Questions

Farhan was lying on his bed that afternoon after school, his eyes were on the ceiling fan but he wasn’t really looking but something beyond the fan in fact. He took a deep, long breathe and fall asleep after awhile.

“Why it’s only you who screwed up, Farhan? All of your friends now have jobs. Some of them are married. Got kids. Pretty wives somemore. You, what you got?”

Farhan woke up from his sleep. It was a short nap but yet, the harsh words by his late mother still stuck in his brain even though he was sleeping. He was devastated early that year when his mother passed away. Reason of death was unknown; she was only 59 years old and lived with no sickness. Farhan missed his mother dearly. Only when she’s gone. It’s true that people say, when you’re gone, people will listen to you, talk about you and become so popular but funny that they don’t have a clue who the hell you were.

“Why did God put me in this damn hard situation? Why did He torture me? Why did He take my father, then also my mother? Why does He love seeing me in sadness and depression?”

Farhan took a long shower that evening. He was working in a McDonald restaurant near to his house from 8pm to 5am. He chose to work at night because that’d be the reason he could give to his friends if any of them asked him to hang out. He clearly had no reason to have fun anymore, he thought.

“What’s the point of having fun when the life I’m living is fucked up? I’ll just have some money for me, only me to eat and pay the fucking bills. What else? Oh the TV,  but wait, why do I even watch TV?”

Farhan punched his work card, as usual, he was one of the earliest ones who came for the night shift. He didn’t have any thing else to do, at least that was what he was thinking.

That night, he was a cashier instead of doing job at back. He didn’t like to face people, but he just had to take it when he was told to.

“Hi, good evening, can I get your order, miss?” Farhan asked a sweet young lady, probably at her early 20s, seemed like a college student. He also gave the young lady a smile, but it wasn’t sincere. She replied his smile but it didn’t make Farhan any happier.

“I want Fillet-o-Fish, set please. Lemon tea.”

“Regular or large, miss?”

“Large, please.” She replied while looking at her phone, smiling because her boyfriend sent her a text message telling her that he missed her.

“That’s RM 10.10, miss”

Farhan saw the money in her hand but she was busy with her phone, replying the message she got.

“Miss?” Farhan called her twice, but she wasn’t listening.

“What the fuck..” He accidentally said it out loud, loud enough that the lady could hear him.

The lady looked up and she seemed shock.

“What did you say? What the fuck? Well, how appropriate you are, Farhan.” She replied while reading his name on his nametag. She put a ten ringgit note and a one ringgit note on the table instead of handing to him.

“I’m sorry, miss. It’s a habit. I’m sorry.” Farhan took the money and gave her change.

“It’s okay-lah” she replied, but it’s obvious that her mood was spoiled.

After that incident that night, Farhan became more careful. He became a robot.

“What actually deteriorated in myself? What happened to old Farhan who had so much spirit to be one successful man? Why did it end like this? Why did I give up?” Is it all me to be blamed for this?

On the way back home, he once again asked God, why on earth he was placed here, in such condition. Why couldn’t he be in the Sultan’s son’s shoes? Why does he have to work fucking hard? Why did he lose his mother? Why couldn’t he enjoy life?

            Farhan arrived home after five-minute walk. It was already time for morning prayer. Realising that he always skipped it, he wanted to try, try praying to God, because he used to get comfort after lowering his head to the ground. Apparently, he wasn’t giving his full attention to Him because so many wild thoughts come when he was praying. Like the questions he was having. And new questions too.

            Farhan took his hands out and recited some du’a, prayer. Something struck him but he didn’t know what was it. But he felt comfort, he felt better after the night. He felt so much cleaner, even though he actually neglected a lot of his prayers. But he just felt so.

