Pre-Exam Days

The phone blasts to the tone of TVXQ’s Break Up the Shell. She reaches out to the source of the sound, claps a hand over the offending thing to silence it. This exercise is repeated over the course of 5 times with another four different blaring tones. A sleepy eye opens blearily to the last round to catch a look of the time. A quick topple out of the comfortable nest of warmth in the blankets into the freezing cold jet of water from the shower jolts her into reality that so resembles her dreams.

Her bag is packed mechanically and methodically; in goes the stack of notes, the compilation of past year papers, out flies the lab coat and guide. Pencil case, water bottle, calculator. Shoves her feet into her sneakers before allowing her feet to carry her to school. A quick flash of student card at the gate and she’s in.

Today is the last day of school for the semester. Today will be the last day she has a Thinking Skills lesson. The last time before finals next week. What will be different today? Answer: nothing. No matter how last the class is, tradition dictates that it is as relaxed as ever. Some students chatter amongst themselves, some watch the teacher warily, some stuffed their ears with earphones and some don’t even come in. That ends our last class with her.

The next morning, it’s the weekend before finals. Same wakeup ritual, same set of tones set the night before. The process of preparing for school is replaced with a semblance of breakfast. The kitchen table is monopolized by her books and laptop from last night’s studying session. First subject of the day, Maths. Tick tock goes the clock.

One by one, the household wakes up in time for an early lunch. Next subject for the day, an attempt at Chemistry. Diagrams, structures, equations, definitions. The heat of the afternoon drifts on to evening. She gives up on Chemistry and starts on the Biology text. Members of the household gathers for another staring contest to decide where’s dinner for the day followed by an hour of television. Statistics paper is next. She stares in calm frustration at questions that she does not get. The night wears on accompanied by one cup of caffeine. The book joins the pile of fast gathering stack of material on the table next to her laptop. She drops into bed and waits for the next round of alarms signaling the start of another day like the one that just passed.

Throughout the day, one thing hammers into the back of her brain constantly: exam’s next week, exam’s next week, exam’s next week over and over again. Eating, sleeping, dreaming, walking from place to place, that is the one thing that is constant not only for one day but for the whole week.

That people, is how I find life one week before exams. We get only one shot in this and like jumping off a cliff, we either find that we can fly or we drop to the bottom. Good luck for the finals people and all the best!

By Zi Ying

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‘Gor, u knw one of ur primary skol teacher died..’

That was the message I got from my sister late one night, when Morpheus was ready to bestow me his blessing of a good night’s dream. I was curious to find out whom, of course, but my line was barred, and I really was too tired, so I decided to put the urge to find out who it was off until tomorrow.

The following day, whilst happily munching away with a bunch of friends in the middle of lunch break, the curiosity somehow, without my realizing, wormed its way out.

“Did you guys know some teacher from Chung Cheng died?!” I queried, sensing tittle-tattle around the corner. Their answer couldn’t have turned the gossiping mood off more.

“Yeah, Yi Lin’s mom.” Their solemn glances, together with the thought of my friend losing her mom, hit home. It made me wrinkle my brow and ponder, for the entire day, and it dawned upon me that lately, the many people whom have somehow in some ways made an impact in my life, insignificant or meaningful, are passing away as the decade comes to an end.

The Crocodile Hunter was one of my favourite documentaries. I remember vividly how Steve Irwin would wrestle crocodiles down under and mummy, May and I would sit glued with our butts to the sofa and eyes to the tv, Fifi the poodle on either one of our laps. And how my boyfriend Gerald cried over the phone when he found out that the crocodile hunter died. Steve Irwin was undoubtedly one of the most prominent animal rights activists.

Next came Heath Ledger, overnight turned superstar circa 2005 after his most controversial film Brokeback Mountain. After the airing of the film, gay rights gained substantial prominence and attention amongst other human rights in today’s society.

In the past two months, another four people who contributed a lot to the people passed: Michael Jackson, Yasmin Ahmad, my teacher Mrs. Tan and Frank McCourt. Sometimes, it makes me wonder whether the 2012 Armageddon prediction is really true, that God is taking away the people he holds dearest, or that this is just life.

