Colours of Life_A Book of Short Stories_Ebook

Prologue to Cinderella by Amar Iskandar Fuad

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Ella. She lived with her stepmother and two
stepsisters. Unfortunately, her father went missing after a voyage. Life was hard for the three of them. The
stepmother worked hard to make sure her family has enough food. The love and compassion in the family
was overwhelming.

Stepmother Jeanne always said,” We are all we got.” Ella thought otherwise. She always dreamt
of marrying a rich prince. She spent most of her day dreaming in her chamber. Usually, Mathilda and Marion
did all the house chores. They did not mind the work but they surely hoped that Ella would come to her
senses and be more responsible. Therefore, Mathilda asked Ella to fetch a bucket of water near the well.

“Ella, my dear, would you be so kind to fetch a bucket of water? Aroused from her daydream, Ella
hesitantly said, “Well, of course, but promise me that’ll be the only one bucket and no more other chores
for today.”

As Ella was walking to the well, she saw a carriage, which must have been of royalty. She faked a
shout for help in hoping to stop the carriage. “Help! Help!” Then the carriage stopped and a prince came to
her rescue. After the encounter, Ella’s daydream began to worsen.

“Oh. I wish the prince would come and marry me! Oh, how wonderful it must be living in a big castle!
A hundred maids doing my bidding!” Little did she knew, a fairy was listening to her wishful words. With a
puff of smoke, the fairy appeared. “Hey, young girl! Did I hear a wish?”

Ella knew little about fairies. All she knew was she wanted to marry the prince. “Yes! I want to marry
the prince.” The fairy wiggled her wand and said, “However, there is a cost. To be given love, love must be
taken from you three folds!” Ella did not hesitate. “Yes anything! I'll do anything!” With a puff of smoke and
a wiggle of wand, the fairy did the magic on Ella.

The next morning, Ella woke up as usual and started daydreaming on her bed. Suddenly there was
a loud bang on her door. “Hey you, do you honestly think all the house chores would be done if you are still
in bed? Get out and do your chores!” Marrion ordered fiercely.

Ella was shocked and ran down to her mother. “Mother, is breakfast ready?” asked Ella in a graceful
tone in hoping that her stepmother would spoil her. “Breakfast? Here’s your breakfast for today.” The
stepmother slammed a slice of rotten bread at Ella. “After you eat, go and clean all the clothes or there will
be no more bread for lunch.” Ella was extremely shocked at both her stepsister and stepmother’s reactions.

She saw Mathilda from the windows and ran to her with tears dripping from her chin. “Mathilda,
Mathilda,” Ella cried. “Ah, there you are you, brat; take this bucket and go fetch some water.” Ella was
terribly miserable. She cried and cried nonstop, “Why are all of you so mean to me today?”

Stepmother Jeanne, Mathilda and Marrion said, “Mean? Well, do you think we ever loved you? If it
were not for your father’s inheritance, we would throw you in the river by now.” Before we forget, your name
is Cinderella, no more cute names for you. Ella suddenly remembered her deal with the fairy. True, she had
lost the love of her family in chasing the love of a stranger. This marked the beginning of the classic tale of
Cinderella.

34

My Real Treasure! by Anis Aiesya Qasandra Amir

Ellie is in Year 4. She loves adventurous activity. Adam, her seven years old brother, shares the
same interest. He would follow Ellie wherever she goes and imitate whatever she does. However, their
mother says that Adam is still too young to join Ellie and her friends. Hence, Ellie would not be able to play
with her friends whenever Adam insists on following. Today, Ellie decides to join her friends for a treasure
hunt. They will hunt the treasure in an orchard owned by Ellie’s grandfather. The orchard is five minutes
away from their house by car. Ellie’s friends, Joanne, Ali and Mithilda are all familiar with the orchard as
they used to follow Ellie and her grandfather there. Ellie thinks Adam would not want to follow her this time
because the ants in the orchard always annoy him.

However, Adam is always an unpredictable boy. He loves doing things according to his own terms
and likes. Therefore, Ellie waits for Adam’s naptime before going out. She really hopes that her plan would
not fail because of Adam. As soon as Adam is having his nap, Ellie goes out quietly. Ellie rides her bike to
the orchard. Joanne, Ali and Mithilda have already waited for her there. They begin to draw a map of the
orchard on a piece of paper. Joanne then suggests places where they can locate the treasure. Ali helps to
put the ‘X’ sign on the places Joanne has pointed out. As soon as their map is complete, they begin to hunt
for the treasure.

After almost 30 minutes of hunting, they still could not find the treasure. Ellie suggests that they
divide themselves into two groups and search for the treasure in different paths. The rest of them agree to
Ellie’s suggestion. Mithilda copies the map in another piece of paper for Ali and with Joanne’s guidance.
They then go separate ways. As they are engrossed in their hunting, Ellie hears her grandfather’s voice.
She thinks it is an echo of someone else’s voice. Ellie ignores it and focuses on her conversation with
Mithilda.

Not long after, Ali, Joanne and Ellie’s grandfather walk towards Ellie and Mithilda. Ellie is surprised
that her grandfather is there, but she is more excited with the idea that maybe Ali and Joanne have found
the treasure. When three of them reach Ellie, Ellie’s grandfather asks her about Adam, “Is Adam here with
you?” Ellie shakes her head confidently because she has made sure that Adam is asleep before she leaves
the house. “He’s at home. He’s sleeping,” says Ellie. “I’m afraid that might not be the case. Adam is not at
home right now. Your parents have been searching for him for about an hour,” says Ellie’s grandfather. Her
grandfather’s statement and question shocked her much, “Have they searched for him in the house? He
might be in the playroom, playing by himself.” Her grandfather shakes his head. “I’ll give that a try,” says
Ellie’s grandfather before dialing Ellie’s mother. After the phone call, Ellie’s grandfather confirms that her
parents have searched the house thoroughly. Ellie begins to worry. She is afraid that something bad might
happen to Adam. “Or maybe, Adam has really followed me here. I wonder, would he?” says Ellie. Ellie’s
grandfather instructs Joanne, Ali, Mithilda and Ellie to search the area and inform him if they find Adam.
They will gather at the same place in half an hour time.

Ellie is worried now. She thinks about all the good times she has had with Adam and ponders on
the thoughts of what if Adam is hurt. Ellie yells out Adam’s name as loud as she can. She hopes to hear
Adam answering “Yes Ellie!” as he would always do. However, she could only hear the echoes of Adam’s
name from Joanne, Ali, Mithilda and her grandfather. Ellie suddenly remembers that the only place Adam
would come near to at the orchard is his favourite apple tree. Ellie quickly dashes to the apple tree. She is

so eager to find Adam and really hopes that Adam is there. Ellie sees a red shoe
behind the tree trunk. “It seems like Adam’s,” says Ellie. When Ellie comes nearer,
she finds Adam who is asleep under the tree. Ellie runs towards Adam and hugs him
with tears in her eyes.

Ellie calls her grandfather and friends. Adam opens his sleepy eyes and says,
“I’ve finally found you, Ellie.” Ellie’s grandfather quickly calls for Ellie’s parents to
inform them. “I would never leave you again,” says Ellie in her tears.

35

Life of A Young Woman by Chin Tze Yie
The cool breeze stroked the blades of grass gently, making the stalk bent to its will. Lang’s hair,
illuminated in the golden sunset, almost seemed to have a blonde sheen to it. The children’s giggles seemed
to soothe her soul, and with their shrieks of delight as they danced in the reed field. Her hands became dry
and coarse, due to the day’s hard work in the paddy fields. The sweat-slicked brows were signs of her
backbreaking labour. Sighing, she tried her best to calm her work-tensed shoulders and closed her eyes,
thinking of the first time she met her husband at the field.
He was a rascal, a complete narcissist with a grimy face and his clothes were unkempt with sweat
stains. It was the countryside; not all men cared about hygiene as long as their clothes were not black with
dirt. Most of them were addicted to opium; the wave of drugs from the evil imperialists had spread out of
spite. Lang had scoffed and stomped away when he whistled at her, thinking it was a mere rude catcall.
Nevertheless, when she fell into a ditch hidden by the reeds, the man had dashed forward and plunged into
the dirty water. The mosquito larvae made it slimy and gritty; Lang was struggling to no avail to find some
sort of grip.
When they emerged, the rest of his friends were standing outside the pond and their crumpled
faces were full of concern for both or them. The girl’s clothes were soaked through and her cheap blouse
that she had gotten from the peddler was translucent. The boy took off his shirt that she had called grimy
and offered it to her. Lang was weak from fear and cold, the sky was grey and the winds blew unforgivingly.
The stormy day, with the water-soaked clothes and the thought of mother reprimanding her made her
shivered in fear. She ran home exposing her delicate skin, pondering over her misfortune, which landed
her in a state of despair.
At the sight of the girl’s obvious worries, the man, Wong, offered, “We could bring you to a
communal bathhouse nearby. I can borrow clothes from my sister and you can give them back when you
see me again.” The fear in Lang’s eyes dissipated into relief and wariness as she nodded, grateful for the
stranger’s kindness. Her breath paced itself and she calmed down as he helped her crossing the fields.
Of course, like any other boy and girl in the countryside, they married each other. They had a good
life and they were supposed to die together. Supposedly, it was, until the day Wong had gone into the mines
as usual, and the mines collapsed. She mourned for a hundred days and a hundred nights. Then she was
back to work, graduating from a mourning woman in love to a mother.
Lang opened her eyes; tears were running down her calm expression. The sunset truly was
beautiful, she thought, as she gripped her daughter’s tiny hand in her calloused one.

36

75 Years of You by Farah Yusrina Mohd Yunus
“It’s okay if people do us bad, as long as we are good to them.” I held tight to those words since
he left. I knew I was not good. I often went back to my hometown to meet my cousins, went out, and had
fun until midnight. Meanwhile, he would be sitting and waiting for us to come home. He nagged at us, but
deep down, I knew it, he loved us all.
He was kind and supportive. I still remembered the day I obtained my primary school examination
results back then when I was in primary school. He was so excited to know that I got straight A’s. He
bought me a box of pencils and 13 erasers indicating that I was already 13 years old. As someone who
was about to join secondary school, that gift was indeed a thoughtful one for me.
It was my first time failing a subject, and it was heart shattering. I almost lost my motivation to
study. All of a sudden, he came as a hero, from Kuala Lumpur to Ipoh just to fetch me from school. On
our way home, he narrated to me numerous stories during his young days.
He was caring. When I was in Form 2, I accidentally dropped a glass and my cousin stepped onto
it. My aunt was furious with me but he came to rescue me, “It was an accident, you should not blame her
for an accident.” He was a lifesaver to my cousins, all his children and me. My cousin lost a gold necklace
on her 12th birthday; he bought her a new one instead of scolding her, and told her to take good care of
it. On her wedding day, which was last month, she wore the necklace he gave on her solemnisation. It
looked beautiful on her.
He was a romantic and responsible family leader. He started to get sick after coming back from
Pakistan. It was cold and he could not bear the temperature. According to my mother, he remained
unconscious for almost a week. Although he often went in and out of the hospital, he never neglected
his wife or children. Once I was taking care of him in the hospital, he excitedly talked about his plan to
celebrate his anniversary. “I’m going to invite everyone to celebrate my anniversary, but please don’t tell
my wife about this plan, I want it to be a surprise,” he said.
On Friday, 22 September 2017, he was performing his hajj in Mecca when we received a call that
shocked us all. I was counting days to spend my time with him after he came back to Malaysia; I
aggrieved my action for not being able to send him off to Mecca. All I did was video calling him via
WhatsApp. I had to stay at home to take care of my siblings. I remembered telling my friend that I felt
something was about to happen and it did. I never expected that to be the last time I talked to him. His
last words for me, “Pray for me, study hard and be successful,” which I would remember always and
forever. It had been 3 years and 6 months since he left us, but his words, action and affection were still
fresh in my mind. He was my grandfather, Sardar Husin bin Suba.

37

Beneath The Surface by Lee Zhi Yi
“Alex…” Memories flooded in as I pronounced the name on the file carefully. I recalled the first time
I met the shy and polite boy who moved in next door with his parents. Mr. Chan was a jolly man who greeted
me cheerfully while Mrs. Chan was a quiet woman who nodded politely at my presence. During the brief
exchange between our parents, I introduced myself excitedly to Alex who only smiled back tiredly. We
invited the Chan family over for a welcoming dinner. It was a pleasant evening as Mr. Chan made humorous
jokes from time to time while I was busy telling Alex about myself.

The Chan family enjoyed listening to music very much. They switched on the radio most of the time
even until late at night. However, I always heard other noises beyond the singing. It was the sound of shifted
furniture and something knocking onto the wall. Whenever I told my parents about the strange sounds, they
replied that it was probably Mrs. Chan doing household chores. I stopped bringing up the issue after my
parents refused to entertain me. My chance finally arrived when Alex came over to our house after school
one day because he forgot to bring his house keys with him. I asked Alex about the weird sounds but he
changed the topic and we discussed about my favourite video games instead.

Alex loved to wear long-sleeve T-shirts and jeans. I had never seen him in sleeveless shirts and
shorts before. He told me that males looked smarter that way. I believed him and tried wearing long-sleeve
T-shirts and jeans like him all day long. I gave up eventually as I could not stand the heat but Alex never
seemed to feel the same way. He was persistent in his choice of attire and what more; he would not budge
an inch. There was once I noticed some spilled curry stains on Alex’s shirt, but he refused to change
because there was no long-sleeve T-shirt available. Although I admired Alex for his persistence, I failed to
comprehend his preference towards long-sleeve T-shirts at that time.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning as I woke up to the cacophony of ambulance and sirens of police
cars. I saw a crowd gathering in front of Alex’s house and a few police officers questioning a few neighbours.
The onlookers were discussing enthusiastically among themselves as they observed Alex’s house. An
uneasy panic arose within me and prompted me to check on Alex. I tried to barge into Alex’s house, but I
could not get past the brawny men-in-blue. I only managed to get a glimpse of someone lying on the floor
covered by a white linen cloth. I shouted Alex’s name repeatedly but did not receive any reply. My mother
only hugged me tightly whereas my father was teary-eyed. They told me that Alex left in a hurry to
somewhere far away and did not manage to say goodbye.

The knocking on the door brought me back to
reality. I cleared my throat and replied faintly, “Yes, please
come in.” A social worker entered the room with a
frightened little boy hiding behind her. I approached them
with a warm smile and bent down as I spoke to the child.
I spoke gently to him as I noticed the faded bruises on his
arm. “Nice to meet you, Alex. I would love to get to know
you better. There are many toys here. Shall we see which
one you like the most?” The innocent little face hesitated
for a while, and then he looked up and took my hand.

38

Déjà Vu by Muhammad Akhtar Iskandar Mohamad Noor

Allison Argent embarked on her daily routines just like any of the days; she woke up from her bed,
took a bath, ate breakfast, and went to school. On that day, the thing was different. She was too nervous
for her career consultation session at school. The school conducted the session to help the final year of
high school students choosing colleges that might suit their future careers. Unprepared for it, Allison did not
have a slight idea about her future career. She was afraid that the consultation would end suggesting a
college and a career that she might not like.

At nine o’clock, Allison and her friends gathered at the school’s café. Obviously, they were talking
about the consultation. Everyone was talking about his or her ideal college and dream career. She chose
to stay quiet and listen to her friends talking about it. While listening to her friends, she suddenly saw a man
with a black tuxedo, holding an old watch standing far at the corner of the café. Surprisingly, the man was
staring directly at her. She felt uneasy. Allison avoided the man’s eyes for a second. When she glared at
the same place, the man was gone. She ignored the situation. Her mind came back to the consultation that
was crucial for her.

