HE WHO MADE THE CUT [PART 2]
The silence between us took me down the road to where it all began.
I remembered walking back from the faculty, climbing the staircase to my college; My neck sored, my back ached and my feet were killing me, I took out my phone from my pocket and stared at the screen. It is half past 6. I was entrapped for 11 hours in that horrific, monstrous building. I took in a deep breath of fresh air. Mostly dust, but it'll do. That's what you get for attending school in the middle of the hustle and bustle of Kuala Lumpur.
Oh, fuck you.
Before I could revert, the sound of thumping balls, laughter and screeching shoes caught my ears. My head spun in its direction. My feet carried itself, step by throbbing step… until it stopped right in front of the volleyball court that stood proud by the college’s gates. I put on a smile, one that almost mimicked a sigh of relief – relieved that even though one part of me is drained, but at least I have entrenched myself to this place, believing that it can magically defenestrate the pain away. I love being here. It is the only place that would never judge whether I am robust or mediocre, a misfit or a spear header.
Ever since the law orientation started, all that I was able to do is to gaze at my college friends playing from a distance. Why does everyone else gets to live a normal student life after a fun college orientation while us, the law students had to bear the weight of coping with this ghastly faculty orientation we did not ask for? To some, it might be fun. To some, this week is needed. But to me, what happened during that one week was a story I couldn't even fathom, let alone bring myself to kiss and tell. What happened had and forever will, scarred the person that I am. Perhaps one day, one fine day in the far, far future, I finally can bring myself to tell the tale, or maybe I won't or maybe I'll die before that happens, or at least, have an amnesia that would erase the memory. Nevertheless, who can really call the bids? Our fortunes are.... as we know it, often untold.
This was the first week, of the first semester, of the first year that I am here; A sophomore in university. Can you believe it? Can you believe that I am fnally smart enough now to enrol in one? The comical part was, I already contemplated to quit on my first week in.
My pride, however, refused to cave. Prideful, I told myself to just suck it up and finish this gruesome week and maybe then, just then, I can finally feel alive again. And by then, my hand would finally be immersed by the fine strokes of volleyball and I can finally be happy again. Once again.
Orientation as I was told, was supposed to be about the students, for the students. But this one in particular felt like an agony. Each day, I can feel the desperation inside me, yearning to join my friends playing volleyball till sundown, together, laughing... having fun... because that is what college life supposed to be. Fun! But instead, every day I had to wake up before dawn and return after dusk to please the holier than thou masters of this legal fraternity. It has been six days since, and today is the honorary seventh. The day I can finally be imbued in felicity once more. The day I have been longing for.
That day is today. But why does it still felt so hollow? Where is my winning prize? Where is my ‘Congratulations! You made it!’ moment? Why does everything still felt so dark? Why?
I just........................... don’t get it.
Disappointed, my eyes begun to water. My heart ache at the taught that I have to endure another 4 years here. 4 years. 4 years of rotten hell. Before my emotion burst into ignition, suddenly the
breeze emerged to my rescue. It caressed my vacant face, almost as if it was trying to tell me that everything will fall in its place. And I wish it does. I really hope it does.
With my white blouse, black pants, and books in my hand. I stood outside of the court, watching the uneven rivalry from one side to another. Five against six, unfair if you asked me. Ten boys, one girl. One incredibly talented girl.
The girl is a friend I acquainted with during orientation. Amazing at volleyball but terrible at making friends. Oddly, we became friends because I’m the one who talked first. And I talked first because I am in dire need of a friend. A real friend. Not a mere 'hello-goodbye' kind. One that is truthful and honest, one that is kind and filled with benevolence, one that reminds me of friends back home.
My experience dealing with people can straight out segregate the fake-backstabbing-rotten bunch and my gut is screaming that FP will never be one. FP, that is what I call her. I don’t know what made us click, probably because she’s an oddball like me, or probably because of the fact that she studies sports exercise and made me completely forgot that I was ever a law student. FP always hated when I say I'm the oddball of the bunch. She often viewed me as a convivial person, not a wallflower as I often claimed that I am. But..... I am. I really am. I'm just really great at pretending that I'm not. It's a talent that you carved in you when you have been fed to the wolves for so many time over the years. But around FP, I don't have to pretend, because she gets me. If I spoke out of place, her friends often called me rude but FP thinks I'm brave. If I'm sensitive, people depicted me as emotional but FP just thinks that I'm caring.