By Douglas

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1000 cranes

The banner just appeared one day when I arrived in the morning, bearing the black and white image of a pair of hands cupping a single red paper crane with the tagline “a wish upon a crane”. Looking at it brought back so many memories.

The sight of the statue of a girl child holding one such life-sized version of the crane aloft over her head in the Hiroshima Peace Park, surrounded by booths holding uncountable origami cranes sent in from all over the world flooded my mind’s eye.

My one visit introduced me to Sasaki’s story that inspired the culture of folding cranes for a single wish, or as more believe, for health and a speedy recovery from illness. One can say that it was an almost painstaking task for her who was critically ill. Even though circumstances were not on her side, she continued to create the paper cranes, using pieces of plastic, any scraps of small paper she could find, more often than not, using a pin to craft the paper. It was right after the Second World War and paper was a scarce luxury to be found, hence the substitution of that with small pieces of plastic, aided by a pin as the material diminished in size. Right up till her death, Sasaki folded cranes with determination admirable zeal, seemingly adding a part of her wish into each crease she added to the material.

This one young girl could not have known then how her story would be retold in future, how it would give life to the idea of peace for the sake of the children of the world. Her courage and suffering in the face of the inevitable caused by war, one of the cornerstones to peace proposals, lighting the flame of hope that the future generation will never have to firsthand behold the pain caused by misuse of nuclear power.

Here’s to Sadako Sasaki, your one simple wish may not have come true, but we will carry the memory of you and your life in our hearts. I think I look forward to the production and may they have done justice to her story.

By Zi Ying

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A National Anthem

While I’d already been told that three ghosts would be visiting me on the September 16th, I hadn’t really expected them to actually turn up. I mean, come on! What was this, ‘A Christmas Carol’?

So I wasn’t very surprised when I found myself standing in the middle of Padang Merdeka in my pyjamas. Sheesh, couldn’t they even let put on a decent pair of clothes? Or shoes, for that matter?

And there was no one there besides me. Which was just peachy because here I was, in my pyjamas, barefoot in the middle of Padang Merdeka at midnight. Alone. And heaven knew what kind of unsavoury characters strolled about at this time of the night.

“Ah, there you are.”

It’s bad enough when ghosts appear out if thin air in front of you. It’s even worse when they appear behind you and then tap you on the shoulder. So it really wasn’t my fault that I screamed out loud. “Argggh!”

And then, “Holy Mackerel! You – you’re Hang Tuah!”

“The one and only.”

And it was him. He looked pretty much like how he was portrayed in the history books, though a little shorter. And more, um, rugged. Or something.

“Are you here to show me the sins of my past, or something like that?”

He waved his hand in answer and the ground beneath me suddenly bumped up to send me sprawling onto the hard tarmac of a… school? My primary school! What the heck?

It must have been a Monday because I’d landed in front of an assembly of kids which went on singing Negaraku despite the fact that a woman in pyjamas just fell out of thin air in front of them.

While Hang Tuah had been a fearsome warrior, he wasn’t quite a gentleman, leaving me to pick myself up from the hard ground without any help, not that I needed it anyway but the gesture would have been nice. “Okay, okay,” I said, brushing down my pants as he tapped his foot impatiently. “So what now?”

“There.” And then came the dramatically pointed finger, poking indignantly in the direction of – me.

“Oh.” It was me, fifteen years younger, short, pig-tail haired, perky nosed, the whole nine yards. It was me, whispering and giggling with a friend while the national anthem played.

“Um, ah… I was seven?”

Now it was my turn to be at the receiving end of Hang Tuah’s threateningly pointed finger and boy, he needed a serious manicure. “That is no excuse! It wouldn’t have killed you to stand still and sing for only three minutes. And may I remind you that this disrespect has continued up to now!”

“Um…”

“Think about it. My time is up and my colleague will be here soon.”

“Um, right. Bye?”

He faded away without so much as a goodbye or a wave or anything. Leaving me alone in my former primary school with my snot nosed younger self. Gosh, I spend ten years of my life trying to escape school and this is where my life brings me? Great. Absolutely great.

I took off walking, because there was no way I was going to spend another second here, and jumped back a foot, tripping over my own clumsy feet when I almost ran into a guy in a songkok.

