. He became less attached with me, probably learnt from his new friends that pondan like me were best avoided, if not to be spat upon. But when we pass through the corridors we would acknowledge each other — only if Faiz is alone lah of course. HANCUR nanti if Faiz kena seen with JK among these abang-abangs..
There was one time when the male toilet stalls needed fixing, so they opened up the spare female toilet for boys to shit. I have the shy bladder syndrome, which means I can’t really pee at the very open, stainless steel mass-urinals (only during non-reccess times when the toilet is quiet and empty). I’d often lock myself in a stall away the commotion, so I could relax. During that period of fixing, I had no choice but to go into the spare female toilet stall… It was peaceful. No boy wanted to be seen doing their business there. They’d rather keep the shit in.
After I finished peeing, somehow a bully group sensed I was inside. One by one, came in and made a ruckus, their voices swelled, with the atmosphere consistent with that of a mini football-watching-fest in Rasta TTDI. They interjected their ‘pleas’ for me to open the toilet stall door with phrases that I’ve heard too much of in my youth: pondan, sissy, macam pempuan, (dan lain-lain). Teenage and sad, I wanted to die. They might be kicking the door liao, as I was trying to tuck away unhappy thoughts. Boys don’t cry kan? …as The Cure says.
I planned my escape. I would be a rodent, deploy my small size, open toilet stall door and slip past the pack of angry animals, run to where friends are, maybe screaming, so their sound would be masked. If I waited longer, they would have climbed into it anyway, these monkeys.
So I open the door and see them: poking and shoving me, not hitting me (they won’t dare! this is Malaysia, not barat); laughing their asses off, their greasy faces in expressions of hate; fingers pointing at my own greasy cinapek face of sweat, fear and shame… and as you might have guessed, most disappointingly Faiz was among them, except Faiz wasn’t laughing as hard as the others. Maybe he was laughing because he had to, that helpless bugger! Alahai.