In the class, Allison and her classmates were waiting for their turns. One by one, the person in
charge summoned her classmates into the consultation room. While waiting, she was playing with her
phone. Then, something pulled her attention. From the window, she saw the same man with the black
tuxedo standing in the schoolyard. He was holding the same old watch. Allison was sure that the man was
looking at her. “Allison Argent!” Mrs. Minerva called her name. She was startled. When she looked at the
schoolyard, again, the man was gone.

Allison walked into the consultation room. The consultant smiled at her and invited her to sit. “Allison
Argent, no hobby, not interested in anything. So, why don’t you talk about yourself first? It would be great,”
said the consultant calmly. Allison could not stay focused, she was still thinking about the man. The silence
was ringing inside her head. The consultant called her name a few times, yet she gave no response.

Out of a sudden, the ground was shaking and the sky roared with thunder. Both Allison and the
consultant stood and looked outside. The sky was dark. A gigantic swirling tornado appeared out of
nowhere, pulling everything on its path. The tornado sucked along cars, buildings and humans! Allison’s
mind was blank. Everything happened too fast. The consultant got out of the room and ran for her life.

When Allison had realised that the tornado was heading towards her school, she started to get out
of the room. As she stepped outside, students were screaming and running in every direction. She could
not find her friends and her class was empty. In critical condition, the same man with the black tuxedo
appeared in front of her. He gave her the old watch he was holding and he said, “Do something, Allison
Argent.”

Allison woke up and realised that she was on her bed. Her body was
drenched with sweats. She took a deep breath and felt a relief that it was a
nightmare. She left her bed and went to the bathroom. She wanted to be ready
for her consultation session. As she walked, she stopped. Something on her study
table caught her eyes. Her heart stopped when she found out that the same old
watch in her dream suddenly appeared right on her table.

39

The Cheese in the Trap by Muhammad Khalis Azfar Khazin

“Sun in my eyes, navy blue skies.” These kinds of thoughts were going through Tilia’s mind while
lying on the spot she considered as the best place to relax on the earth; a vast field behind her house. She
posted those words in her Twitter account with an unlikely username that no one could ever think that it
was her behind the account. The thing was, she skipped class to be there once a week. Tilia was a smart
girl and she was one of the smartest students at her school. Everyone adored her, other than me. I did not
even have a slight interest in anyone else, except me. As far as I remembered, nobody disliked her. Tilia
was kind to everyone, she tried her best to treat everyone equally and that was what was interesting about
her. Everyone in the school and even people from the town wanted to be friends with her.

On the other side, there was me, a plain student who happened to be at the same class as Tilia.
Unlike Tilia, I was that one gloomy student in the class. I was the one who stayed at the back in the class
and never talked to others unless anyone else asked me something. Perhaps the way my parents raised
me, both who no longer existed in this world, led me to be this way. “I still love you, mom and dad. No
offense, I am thankful for everything.”

Four months back, after school on the bus, I sat behind her, and coincidently I saw her Twitter
account from the back seat. The account was quite famous for tweeting motivational words. The biodata
that she had was “motivational words from an unmotivated person.” Irony, how she seemed to have a clear
sight of her future yet, she claimed to be unmotivated.

One day she tweeted “I catch everyone but who’s going to catch me?” The first class ended and
she was not there. I went to the backside of the school and sneaked out of the school using the pathway
that naughty boys used to skip school, which only students knew the route. I guessed the teachers were
not interested enough about the students to know the place or they were just busy making ends meet. Tilia
screamed her heart out there. It was like a scene from a movie. It was as if she was steadily unloading all
her stress upon me even though she was not aware I was there all the time. The noises from the cracked
sticks that I accidentally stepped onto made her slowly turned her head to look at me. She was shocked
and so did I.

We started talking and I knew that something bothered her much. She opened up to me and told
me all her troubles. She also lost both of her parents at a very young age. I was not expecting that coming
from her by her behaviour at school. It turned out; she was just like everyone else. Curiosity in my head,
she wanted me to be her friend. I realised that she just needed a friend that she could talk with and she
had not found one like that at school just yet. Could this be the start of a new friendship? I hope so because
little did she knew, I wanted to be her companion from the moment I sat behind her on the bus. The surface
of her soft skin mesmerised me much. All the details of her delicate face made me wanted to protect her at
all costs, no matter what. Fast-forwarding my life for 10 years, now she is right here beside me as my wife.
“I love you, Tilia, no matter what.”

40

Swallowing Written Fate by Nik Nur Ain Farhana Mohamad Fadli

I made a terrible mistake when I trusted my mom more than I trusted my wife. I was neither a bad
son nor a bad husband. Sudden warm wrath boomed my body whenever the thought of how this one
decision had made me utterly regretful, my whole life sparked in my head. I was an obedient son and
husband. However, that day, I thought choosing my mom would do me any good.

However, we would never knew what God would serve us. I tried so much not to solely blaming
myself. Nevertheless, the more I denied the fact, the higher the guilt was stacking up in me. One more, the
agonising thing was the mistake I made remained the biggest mistake of my life. The birds were chirping
happily that morning as if there was no conflict existed in this living world.

How I wish I could live that life too. I was completing my morning routine as usual by watering my
mom’s plants. Nature always wore the colours of the spirit. To me, approaching nature felt like receiving a
tranquiliser injection. "Good morning, Faris, my lovely boy," said my mom.

“Morning, Mommy. What are you cooking today?” I asked. “I am thinking of making some roasted
chicken for lunch. Well, I need some firewood to cook it. Can you get it for me, dear?” “Sure, no problem
Mommy. I’ll go into the woods and get it.” I went to my room to change my clothes before going into the
woods.

My wife was looking out of the window as if something worrying filled her mind. I took a moment to
stare at her stunning profile. Each of her features embraced an electric current that could stunt me for
seconds. This one creature was the biggest blessing God had sent me. She turned her back to me when I
entered the room. “Abang, did Mom ask you to go into the forest?” she asked. “Yes, Sayang. I need to get
some firewoods” I replied calmly. Then, she started to become outrageous by asking me to stay at home.
“Abang! Don't go! I heard mom calling someone to hide you in the forest. She has got a plan to keep you
away!” said my wife worryingly. For a moment, I thought I was speaking to the wrong person. It was the
rudest thing she ever said to my mom. My wife was trying to explain more but, the egoistic trait in me
developed and I slammed the door of our room.

While picking up firewood in the forest, suddenly I could hardly breathe. Someone was strangling
me from the back. I really could not recall what had happened as my view was fading away. The moment I
woke up, I was lying on the wooden floor, with tape sealing my mouth. I ran home while accompanied by
the dark sky and dim light moon. The cold breeze of the night felt warm to my skin. I could feel my blood
circulating furiously like it was giving me a sign to urge me to go back home. When I arrived home, my heart
sank, my body felt numb, my eyes went teary, my ears gone deaf. The house I used to spend half-decade
in turned to ashes and burnt woods.

I lost two important people in my life at the same moment. It hurt when I could not be there to save
them. However, on the other side of me, I was mad at my mom’s surreal motive. My mom always accused
my wife of bringing bad luck to the family. She also blamed her for the reason I became poor until now. For
that reason, she wanted to get rid of her. However, I never imagined she could commit a murderous method
to reach her goal. It was painful to swallow the fact that she killed herself
in the trap that she designed to kill others. I loved them both. If only I
could turn back time, I only wanted to fix one thing; the relationship
between my wife and my mom.

41

Kiete Shimau by Nur Farhana Ahmad Shukri

A sense of sadness coming from the inability to prevent the disappearance of someone who was never
actually there

“Why is his face so blurry?” Mai stared at the beautiful man from afar, as he was brewing the
coffee. She knew that if she tried to touch him, he would disappear. She had been trying to touch, hug
and kiss him countless times, but all those resulted in Mai awakened from her sleep. Nevertheless, she
had to do it every time because that was the only way for her to go back to the real world. Mai sighed
heavily, reluctant to do it. She slowly walked to him and as she tried to pinch his cheek, he enveloped into
a swirling and encircling cloud of cherry blossom petals that ascended into the sky and vanished; then the
dream ended.

Mai’s heart beat furiously as she opened her eyes. Her body felt a sudden rush of coldness when
she realised she was still on the bed. She closed her eyes tightly, trying very hard to collect every single
memory she had of him and connect them together like pieces of a puzzle. Mai swiftly walked out of her
bed and turned on the lamp. She grabbed a pen and her tattered diary while recalling every single moment
that happened in the dream. She flipped to a new page and scribbled down the smallest details that she
could remember about Niho.

Yes, he did have a name. His hair, his clothes and the way he walked and talked, she witnessed
all, vividly, in the dream but not his face. Niho was the epitome of summer. Bright and enthusiastic about
life, warm and radiant; very much like a blooming sunflower. He smelt like the ocean and the scent of the
calming morning breeze. It was unexplainable how Mai could smell the seducing scent only in her dreams.
She never desired for it, but now that she had a whiff of it, she longed for it even more.

It had been many years since Niho appeared in Mai’s dreams. The first one was rather
momentary, when Niho called her name while they were at a field of blooming sunflowers. His voice was
warm, a bit husky and soulful. A calming voice you wanted to hear when you were in despair. The following
dreams were chapters of their trysts to ethereal places Mai never knew existed. They went for countless
little adventures together, just like a married couple. Somehow, Mai felt sprier and more enthusiastic to
live in her dreams as compared to the real world. Sometimes, she wished she would never wake up from
the dreams.

Mai smiled as she went through her diary, not realising that tears had rolled down her cheeks.
She longed for him who did not exist. The suffocating pain she felt was unbearable. Though the pain
surged inside her, she knew that it was the only thing reassuring her that he was real. Mai closed her diary
and blankly stared at her wrinkled, time-worn face in the mirror. In her dreams, she was pretty, fair and
young just like when she was in her youth. She realised that she had no time left, but she still could not
picture Niho’s face after 50 years dreaming of him night after night. Mai did not date nor marry anyone in
her entire life, as Niho was her first love she could never replace.

Mai closed her eyes once again, with a towering hope that this
time she could finally see Niho’s face. Slowly, the fragrance she used to
smell, the warmth of Niho’s emerging as she opened her youthful eyes
to a field of sunflowers, just like in her first dream. There, in front of her
stood a young, beautiful man surrounded by radiant blooming
sunflowers. He had milky skin, rosy lips, silky grey hair and perfectly
slender hazel eyes. “You’re late, my dear,” Niho chuckled softly as he
gave the warmest smile to his lover. “Would you stay with me here,
forever, Mai?” said Niho while reaching out his hands to Mai.

“Niho, is this really you?” Mai stuttered as she struggled to speak
the words in her head while walking towards him in utter disbelief.
Finally, the moment Mai was waiting for had come. Unhesitatingly, she
ran towards Niho, with tears streaming down her face. The moment she
touched his hands, she never woke up from the dream ever again.

42

Boy Next Door by Nurin Syafiqa Fatahaiariffin
“Nothing changes much here,” I murmured to myself. I finally got the chance of breathing the
fresh, calm air after almost a year and a half staying at home. An incident made me the way I was. I still
broke down crying when I thought of the incident, as the pain was unbearable. At the early age of eleven,
I lost my best friend that I spent most of the time with. Everything seemed to be dark from that incident.

Since Aiman became my new neighbour, we started to become close and inseparable. I
remembered vividly, when I was 9 years old, a little boy came ringing my house bell with his bicycle to
ask me to play with him. We decorated our bicycles and put stickers on them. I also had a scar on my
right knee from riding my brother’s old red bicycle when we were heading to the playground together. In
return, Aiman would join me nearly every weekend to play cooking in my backyard.

“Bang!” The loud crash still echoed in my eardrums and dragged me back to the incident that I
did not want to recall anymore. Someone pulled me off the bicycle and I fell on the roadside. A crowd of
people stopped by the road and surrounded where the incident took place. I was stunned as a car almost
hit me due to my careless riding. “Aiman!” I quickly turned around for him and brushed those negative
thoughts away. Tears flowed down my cheeks like a stream as I saw Aiman lying silently. Yes, it was
Aiman. He risked himself to save me and it made me feel like I was the cause of this misfortune.

Due to the accident, Aiman was unconscious and lost a lot of blood. The only way to keep him
alive was by undergoing surgery. Ever since that day, Aiman’s mother no longer allowed me to be friends
with him. She felt that I was the cause of Aiman’s accident, and did not want the same thing to happen
again to his one and only son. I felt an arrow pierced straight into my heart, yet I had to follow her decision
for Aiman’s sake. I was lost and confused without him, but he would not be coming back, not this time.
Those old memories vividly flashed in my mind, which I did not expect that day would potentially cost the
loss of my best friend’s life and mine. I stared blankly and somehow I hoped that this would never happen.

When I decided to get out of the house this morning, I felt like I had already gained the strength
to accept what was destined for my life. I stopped at the playground where we often went together and
suddenly someone called my name from behind. Without turning back, I could recognise that voice, the
voice of someone I really missed. He came near me and handed me a bouquet of flowers and there was
a photo of us with our hands on each other’s shoulders, smiling ear to ear. I endured a very hard time
without him, but seeing his smile seemed to take away all the pain. As he passed me the flowers, I
remembered nothing yet the warm tears dropped, wetting his shirt. I shut my eyes tightly, and I prayed
that it was not a dream because I did not want to lose him again.

“I miss you, Aiman!”

43

The Moon by Nurul Yasmin Suraya Rosli
Listening to his favourite song by his bedroom window, there was only one person who
was on Harry’s mind. It was raining, but the brightest moon illuminated the pitch-black night. Could
you love the moon? Was it possible to love something that was out of your reach and you could
only see from afar? These thoughts were running wildly on his mind, but he stared into the night
blankly.

Harry took a major in photography at his university. He loved to take pictures and he
befriended almost everyone, except for this one girl from his class that he always had his eyes on.
She was the moon. Her name was Jasmine. The only thing was that she never looked at him, not
even once.

“Maybe she hates me,” Harry talked to himself. “How would she see me? In this ocean of
people?”

One day, Harry knew that he had to complete a photography project with Jasmine. He was
stupefied, as he was going to collaborate with his crush. When they talked for the first time, he felt
that his heart was going to blow up.

“Hi, I’m Jasmine. Guess we’re going to be buddies, right?” “Yeah, sure. I’m Harry.”
“According to the task, we need to find beautiful places in this town. Do you have any ideas?”

They were discussing it excitedly, but Harry could not put his entire focus on the topic. She
was the moon of his night. He never thought that he could be as close as this to her. They went to
a few beautiful places in town to complete the project. They explored every nook and crook to find
perfect shots. Jasmine was an awesome photographer as when she was taking pictures; she
became passionate about her work. He fell in love with this beautiful side of her too.

“Why do you keep staring at me? I notice that when I am taking pictures,” she asked
unexpectedly the next day. Harry was startled. He was confused either to tell her the truth or not.
Finally, he mustered his courage to tell her how he felt all this while.

“I like you, Jasmine. Since our first year, but I guess you never notice my existence. I could
only watch you from far, and this project is like a golden ticket for me to get to know you. I’m sorry
if it makes you feel uncomfortable,” he replied nervously. “Oh, you like me, still? Wow, I never knew
that.”

The conversation ended just like that, and Harry decided that it was the end of everything.
She did not talk to him or even text him. “She hated me. She’ll never talk to me again,” he sighed.
Indeed, she was a moon, and would always be out of his reach.