            That morning, Farhan figured out that the first step to get out of this hell life, he must answer the questions first. Farhan wiped his own tears because he was alone and there was no shoulder to lend onto. But he thought he was strong and now he gained back his self-esteem and realised that he was accounted for what he’s facing, and it’s all him to repair it. Farhan’s mother’s harsh words would never get off of his brain but he refused to think so much anymore, to question what He has written in his life book. He wiped his face after the du’a and smiled…

She suffers too...

“You wouldn’t do that if you really loved me.”

“But, I just had to Mira, I had no choice.”

Aliff remembered the last conservation he had with his ex wife last December. It seems that the month is the month that sky cries a lot. It had been six months since they split, but he still couldn’t get over it. Aliff was deeply in love with Mira, she was his first love, his first high school sweetheart he married to.

It was three years ago when Aliff and Mira were solemnised, he was one of the happiest men on earth. They were blessed with a pair of twins and now since they’ve divorced, Mira took the children with her. Aliff didn’t fight for his kids when their marriage case and custody of children were being settled in Syaria Court. He thought it was useless to raise the kids without a mother, so he just let Mira took over.

Aliff was fired last month for bad attendance and performance at work. He was warned for thrice but he ignored it. He had turned to a complete miserable man after five months his marriage collapsed. He realised that he had lost everything he used to have.

He took a deep breath and stood up from his bed. He walked to a long mirror and told himself that he had gotten skinnier. He could only see bones.

“I still love Mira. Mira. But she moved on. Aliff, why Aliff? Why are you torturing yourself?” He asked himself.

***

There was something infuriated Aliff this morning. A provocation. A provocation that he never thought would hit him. Aliff was working again, he was a mechanic at a car workshop near to his house. Mingling with most guys especially, and to add, same-minded people.

His friend, Johan, suggested him to go to bomoh so he could be with his ex wife again. Johan suggested this because he knew that Aliff was still thinking about Mira and his kids, mostly Mira.

“I know a bomoh from my kampong, I heard about his success of reuniting couples, or making girls you like to fall in love with you. He’s a legit professional. You want to try? ‘Cause I see you’re so sick with your ex wife.”

Aliff gave a killing look to Johan. He was extremely shocked and mad.

“You are nuts. I am still a Muslim. I know my limits. Johan, I thought you were my friend. You are fucking stupid.” He shouted at Johan and threw the wrench he was holding on to the floor. It sounded like a bowling ball fall from the sky and hit the floor. Everyone was looking at them. Stunted.

“Like I don’t know you, Aliff! I fucking know you!” Johan replied but Aliff was leaving the workshop.

***

Aliff couldn’t sleep that night. He remembered how lovely Mira’s hair smelled, her beautiful, sometimes awkward smile she gave to him and her seducing voice and laughter. He missed getting laid with her.

He closed his eyes and what he could see was sweet memories he had with Mira. Aliff and Mira kissed for the first time when they were sixteen, it was behind a school block after school, a sin, a pleasant sin that Aliff thought was fine to commit.

Not a day went by without remembering Mira.

***

Aliff woke up at nine in the morning. He missed fajr, morning prayer again. He had neglected God, his responsibilities as a servant, and mostly, to himself.

After taking a quick shower and putting on his work uniform, Aliff rushed to work with his kapcai motorcycle he bought for RM 250 last month.

It was almost 9.45 a.m when he arrived and saw Johan was fixing a punctured tire of a red Proton Wira. Suddenly Aliff remembered his suggestion about seeing bomoh, this time, he didn’t get raged because he had decided to take Johan’s idea. To bomoh his ex wife.

“Johan, I’m sorry, I was stupid for saying that yesterday.”

Johan didn’t respond, pretending he didn’t hear what Aliff was saying.

“I am sorry, Johan. You hear me? I’m fucking sorry. Now let’s me get something straight. Just bring me to the bomoh you told me yesterday.” He told him, half whispering.

“I thought you were still a Muslim?” Johan asked sarcastically and laughed but before Aliff could interrupt and get mad, Johan added, “but it’s okay if you changed your mind. As long as you have some money, it’d settle.”