FP is the kind of person that would made you feel like being a wallflower, an oddball, is good, well-neighed special, and it is not as bad as people presumed. It's endearing and affable, more often that it is not. Being around her seemed so surreal, almost feeling like I can be myself, and peculiarly enough, I don’t even know who that is. Am I an oddball like I always think I am? Or I am the painted infamous girl with a nice figure? Or maybe, I am one of the mean girls like Regina George whose eyes add insult to injury? Or maybe I'm all of those things. Or maybe I'm none of the above. I don't know.
But what I do know, is the fact that FP would always thought otherwise. She pictured me as this straightforward, genial, warm person that always know what she wants in life. Believe me FP, I don't. I don't even know if I am able to finish the semester after that long appalling week. But that is FP for you. She always thinks so positive of others. She is never one of any of these vicious things I often thought I was. She is
always so reserved, so timid, so... nice! Really nice. She never speak unless warranted, always on her best behaviour. Probably because she knew the world is cruel, especially like right now, where she is the only girl on field. One trivial error and she's out, kick to the curb, left for the dirt. Well, at least she'd still be loved by many. Unlike me. I'd be thrown to the gutter as soon as I enter. I'd blame it on my forthright ways of dealing with things, unlike FP, always keen on being at the evasive side of any disagreement. She is literally the opposite of anything
that I am and quite frankly, I am grateful that finally someone is.
FP looked at me and waved, and God, am I glad to see her. No one else seemed to notice our voiceless tête-à -tête and that is why I love FP. I love how she was able to do things in ways that would almost never attract unwanted attention. I on the other hand, were never given an opportunity to experience such luxury by myself or by anyone around me. Everyone that circled my cockpit seemed to bath in attention and quite frankly I am sick of it. I'm tired of basically, like... like breathing! I breathed and suddenly the spotlight shun directly and I was the main course of the meal. Everything I do is viewed under a microscope and it takes just one big fall-out for people to applaud the epitome of my demise. Which is why I loved being around FP. She gave me this privacy that I direly need, one that will never be on my nelly.
I stared at FP, smiling. FP gestured me to come down
and join them. I shook my head and twirled in my blouse, laughing, basically
gesturing to her that “I can’t simply be wearing this to play, can I?” FP laughed, still pestering me with her eyes
to come down. We were both in our own little world until we lost track that
everyone now has stopped playing and were looking directly at….. Yup, you
guessed it, me.
Fuck.
I bit my lips. Gaslighted, I smiled awkwardly and waved. I freaking fucking waved. How dumb witted can a person be? Am I supposed to be Miss Universe now?
A guy beside FP broke down the walls of the awkward silence. He shouted my name, vexing me to come down. I was fidgeting. My mind went blank. My thoughts only roamed to think on who might this lad be? Peculiar face, but rather polished. Muscular enough to be a sportsman but I have not yet encounter during the few weeks I am here. At one glance, I would accused him of being a player. These types of men are nothing but players. I would know, I have dated several.
Though I am still unable to grasp any memories of him in my head, but my heart did yearn to know his character. Is he a first year student? Is he from our college? What course is he studying? Does he has a girlfriend? Is she from our college too?
I quickly stopped myself. Fuck. Why am I so intrigued? Probably because of his physiques. Yes, yes, yes. Let's blame it on his physiques. Curled hair. Tall. Fair. Round eyes. Pout pink lips. I would lie if I say that his persona is not enchanting enough to bewitch me. Maybe it was not his physiques I am intrigued with at all, maybe it’s because the fact that he knew my name. How can this man actually knew my name? I never met him. I don't know him. Has he played volleyball with me before till he knew? But the most obvious of the ‘hows and whys’ is why the hell am I giddy if he did?
Suddenly
reality walloped me right in the paneling of my hippocampus. The fact is rather obvious.
Only me and FP are of the other gender in this club. I bet even aliens can
depict our names. So much for feeling smitten.
Embarrassed by my own delinquent thoughts, I am still nailed to the floor until another member of the team gestured his head for me to come down. The shy guy, the one that always speak so softly, so fondly that one might thought he is muttering incantation to besmirch your mind. His voice is so feeble, me and FP even joked that only his demons can hear anything he had to say.
Iz I think, was the fellow's name. I knew him because me, FP and Iz were the first three musketeers that orchestrated this whole volleyball-playing-every-evening thing until the whole college bandwagon decided to join until one week, this week to be exact, when I suddenly stopped coming.