The following day, Harry went straight to his seat in the lecture hall, hoping there would be
a ray of hope for him and Jasmine. Suddenly, someone took a seat beside him and he looked up
at her. She smiled at him, as bright as the moon.

44

Again by Shahida Annisa Mohd Suffian

In a forest deep inside, lived a man named Alfred. He lived in a cottage farm near a lake. The lake
was big and clear. It was Alfred’s favourite place to relax. He always took his time to relax in the lake. One
day, Alfred’s relatives came for a visit. They brought a woman named Lucia. Lucia was not used to Alfred’s
lifestyle. His home was simple and quiet. She was so used to the hustle and bustle of the city that she had
a hard time sleeping in the quiet cottage.

Lucia loved the city lights that shone in the city. It made her relaxed and calm whenever she was
anxious. Therefore, when she was at the cottage, she could not relax herself. She was just bored. However,
every day, she felt different. Her fingertips felt weird, as if, something was dancing on them. She rubbed
her fingertips, trying to remember what happened last night.

Alfred saw her expression and decided to show her the lake. To his surprise, she was still bored. It
was just a lake after all. “Then come here again at night, I might change your mind after that,” he said to
her. She was confused. “Again?” she thought. She never went to the lake before but she still went there.

Near the lake, Alfred told her to take off her shoes. She did, but she questioned if they were going
to swim. He smiled. He held out his hands to her. She was baffled at what he was suggesting to her. He
continued and whispered, “Trust me.” After a long and silent moment, she took his hands. Her feet sank
into the lake. She felt chills running down her spine. It was cold. Lucia began to have second thoughts and
wanted to leave until Alfred pulled her in.

She fell, as her face came closer to the lake, her visions became clearer. The lake that was dark,
cold and gloomy was not colourful. The colours spread as she realised where she was. She was inside the
lake. Oddly enough, she did not feel like she was under the water. Her body felt light as if she was floating.
She gasped, and bubbles formed out of her mouth but she did not suffocate. Lucia realised that Alfred was
still holding her hands.

Both of them were floating inside the lake, colours changing from each side. The colour was not
too bright that it would blind them. It reminded Lucia of the city lights. The colours shone just enough as if
they were sparkling stars. Not completely engulfed with the same colours, her surrounding would transit
from light colours to hues of midnight blue at certain times. It then slowly changed from hues of blue to a
different colour. It was pleasant to watch.

Alfred gave her a tap and pointed something in front of them. She looked closely and saw two pairs
of eyes staring at her. She did not know whom the eyes belonged to, but it was not of human or animal. It
was different. She floated closer to the eyes. This time, she could see forming patterns on the mysterious
being.

Its body shape was unrecognisable and the colours in the patterns kept changing. Each pattern
kept teasing her to touch one after another, and slowly she reached to one. Before she could touch the
pattern, Lucia woke up. She was in her bed. Her clothes were dry. She remembered the feeling she had
last night. The tips of her finger felt strange, as if something was dancing on them. However, she had no
idea what happened last night. She was perplexed still, more than before.

45

Dark Escape by Tan Yu Jing

The night is here, and darkness descends. The city should be brimming with people at this time
until the arrival of Z-Virus. Nevertheless, it is still crowded but not with ordinary residents anymore.
Throughout the dead silence, there were sounds of footsteps coming from a dim alley in the midst of the
vast city. They come from four survivors, or humans.

“Trust me, this is going to end up really bad,” Frank grumbles. “Can you shut your mouth for like,
five minutes?” Louie replies and sighs. “I wonder if they can see us at night,” Joey murmurs. “Shhhh! We
cannot risk having them hearing us.” Trautmann shushes.

The quartet is vigilant as they hold tight on their weapons and advance stealthily through the
alleyway. Eventually, they reach the streets and halt. The scene of the streets is devastatingly dreadful.
Numerous vehicles are stranded everywhere, with some overturned and some are still in flames. Corpses
pile up for an unknown reason and they emit unbearable stench. Trautmann approaches the hill of decaying
dead bodies and examines them.

“This is definitely not some ordinary flu.” Trautmann looks further into the mess. “They look like
zombies.” “Yes, they are, Sherlock Holmes.” Frank ridicules. “Which part of them looks like a human?” “I
watched them in movies, but never know they are real,” Joey says in astonishment. “It’s official,” Louie
declares. “Zombies are no longer horror fiction characters.”

While they are busy conversing, a tall, deformed humanoid creature is observing them on a building
across the street. After letting out a few coughs, the creature spits out an absurdly long tongue to reach its
nearest target. “What the –” Louie’s words are muffled by the unexpected attack. The tongue wraps around
him and begins to contract, dragging him away. The dragging action shortly turns into hanging and
suspending Louie in mid-air. The others immediately realise the absence of Louis and his dire situation.

“Choker!” Trautmann calls out and fires his rifle onto the assailant. The critter known as Choker
melts into a pile of sludge, releasing his captive. Louie falls into a flashing car, consequently triggers the
car alarm. The ear-splitting sound breaks through the silent night, and intimidating howling sounds follow.
“Zombie horde!” Trautmann hollers while helping Louie getting on his feet. “Run and shoot!” Joey begins to
rain bullets onto the undead.

They run like lunatics and exterminate anything that stands on their escape route. The swarm of
zombies is gaining speed gradually, pursuing their prey. Fortunately, the survivors come across an external
ladder attached to an apartment. “To the roof!” Louie points to the ladder and they climb to the roof of the
apartment. They are safe as of now. “I can’t believe we make it!” Louie exclaims with delight. “You think
so?” Trautmann questions Louie’s statement.

They come to the other end of the apartment roof and discover another sea of zombies wandering
beneath them. “Son,” Trautmann says while patting on Louie’s shoulder. “We’ve just crossed the street.”

46

Guided by Unseen Stars by Teh Syndy
In the earliest of time, there was the world with all kinds of creatures resided in it. Nymphs,
magicians, demons and muggles were in a war at that time. Of course, among the four creatures, there
was no chance of winning for the muggles. With ball and chain tied to their legs, such fate could only allow
them to become the slaves for the other three kinds. As time went on, the creatures had come to a peace
agreement to end this “meaningless” war. However, there were dark things behind this beautiful surface.
Somewhere in the woods, there laid a small cottage where the opening of the curtain near the
window had admitted some of the sun’s fierce light. Olivia, a girl with bravery and optimism should have
lived her life peacefully here. However, fortune played tricks on people. Logan, father to Olivia who was not
responsible for his action had truly changed her life. In one darkening evening, two heavy footsteps moved
close to the door. In a flash, they put Olivia inside a giant bag. “No! Who are you?” Olivia tried to fight
against the two giants but it was merely hitting the stone with a feather.
A big swirling tunnel appeared from the summons of an ancient chant read by the two giants.
“Whoosh!” Three of them disappeared in the middle of the small cottage, as if the contingency earlier never
happened. “Where is the girl?” said a tree nymph, dryad. “Hey, you all, I heard that this little girl is special
because she is born as a muggle but her parents are both magicians,” said a powerful magician. “Haha,
then she would be delicious to serve my appetite,” said the demon with two horrifying horns and a demonic
laugh. This place was what we called the “Black Market”. Deep inside this mysterious place was the trade
of muggles as the enjoyment for the other three creatures.
“Patience everyone, patience!” A sound echoed in the hall. With one of his hands thrusted in the
pocket, the fox masked man ordered the two giants to bring out the girl. Olivia realised it was too late for
her, but she would not give up until the end. Five minutes earlier, the fox man had Olivia to sign a contract
to pay her father’s debt because he fled away. Judging by the circumstances, she had no choice but to
agree with it. Everyone had heard of Olivia’s rare being because those who existed as a muggle from a
magician family were of a special existence.
“Knock, knock!” A woman came in. “Why is she here?” “Quiet, don’t say a word!” Everyone had a
shock upon seeing this woman’s appearance. Basilisk, a serpent who legends said that she could cause
death with a single glance. “Come with me,” said Basilisk to Olivia. It was nostalgic for Olivia when she
looked at her. Without hesitation, Olivia followed the woman and both of them disappeared in the hall.
Meanwhile, the sound of laughter was coming out from a dark yet warm manor. Olivia and the woman were
planting the fruits happily in the garden.

47

Hope by Dr. Kee Li Li
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

Illustrated by Aliyah Cassandra McIntosh

“A very good morning I bid to the Principal of Semerah Secondary School, Mr. Adam bin Abu,
Senior Assistants, teachers and students. Let us welcome Daniel Ahmad to come up to the stage to receive
the award of the Sportsman of the Year 2021 from our beloved Principal. Daniel gets a trophy, a certificate
of acknowledgement and also a sum of cold hard cash of RM500, a generous contribution of Mr. Ariss
Samsuddin, the Chairman of The Parents and Teachers Association of Semerah Secondary School. A
round applause for Daniel to welcome him onto the stage!” A loud cheer came from the crowd, in a
uniformed way.

48

Daniel, a dashing young man of 17 years old symbolised the hope of a future successful man. He
went up the stage and all students watched in awe. Daniel was the hero, the hope and the focus of the day.
Almost all students hoped to be like him. Many people were awestruck in the presence of this young man.
Ms. Yusrina was busy taking her student’s photos, with the hope that all the photos would turn out well. The
hopeful Daniel was beaming from ear to ear when he received the prizes from the Principal’s hands.

At one corner, Jazzlina was
looking at Daniel with total attention.
He blinked one of his eyes
mischievously while smiling at her.
Jazzlina’s cheeks turned into two
red tomatoes and she was smiling
back at Daniel too, but shyly. Daniel
was long having eyes for her and he
was full of hope that his feeling for
her would be reciprocated soon.
Without a doubt, Jazzlina too had
been showing positive responses
towards Daniel although their
friends had not announced them as
an item in the school formally.

49

“Daniel, are you alright? Why do you gaze at Syamsul in total amazement?” approached Mimi. The
sudden coarse voice of Mimi stirred Daniel from his daydream and brought him back to the reality. Mimi
was Daniel’s friend from the special education class. “I’m okay, I’m just envious of him. I actually hope that
I’m just like him. Not more than that,” replied Daniel. Daniel took a deep breath and let out a helpless sigh
as he watched Syamsul went onto the stage and took photos with the Principal.

“Can’t that person be me?” Daniel screamed with hysterical sobs inside his heart. Somehow, he
knew that it was indeed impossible, there was no such miracle in this hopeless world. To gain
consciousness, Daniel shook his head several times, rubbed his eyes over and over again. He then blinked
hardly both his eyes for a few seconds. The vision in front of him was getting clearer while his hope was
starting to diminish gradually. The person on the stage was Syamsul and not him! How could this be!

50

Daniel then saw Syamsul holding the trophy proudly in both of his two strong muscular arms and
he was actually looking straight into Jazzlina’s eyes full of hope in getting the same response from her.
Undoubtedly, Jazzlina’s beautiful face blushed, and she slowly moved to hide behind her friend’s back,
once in a while, stealing glances at Syamsul. The reaction was like a knife stabbing into Daniel’s chest and
it hurt him deep inside. The stabs took away all the hopes from his heart.

“My friend, don’t pin for
Jazzlina anymore. Both of you are just
not meant to be,” convinced Mimi. “I’m
not trying to be a wet blanket, but look
at your arms. Can you give hope and
happiness to a normal person like
Jazzlina? Can you hold her
confidently in your “arms”? Can you
see the difference between you and
Syamsul? You’re really a hopeless
case! I really hope that I’m able to
knock some sense into you!”
exclaimed Mimi.

51

Mimi explained to a great extent, though with very little hope that her dear friend would come to his
sense. She was actually hoping against all hopes that he would see the right thing to do and do it. And he
would not drown in his own sorrows ever again.

Daniel was a 17-year-old boy who was
different from the other boys of the same age as
him. Though they studied in the same school,
he was somehow different from the rest of the
boys.

Daniel was a handsome Malay boy with
a Korean look due to his mixed parentage. In
fact, he looked like one Korean celebrity,
Junsoon from the rock band of ARMS. His
complexion was indeed fairer as compared to
Tan Kheng Seong, the only Chinese boy in the
special education class.

He was tall and well-built, his hair was black, straight and smooth. A full set of beautiful white teeth
portrayed his attractive smile and a pair of captivating black eyes enchanted many. However, either it was
destined or it was the punishment he had to face for the wrongdoings he did in his past life, he was born
with a pair of severely deformed arms. Yes, both of his arms were deformed, they looked much smaller as
compared to his body composition, with shapes that had developed awkwardly.

Daniel looked at both of his arms. “Yes, I should stop daydreaming with this kind of hope anymore,”
Daniel replied Mimi with the overwhelming disappointment once again. And he dared not think or hope for
anything more since then.

Points to Ponder
Did Daniel make the right decision? Why?
If you were Daniel, how would you react to the situation?

52

Excursion Into Special Education by Besira Bibi Mohd Ali
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

Pages and pages of exercise books showing incomplete work filled with enormous crimson
coloured question marks, abandoned worksheets and blank tests papers, and being labelled as a good-
for-nothing, extremely headstrong and always lost in her own world were among the major struggles faced
by a seven-year-old in a primary Year 1 class. Her father, my younger brother would always hear
complaints from the class teacher through his wife whenever she dropped and fetched Fahra from school.

At that time, I had taught for nearly two decades, my brother felt I would be the right person for him
to approach for guidance and support. Boldly, I took the challenge to lend my niece a helping hand without
thinking much about it. I had had always been quite confident of my ability to get across any child, be the
child a primary school pupil or secondary school student. I decided to bring her over to my place during
the year-end school holidays to help her overcome her issues. It only took me a couple of weeks to realise
that I was unable to support her. I had to embrace defeat and accept the fact that I had no knowledge on
how to enable my niece acquiring the basics of being literate. My initial aim was to get her to focus on
learning and to give positive response, but instead I faced a child who showed no emotion and zero
progress. I was incapable of helping one of my own. While sharing my pent-up frustration, a friend
suggested that I should had her tested for learning difficulties.

In December 2007, Puan Sariah Amirin, the President of Persatuan Disleksia Wilayah Persekutuan
(PDWP) tested my niece and diagnosed her as being dyslexic and considered her case to be quite a severe
one. We were late at getting her diagnosed because we did not realise that she had learning difficulty
issues. I took it as my responsibility to help Fahra overcome her learning issues. I sat down with Puan
Sariah to discuss the next step of action. With her parents’ approval and permission from the Perak State
Education Office, Fahra was registered to be part of an intensive intervention programme designed by the
PDWP to assist students to eradicate basic learning difficulties. After successfully completing the first phase
of the programme, Puan Sariah suggested that Fahra should continue with the similar second phase
programme because her basic language and mathematical skills still needed to be polished. Sitting with
her every evening to aid her with the homework allowed me to witness her confidence and self-esteem
building up, as she was able to read and complete the tasks given. She was also learning to speak her
mind, confidently voicing her opinions, and making choices and decisions, all the things which she would
choose to avoid before.

Through my reading, I discovered that dyslexia is a learning disability that primarily affects one’s
ability to learn to read and develop a strong understanding of language. It is caused by differences in how
the brain processes information. These differences do not make dyslexia a mental defect or disease, it
simply means that Fahra, just like any other dyslexic child had difficulties with oral communication,
organisational skills, following instructions and telling time. She also struggled with basic math. Through
her diligence and persistence, she had managed to conquer most of skills to a certain extent, but her
progress was slower and required greater effort. I also realised that dyslexia is not caused by poor schools,
bad teaching practices, ineffective parenting or coming from difficult home life.