“OK.”

***

That night, Johan drove Aliff to the bomoh’s house he told Aliff. Aliff hadn’t had much money to spend on a bomoh’s service, but he just had to. He had barely enough money to eat but he had missed Mira terribly, the urge to be together with her back was high.

The bomoh’s house was fifty minutes from Ipoh, the town they lived and worked. It was in Johan’s kampong but he didn’t even worry if any people saw if he was heading to the bomoh’s house.

They didn’t talk much in the car. One of the questions that played in Aliff’s head was why Johan was willing to help him but he would rather just shut his mouth before Johan changed his mind.

***

Mira grabbed a newspaper on the coffee table in her house. After the divorce, she stayed with her parents because she had no job to support her own kids on her own.

“Two men found dead bloodlessly on a road” was the headline on the day after. Mira didn’t find it interesting until her eyes skimmed on the deceased’s names.

“…victims are Muhammad Johan Bakri and Aliff Osman…”

Mira was shocked that she almost fainted. Her head was dizzy, her eyes started to be watery and at the end, she shouted calling her mom.

After Mira woke up from the faint, she shouted her ex husband’s name, Aliff countlessly. She started to cry after awhile, even though she was comforted by her mother, she couldn’t stop. Then it became worse. She shrieked, like a pontianak. Her kids were watching, their eyes were opened wide, barely understood what was happening.

Mira’s mother tried her best to calm her down. Nothing seemed to work.

That night, Mira’s hair was standing, miraculously, in a strange, scary way. She stopped shrieking, shouting and crying, but she started smiling. Eerily.

Mira’s mother remembered fine, Mira once told her that she had enough with Aliff. It became a question when she acted that way after she knew Aliff’s death. She would be sad that the father to her kids passed away, but it shouldn’t be terrible, as terrible like this.

***

The next morning, Mira’s condition became even worse. She peed around and tried to scratch anyone who came near to her. She laughed hysterically and murmured in a language no one in the house knew.

***

Mira’s mother called an ustaz, to treat Mira. When the ustaz arrived and saw Mira’s condition, he instantly said that she was under a spell. Mira’s mother knew she would have guessed that but she put it down because she hated to accuse anyone for her daughter’s sickness.

The ustaz said that he couldn’t help Mira to threw the demon that was sent to her because he had zero knowledge on it but he told her about a case similar to hers where a mad guy who was obsessed with his ex wife bomoh her, but he died some time after that and his ex wife suffered the same thing Mira was suffering.

The rule of the spell: if the sender dies, the receiver dies too, but slowly…

[TRUE STORY]: Last Saturday's Evening Incident

Last Saturday’s evening, I decided to meet my friend who lives in the next neighbourhood to cycle and play badminton together. Usually I’d call her in advance if I want to see her but that day, she couldn’t be contacted. I decided to just cycle to her house but on the way to my friend’s house, suddenly I remembered that I promised my grandma to see her for a while. My grandma lives in the apartment residence in the same neighbourhood as mine. It was already past 6.15 pm when I arrived at her house. Apparently, she wasn’t in her house so I just went to my friend’s house.

I called her to tell that I was already in front of her house but it went to voicemail after no one answered my salam. In frustration, I cycled to a spot where I could see the beautiful sunset. Suddenly, my phone rang and it was from my friend, she told me that she was in Cameron Highland and she was on her way back home.

It was too late already, almost the time for maghrib prayer. I cycled back using a shortcut to my house, through apartment residence, I saw a very cute puppy, aged probably 1-2 months. I approached it to… take a picture of it of course! It was running around, I thought it was lost or someone had just thrown it away. As I approached the puppy, it ran to the bushes near to the road. Then I saw its owner. He was an Indian man, probably at his early fifty. He walked towards me and then the puppy followed him.