“I’m sorry, Mr, I didn’t see – oh my gosh, you’re Najib!”

“Hmmm, yes, I know I am. And come on, I haven’t got much time. I have a meeting with the cabinet about three hours.”

Unlike Hang Tuah, Mr, um, Dato Seri Najib turned out to be a lot more gentlemanly and pulled me to my feet, though that could also have been because he really seemed to be eager to go off. As I dusted my off my butt he tapped his foot impatiently and finally we were off. A quick trip through time and space and we ended up in my living room.

“Why here, of all places? Uh, Mr – I mean, Dato Seri.”

“Because yesterday you were writing rather deprecating comments about your country to your foreign boyfriend.”

“Um…”

“Have you no shame?”

“Well, they were justified!”

His glare is glacial.

“Um, mostly. I might have exaggerated a little.”

Gosh, his look could stop the icecaps from melting.

“Okay, I exaggerated a lot. Sorry.”

“If this is the behaviour of most Malaysians, we are in deep – nevermind. Just keep this in mind. What has the country done for you? You’re still alive, aren’t? Haven’t been bombed, aren’t starving, aren’t being prosecuted for your race, et cetera. Be grateful. Goodbye now.”

“Uh, good–”

He vanished into thin air.

“–bye…”

And again I was left alone, though this time in much more comfortable and familiar surroundings. Thank heaven for that. Now I could finally–

“What the–!”

I had been just about to relax on my couch when the world had once again dissolved into a swirl of psychedelic colour and wham there I was, somewhere in the past… or was it the present or the future.

“Watch out!”

I had promised my parents to cut back on my swearing but I really could help but shout the ‘F’ word out loud as a brick narrowly missed my head. Actually, I think that I didn’t quite manage to avoid it but it seems that one of the perks that come with being thrown across time and space like some cosmic volleyball is intangibility.

“You all right?”

“T – Tim!”

“Hi,” my boyfriend said. “Enjoyed the trip?”

“You are a ghost?”

“Sorry sayang, I can’t answer that question. Let’s get out of here.”

Somewhat belatedly, I realised that we were in the middle of a riot. Though I knew I was intangible, I couldn’t help but wince as another brick flew right through my chest. “What’s going on?”

“Racial riots,” Tim explained matter-of-factly. “The whole country’s gone to the dogs. And look.”

He pointed a body. My body. It was quite clear that my future self was dead. And somehow it was just so… cheesy. Definitely a ‘A Christmas Carol’ rip-off.

“My fate it I don’t change my ‘evil’ ways?”

He looked surprised at my lack of shock. “Aren’t you scared? You’ll die.”

I was sick and tired of this. “Look here. So all this is happening because of me? Because I didn’t respect our national anthem? Because I criticised ISA? What the heck?”

“Well, it’s not exactly just you,” he explained with a sheepish look on his face. “It’s a lot of people.”

“So why bug me only?”

“You’re not the only one being taken around on this joyride, trust me sayang. We’re trying to avert a disaster here.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever. I’ve learned my lesson and now I’m dead tired because I’ve spent the whole night being tossed through time and space. Send me back! Please!”

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

“And why are you a part of this anyway? You’re not even a Malaysian!”

His only answer was “Farewell!” with an added echo of “Farewell, arewell, well, ell!” which was really lame.

Later, I would wake up and find that I had overslept. And waiting for Tim to pick me up for our date later that night, I would decide, very firmly, never to mention any of this to him. Ever.

But before that, I was going to delete that seditious blog entry before I got arrested under the ISA.


Based on ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles Dickens. All rights reserved.
Intended for humour only. No discourtesy was intended and the writer apologises sincerely for any offence caused.

By Simone Koo

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My View on The Taymun Conference 2009

Life itself has been both hectic and chaotic. There are so many political, economical and social issues happening around the world that it really does make one’s head spin to truly know them in and out. So rather than talk about a current global issue that I am most probably not very familiar with, why not talk about the events in Taylors itself?

I’ll be focusing on one event, mainly the Taymun Conference 2009, as I was present then and can relate to it better.