While trying to better understand what Fahra had gone through or would go through in future, I
discovered that schools, teachers, parents and family members have an essential role to play in the
prevention of behavioural problems that develop from learning issues encountered by these groups of
students. Therefore, if appropriate intervention and support are not made available in time, a link between
learning difficulty and behavioural problem will firmly be established in the tender primary school years.
Having new awareness about learning difficulties issues and witnessing all the positive changes in Fahra
after attending the two consecutive intensive intervention programmes opened my mind towards how little
I knew about helping the students who are struggling in school. This realisation led me to apply for a one-
year Special Education (Learning Disabilities) Certification course at Institute of Teacher Education
Malaysia, Perempuan Melayu Melaka Campus.

53

During the first year of working with students who had multiple disabilities and various conditions
that affected their learning abilities made me question my intentions and capability to help and guide them.
Amongst the transformations that I had to come in terms with when working with the special education
students were lowering my expectation, always keeping calm, repeating lessons taught countlessly, avoid
raising my voice or even talking too fast. I had to accept the situation at hand then and adjust to being
aware of these students’ short attention spans, learning to trust the students and giving them the benefit of
the doubt accompanied by putting in great effort, energy and time to get to know them well. I tried my best
to put aside some time and find out the reasons for their behavioural issues. Despite everything we see on
the surface, I learnt that these groups of students expected and needed their teachers to be firm,
fair, consistent, friendly and supportive when teaching them and also respect them as individuals.

I hope through the sharing of my experience here the trainee teachers of Institute of Teacher
Education Ipoh Campus would be willing to open their hearts and minds to come up with creative strategies
to teach all students (especially those with special needs in the inclusive setting) more effectively. They
should take time to get to know each of the students individually, appreciating their unique strengths and
always being aware of their level, needs and learning styles. Being a general or special education teacher,
it is our duty to help guide our students to realise their full potential and never give up on finding a way to
reach these students and inspire them to grow and achieve excellence under our mentoring.

“Life is a series of natural and “No amount of guilt can change the
spontaneous changes. Don't resist past, and no amount of worrying can
them; that only creates sorrow. Let
reality be reality. Let things flow change the future. Go easy on
naturally forward in whatever way they yourself, for the outcome of all affairs

like.” is determined by Allah’s decree.
Laozi
If something is meant to go elsewhere,

it will never come your way, but if it is

yours by destiny, from it you cannot

flee.”

Umar Ibn Al-Khattaab

54

She’s No More! by Dr. Kanakambal Velusamy
(Excellent Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

I woke up shivering and drenched in sweat. All I could do at that moment was to cry, as it seemed
so real. My husband was least bothered as he thought it was another common nightmare of mine. I saw
him still revising for the final examination that we were supposed to sit for the examination at 9:00 a.m. at
the university. He looked at me and asked, “Another bad dream?” I did not reply. I dashed to the bathroom
to change my pyjamas.

“I dreamt something real bad,” I told him as I sat on the bed, sounding urgent and important.
“Hmmm, I’m listening,” he said. “I saw her at the mortuary, all wrapped up in white,” I narrated sadly. “I hope
she’s doing fine, let’s just pray she’ll be alright until we return home. We have to take her to the specialist
again,” I said and rested my head on another fresh pillow.

We reached the examination hall early and met a few friends who were our course mates. I was
not in the mood to talk to anyone as the dream was haunting me. My husband on the other hand, was
cheerfully chatting and sharing tips for the examination. It was our last paper for the final year.

“Hey everyone, good luck!” I heard my husband wishing our friends. It brought me back to my
senses. It was a three-hour paper and immediately after that, we did not bid farewell to our friends, but
rushed to our car. Consciously, we only wanted to reach home as quickly as possible. However, as the car
reached the front gate of our university, thunder roared and lightning flashed in the sky and soon enough it
began to pour heavily.

“She’s complaining of pain again, shall I take her to Pantai Puteri or Ipoh Specialist or shall I wait
for you people to come home?” I heard my brother-in-law asking my husband as the mobile phone was on
loudspeaker. “Just take her to the nearest. Please don’t wait for us as I’ll be late. It’s raining heavily here
and I can’t even see the road clearly,” said my husband.

The dream came flashing to me again. It seemed so real. In a gentle tone, I thoroughly explained
about the dream that I had at around 4:00 a.m. This time around, my husband kept quiet. It was about his
mother. It was a bad dream. It was not soothing to the ears to listen to such a dream. The entire journey
home was in pitch silence except for the patting of the rain on the windscreen of the car.

We reached the hospital four hours later. As we approached the entrance, I saw my father-in-law
and a few other relatives in a sombre mood. Our fear crept into our nerves and helpless emotion was
overwhelming us. We did not exchange greetings but went straight to the lift and to the ward. There she
was, lying motionless on a pacifier. Everyone was waiting for us. The doctor was waiting for us. Why? To
remove the pacifier. Soon, it was done. Nobody cried. Nobody uttered a word.

A few minutes later, my husband and I went down to the mortuary. There, there I saw my dream in
real! She was all wrapped in a white cloth. Motionless! I burst into tears and cried my heart out! She’s really
no more!

55

Mek by Wan Ziraiza Wan Ismail
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

Illustrated by Md Sharizal Md Razali

“Mek...your baby is beautiful..what do you call her?”

“I wanted to name her Noriah, but her father went and registered her as Zuriah, I am still going to
call her Noriah!” That was my answer to anyone who asked me about my baby. Noriah was my first-born,
the apple of my eyes, the fruit of my love and the star of our life.

I got married at the age of fifteen. It was an arranged marriage to a young man operating a coffee
shop. My life was elevated from a small village in the district of Pasir Puteh to a popular area of Kampung
Peringat, where people flocked to sell local produce and buy daily needs. When I got married, I had to be
where my husband was. My mother was still residing in Kampung Wakaf Berangan, nearly 80 kilometres
away from my place.

The woman who asked about my daughter’s name was a mid-wife who lived in the nearby village.
I had never seen her, yesterday, she stopped at my door on her way to the market. I was not sure how she
passed my house, her village was on the other side, and she would not need to pass my house to go to the
market.

Being young and away from my mother, I had to fend everything by myself. My mother gave birth
to my fourth brother last month and she was in confinement herself, she could not come to care for me
then. I was to take care of myself during my confinement.

When she stopped by yesterday, she offered me a kind of traditional preparation wrapped up nicely
in a betel leaf. She said it was a preparation for a mother who had just given birth and it would make her
healthy. I took her offer and ate the medicine. It tasted bitter and sweet. “Not too bad,” I thought. I thanked
her with a glass of plain water. Being in confinement, I did not do much of housework. I focused more on
my dear little baby, Noriah. “My bundle of joy!” I exclaimed. She had been a very good baby. She had a
sharp nose and I enjoyed looking at her sleeping, so peaceful, so beautiful.

“Assalamualaikum, how are you my little child? Did your pretty baby sleep well last night?” the mid-
wife asked me the moment she sat at the edge of my door. The door was always open to the fresh sunshine
in the morning.

“Waalaikumsalam, Alhamdulillah, she slept soundly, only cried a bit when she was hungry or
perhaps a little cold last night”, I answered the mid-wife. I was somewhat happy to see her.

“How do you feel after taking the medicine yesterday? She continued to ask.

“The medicine was sweet and I think I feel good, yesterday was indeed a tiring day for me. When I
wake up this morning, I feel much better”, I answered as to be nice to her. Of course, after a good night
sleep, one would feel refreshed.

“That is good! Today I have another piece of preparation for you. Would you like to take it?” She
handed me the medicine. Beautifully wrapped up with betel leaves, it had the shape of a square. Yesterday,
it was of a triangle shape.

“Do I have to pay for it?” I asked reluctantly.

“No my dear, you don’t have to pay for it, my young child. It’s a gift from me.” She smiled and
handed me the medicine.

“You must eat it now, it may get spoilt if you eat it later,” she explained.

I took it to my mouth and chewed. There was a twist of sweet, bitter and sour this time around. It
was not too bad for a type of medicine still. There was also a taste and smell of spices in it. I was not sure
what those are, but I could taste clove as one of the ingredients. It had spiced my mouth.

56

The mid-wife smiled when I told her the comparison of yesterday and today’s preparation. She took
leave after a while. She helped me with my little Noriah. She said that Noriah’s umbilical cord should dry in
a few days and would fall off. I smiled all the way to the evening. Nothing more to make a mother, but to
know that someone had put good words on her flesh and blood.

Noriah was truly a beautiful baby. She did not make so much fuss. She slept throughout the night.
During the day, she kept me company with her smile and her black shiny eyes were always on me. She
smelt so sweet and her skin was so soft. I thought all mothers should feel the same way of her offspring.
She was always quiet when her daddy was around. Perhaps she knew that her father was rather a serious
person. Her daddy loved her so much; he made sure that I had enough to spend for the preparation upon
her arrival. Noriah was very fortunate to be born in this marriage.

This was 1950; my father was only a farmer, who earned a wage from working at the nearby
tobacco farm. My mom worked at the nearby batik factory owned by her rich cousin. We considered
ourselves poor. This marriage had helped me climb to the upper stage of social status. We lived in the small
town area. We owned a coffee shop and my husband had a trishaw. He went to Kota Bharu every Friday
night to watch English movies. Life was much better as compared to before. Alhamdulillah.

“Mek, give me a glass of water. It’s so hot today. I’m a bit late today,” the mid-wife arrived at around
noon. I quickly gave her a glass of water. She sat on the bench outside the house. I just handed her the
glass of water from inside. I did not move about too much. Noriah was only five days old.

The mid-wife waved the batik sarong that she used to cover her head to fan herself. She dabbed
the sarong onto her face and forehead to dry her sweat. She was talking about the fish and vegetables that
she bought at the market.

She was almost leaving when she handed me another preparation. I thought she had forgotten
about it.

“How much more medicine I need to take?” I asked, trying to give the idea that I did not enjoy more
medicine in the future.

“This is the last one, Mek.” She handed me the preparation. It looked like being hurriedly prepared
with two betel leaves, the ingredients were too much, almost fell out from it. There was an unbearable
stench exuded out of a sudden.

“Eat it now, Mek, it’s prepared earlier in the morning, I should’ve come here earlier.” The mid-wife
urged me to eat the medicine there and then.

The foul smell was over-powering. I almost threw up when I had to chew the preparation. The
medicine was burning my tongue; the stench from it struck my nostrils. I was about to spit it out when the
mid-wife shoved me the glass of water. She asked me to swallow and push it down my throat with the
water. There was a fire in my mouth.

The mid-wife left and did not show up any more the next day. She came about when I had finished
my confinement. She asked how I had been doing. Then, she left.

She showed up again when Noriah was turning one that year. She asked me when Noriah was
going to have a sister or a brother. I did not say anything. She left.

The mid-wife came again yesterday. Noriah turned two yesterday. She smiled and asked the same
question she asked last year. I told her there had been no sign of me getting pregnant to another. She
smiled, turned and went away.

“Dear Che Hussein, the mid-wife came again yesterday, she asked whether I’m pregnant,” I told
my husband after dinner.

“Which mid-wife?” my Che Hussein asked me back.

57

I had never told my husband, Che Hussein about the medicine that the mid-wife gave me when I
gave birth to Noriah. Now, I had to tell him everything, what she had given me, the annual visits she had
done and the questions she had interrogated me with.

Che Hussein told me that perhaps she had given me a kind of traditional contraceptive preparations
that she was working on. She had tried it on me and perhaps the preparations took effect on me. It was
inconsiderate of her to try it out on me. She should have tried it on another mother who already had five or
six children. We had been trying for a second baby since Noriah was already three years old.

Che Hussein was very angry with me. He said that I should have asked him before accepting
anything from anyone. I cried and cried bitterly after that. I always liked children. I had three younger
brothers and I took care of my two younger brothers when they were young. Now that I knew the reason
why I had never conceived anymore, my heart broke into pieces. The mid-wife stopped coming to my
house. On Noriah’s fourth birthday, she passed by my house. She again watched me from afar when Noriah
turned five. She had that grin on her face.

I am Che Yah binti Saleh and I have accepted the fact that I will not have another child anymore.
Noriah is Zuriah. Zuriah is close to “Zuriat” in Arabic, the meaning of it is a child. It is fated that I only have
a daughter, my ‘Zuriat’ named Zuriah binti Hussein.

I thank Allah for Zuriah. I am now 85 years old and Zuriah is taking good care of me. Thank you
Allah for the only daughter of mine. Alhamdulillah.

58

Red by YM Raja Ismail Edham Raja Othman
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

It was red in colour, round, small, like a five-cent coin. Shiny, not to forget that. It was so shiny that
I managed to spot it from the other side of the field. As if hypnotised, I quickly walked towards it. The
weather was hot, scorching hot and the wind, although blowing towards me, felt like a dragon’s fiery, long,
continuous, warm breath. In my teens, I would have run across this field without breaking a sweat. Yeah,
in my teens. Talking about past tenses. I now walk to wherever I wish to go and I think that I walk faster
than I run because when I walk, I do not stop for breaths as compared to when I run. Ten, solid minutes
later, I was standing over the shiny object. It was not round nor was it small. All I could see was a pyramid
like red object poking out from the ground. Slowly, I knelt and started to carefully dig and brush the dirt off
and around the object to get a better look at it but the more I brushed and dug, the bigger the object became.
It turned out to be the side of a big, red metal box! I continued digging with my bare hands. I was drenched
with sweat as I dug the soil. My shirt, now clinging to my body due to the sweat, had started to change its
colour to that of the earth. Almost twenty minutes passed, and I was halfway through unearthing the box.
Now I knew how my laundry felt like, being under the hot sun. All of a sudden, I started to feel dizzy from
the heat. I knew that I needed to get out of the sun, find shelter or at least find a hat to cover my head! I
stood up and looked around. Suddenly the wind was no longer blowing hot, flame-like air. The sun, although
fierce looking way up in the sky, was no longer emanating warmth. I started to feel cool, almost icy-cold
winds blowing towards my face. The sweat on my face and body was suddenly gone. I felt fresh, strong
and healthy.

I could feel eyes were on me, but I was not sure whose eyes those were or where those were
coming from. Sure enough, a few men dressed in colourful robes suddenly appeared and stood beside the
cube and me. They smiled and asked me what I was doing. I pointed out to the half-buried box and told
what my intention was, to take it home with me once I had managed to dig it out. The men slowly shook
their heads in dismay. They claimed that the red box belonged to them. The one who stood on my right
whom I assumed was their leader (because he looked a bit older than the rest and wore a different coloured
robe with a much detailed design) raised his right hand, palm forward and pointed it towards the red box.
He closed his eyes and his lips seemed to move. The red box started to shine, shook and began to rise out
of the ground slowly. It shone brighter and brighter as it rose upwards towards the man’s hand. I was so
awestruck that my mouth opened wide, wide enough to eat a Subway sandwich on a Sunday morning.
Come on, this was no ordinary magic trick. Not the kind where you could see playing cards magically appear
in another person’s pocket, or a woman being cut into two. This was real life, genuine, no cables, floating
box magic! The man suddenly clenched his fist and the red box stopped in mid-air. The red box began to
swirl slowly at first, but started to pick up speed as it went round and round. All the while shining brighter
and brighter. We started to shield our eyes with our hands except for the leader. His lips were still muttering
inaudible incantations while his eyes were fixed on the box. There was also a loud humming sound
alongside the spinning of the box and the magical light show. It was an interesting scene, scary, but
interesting.