“Is it a male or female, uncle?” “Male” “He’s so adorable, you bought it, uncle?” “Yeah, yeah.” “How much was it?” “140 Ringgit”.

I asked him these questions like I was interested to have a puppy, which I think yes, a puppy would be a great companion but of course, to think until that extent is a bit overrated.

When we were talking, my eyes caught something in his right hand. It was tasbeeh, made of ninety-nine wooden or plastic beads, for zikir, remembrance to the Almighty Allah. His tasbeeh was made of plastic beads. I also saw a few other trinkets and necklaces around his wrinkled neck.

“You’re a Muslim, uncle?” Truth be told, I haven’t hold tasbeeh, or zikir for a very long time. I have been so liberal these days. What a slap on my face.

“Yes, yes I am. You don’t believe me?”

I kept silent, half smiled but he knew that I didn’t believe the fact that he is a Muslim so he took out his wallet from his trousers’ pocket and showed me his identity card and also a revert Muslim verification card, which I am sure is not fake. I saw the date he reverted to Islam, it was in May 2010, but I couldn’t catch the day.

“Oh, awesome.” I told him.

“I feel so isolated by the Muslims here. When I go to the mosque, ask the people there to teach me about Islam, teach me to pray, they say just follow them. Some people also don’t like me to be in the mosque. They say I am a keling paria. They say I want sympathy, just because I look like one. I feel so hurt.”

“Oh that shouldn’t happen, uncle. That’s not nice of them. I wouldn’t do that to new sisters or brothers in Islam.”

“So I just practice Islam alone,” he said while calling his puppy named Jackie to him. It was surprising that I didn’t judge him about him petting a dog. If I were to be here, two years back, I would probably have cursed him. I’m so glad and thankful that I can accept a lot of things now. I am more open-minded.

“Is your wife a Muslim too?” I asked.

“No, but she likes Islam too. But… it’s complicated.” He answered while lighting up a cigarette.

“I see… but uncle, those people really shouldn’t treat you like that. Believe me uncle, not all Muslims are like that. It’s okay uncle, I will pray for you that Allah will help you.”

“Ya, ya. Hopefully. But I ask you what, if I were to rape one Malay(Muslim) girl in this neighbourhood, will the people accept me? Teach me and guide me to Islam?”

Jackie.

I was very shocked with his question. I was started to feel a bit afraid and uncomfortable. I stepped back, went further from him, nearer to my bicycle. He was petting Jackie.

“No, uncle, no. If you do that, people will even hate you more and your life will be damned.”

“Ya ah?”

I nodded. I was already on my bicycle, ready to go.

“Uncle, I go first. It’s almost azan.”

“Okay, okay.”

I cycled as fast as I could to home. In my mind, things like this shouldn’t happen at all. I really hope that all Muslims are nice to everyone… especially those who are interested in Islam.

One day, it will change. InshaAllah. 

Suraya

I was kicked out from university for the second time in my life. I was twenty-three years old, I only had a year before I graduated and I threw myself to this problem. Well done Suraya, well done.

Most of the girls my age were getting married or at least were planning to tie the knot after we were supposed to graduate. I failed. I failed my final examination and I did extremely bad for assignments and when I was asked to redo, I didn’t. I also did terribly in the reseat exam, everyone passed except me. I felt like I just wanted to give up. I felt so useless.

My life’s so fucked up.

            I finished packing and saw mom with my two little brothers goofing around from my room’s window. I took a deep, long breath. I hadn’t said any word since she arrived to see me after I told her on the phone about this news yesterday. She only asked, “Again?” and told me she would come today, but I could tell she had foreseen this would happen. I slapped my own face, regretting what I had done.

            “Sue? You okay?” my roommate, Aida, asked and to tell the truth, I actually completely forgot for a moment that she was in the room. I answered that I was okay, just a bit stupid. She laughed and she stood and gave me a hug. It was a sincere and earnest hug.Aida said to me to just be careful and be safe… nothing about “good luck” or try again in academic, she knew me too well.