In Taymun, students from different schools and colleges can sign up and act as delegates discussing different issues of concern around the world. We had candidates from Help, Sri Garden, Inti Nilai, SMK Bandar Utama Damansara 4, Sunway and of course, Taylors itself. The participants were assigned different teams and countries.

Yours truly was the delegate of Argentina who represented the Social, Culture and Humanitarian (SOCHUM) group. Her other fellow Argentina delegate who was in the Disarmament and International Security (DISEC) team is the always-ready-to-pose-for-cool-pictures, Lim Chuan Yang (Class of July 2010) whom I have had the pleasure of knowing beforehand as he was in the same class as me before this.

As I was in the SOCHUM team and spent most of the 3 days of my conference there, I will hence mainly be talking about SOCHUM itself.

The participants of SOCHUM were given two topics which are:

1. Welcoming a global trend towards the abolishment of the death penalty.2. The incorporation of social mobilization in acknowledging gender inequalities in national responses toward HIV/AIDS.

I was particularly interested in the former topic, hence me preparing a proposal with other the other delegates (participants who were acting as representatives of other countries) from India, Australia, Denmark, Brazil and other countries as well.

Most of us were really inexperience, including me, since this conference was our first. Although we were not able to come up with a very solid resolution, we had our fun trying to prepare them. I also made tons of new friends whose ideas were really eye openers for me.

Quotes I particularly remember from the conference were:

“This delegate assumes that all jails have spotlights, wires and CCTVs. A jail without one is called a 5 star hotel!” – The delegate of Australia when asked about the addition of flowers in jails to make it a happier place.

“This delegate agrees to go back to the ice age as long as he gets to keep his suit, house and air conditioner.” – The delegate of Russia when defending his stand upon the abolishment of nuclear power.

“Can the delegate of Canada explain what French fries are? The delegate of India has no idea what French fries are as there are none in India.” – The delegate of India when asking a question regarding an issue that was compared to fries.

All in all, this conference was truly an enlightening one and I had no regrets sacrificing my weekend to attend it. I congratulate the organizers for their hard work and dedication in making all this happen. If there was a Taymun Conference 2010, I would most definitely attend it. :D

By Audrey Tan

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~.~.~

A blaring sound that seemed to come from no where woke me. I struggled to open my eyes and realised it was coming from my mobile phone on a chair nearby. I looked to my left where a clock was sitting on the side table. I squinted to see and the clock read 6.15 a.m. I reached out for my mobile phone and turned off the alarm with a tap on the blinking screen. One of the many features that I am glad was invented for the mobile phone. Living in this century, technology has been a huge part of our lives. You see, I am not a morning person. Table alarm clocks fail to work on me anymore. The only two things that successfully force me out of my bed every morning is the alarm feature on the mobile and my father.

As I lay in bed for another good ten minutes, I ran through today’s agenda mentally. This is a daily ritual I follow every morning to prepare myself for the day. However, I realised today will not be like every other Thursday. Today will be Miss Flo’s last day in Taylor’s. After five months under her guidance, we were definitely going to miss her. That aside, today’s Biology practical would be graded and a Chemistry test tomorrow to study for. Today is going to be quite a day. After checking the clock again, I dragged myself from under my comfy covers and head for the washroom. Half an hour later, my family and I were already caught in the morning traffic, just like every other morning.

The day started off with Mathematics lesson, where at the end of the lesson, we said our goodbyes to our teacher and wished her well for the new path that she will be taking. Class ended with plenty of hugs and photographs. At the end of the next lesson, Chemistry, a fellow classmate fainted as she left her seat. The whole class went, “Claire!!!”, and most of us were paralysed with shock; we simply stood there with disbelief. Thankfully, some of the class acted fast and rushed to lift her from the ground to the chair.

Not long after, we left the classroom and headed for the Biology lab for our practical lesson. Since I was going to be in the lab for two hours, I thought it would be best if I use the toilet first. With a heavy bag and a set of books, I headed to the nearest toilet which was located on the first floor. I walked up to the first floor and headed straight to the toilet. I could see the quiet street nearby from the entrance of the toilet. As I stepped into the place, a gush of wind blew in my direction. Like dancing to the beat of the wind, the trees sway even more as the wind blew stronger causing shadows to prance back n forth in the room.