A loud explosion suddenly made the ground that we stood on trembled for a second. When we
opened our eyes, we saw the leader standing alone holding something in his hand. The box, the light show,
the humming was nowhere to be found. Disappeared without a trace. As if, nothing happened. Even the
ground where the red box was buried did not show any signs of having been dug or some large object was
taken out from it. The earth was intact. No holes, nothing. Intact! The only indicator that something DID
happen was the thin, white smoke circling the leader’s body. The smoke was, however, seemed to come
from the object that the leader was holding. After a few seconds, the smoke, too, disappeared leaving the
leader looking down at his hand. Now that the smoke was gone, the object started to become more and
more visible. It was a Kris! The leader was holding a Kris! A knife-like hand-held weapon of traditional Malay
folks. The rest of us started to gather around the leader who was busy admiring the weapon. Even from
where I was standing, I could see the beautiful artisanship in the curves and markings on the blade. Being
a traditional weapons enthusiast myself, I was taught to appreciate art in any form. My eyes were glued to
the Kris, almost drooling, almost. Realising that, the leader approached me. Forever smiling, he asked me
whether I was interested in the Kris. I, of course answered with a ‘yes’.

59

He then handed it to me. Immediately, as a sign of respect and appreciation on receiving an award,
I knelt and extended both my hands upwards to receive it. He then reminded me of the qualities and abilities
of a Kris and how to really care for it. I held it in my hand, and it felt so good when I wrapped my fingers
around its holder. As suddenly as how it all started, it ended abruptly when my clock rang at 5:50 a.m.

60

Gratitude by Raguna R. Arumugam
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)
Rushing from the clothesline to attend to her mother’s needs, Afiyah almost tripped and fell down
to the ground. She has less than 10 minutes to get to her friend, Sumirah’s house to follow the online
announcement. “Mak, are you okay?” “I’m. Hurry up, Afiyah. You’ve got far to go,” exclaimed Madam
Kasmah, a woman who was full of zest for life, though she had been confined to a wheelchair, crippled from
waist below. “Yes, Mak. I’ll leave now. Will you be alright?” questioned Afiyah as she pulled over a pale
blue headscarf, which had been part of her wardrobe for the past five years.
Pedalling as fast as she could, she reached Sumirah’s house in less than five minutes. “Thank God
you’re here! Come and sit near me, Afiyah. Our teacher is about to announce the result,” said Sumirah as
she called to her best friend fondly. “I’m nervous, Sumi. What do you think? Can I be one of them? What
do you think?” The restless Afiyah bombarded a series of questions to Sumirah. “Have faith, Afiyah. You’ve
given your best, and all those sleepless nights you endure to finish the project, should bring something
positive, right?” “Shhh, teacher is here,” exclaimed Afiyah as she placed her hand over Sumi’s mouth.
Afiyah was quiet, while Sumi was literally exasperated with the result. A few minutes lapsed and
Afiyah broke the silence. “Perhaps I should start thinking of a new project Sumi, do you agree?” asked
Afiyah. “Are you nuts? You’ve just lost the competition! That’s not fair. Shouldn’t you confront Madam
Alissa?” yelled Sumi, expressing her dissatisfaction over Afiyah’s reaction after the result was made known.
“Sumi, Sumi, calm down. Why such anger?” said Afiyah in a comforting voice. “I don’t understand you,
Afiyah. How could you accept that? You deserve better. You deserve more!” grumbled Sumi. “It’s okay. “I
don’t know whether I deserve something more. Cool down, will you? I’m simply happy for the opportunity
given to participate in the competition and to learn new things. I’ve also made some friends and picked up
some valuable skills while working on the project. So, I still win something!” chuckled Afiyah. “Huh! How
could you be okay with that, Afiyah? I don’t understand you,” replied Sumi rather annoyed. “Be thankful, be
grateful for everything in life. Even if you don’t get what you want,” explained Afiyah as she made her way
to her bicycle of almost a decade old. “See you later. I’ve to cook lunch for Mak,” yelled Afiyah as she waved
goodbye to her best friend, who was perplexed and still trying to make sense of what Afiyah had just said.

61

A True Educator by Ahmad Masdil Fazli Mohamed
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

Arisya is an excellent teacher and as soon as she graduated from a teaching institution in the Klang
Valley, she was posted to a school in the state of Selangor. All went well for Arisya’s career. She had
created many innovations such as introducing new techniques of teaching that were suitable for students
in her school. So, the students loved her, she was also very liked by her comrades-in-arms. She helped
them a lot in teaching and learning process. The school, district, state and even federal administrations also
liked Arisya, so she had been called several times to share her expertise and knowledge of how she
implemented teaching and learning in her school until she had achieved relatively high results in
examinations. Therefore, it was not surprising that during Teacher’s Day celebration, Arisya even had to
seek for the help of her friends to bring back the gifts her students pampered her on Teacher’s Day because
there were just too many. Throughout her service, she had received three times of the Outstanding Service
Award and several major awards at the school, district and state levels.

Everything seemed very smooth and successful for Arisya. Her life was clearly happy, even though
she was not married, but her parents as well as siblings, nieces and nephews helped cheer up Arisya's life.
When the festive season was approaching like Hari Raya, she was the one who was busy helping her
elderly mother to prepare all the household necessities to celebrate Hari Raya. The nieces and nephews
loved her as much, as though she was a mother to them all. She loved her nieces and nephews during Hari
Raya, for example, she would provide duit raya to all nieces and nephews. This made Hari Raya a time
that the whole family is looking forward to.

Soon, her elderly parents became ill, Arisya immediately applied for a transfer to her home state of
Perak. Her application was successful, as she had never changed schools since she was first assigned to
the state of Selangor. The school had held a lively ceremony to celebrate Arisya’s relocation. As the
Headmaster of the school said, “We’ve lost a teacher who is very skilled, dedicated in her duties and
excellent in every level whether school, district, state or even national level.” Arisya felt very sad to leave
school in which she had many sweet memories. However, she agreed that she had to transfer to her home
state to serve her parents.

At her new school she was greeted warmly, her expertise as a teacher of mathematics and
computers had reached the knowledge of the Headmaster of her new school earlier. So, school
administrators, teachers and all students warmly welcomed her arrival at her school. They were excited
with everything they heard about Arisya’s success at her old school.

As predicted, she once again repeated the excellence she had shown when she was in the state
of Selangor. She continued to excel in the educational field. Her former students had been successful in
their respective studies and careers. In fact, one of her students successfully graduated from the University
of Otago, New Zealand and worked as a lecturer at the same university. They all did not forget Arisya's
services and sacrifices, every birthday, during Teacher’s Day or Eid, Arisya would be having them at her
house to pay tribute to her. The postman in the district was very familiar with Arisya because many parcels
and letters for her were sent not only from within the country but also from abroad. Usually during her
birthday, she would receive many gift packages from students, nieces and nephews.

After serving in the field of education for almost 37 years, Arisya, like other civil servants, would
have to retire from the profession. Though sad to leave the teaching profession that was already ingrained
in her, like her flesh and blood, she complied with this arrangement of the authority.

School administrators and teachers along with students planned her retirement ceremony and even
some representatives of her former students contributed to her retirement ceremony. A special committee
was formed to ensure that her retirement ceremony went smoothly.

After almost two months of planning for the retirement celebration, the day that all parties had been
waiting for had finally come, especially none other than Arisya herself. In her speech, Arisya said, in fact,
she was on the first day she set foot in her first school; she was just an ordinary teacher, like other teachers.
She initially carried out the routine of life like other teachers.

62

One particular incident that happened about three months, after she registered as a teacher at her
school, had opened her eyes and mind. That day she was in her class as usual, a beautiful morning and
about five minutes before 7:30 a.m. she entered the class of 3 Anggerik. This class was the best class in
Year 3, with 42 students. Arisya, as usual, taught mathematics to those students. Worksheets were given
towards the end of the class and the students were all busy completing the exercises in the worksheets
provided. They were required to draw all the pictures of the objects they used for their mathematics
exercises. It seemed that Mohd Salleh, a rather smart student, was very happy with the exercises. Salleh
drew pictures of birds and trucks in his exercise book. “What did you draw, Salleh?” Arisya said to Salleh
from behind. Salleh cheerfully replied, “I’m drawing pictures of birds and trucks,” said Salleh. Salleh
continued, “Seven birds plus three birds, the answer is ten birds. I draw two kinds of birds, Cikgu,” added
Salleh again. Clearly, joy radiated on Salleh’s face, he was glad to be able to draw picture of birds
beautifully. In Arisya’s heart came a sense of pride. Arisya observed Salleh’s behaviour and she gave words
of encouragement before she was approached by other students to help them with their exercise.

About 10 minutes before class time ended, Arisya instructed her students to colour the pictures
they drew. After giving instructions, Arisya looked at Salleh’s face, which was suddenly gloomy. As she was
greeted by the Headmaster who was doing routine patrols, she somewhat had forgotten about Salleh.

While collecting her students’ exercises, she once again noticed that Salleh did not submit his
worksheets. Arisya called Salleh forward. She wanted to collect all the students’ exercises before getting
ready for the next class at 10:00 a.m. Salleh was reluctant to come to her. Arisya then left the class after
the students thanked her because the next teacher was already outside 3 Anggerik.

During the break, Arisya had asked Rohana Mawar, a classmate of Mohd Salleh to inform Salleh
that she wanted to see him. Late in the afternoon before returning home, Salleh finally appeared in the
teacher’s room. Salleh cried and suddenly apologised to her. Arisya felt so sad. “Can you share with me
what really happened?" "Why did you fail to send in your math exercises?" "What is your your problem?”
Arisya asked repeatedly. Salleh cried again and he showed his exercise book, which had been answered
correctly. “I’m ashamed to send it, Cikgu,” said Salleh. “But why?” replied Arisya with high curiosity.
“Because I can’t colour the birds and the trucks, I’m a poor boy, Cikgu.” Suddenly, Arisya burst into tears,
feeling guilty for being harsh to Salleh earlier. Arisya went to Salleh’s house that evening and found that
Salleh’s family was in what we termed as urban poverty. His mother was a homemaker and his father was
just an employee of a nearby food-processing factory. His father was suffering from serious asthma and
due to that, his father was unable to do heavy work. Fortunately, the factory’s boss was still willing to give
him a job. With seven siblings, of course, their family life was squeezed by poverty. The events made Arisya
realised that she needed to do something so that she could help her students. She wanted to help them
succeed in their studies and that would lead them to succeed in their life. In that way, they can improve
their standard of living as a family with their success.

Arisya’s sharing of her experience received thunderous applause from everyone present at the
event. The ceremony was lively; guests were treated to delicious meals. Suddenly, the guests were
surprised by the presence of a special guest. The guest was Mohd Salleh. With him was a large bouquet
of red roses. The story of Arisya’s retirement celebration had reached him in New Zealand. So, he took
leave to return to Malaysia for a holiday and at the same time to attend the event.

Arisya is the happiest guru (ex-guru) now. The joy of a teacher is when her or his students succeed
not only in the field of study but also in life.

Thank you.

63

Three Days Before My Birthday by Hadzrawiah Abu Kasim
(Excellent Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

Illustrated by Amru Khaldun Solihuddin

Dear Diary (10th February 2021),
My birthday is just around the corner. Most girls
from Otter College were excited about
Valentine. They could not wait for the day and
wished that they would receive some of
Valentine’s goodies; soft toys, roses or at least
chocolates and wishing cards. I did not want to
join their discussion, as I knew I would not get
anything on that day. Was I sad? Not really. I
am hoping to get something nice on my
birthday.

Dear Diary (11th February 2021),
I went to town with Anne. We went for window
shopping. Since it was near to Valentine Day,
most of the shops had put Valentine goodies as
their shop displays. Anne was so excited and we
browsed from one shop to another admiring the
displays. When we wanted to get out from the gift
shop, a guard stopped us. What the heck! What
have we done wrong now? What? A teddy bear
was missing? We were wrongly accused of
stealing a Valentine Teddy Bear. The guard
searched our backpacks even though we put up
a protest. It was such an embarrassing moment
as we received reproving look from the passer-by.
What a day! Of course, we would not do such a
thing!

64

Dear Diary (12th February, 2021),

I did not want to go out the whole day. I was still traumatised with
yesterday incident. I just stayed in my room, became lazy and did
a bit of revision for the coming test. By lunchtime, I felt so hungry.
Then, I remembered my tasty instant noodles in the fridge. Yummy!
I decided to reheat my noodles on the stove. While I was heating it,
my friend called me in distressed. She could not log in to her
computer and she had an urgent assignment to be completed.
Okay, I went to her room to help her. Suddenly, the smoke alarm
rang aloud. A thick smoke came out from the pantry. Everyone ran
out quickly to evacuate their room to a safer ground. Within five
minutes, a fire engine arrived and a group of firefighters went into
our hostel. Not long after that one of them came out with a black
pot and threw it. Opps! Oh my God, my noodles pot! I totally forgot
about it. There was no way I was going to admit it was mine. I did
not want to be the object of ridicule among my friends. Thus, I just
kept silent. What a mess! I was lucky that the hostel administrator
did not investigate the matter seriously. Otherwise, I was doomed to
be thrown out from the hostel.

Dear Diary (13th February, 2021),

Finally, the day that I was waiting for, my birthday. I
went out to celebrate my birthday with my friends at
a nearby café. We had so much fun and were larking
about in the cafe. I was glad the day ended
peacefully. At about 11:45 p.m., someone knocked
on my door. I was about to go to bed. I wondered
who was coming to see me at this hour. Surprise!
Surprised! Nobody was at my door, but there was a
huge bouquet of red roses. Who has delivered the
roses at my doorstep? It was on Valentine’s Eve.
So…have I got a secret admirer now? Wow! What a
feeling! I jumped and screamed happily, feeling over
the moon. Suddenly, my next-door friend came out.
“Sorry, the roses are for me. My boyfriend just texted
me. The man delivered it to the wrong room.” “Oh
yes…, I know it’s not for me. I was just about to want
to send it back to your room,” I told her coyishly. “I
screamed because I’m happy for you.”

Dear Diary,

These three days were definitely embarrassing days for me.

65

Dexter by Tan Loon Sim
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

Today is a sad day for us because our beloved beagle, Dexter passed away. He went away very
peacefully.We knew that he was getting old, but we never expected him to leave us so soon. It was a
shock this morning to discover his lifeless body lying in our backyard. He was with us for eleven years
and has left behind many memories for us to cherish him.

Dexter was just a baby, when we brought him home. His previous owner had to give him away as
he could not take care of him anymore. My daughter, who was fourteen then, was overjoyed as she
always wanted to have a dog. She would spend all her free time with him and as both of them grew up
together, they were inseparable. He was a very obedient dog and we had no problems with him except
when he decided to pee in the house. We realised that he would do that when he was sulking or when
he lacked attention. Luckily, he did not hold any grudges and a few hugs would soon put us back into his
good books.

Soon my daughter left home to continue her studies. We could see that he really missed her.
There was once when my daughter left without saying goodbye – he refused to eat for one week!
Eventually he got to the idea of her not being home every day to play with him and to give him all his
tummy rubs. During my daughter’s graduation, she even thanked Dexter alongside with us, for giving her
the comfort and support when she wanted to give up on her studies. He had always been her confidante
and they understood each other so well that we called her “Dr. Doolittle”.

