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.