For the sake of convenience, I decided to leave my bag and books by the sink, something I have never done before but all I had in mind was to get out of the place as fast as I could. Being in a somewhat safe environment, where the guards never fail to check for identification cards as part of their daily duty, I was made to believe in the college’s safety. As safe as the toilet seemed to be, it never fails to cast an eerie feeling upon all who enters. Without wasting a minute, I hurried into the nearest cubicle and shut the door behind me, making sure the lock was secured. After doing what I had to, feeling relieved, I was about to reach for the flush when I heard footsteps in the room. The heavy and fast-paced footsteps echoed through the room. I listened carefully, the footsteps stopped and I heard movement, fast movement. Like a rat scurrying through the streets as if searching for something, the movements grew suspicious when I heard like what seem to be a bag being unzipped.

Without much thought but a little voice in my heart telling me I should leave the place fast, I pulled the flush and swung the door open. Standing in front of me was a figure smiling at me. A smile that sent shivers down my spine. As the sunlight shone, a dark hunched shadow of the figure was formed. Paralysed by shock or fear, I could not decide, I was staring into its eyes. Eyes that seemed to burn with evil unflinchingly returned my gaze, penetrating my soul. The question burning on my mind was, “Where did it come from?” I looked at the figure from its head right to its feet. Strands of hair covering half its face and the reddest lips I have ever seen caught my attention. What really bothered me was when I noticed something was clutched in its left hand. When I looked closer, it was something so familiar and I searched my memory to recall what it was. I realised, it was my mobile phone.

Rage filled my body and adrenaline rushed through my veins when I realised that I had to get back what rightfully belonged to me. I was not going to let anyone or anything rob me. The adrenaline rush must have moved my body so close to it that I was even ready to slam the body against the wall, if I really had to. Of course, violence is not an option for me, unless necessary. The room was silent and all I could hear is our heavy breathing. I stared right into its eyes to make sure that this time, I was not afraid, and instantly reached for my mobile phone, the mobile phone that I relied on every morning to wake me up. I had to use some force to free my property from its fingers. Once the mobile phone was in my hands, I reached for my bag to check for any other missing things. I remembered that I had brought my brand new digital camera to record those precious moments with our Math teacher. Panic overtook my body now. To my relief, nothing else was taken. When I turned to look at the figure, it was gone. It seemed to have disappeared in a blink of an eye.

I stood by the sink for awhile, unsure of what just happened. With eyes closed, I calmed myself down and said a prayer of gratitude. I was truly thankful that I was safe. I glanced at my watch and gathered my belongings and hurried out of the toilet for my Biology class. As I walked away from the place, I turned behind to get one last look of that place. At the corner of my eye, I see a figure lurking along the corridor, watching me leave. Not long after, I saw it disappeared again. Maybe, it had made its way back into the toilet, patiently awaiting its next victim…

By Cheryl Chong

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Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen – Why it Works

I fell in love with Transformers the first day it premiered. Massive didn’t even begin to describe it. It was mind blowing, hilarious and endlessly entertaining. In short – it had Shia LaBeouf. Having Shia’s somewhat ‘interesting’ mix of features, hefty roles don’t come easy. Heck, main roles in summer blockbusters normally don’t go to guys without a six pack and muscles popping ridiculously all over the place. Which was why I was rooting for Shia since he first burst onto the big screen, screaming for all he was worth, trying to save his ass from flying missiles and inevitably, to save the world. Epic.

So after having his star almost certainly next on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, why didn’t Shia manage to save the day from Hollywood’s worst critics? Comments such as “ I’d call it a typical summer blockbuster but then that’d be an insult to summer blockbusters” and ‘ Loud, long and utterly incomprehensible. ‘Revenge of the Fallen’ is an exquisitely painful experience that pummels the senses as it confounds the intellect” don’t exactly praise you to the skies, no?

In truth, it all boils down to Michael’s famous penchant for blowing things up. His once renowned action scenes have almost certainly overstayed their welcome. The scenes in which Michael desperately tries to duplicate the success, which his first film garnered by pitting an army of robots against each other until you couldn’t tell who was fighting who, definitely proves that more isn’t necessarily a good thing.