There was a time back in 2019, when Dexter suddenly fell very weak and he had no appetite at
all. My daughter took him to the vet and we were told that his white blood cells were eating up his red
blood cells and he needed a blood transfusion immediately. The vet told her that he would try to do his
best and his condition was critical. We were devastated by the severity of his illness. We prayed hard
that he could survive this and come home to us again. Just like a human being, the first 24 hours was
crucial. When we saw him the next day, the vet told us that he responded very well to the blood
transfusion and was recovering. We were so grateful that God granted him a second chance to be with
us again.

During the MCO, when my daughter was Working-From-Home, he was greatly pampered and
spoilt by her. Since she had started working, she would spend her money buying him snacks, clothes
and toys. Whenever there was a festival like Chinese New Year or Christmas, Dexter would get
something. She would buy him a tie, a hat and last Halloween, she dressed him in a butterfly tutee. He
did not seem to mind and would just play along. He was as adorable as an orange “butterfly”.

We knew Dexter was getting older, just like us. He suffered
from poor eyesight and could hardly see. He had ear infection in his
left ear as well. Every day, we would wipe his eyes and put eye drops
for him and also put some medication for his ear, hoping that he
would feel better. Then he started coughing and we could see his
whole body shaking as he coughed non-stop for several minutes. He
also had a weak neck and we had to be gentle with him so that he
would not strain his neck. Lately, he spent most of his time sleeping
but he was always near us. Last night, he took a tour into my
bedroom,my daughter’s bedroom, literally our whole house and he
was smiling at us. Little did we know, he was saying his goodbyes to
us. Rest in peace, Dexter, you will always be remembered and
cherished by us.

We console ourselves by saying that now, he is free from all
his pains and sufferings and we know he is in heaven as “All dogs
go to Heaven”. We love you, Dexter!

66

Alice’s New House by Dr. Norhafilah Abdullah
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)
We had been on the road for almost two hours. The car moved over the highway, left the
breathtaking view of the mountains behind. When dad told us that he was offered a promotion and we were
going to move to Kuala Lumpur, I jumped for joy. Although I was so sad to leave my friends, especially
Jojo, living in a city had and was almost my dream. I hope that I could make new friends as soon as possible.
We finally arrived in Kuala Lumpur. The roads are wide and I was fascinated looking at the modern
and unique skyscrapers on the left and right. The city was so beautifully landscaped and I could not believe
the iconic landmark, Petronas Twin Towers were in front of my eyes. We passed a few blocks of hotels and
shopping complexes before my dad stopped at a high-rise building. A man wearing uniform greeted my dad
and I think he was a security guard because in his little house it marked Guard House. Our new resident
was located at Parkvale Height, 20 minutes’ drive away from the heart of the city. It was a condominium
consisted of multi-family units.
My dad had to drive around until the third floor to get to the parking lot. It made me feel a little dizzy.
Then we entered a ‘box’ called lift to the eighth floor. I could see four doors along the corridor and my dad
stopped at the third. “Welcome to our new house,” dad smiled broadly as he invited us in. I looked around
and rushed to the balcony but accidently bumped into a giant glass door. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Mom
came and hugged me into her arms. We spent an exhilarating time of a few minutes to do a house tour.
The house was divided into three sections, to the right was the bedrooms. The master bedroom
was so huge. I jumped onto the comfortable king-sized bed. I used to sleep with mom and dad as it was
warm and comfortable. “Alice, get off the bed right now!” dad yelled at me. Over to the middle was a cozy
living room with a modern 3-seater couch matched with two English roll arm sofas. My favourite section
was on the left side, the kitchen. It was smaller than the one of our old house but the design was very
functional. I sniffed and walked around looking for food and saw my metal food container being placed near
the laundry area. I gave mom a sad face and “hungry dance”.
While waiting for mom to begin preparing my food, I spotted an adorable rattan bassinet at the
corner. “Do you like your new house, Alice?” “Whoof, whoof,” I wagged my tail and flopped onto my fluffy
crib.

67

The Power of Sharing by Muhamad Yusni Mohd Junos
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

Sharing is more than being kind. Teaching oneself and others to share is a deeper lesson than
what many of us used to understand. Sharing is so much more and it takes an open heart and mind to
really understand the true meaning of sharing. There is a power in it that to a certain extent, no one can
really explain unless one experience it. To me, I discovered the meaning of sharing on the last day of one
of my many professional development courses back in the late 1990’s. It was from a programme so close
to me that has made me who I am now – Malaysian Teachers Development Programme (MTDP).

I remember a question asked by the speaker to the floor while attending the professional
development course many years ago, that still sticks fresh in my mind. It is a simple question, but it has
made a tremendous impact on me personally and professionally. The question goes like this: Where is the
richest place on earth? Many participants, including me, responded and various answers emerged. Some
confidently said Brunei and Kuwait because these two are rich with oil and gas, some said Sri Lanka and
South Africa because of expensive and valuable gemstones, diamonds and gold are found there while
others were mentioning about big cities of the world like New York, Paris and London. Some even tried with
a rather joking answer like Sungai Wang, Pasir Mas and Teluk Intan. All the answers given were not taken
by the presented. He continued shaking his head. I believed that all the thirty participants had answered,
but none of us had gotten the right answers. There was a moment of silent. Slowly, he finally said, “The
richest place on earth is...” he stopped for a moment, looking from one end of the room to the other. “...the
graveyard.” Before anyone could respond, he continued, ‘This is the richest place on earth because it
is filled with so much unshared knowledge...” The whole room was in silent for a moment. Some
participants were turning heads looking at each other while others were stunned by the statement. I took a
deep breath and pondered with a long look at the side of the window...

That moment took place about 25 years ago, and I believe that the statement is still so true and
powerful to me as an individual and more as an educator. I always believe that knowledge is God given
and knowledge is God taken. Hence, I cannot at all keep the knowledge, the experience and expertise that
I have just to myself because I have this strong belief that the key to make my life really unique and
worthwhile is to share what I know with others. This is because sharing has a certain unique magic of its
own. Let say I share an idea with 10 different people, this means that they get to hear it once from me and
I get a chance to possibly share it to 10 or more people. As an educator, I surely can share ideas not just
with my family members or with the people around me or even with my colleagues in my institute, but I am
entitled to share what I know with whoever is willing to.

Another powerful statement made by the speaker that hit hard on me is “...if you share with
someone else, they could be transformed.” I am proud to say that I have come across many occasions
where teachers who attended the courses I delivered have indeed changed for the better. Sharing with
someone could be the moment the door opens and there is an opportunity he or she never sees before.
Sharing is caring. I share because I care....

68

Reckless by Suraya Harun
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

I had never anticipated all this to happen. I thought my life would be sailing smoothly. I thought I
could get my degree, start working and find my Mr Charming and settle down happily ever after with him.
However, my dreams were smashed into pieces when my father suddenly succumbed to COVID-19 two
weeks ago.

I was in intense sadness the minute I knew my dad was no more around. “How was I going to face
the world? Who would be paying for all my expenses? Who’s going to visit me in college? Who’s going to
be my wali for my nikah ceremony? And most importantly who’s going to knock on my door every morning
at 5:30 a.m. to wake me up for my Suboh prayers?”

After three days of feeling devastated and overwhelmed, I came to my senses. I told myself to stop
grieving. My dad was not coming back. I needed to continue living. I needed to achieve all our dreams, his
and mine and I also needed food on my table. Then I felt scared as at the same time I realised that the
money left in my purse was slowly thinning. “Where can I get money? How could I survive?” Again, I cried.

One evening, I received a call from someone who claimed to be my uncle, Ayahngah Samad. He
said that he and his family would be moving in to stay with me the following week. He would help me take
care of things where my father left. I felt relieved. Alhamdulillah, finally my prayers were being answered.
“My uncle, my saviour!” Nevertheless, I did feel bad for my Ayahngah Samad. Honestly, I could not recall
his face because he seldom joined family gatherings. He was not there at my mum’s funeral the previous
year. He did not show up when my youngest aunt got married. He only sent text messages on Hari Raya.
“Now, why does he suddenly show up?”

My uncle, Ayahngah Samad, did ‘help’ me a lot. He helped to move my father’s personal belongings
into the store so that he could use the master bedroom for him and his wife. He also helped to drive my
father’s car to send his children to school. He did a lot of unwelcome changes and slowly he was turning
my home into his. In fact, I had to ask for his permission to use my own bedroom from his eldest daughter.
If she wanted to be alone in my room, I had to use the living room. Once the toilet door was banged loudly
while I was washing my hair. The reason was I had been too long in there and she needed to use it too. I
was beginning to feel like an illegal immigrant in my house. They made me feel uneasy. I was not welcome
to join them for meals because my presence would remind them all of my father. Thus, I had to eat alone
in the kitchen.

My patience reached its limit. One day, I confronted him and Aunt Rahima. I asked him why he and
his family were taking control of my house. Though I was not physically abused, their invasion in my house
was making my life miserable. My privacy was gone. He laughed and mockingly responded, “I’m your
guardian, dear niece; the court says so. I have inherited your father’s wealth and this is legally my house
too. Full stop. No more questions, you silly girl!” He boldly flashed some documents in front of me as proof.
I was dumbfounded. I was in shocked and disbelief. I was not prepared for this. Dad had not prepared me
too. This deadly virus did not only snatch away my dad, but it snatched away my life too and I was totally
unprepared.

69

Umi by Umaimah Mohd Idris
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

Seven years ago, I lost my 34-year-old sister to acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL). She left behind
a loving husband, a son aged 6 and three beautiful girls aged 8, 3 and 8 months old.

It was the most painful unimaginable experience I had ever had. I was devastated. Her death left
me with a heartache that no one can heal. She had all the tell-tale signs of a cancer patient, and I was too
blind to see it. She had drastically lost her weight. She told me she was happy to finally lose her post-
partum belly and I of course, was happy for her. She had intense headaches and migraines. I thought it
was just caused by her young children who constantly needed her attention. At times, I still blame myself
for ignoring these warning signs.

Friends and family told me, “It will get better” and “to take it easy”. That made me even more
disturbed, because it wasn’t getting any better. How could I feel better when I see the sad looks in her
children’s eyes asking me about their mother? How could I feel better when I had to console the crying
baby who was still nursing? How could I even have the courage to celebrate her children’s birthday just a
few days after her demise? I was overwhelmed by her sudden passing and it seemed unreal for a long
time. It wasn’t until a few years later that I slowly came to terms with the fact that I was going to live the rest
of my life without my one and only sister.

My sister, Umi Atinah, died during the prime of her life. She is my best friend and confidante any
sister could have ever wished for. She had always been the shoulder to cry on in trying times, and someone
I want by my side for every victory and milestone, I will never be able to see my sister’s lovely infectious
laughter again. I won't be able to hear her belt out popular Hindi songs or see her sheepishly crying over
sad Korean movies. She won’t get to cuddle my children, and not even my grandson, Uwais alQarni. I know
if she was still alive and well, she would have showered him with the best gifts a loving grandaunt would. I
will never get to see her worry over me again as if I was the younger sister and not her (Yes, she did that
all the time). All of these thoughts leave me with a stabbing pain in the heart. The wounds remain. I will
forever feel the loss, and it will never be okay.

Umi’s death has shown me the true meaning of life. The agony of losing her equates to the
abundance of love I have for her. I miss her so much that it’s helped me to cherish and be thankful for the
things I do have. I’m now focused on finding the joy in her memory. I find pleasure in discovering new Hindi
songs or Korean movies, which I know she’d love and share them with her children. I now take pride in
making her children happy. I love the way their eyes sparkle when they share their happiness and AHA
moments.

Umi,

I could never love anyone as I love you. I promise that I will always look out for your
children, Nur Adibah, Muhammad Fikridin, Nur Afiqah and Nur Adawiyah and love
them unconditionally just like they are my own. No matter what.

Yong Umai

70

One Step Forward Two Steps Back by Dr. Suliana Wan Chik
(English Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Ipoh Campus)

It all started early that morning, Nur was at the market buying groceries for the celebration coming
up soon. Her constant checking of her social media has become obsessive and life threatening. She nearly
bumped into the moving truck as she was scavenging the WhatsApp. Then, she saw the text on her phone.
Cold sweat started piercing through her forehead, her vision blurred, her palm sweaty, and her breathing
suddenly went chaotic. “What...what’s happening...am I getting it...am I about to faint?” she whispered to
herself. She got frustrated and angry when she thought about it. All that she was feeling was the sender’s
fault. But, she realised there was no point of roaring her frustration out. She knew she had to sip in the
anger and sorrow quietly. She needed to calm herself.

She wanted all the pain and mixed emotions to go away. But, she was also scared of that. Scared,
because it would mean that she had to start and oblige to the call. She knew she needed to get there, but
part of her did not want to embark on that new territory. While being absorbed in this array of dismay, she
became aware of the distinctly moaning sound of her writer’s odyssey. How could she explain how her
thoughts were haunting her even when she was trying to sleep, paralysing her in a constant fear?

Nur knew it; she had to start somewhere, somehow and soon. Everybody was counting on her.
Yet, she felt like being ten thousand feet down under the sea and it was crushing all her bones as the
pressure was on. Could she do it? Would she do it? Or, would she succumb to her unwillingness to go on?
She had to...she needed to...she desperately needed the assurance that she could surprise everyone with
it. But, she was afraid of what was not seen, she was worried about what was to come if she persisted on
doing it.

Beyond her pain, she tried looking at the green garden of her front yard. It was filled with blooming
flowers in pots planted earlier that year. Then there was the glimpse of a man she truly loved sitting on the
tiny stool holding a shovel in his strong right hand and a neo pink bromeliad in another. She ran and hugged
him from behind and started sobbing. “Hey...what’s wrong? Whatever is wrong, it’ll be okay,” he said in his
calming soothing voice. “I’m not sure if I should do it...I don’t think I’m going to do it...I...I...,” she mumbled.
She could not continue, she broke into tears again and he turned his back and cuddled her tightly. “Maybe
you should tell me what is wrong. It would lift the heaviest burden you have on your shoulders, you know,”
he whispered into her ears trying to console her.

“It’s like when I take one step forward...the pressure takes me two steps back. I’m at a loss on what
to do. I don’t have the slightest idea of what I’m doing...” Nor was shrugging as if she could not understand
it herself. Asraf nodded and thought deeply for a moment. “I know...it’s different...it’s not like writing your
thesis. But, this is just a short story that needed to be written,” Asraf assured Nor. “Let your idea roam wild.
Let it go. It will take you where you want it to be.”

Nur looked up and saw his soothing eyes filled with hopes of her completing her short story. Nur
said to him in her determined voice, “If you believe that I could do it. I then will surprise everyone else with
my story. No matter how many steps back I had to take before one tiny step taken to move forward.”
Hurriedly, Nur scrambled into the house turning on her computer and started typing for the long awaited
chapter of the Unit’s Colours of Life.