            Aida helped me with my bags to my car and when she saw my mom, she kissed her hand. She had been my good friend since our second year.

I bid farewell to her and promised her I would keep in touch with her.

            Mom drove her own car and I drove mine. My little brother, just after me, Shahril was nine years old, and the last one, Shazlan wanted to take a ride with me. My parents didn’t expect any more children because I was fourteen and sixteen when Shahril and Shazlan were born.

            When we both arrived home, mom told me that she was going to prepare for dinner and asked me to settle my stuff and clean myself. She seemed so cool about the whole thing but I knew she was frustrated inside…

            Dad came home late that night and I was smoking cigarette in my room when I heard his car coming in to the garage. I took the last puff and put it off in the ashtray. I had started this bad habit of mine since I was in high school, I tried to quit for several times but it didn’t work, so I guessed that’s why I failed terribly in life. I was such a bullshit.

            I remembered mom’s advice not to smoke whenever my brothers were around because she was afraid that Shahril and Shazlan would follow my step. I once argued with mom about this thing, like smoking was a big fat sin. One day, she discovered that I drank alcohol because Akmal, my ex boyfriend tagged a few pictures of me drinking booze and having fun in a nightclub on Facebook. I didn’t really use my Facebook account so I didn’t know how to handle it. At the end, I deactivated my account and felt safer since then.

            When I was in university, I spent eighty percent of my money on cigarettes and food but very rarely for academic purpose. I studied accounting and I intended to be an auditor when I graduate, but as year went by, the course killed my spirit slowly. It was damn hard to even pass.

            The first time I was kicked out when I was in my first year and it was because the university was so nosy about my social life, they kicked me out. Unbelievably unfair.

            My dad suggested me to apply private university and lucky me that my parents were filthy rich to pay for the fees. The shame he had to endure was heavy. People talked about me, about my dad who raised a bitch who didn’t act like how a decent Eastern Muslim girl supposed to. What a poor dad, he was blessed such a mischievous daughter like me. I wonder if he was as bad as me when he was younger because I heard people always say that if you do sin to your parents, your children would eventually do the same to you when you become a parent.

            “Suraya?” my dad popped his head out into my half closed door and asked if he could come in. I answered yes and he came in. I could see that his nose was sniffing, he knew that I was smoking. He didn’t bother asking the stupid question.

            He came nearer to me and asked about my day and if I had eaten my dinner. After a short conversation with my dad, he finally left the room. I was so touched that he didn’t get raged, nevertheless, it wasn’t his nature to get angry. I smiled, in a horrible shameful way.

I lit up another cigarette that night before I went to bed.

            The next day I woke up after I heard my brothers’ voice downstairs, it was two o’clock in the afternoon. They were already home from school.

            I came downstairs and saw my maid was serving lunch for Shahril and Shazlan. Shazlan shouted my name and asked me to join them. I pinched Shazlan’s chubby cheek and sat beside him.

“Kak, you just woke up?”

“Or was it a short nap?” Both of them laughed and later I joined.

            That afternoon, I got to know that Shahril had joined karate, had a crush on a girl in her class and went to Quran recitation class every weekend with Shazlan. While Shazlan, he liked Katy Perry, started to collect egg toys he saw in Toy’r’Us he went on basis with mom and he ate nasi lemak every Wednesday at school. I knew so much about my brothers that lunch. All these years, I never cared, but Shahril and Shazlan were nice to me.

            I came to my room and initially I wanted to smoke. I stared at the cigarette box, it’s written “Smoking Kills” in Malay and there was a picture of a damaged liver. I learnt that the sign was as useless as forcing a dodo bird (it extinct already if you didn’t know) to fly. It never worked. My intention to smoke suddenly disappeared and I took a long shower instead.