Also, as a so-called superior alien race, I would expect a certain type of alien ‘behavior’. So robots who can ‘shuck n’ jive’ as well as speak to each other African-American style? So now we are the race to beat… or perhaps these robots of a ‘superior race’ have taken so much to speaking like us that they decide to emulate us whilst trying to save us from our destructive selves.

Next up, an attempt at crude comedy- huge mistake…. disastrous even. In a scene where a monstrous robot tears up one of the pyramids in Egypt, a soldier declares, “ I’m under his balls”. A robot…with balls…. and right on the heels of the last movie centering around the Cube-their life source…It doesn’t get any more dumb than this.

Fortunately, Michael did get one thing right, he identified with the teenage male-and I daresay female-demographic. Shia’s character Sam Witwicky - whose awkward, geeky charm is swoon-worthy if you like the sensitive yet goofy type – is starting his first year in college and is still holding on to his ridiculously hot girlfriend, Mikaela (played by the hotpants-clad Megan Fox).

Take for example, the scene in the Egyptian desert where Mikaela- wearing an oh-so-tiny top- falls over after narrowly escaping getting embedded into the sand by one of the Decepticons. Zooming in onto Megan Fox’s cleavage, I swear, all guys were at the edge of their seats. Another girl joining the babe fest is Alice, a co-ed in Sam’s college who makes advances on him to steal any information he has on the whereabouts of the Sun Harvester-the main reason for all the fuss the Fallen’s making. With 2 such hot girls flaunting their God given assets on screen, it’s no wonder why more than 70% of the people seated alongside me in the cinema were testosterone-fuelled guys under the age of 30. And don’t forget the US military with the adorable Josh Dumahel playing Major William Lennox. Hey, at least they provided eye candy for us girls too.

Putting hot bods, crude jokes, neurotic parents who grate on the nerves, confusing battle scenes all tied together with a plot so full of holes aside, the movie was pretty enjoyable. There was some fantastically funny moments-check out the scene when Sam tries to stop Bumblebee from following him to college. Even if the battle scenes were confusing, you’ve got to admit they were pretty awesome. The film reached its pinnacle in one such action packed-piece that took place in the forest. A brilliantly crafted battle scene between good and evil with arms getting ripped off, ending with Optimus Prime getting impaled through the chest by Megatron.

So if you’re looking for something to really sink your teeth into and give those brain cells a workout, you’re probably better off staring into space. If however, you don’t mind getting your senses pummeled by loud groans and blinding flashes in favour of hot bods and things getting blown to bits in any and every way imaginable, this is the movie for you. As for me, Megan Fox is reason enough. XD

By Rebekah Leong

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Independence

The year is 1957.

The crowd shivers in anticipation. Murmurs. Whispers. They’re impatient. They’ve been waiting for this for over four hundred years. And they can wait a little longer. But just a little.

They’ve waited for this. Suffered for this. Fought for this. Died for this. Blood, sweat, tears and it wasn’t – isn’t, never will be – all in vain. Now, at last they have done it. Now it is here. Right here. Right now. At long last.

Silence flows into the packed stadium, fills the spaces between the people, squeezes into all the empty spaces. Stifles all noise. And then–

“Merdeka!”

“Merdeka!”

“Merdeka!”

***

The little boy is two. His papa and mama are taking him to town. Now they’re joining a huge crowd, one that’s noisy and hot and pressing against him from all directions.

He’s scared. Terrified that he might get lost. Or that horrible bad people might steal him away from his mama and papa. That he’ll never see them again. Everyone is so tall, so huge, so loud. He clutches his mama’s hand tighter and she looks down and smiles reassuringly at him.

Then the crowd starts cheering, screaming, shouting.

“Merdeka! Merdeka! Merdeka!”

He doesn’t understand. He’s scared. He starts to cry and hugs mama’s legs but then papa bends down and picks him up and places him on his shoulders. Now he is tall and now he can see over everyone’s heads and he wonders why everyone is so happy. He’s two and he doesn’t understand. Not yet.

***
The two little girls shriek with laughter as they chase each other around on the tiny patch of Padang Merdeka that isn’t crowded with people. Hair and flags flap in the breeze as they wind their way around the adults and their long legs, looking for their parents.