71

War Ghosts by Truong Thi Nhu Ngoc
(English Lecturer at Van Lang University, Vietnam)
I was lucky to be born when peace was restored after the Vietnam war. However, I grew up with
many war stories told by women who lived through the civil war. My grandmother told me one of the most
hair-raising stories when I was about seven. It was about a female ghost that she used to see on the way
to the morning market.
As a trader, she often left her house for the early market in another village to buy grocery and farm
animals and brought them back to sell to shoppers in her town. She was courageous to go to the market
alone in the wee hours of the mornings, through many uninhabited places, full of giant trees and a cemetery.
One morning, she asked my mother to follow her to the market. In those days, my mother was
about eight years old. Very excited about the idea, my mother agreed to accompany her to the market when
it was still pitch dark. On the way to the market, my mother saw a shadow wearing a white dress, having
long black hair. When my mother saw the shadow, she called my grandmother to check out if it was their
neighbour. However, my grandmother asked her to keep going and not to look back. My mother did not
understand, but as my grandmother went so fast, she forgot the shadow and ran after my grandmother.
When they reached home in the evening, my grandmother revealed to my mother that she often
saw the shadow whenever she went to the market alone, but she ignored it. My mother asked if it was
someone in the village, and to my mother’s terror, my grandmother said that it was a dead woman. My
mother had goose pumps at once, and a cold chill ran through her spine. Since that day, my mother never
went with my grandmother to the market in the very early morning hours.
I asked my mother to describe the shadow many times, and she confirmed that she did see a white
shadow of a long-haired woman passing by in the opposite direction. Although I was terrified when listening
to the story, I did not believe in ghosts. Thus, I went to an older woman in my neighbourhood to check if
she had ever seen ghosts during the war. The woman told me that she saw a ghost with long hair sitting in
the big branch of a tamarind tree. I was so frightened as a child when she described how the ghost looked,
and I asked her to stop telling me.
I ran home very fast, and that evening I kept thinking about the spirits from the stories told by my
grandmother, my mother and the woman, wondering why there were so many ghosts during the war. So
petrified, I drew the blanket all over my body and prayed to Buddha to protect me from spirits. Why many
elderly people saw many ghosts during the war remained a mystery.

72

An Unfortunate Marriage by Sania Memon
(English Lecturer at the Department of English Shaheed Benazir Bhutto University,

Shaheed Benazirabad, Pakistan)

A Sunday evening, Abdul Waheed, a poor, pathetic, old fisherman dressed in rags with dusty face
and beard, exhausted, yet his eyes shone with surprising strength and hope, returned from fishing after a
week as if he was a triumphant soldier who had conquered a state, with a sufficient amount of fish. He had
sold the fish in the Akna fish market and had earned enough amount to manage the dowry of Zainab, his
only daughter, whose marriage the family planned for next month. For this, he had been struggling for
years, and he was glad that he finally made it.

Abdul Waheed lived in a small house made of mud in Akna, a small town of Hoogly, a district of
Bengal, with his wife Fatima Bibi and his son named Essa. The whole family was pleased to see Abdul
Waheed among them after a week. Essa, a young, tall, handsome, intelligent and ambitious young man of
22 years old, who dreamed to be a helping hand of his poor, old parents, recently secured a job as a
computer operator in the Deputy Commissioner’s office in Hoogly. He had just received his third salary and
left for Akna on a weekend after attending a marriage ceremony of his colleague, Sarfraz.

When he bade farewell, his friend, Sarfraz gave him sufficient meal for his family too, as a token of
courtesy, which Essa accepted happily. He caught the last bus from Hoogly to the Polba route for Akna.
After one hour of travelling, he and the other passengers got off the bus at a way that led to Akna village
and began to walk for Akna, which was a mile away. The passengers who got off the bus were Aakash,
Mukesh, Mahesh, Rajoo and Ramcheetar. Ramcheetar was the son of Mukherji, who was a fundamentalist,
a monster and inhumane by nature.

On the way, Ramcheetar questioned Essa to clarify whether he was taking beef biryani, in which
Essa told him that he attended a marriage ceremony of his friend who gave him food for his family and he
did not know exactly the type of meat in the biryani. After the walk of 20 minutes when Essa arrived home,
the whole family warmly welcomed him and after he knew that his poor father had already managed the
whole dowry, it was the happiest moment the family was longing for.

Essa, along with his father and mother Fatima Bibi, who was a chronic diabetic and paralysed from
right limbs and was wheelchair bound for the last seven years, sat together to give the last touch of their
daughter’s marriage arrangement. Essa began to write down the names of invited guests, helped by his
mother and father. They estimated the total expenditure and the source of money. Essa shared some
wedding cards with the family to select for his sister’s marriage. All of a sudden, the family could hear the
fearful noise of yelling, howling and threatening outside of their door.

As soon as they went outside to find out what was happening, an angry mob entered their home
forcefully with burning lights, battens, daggers and shiny swords in their hands, with red faces and boiled
blood. Never bothering to know the fact about the food Essa carried from the marriage ceremony, the angry
men rebuked the whole family, “How dare you eat the meat of our Gau Mata!” They started beating all the
family members, injuring them and burning them all alive along with their house.

73

Luck in the Midst of Epidemic by Shi Lulu
(Lecturer at Weifang University of Science & Technology, China)

In 2020, which was an unusual year for most of us, when I landed at Kuala Lumpur International
Airport, I was so excited that I did not had a slight idea of what "exotic life" I was about to truly experience.
Feeling ashamed, I was almost 30 years old when I went to further my study abroad for the first time. I
needed to find a dormitory by myself. There was no so-called "Welcome to the New" like in China, there
was no so-called class teacher like in China, and I did not even know who the students of the same major
as me were. All the sense of freshness and curiosity faded away. Facing the epidemic alone and being in
an unfamiliar environment, the feelings of panic and uneasiness began to attack me bit by bit.

However, we would always survive the desperate situation and meet the lucky people of our lives
at the tough times of life. And I met my first lucky person, Li Li, in Malaysia, a country where many ethnic
groups live together. She is a Malaysian Chinese. In her, I can smell the mixture of Malay and Chinese
cultures. She was more kind and tolerant than Chinese and understood Chinese culture better than the
Malays. She made me feel the warmth and power in a strange foreign country.

Warmth. During the Movement Control Order (MCO), we were forced to stay at the dormitory. I was
a pessimistic person. With the unfamiliar environment and the unprecedented Covid-19 pandemic, I could
not help but felt anxious and overwhelmed. I often wondered if it was a correct move to come to Malaysia
to further my PhD studies. And Li Li’s considerable sister-like care made me feel warm. She would
constantly remind me to go downstairs to get hot free meals and share rare fresh fruits with me. She also
cared about my academic progress inadvertently. Unexpectedly, the ancient Chinese saying was confirmed
in the land of Malaysia, “Why do you allow the presence of frustration and suffering in your life? There is
always true love in the world.”

Power. Li Li is an extraordinarily self-disciplined and determined person, with a room and a laptop,
ignoring the disturbances of the outside world; she did the academic work she loved. Morning exercises, a
cup of coffee, she started her good mood for the day, and took a walk after dinner to drive away the
exhaustion of the day's work. During the impetuous epidemic, seeing the energetic Li Li, the lazy me was
also motivated to some extent and with some strength.

Today, Li Li has successfully completed her PhD studies and I have returned to China. Looking
back, at each step of the path we take, there are different sceneries, either joy or sadness, or full of warmth
and power. Remember to thank everyone you meet in your life. They are the commendable fortune in our
lives.

74

The Bridge of Fire by Dr. Yee Bee Choo
(Excellent Lecturer at the Institute of Teacher Education Tun Hussein Onn Campus, Malaysia)

It was a hot day, I was resting under a bridge. Out of the blue, a soldier appeared and came towards
me. He carried a rifle and asked me for water in low tone. Feeling afraid and with goosebumps rising on
my skin, I handed the bottle to him with trembling hands. Then, the soldier disappeared before my eyes.
This was one eerie story we heard, which originated from the Parit Sulong Bridge in Batu Pahat. Sometimes,
the local people saw strayed spirits or heard strange howling sounds at midnight. These bizarre incidents
began after the massacre during World War II.

In 1942, I joined the allied members of both the Australian 8th Division and the 45th Indian Infantry
Brigade in fighting against the Japanese occupation. As local brave young men, Hakim and I were recruited
to join the allied forces under the commander of Charles Anderson. Our morale was high to protect our
country from the enemies. We marched and marched, with the prospect of action. We fought our way to
the bridge at Parit Sulong, however, only to discover that the Japanese had already taken up position on
the bridge, blocking our way.

We attempted to take over the bridge for two times but failed. Gunshot fire was leaping high in the
air with red flames and black smoke belching from the ammunition explosion. The sky was illuminated by
this spectacular display of colours but the memory of this sight was a torture. Many of our soldiers were
dead and wounded. Their dead bodies were spreading on the ground like a sea of waves.

Our position was desperate, with no way out, our only option was to surrender. However, we knew
the consequences of surrendering; the Japanese would not spare our lives. Anderson gave the order to
destroy all guns, vehicles and equipment so that we could escape through the jungle and swamps to the
British lines at Yong Peng. While escaping, Hakim was shot on his left leg. He collapsed and I quickly ran
to his rescue. I dragged him and we continued moving. He walked limply that slowed down our movements.
The Japanese came nearer and nearer. They shot Hakim and his arm was torn into half. He was covered
in blood and shouted at me, “Run!” Another gunshot was fired at my left calf and I fell unconsciously.

When I regained my consciousness, I found myself lying on the floor with a group of wounded
soldiers. Despite our pain, we were brutally kicked and beaten by the Japanese. Sounds of groaning and
howling came to my ears. Feeling weak and unable to move, I slept.

At sunset, I was woken up by shouts and noises. When I looked up, a gun was pointing at me. I
was dragged outside and saw our soldiers standing in a row on the bridge. The Japanese wired and roped
us together. They set petrol over our bodies and one of them shot at us from a distance. We were set on
fire! The burning red flames and the beautiful sunset stunned me with a remarkable display in the sky.
Struggling to free themselves, I saw the soldiers beside me fell into the river one by one.

I too fell into the river, but surprisingly I could stand up. I was certain that I was fatally burning on
fire, yet I was unhurt and everything was as clean as a white sheet. It seemed that nothing had happened.
I dragged myself and rested under the bridge. “Who am I?” I could not say with certainty.

75

Accidentally In Love With ‘Pariban’ by Dameria Magdalena Sidabalok
(English lecturer at Universitas Bandar Lampung, Indonesia)
Illustrated by Adellia Juliana Fransiska Sitorus

A bright and sunny day brought a gloomy face to this girl. She looked annoyed talking to someone
on her phone.

“Mom, please! I don’t think that I’m the right person you talk to about this kind of topic.” Then the
woman on the phone replied, “Come on dear. This is very common to discuss for us, Bataknese. It’s good
if we can do it, but if we can’t, there is no burden for it.”

“See, so it means we don’t need to talk further about it, Mom.”

“No dear, I should. Your aunt asked me about you. So, I need to tell
you this. Well, if you don’t like it, that’s okay. I won’t push you. But at least,
please accompany him when he comes and visits you next week. That’s it.
The rest will be all up to you.”

“Okay…okay…only for accompanying him going around here. But
that’s it. Okay then mom, I need to go now. I’ll talk to you later.”

“See you, my dear. Take a good care, please.”
“Bye, mom.”

She hung the phone and suddenly felt more annoyed as she realised that next week she would
become a tour guide for a man, her cousin, her aunt’s (her father’s sister) son who had been living abroad
since high school and never came back to Indonesia for years. She understood very well the concept of
‘pariban’ for Batak tribe from North Sumatra. It was good or suggested to marry an aunt’s son from father
blood for a woman or an uncle’s daughter from mother blood for a man. This was done to strengthen the
kinship between close families. But, she never thought that she would become one of those carrying on
this cultural tradition as she never accepted any arranged marriage.

It was finally the time for her picking him up at the
airport. She had been waiting for his arrival for about an hour.
One thing, which made her frustrated, was waiting for people.
Finally, the man she had been waiting for appeared from the
arrival gate. She was not sure whether he was the one until he
called her name.

“Moria?”
“Yes. William?”
“Yes, it’s me. Thank you for picking me up, Moria.
Where do we go now?”
“To your hotel for sure.”
“Alright. Off we go.”

76

During the next five days, Moria had been taking care of William, as he was very new to the city
where she lived currently. She assisted him during seminars and introduced the city a lot by visiting some
of the iconic places in town. Moria was actually unhappy of doing all of these until she experienced an
unexpected moment when they both were having dinner the night before his way back to England.

He grabbed her hands and said,” Moria, I’m
thankful for having you here accompanying me for all this
week. I hope you don’t mind doing all these for me.” He
ended his sentences with unusual smile, which suddenly
made her heart fluttered. She then felt a weird feeling as
she realised this man was not as she thought before, an
arrogant cold man who would never say any sweet things.
She heard before a short description about him from his
mother and assumed that he would be such kind of person.
Finally, she found out that he was actually a caring but
inexpressive person.

On the day of his leaving back to England, Moria
still took him to the airport as her mother told her so.
However, there was an unusual feeling she felt on the
way to the departure gate. She felt a weird feeling of
unwillingness to let him go. Before entering the gate,
William turned around, looked down at Moria while gently
stroking her hair and smiled.

“Thank you so much for this amazing week. I
can’t wait to see you soon, Moria. I’m leaving now. I’ll call
you as soon as I arrived.”

“Okay.” Moria replied doubtfully with wide eyes,
as she had not managed to sort her mixed her feeling yet.

*****
“I can’t believe that our very first momentous meeting has made me feel attached to him until now.
Since that, the feeling has been growing day by day as we are now united in one heart. Until now, I cannot
believe that finally I am falling in love with him. I am accidentally falling in love with my ‘pariban’.”
“Happy 7th anniversary my dear husband. Thank you for loving me the way I am,” Moria smilingly
said in her heart.

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Kisses, Cuddles and Hugs by Norul Rafidah Redzuan
(English Lecturer at Tun Hussein Onn Vocational College, Batu Pahat, Johor, Malaysia)

This story is somewhat long, but well worth the time to read on. It perfectly illustrates not only the
amazing power of a mother’s love, but also the truly power of touches and cuddles.

When my gynaecologist told me that my tiny baby was 4.0 kg, it was around 3:00 a.m. I had to
prepare myself for the worst, for any emergencies. However, I needed to wait for the specialist to make the
best decision too. Around 9:00 a.m., I went into the delivery room; I was extremely shocked in getting to
know that my tiny baby became 4.4 kg within a few hours. We looked at each other’s face with full surprise.

Arissa binti Azhar had just been born a few minutes before 7:00 p.m. with the weighing of only 3.7
kg and not 4.4 kg. I had my baby girl at the age of 36 years old. My tiny cries burst when I looked at her
for the first time and at the same time; I was counting all her fingers. I cherished so much the opportunity
to pick her up and cuddle her closely. I could not believe that she was doing so well. She became stronger
and stronger. I fully breastfed her for about three years. She is a girl who really loves cuddles and kisses.
She would sleep for hours, just curled her on top of my chest, day and night. What a pampered baby since
she is the only daughter I have.

The warmth of a mother’s skin has kick-started Arissa’s growth, which allows her to become an
active, beautiful, brilliant child and a girl who is good with her speech (talkative). At the age of three years
old, she could read well, especially in her favourite language, English. She has become her teacher’s
favourite too in school, as she is such a fast learner with the sincerity of seeking for and gaining of new
knowledge.

Since Arissa is an active girl, she likes so much to jump, run and dance. She just does not want to
walk properly as normal children. Even though we are staying in a small single storey terrace house, she
can just jump and run in the house but not walking. She requested for a ballet class at the age of three. The
two of us visited many ballet centres around Batu Pahat, all teachers there informed us that three-year-old
children are too young to attend any ballet classes. Arissa was so frustrated. Now, at the age of seven,
Arissa is already in her upper primary ballet class. It is indeed a good achievement for her, as the teacher
tells us. She loves to dance even in the middle of the mall while we are doing our shopping. She will jump,
turn to the right, turn to the left and keep on dancing until we need to ask her to stop. I always ask her, does
she feel shy or ashamed to dance in public; she will reply me with her graceful dance steps and smiles.