            It was already 4.30 pm by the time I finished showering. I was still wrapped in towel when I heard azan, the call to prayer for asr prayer. I was startled for a few seconds, it’s not that I hadn’t heard azan in ages, in fact, I always heard it because being a Malaysian living in a majority Muslim country, azan is a usual thing, it can be heard anywhere. But, I just started to think that I hadn’t prayed for a long time… I hadn’t sujud, prostrated, lowered my head to the ground since… I couldn’t even remember. I guess I didn’t know the importance of believing in the God.

***

            Two years passed, I am now in Stockholm, Sweden, working with my friend’s mom who was so nice offering me a job (as an awful accountant) in her mom’s Malaysian food restaurant. Probably she had sympathy towards me.

***

            A year after I was kicked out from university, my dad’s company went bankrupt and he had to sell almost all of his properties. It was lucky that dad bought an apartment under mom’s name so we stayed there. Shahril and Shazlan were so confused with the situation, some times, they asked where bibik, our maid was. We never had an answer for that. A few months after that, dad passed away.

            All the friends I knew seemed gone after dad’s funeral. Aida came and stayed with me for two days, but I ignored her presence. I felt that I was faceless. My dignity was ripped up. It was me who tried to stay away from Aida and them.

            Mom couldn’t handle, it was too much of misfortune for her. Mom had a mental breakdown. She cried, shouted and shrieked every single day. My little brothers were scared. Never I saw they were so sad in the year I spent with them.

            I wept so much at one of the nights mom was ‘possessed’, I came out from my room and scolded her, scolded her to shut the fuck up. I couldn’t bear anymore.

            “You, you… are a rebellious daughter, you damned my life, look, look what you have done to me! You are such a bastard! I didn’t know keeping and raising you up could ruin my life! I should have agreed to abort you!” 

            My heart broke into pieces when I heard those words. I argued with mom some times, but this time, it was too much, it was unacceptable. I wasn’t sure if I was really a bastard, but to think that my behavior all my life was so corrupted, it could be. Then I saw my mom went out from the house but I just let her go.

            I smoked to ease my feeling. This time, I didn’t care if Shahril and Shazlan saw me smoking.

            I was shocked when a kid aged around seven came to my house and shouted from outside. “Kak Sue, Kak Sue, your mom jumped off the building and she’s dead!” “Your mom’s dead, Kak!”

            I could feel that my blood was boiling inside of my body. My eyes were red. My hands were stiff. It was too sudden.

            “Your mom’s dead, Kak!” was playing in my head as I was rushing to the scene. I saw mom lying on the ground. I saw blood everywhere. Her head was twisted. She’s gone.

***

            I don’t want to rewind the bitter memories of my life. I had enough. I am here to turn a new leaf. I promised to my little brothers that I would collect a lot of money and bring them out from the orphanage three years from now. It’s hard for me to say this to them, in fact, it killed me.

            Looking at Shahril and Shazlan would remind me of my parents. I am cruel for leaving them behind, but I hope they understand. They will understand my pain I had. They will.

            I continued working that day in the restaurant’s office and I suddenly miss the sound of azan, the call to prayer. In Sweden, I cannot hear it because the Muslim population here is very little, so the mosques here don’t get the permission to sound the call to prayer. They say it’s disturbing. I don’t know but to me, it’s very calming and it soothes my soul.

            I have started to perform my salah, pray, the five times daily back. I realised that God ignored me because I ignored Him. I deserve the punishments. I do. I am now trying to correct myself. My life was a hell and I made it. It was all me to be blamed. It’s not because I am a bastard, if I were one, but me. It’s all me. My parents’ sin should not affect me in any way, it’s just a shitty excuse the society give to make illegitimate children all over the world feel useless and guilty of their existence.

            But I promised to myself. I promised to Shahril and Shazlan. Malaysia was a mean place for me. I found so much peace in Sweden. I’ll come back to my homeland when I am done correcting myself and the wounds are healed, but it’s a long way to go.

Brothers, I love you. Wait for me.