“Ma!”, “Amma!” they yell and hurl themselves into their mothers' arms. The women laugh, hug their daughters.

“Aiyoh, Mei, what you do to your hair, so messy.”

“Shalini, ma. She pulled it.” She sticks her tongue out at the other girl who returns the gesture. Then she darts out and tugs on her friends braids and they run of shrieking, laughing, being children. Their mothers smile and watch them go.

***
“I hate sejarah. It’s sooooo boringgg… soooo boriiinnggg…”

“Aiyah, it’s just memorize, lah. Just hafal everything.”

“Not everyone has your brain, okay. I’m not a super-genius like you.”

“You’re just lazy. Are you going for the Merdeka celebrations?”

“No. I have to study. The trials start the next day, remember?”

“So? I’m sure you can spend an hour or two to watch the parade.”

“Bo-ring. No thanks.”

“I’m marching. Come, lah. Support our school marching band, lah, you unpatriotic procrastinator.”

“Okay-lah, okay-lah. Maybe I’ll come.”

***

The suitcases are still unpacked. He’s alone in the room, starring at the bed across him that has yet to be filled. He hopes that his roommate won’t arrive anytime soon. He feels like he’d like to be alone these next few days.

Everything is so different. The icy cold air that greeted him as he walked out of the airport. The people with their strange, unpronounceable accents, who never seemed to understand anything he said. The whole freaky strangeness of it. The place is beautiful but it’s not home.

For one thing, his mum isn’t here to scold him for lying down on his bed with his shoes on. And can he cook here? Where’s the laundrette? He knows nothing of this place. He wants to go home.

Independence can be so… painful.

***

“And I really miss the food. Especially nasi lemak and roti canai. And ABC. And the food here is so… un-spicy. I just miss you guys. And your cooking, mum.”

“When you were here you complained about my cooking all the time.”

“Well, I was younger then. Immature.”

“That was two months ago. And the food in London cannot be so bad, right?” Worry colours her voice. “You got eat enough, or not?”

“Yes, mum. So how’s dad? And Mei?”

“You father is fine. He misses you, though he tries not to show it. And Mei misses you too, though she says she enjoys not having you around. She was at the Merdeka parade this morning. Her school’s marching band participated.”

“Cool. We had a small party here, just us Malaysians. There’s this girl, Normah, who cooks great laksa. Gosh, I really, really miss Malaysia. Especially you guys. And the food.”

***

“Eh, cepat! Hurry up. Everyone’s waiting for you. We’ll miss the parade. And I want to show Susan the parade. She’s never seen them before.”

“Ya, ya, I’m coming.”

“You lived in England for five years and you still can’t be punctual? What did they think of you?”

The young man hurries through the front door, almost slipping on the tiled floor with his socked feet. He grabs the doorframe and gives his mother and fiancée an embarrassed smile. “Nothing,” he says, answering his mother’s question. “I was always punctual there.”

The older lady turns to her future daughter-in-law. “Really? Is that true Susan?”

The girl smiles and tucks a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. “Most of the time, Mrs. Fatimah.”


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(Something like an epilogue)
Where I live, it’s cold. And lonely, with only the birds for company, but they’re not exactly talkative, up at this height and I can’t understand half of what they’re saying anyway.

I kill time by enjoying the view, which is some best in the area. From my home, you can see all around Kuala Lumpur, all the buildings, the trees that surround them, the roads, matchbox cars and the little ant-size people.

They don’t ever talk to me, though I’d like to. But I’m too far up, and most of them just ignore me. They just wander around in Padang Merdeka, snap photos, eat and litter and then wander off again. You’d think that Malaysia’s Jalur Gemilang would have a more interesting life. After all, I attend all their important official junctions, hang from their balconies and flap from their cars, and they even sing abound me! How does that song go again? “Merahmu bara semangat wajar, Putihmu bersih budi pekerti, Kuning berdaulat paying Negara, Biru perpaduan kami semua.”

I’m only remembered once a year, when everyone gathers down on the field below and a listens to speeches. There’s cheering as they celebrate and then my fifteen minutes of annual fame and then all the attention goes to the parades. I have to hang around here doing nothing until next year. Jalur Gemilang? Yeah, riiight.

By Simone Koo

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