I love being a mother because of her hugs, the smiles and the giggles she loves to do even on bed
before the night sleep. When she is happy, so am I. She amazes me almost every day with her new dance
movements and new discovery questions. Being a mother to Arissa has taught me to be an extremely
patient and more loving person. Also, I learn to appreciate more of every moment we spend together. As
the only child, Arissa is a complete and not a spoilt, bossy or emotional child. She is always the centre of
people’s attention at every event or family gathering. However, no one seems to mind because she is cute
as well. She is the favourite niece, grandchild for Yayi (my late father) and the love among my cousins too.
Cantik (my cousin) loves her so much due to the two of them having the same habit; talking for non-stop
while explaining and doing make-up. Even both of them had the same baju raya kelawar in 2019, which
had surprised most of my family members.

I love being a mother for Arissa even with all trials and struggles with her being
overly pampered as the only child. She will ask both of us to cuddle and kiss her at
any time. She still sleep with me, as she wants me to hug her all over the night. In an
era where motherhood is, becoming so politicised, having a career and at the same
time raising a child is very challenging for me. The ability as a mother really helps me
to shape my mind and allow me to be grow more maturely while looking at her cute
little face and cuddling her tightly. Her smiles, with a pair of dimples, is the only priority
for me when I am in a bad mood. Arissa is such an amazing girl. My motherhood gives
me the strength to stay young forever and to dance and laugh together with her. The
motherhood journey is my greatest achievement ever since I have Arissa as my
precious child.

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Jonny, the Dog by Dr. Junko Kambara
(English Lecturer at Fukuoka University, Japan)

Illustrated by Keiko Wada
This was a story about a dog my family used to keep when people were somewhat crude but very
much lively. It was funny yet full of pity in the end.
Everyone has his or her best time through their lives. To me, it is my childhood. I was born in a
small town located in the northwest Kyushu island in Japan, eight years after World WarⅡ.This means
Japanese people then were working hard in order to improve their quality of life. As a child at the age of
five or six, I was not aware of this, but I surely felt certain energy from the people and the place I lived in.
At the centre of the city was a market, where you could see so many two-wheeled carts with all kinds of
seafood and fresh vegetables lining up through the street. My house was on a shopping street crossing to
the market street. I had to go through the street to go to and from school, which was my daily enjoyment.
My family ran a clothes shop and we kept a dog called Jonny. The dog was a boy and hybrid.
Although I had no idea about why the dog was named a foreign name, I thought the name was cool.
However, there was something wrong with my understanding of the name of the dog. I mistook “Jonny” for
the English word “dog.” That was, to me, the word “Jonny” meant “dog” (in Japanese “inu”). Since I strongly
believed so, I even had a quarrel with a girl next door at the same age as me. The girl argued that “dog” is
an English word for “inu” in Japanese and “Jonny” is the name of my family’s dog. I objected to her, of
course. I said, “No, you are absolutely wrong! “Jonny” means “dog” in English!” And we did not compromise.
It took me several years to realise I was wrong.
As for Jonny, he was full of energy and was a mischievous dog. Amazingly enough, pet dogs in my
area were not chained to the doghouse at that time. Jonny walked around in our shop, on the shopping
street and on the market street. Especially true, the market street was his playground! It was fun for Jonny
but annoying to street vendors there. He often stole products on the carts. I often heard my grandmother
grumbling about Jonny. Some street vendors at the market came to our clothes shop to complain about
him. They said like, “Your dog took a dried squid and ran away, again.” I did not know how often it happened,
but adult members of my family thought Jonny’s bad behaviour could cause damage to their business.
Then, they decided to abandon their pet dog. I vaguely remembered that I was shocked and terrified to
hear the adults, my grandmother, my father and the male shop clerk, discussing how they could abandon
Jonny. They planned to take Jonny far away from home by car and leave him there. One day, when I
reached home, I found the plan was carried out unhesitatingly. Thinking of what would happen to him made
me depressed. However, I do not accuse those adults of this matter. I just learn that adults do not always
do the right thing.
It has been so long since then, but my memory of my best time has become rather vivid. Looking
back on my childhood, I notice that these fun and sorrowful memories remain in my mind along with the
lively streets.

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Tony, My Cat by Dr. Syamsina Zahurin Shamsuddin
(Assistant Director at Training Development Centre, Institute of Teacher Education Malaysia)

I adore cats, but I have been too busy most of the time to have one as a pet. To me, they are super
cute, adorable, playful and intelligent animals. I love their furs, and the patterns and colours of the cats’ fur
never cease to fascinate me! Oh, my goodness! Gray, orange, white, spotted and dotted are my favourites.
Even black kitties are lovely to me! Furthermore, cats appear to adore and understand their human
companions; people who look after them well.

Coming back to my story, one day as I was lazing around at home, Mum asked me to bring her to
the wet market near our home. We drove there, parked our car near a warong, and walked to the market.
On our way back, the warong owner called out to us and asked us to enter the warong. She showed us a
box with a big tabby cat with three kittens inside. The kittens were very cute and looked like fur balls to me.
They are all white, with a few orange specks here and there. “Would you like to have a kitten? I don’t want
them here,” the warong owner said. “So, if anyone wants them, please take them home.” I felt sorry for the
kittens and chose one of them. He was small and terrified, but he did not cry. When I took him into my
hands and brought him home, he only gave out a small squeak. I fed him only milk and wiped his face
carefully, with a piece of moist cloth. Tony was the name I chose for him.

Tony quickly grew up and became quite chubby. He was very playful and he enjoyed sitting on my
laps, licking my fingers and sitting on my laptop. His favourite food was durian! My boys adored him and
they brought him everywhere. We even took him with us on our picnics and road trips. Yes, he became a
member of the family, and Tony was adored by all!

After three years, Tony had grown to be rather large for a cat. I believe he was the largest cat in
our neighbourhood. He had a big appetite and preferred to wander around our neighbourhood, but he
always returned home before dusk. He would always find me and make some cat noises as though he
was trying to let me know he was back. What concerned me was that he enjoyed fighting with the other
cats in the area. He frequently returned home with scratches and bruises, and he spent days at home
licking at his cuts, tending them. We had to take him to the vet once since he was terribly injured.

He also went missing for days before Aidilfitri. My boys looked all over the neighbourhood for him,
but they could not find Tony. No Tony came running to us when we called out to him. We waited and
prayed for him to return home. He was barely able to walk when he returned home. Everyone was worried.
My boys cleaned and bandaged his wound. Later, he approached us, he purred loudly as if he wanted to
express his gratitude. He was a really smart feline, indeed.

And did you know that if your cat loves you, he or she would shower you with gifts? Tony frequently
brought me birds, lizards, and mice that he caught as gifts. I was dazed and on the verge of passing out.
As soon as I saw those gifts, I freaked out and screamed at the top of my lungs! I could not bear taking
these gifts, much less cleaning them. As a result, my dear hubby would have to throw all of these
"wonderful" gifts from Tony.

I was relocated to Ipoh in September 2020. It was difficult for me to leave my family and, especially,
my beautiful, sweet Tony behind. I took him up and placed him on my lap. I told him I would be gone for a
while, but that I would be back. Tony closed his eyes, as if he understood what I was saying.

Tony would run to the car every time I arrived home for holidays or
weekends. He knew I would return home to see my family and spend time with
him every now and then. While I did the house chores or office work, he would
sit and purr. He kept me company all the time.

However, sometime in December, when I reached home one
weekend, Tony did not turn up. I called out his name a few times but he did not
come to me. Later, my youngest son informed me that Tony has gone missing
once again. Before disappearing, he was seen fighting a large male orange
cat. I was heartbroken. He had been missing for a very long period this time. I
was really hoping he would come back, but I had not seen him since.

Goodbye, Tony. May we see each other again. If it is not here, maybe
later, in Jannah.

80

Beluga by Pan Zhuoyan
(Drama and English Teacher at ULink College, Guangzhou, China)

Jacky and Justin were best friends since high school because both enthused over new adventures.
Every weekend, they had a plan to explore the school or society.

“Hey, Justin! The weekend finally is finally here! Shall we visit some places this afternoon?”

“How about the aquarium in the newly-opened shopping mall? I heard there you can see your
favourite animal, beluga!”

“Umm huh, right,” Jacky seemed hesitating, but not ready to share.

As they were at the aquarium, they took a detour to avoid the performance because they preferred
to spend more time with the animals.

“Look! That beluga is nodding at us!” gushed Justin, scampering off the observation area of the
beluga. Following Justin, Jacky took out his phone and started photo shooting. Different from Justin’s
excitement, Jacky felt like he could project the loneliness and sadness from the beluga’s eyes.

“Don’t you think they’re helpless here?” mused Jacky while watching one of the belugas floating
itself upside down.

“Nah, you’re overthinking it. They get free food, without any competition with other species or attack
from their enemies. They are like us free from the teachers’ supervision or examination stress! C’mon,
they’re the lucky chosen ones!” Justin conversed with his point.

“Justin, if you’re provided with free food, some entertainment but limited space, how long can you
take it?”

Something came into Justin’s mind that Jacky was once the suspicious case of COVID-19 before.
He had to isolate himself in a hotel for 14 days. It was lucky that Jacky was dismissed as a healthy one, but
he had never mentioned a word of the depression for being alone, along with the fear of infecting the virus
there. What a shame! As the restriction was lifted, Jacky immediately invited Justin to resume their
adventure plans.

“I guess I’ll feel relaxed at the very beginning. Then it’ll turn to be bored,” hummed Justin.
“Devastating at the end?” Justin blamed himself for neglecting his friends’ painful experience.

“Maybe. I don’t know as I’m not the beluga. Or you may be correct too. The belugas’re enjoying
their life here,” said Jacky, walking away towards the next area. They remained quiet until the end of the

journey.

At the end, Jacky started his sharing. “Thanks, Justin, for your
company. You know that being a beluga trainer has been my dream since
I was a small kid. However, after that 14-day of observative quarantine,
I’d like to set all the human-raised animals free. Let them get back to the
nature. If I were the beluga, I would prefer to die because of hunger rather
than loneliness.”

“I’m glad you’ve shared your sorrow with me,” Justin continued,
“Before the COVID-19 outbreak, I would spend all the holidays abroad
but I’ve never thought about exploring our own area. Things have
changed, buddy. We’ll follow the change and enjoy the moment, right
here, right now.” COVID has changed our life but never our hearts to
appreciate our life.

81

Angels by Kee Li Nah
(Principal at Crownston Global, Selangor, Malaysia)
In a swoosh of his wings, Lucifer descended on a quiet spot of a beautiful park located right in the
centre of New York City. Snow had melted for quite some time and new life had budded. Cherry blossoms
were blooming everywhere in the park and creating a mix of contrasting colours. Butterflies and bees were
busy looking for fresh nectar.
The early-spring morning sunlight showered on Lucifer’s widespread black wings and on his
handsome face. Slowly, he raised his right hand and stretched his delicate index finger. A butterfly landed
on his finger for a few seconds, then it flew away and disappeared among the blooming flowers. Lucifer
was extremely a good looking and intelligent being. His clear-cut handsome feature was captivating, yet it
had deceived the hearts of many.
As usual, Lucifer was preying on weak-willed men and women who were willing to betray their
souls. Lucifer closed his eyes and lowered his head to listen. Human voices and their ugly conversations
drummed into his ears. “Lowly beings,” Lucifer thought to himself. Suddenly, he opened his eyes. He heard
a soft and gentle sigh. A sigh that he had not heard for thousands of years. His hawk-eyed vision swiftly
scanned through the park.
Lucifer’s sharp vision landed on a young woman who was sitting on a bench about twenty yards
away from where he was standing. Lucifer put his index finger on his right temple and used his mind to
scan through the young lady’s mind. Angelina J. Mac, twenty-four, ICU nurse, Manhattan Hospital, parents
died in a road accident, single, blue-eyed, kind, beautiful, …
As usual, Angelina planned to take a short break at the park after her night till morning duty.
Manhattan Hospital’s ICU was full of Covid-19 patients and she needed some rest outside the war zone
before going in again. That morning, after her duty shift, she cleansed and sanitised herself thoroughly
before putting on a clean uniform. Wearing a surgical face mask, Angelina walked to the hospital canteen
and bought a pack of sandwiches with a cup of hot Americano from the vending machine. With breakfast
in her hands, she sauntered into the beautiful Central Park. As she was sitting alone at the park, she sighed.
Losing lives in the ICU was not more than a normal sight. But she had never encountered anything like that
before.
Lucifer’s bright and attractive green eyes were still fixed on the young nurse. From far, the siren of
a rushing ambulance could be heard. Angelina swallowed the last bite of her sandwich and threw the
sandwich wrapper and the empty coffee cup into a dustbin. She put on her face mask and ran towards the
hospital. When the angel in white was out of his sight, Lucifer turned his head to look at the cherry blossoms.
In just a brisk moment, Lucifer spread out his strong wings and he vanished into thin air.

82

Vir-World by Mohamad Nur Al Hakim Hamdan
(English Teacher at SK Bandar Easter, Kota Tinggi, Johor, Malaysia)

It is 2046. The world has never recovered from the coronavirus outbreak that hit it almost 30 years
ago. What once was a relatively mild flu-like virus is now a full-blown airborne outbreak that instantaneously
corrodes the lung and the respiratory system once you are exposed to it.

No one is allowed to even literally set a foot outside. We could not even go outside to get food as
food and cooking ingredients are sent to our doorstep every Friday evening based on the grocery list we
submitted online the day before.

As for going to work, no one really does that anymore, not after we have dramatically shift from the
traditional capitalist economy to the socialist economy back in 2030. At least that was what my History
teacher told me. The top 1 per cent of the wealthiest people on Earth were forced to give all their wealth to
the United Nations for them to use to sustain the human population for the next 100 years. However, it
looks like their plan is working. We do not even need to go to work to get money for necessity such as food,
shelter and education as the world government provides them all. The idea of working and being paid with
money in order to survive is so alien now. In fact, I could not even imagine it. However, that was what Mum
told me.

Mum also told me how there were such thing as physical schools where children like me go to; to
learn, study and play together with friends. Can you imagine? I am not even sure if I have anyone I can call
friends! I have never met any of them in person. The only time I get to see them is when my virtual class
teacher sets up a group session for us to discuss about the topic we have learnt previously. I have always
hated that group session, as there will always be one person who forgets to mute the mic.

No one is sure how it all get this bad. However, from my readings on the Internet, it all seems to
point to the year 2025 when the scientists found a gamma variant of the virus. The vaccines were all
ineffective against the new variant. Those who had not received a single dose of any of the vaccines were
hit the worst, killing the children, adults and the elderly alike. It was not long until the gamma variant mutated
and infected those had been vaccinated too.

All this could have been prevented if the rich countries of the world back then had not accumulated
the vaccines for themselves. Instead of boosting the worldwide vaccination programme, they patented all
the vaccines and inflated the price exorbitantly. Now, we are all paying the price of our selfishness, rich and
poor alike.

I would do whatever it takes to turn back the
world to the way it used to be; where people can be in
close proximity with one another, shaking hands,
hugging one another without worrying if they will catch
anything that will kill them. Children like me can learn
and play in that magical place called school without
the fear of dying. Coffee shops are bustling with
people trying to get their caffeine shot. Public
commutes are crowded with people from all walks of
life, complaining how they will be late for work. And a
child’s parents can still stay alive to watch them grow.

Those are the reasons why I am volunteering
for this programme. Mum, Dad, I will soon be joining
you.

83