To make up for my absence, I couldn’t possibly reject the gentleman's proposal himself now, could I? I could, but seeing how they themselves don’t have enough people to play with, I considered, why not? What harm could my presence do? So, I strutted down, put my bags and books on the floor, kicked my feet out of my heels and joined them in court.
My feet can immediately tell that the floor is roughing up the skin to my feet. But I couldn't care less. The pain will fizzle its way out in due time, I told myself. To distract me from the itching pain, my eyes scoured around. FP was stretching her legs. Iz was playing with the court's net. A man I couldn't recognize was getting ready for his turn to serve. I looked in front, my eyes were empty. My thoughts however wasn't. It wondered to the man that called me down here, the one that I still couldn't discern of his identity. I glanced at him, hoping he'd glance back. But he was busy talking to a friend, laughing of jokes about stuff only man could comprehend.
"Lama tak nampak" Iz interrupted.
I looked at him, confused. What was that supposed to mean? Are you trying to be sarcastic Iz? To be frank, I was quite offended, slightly. Just a tad of smear at the top of the icing.
Suddenly the peccadillo was shattered when he smiled, an empathetic one at that.
Quickly I was brought back to the realm of reality and the dark thoughts was swiftly replaced by me giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was concerned because he never saw me around as much as he wanted to, or hoped to. Or maybe because I look tired. Hell, I am tired. Or perhaps, maybe, he just doesn't have anything to say and merely trying to make conversation.
All in all, he was just trying to nice and polite. Unlike me who go and have these nasty conclusions drawn inside my head. I have the legal fraternity to blame for it. It has poisoned everything in my mind, until even the slightest remark can make me feel unwanted and out of place.
I smiled back, not having anything to respond. Takkanlah nak cakap "Well, my life's a bitch Iz, I'm glad I made it out alive after the week I had. Thank you for your concern."
No. He doesn't deserve to be treated as a therapist just because I was battling with my inner demons.
Probably looking for another topic, he muttered quietly, “kenapa tak tukar baju dulu?”
“Malas”
was my short retort. I can tell he is offended by my impertinence as he strays
away to the left side of the court, metres apart from where I am standing. Well to be fair, I never intended to hurt
him, I just…. I don’t know. Him talking to me drew attention I did not fancy, and
I can tell the guy that asked me to come down has been eyeing me to fail and I
am not going to give him the satisfaction. I only have 30 minutes left to play before the next call to prayer. The idea of climbing upstairs to my bedroom and change is ludicrous.
Once I’m in there, I probably would nestle myself to sleep, as I always do, and
I’m done with stuffing my pain away with forty winks. It gave me neither
comfort nor pleasure and I’m sick and tired of hoping that it will.
Seconds later, ball started thumping, teams started playing.
Finally
when a ball did came my way, my hands decided it was the best time to give up
on me. It swayed in a direction that even Iz could not run to save. I took in a
deep breath and swallowed a prideful bitter spit down my throat. It burns as much
as my pride did. I mouthed ‘sorry’ to Iz and he shook it off with ‘it’s okay’.
In my
head, I prayed that everyone do the same. I hoped everyone would just brush off
the petty mistake. But my prayers were not granted and my hope is disregarded
as the boy from the other side decided not to let it go. He who asked me to
come down and has been eyeing me to fail suddenly decided that it was his place
to shout “Pergi tukar baju lah Sya!”
Fuck you.
Who is this prick anyway? Who does he think he is, telling
me what I can and cannot do?
The
jerk smirked at me, proud that he made a joke, I bet. A joke that he thought was soooooooo
funny because everyone else is laughing. Well, I am not. I had a shitty week
that just ended, and I am not about to give the complacency of it ending to the
start of this obnoxious prick making fun of me. This was supposed
to be my triumphant win for being able to go through this shitty week with a
hassle and I am not going to have it celebrated by some quirky remarks thrown
at me which I know I do not need.
Iz, however,
was kind enough to ask whether I am alright. I gave a faint smile, he nodded, and
we continued the game only for me to spike down the ball towards the despicable
asshole. His pride, tarnished and came crumbling down, just like how the ball
did, right in his face. That ought to teach him not to mess with me.
As
soon as it did, I jumped up and down, feeling… happy? I don’t know. It was
a bizarre feeling I have not felt in so long. I even went under the net that
separated our court and shouted a shout so loud, I bet the whole college
can hear me screamed “Assalamualaikum! Ada orang tak?!!”
FP
was laughing her head off hearing my sarcastic remarks, and so does…. everyone?
What is happening? Why is everyone laughing?
I guess, to everyone, what I did was a fun tease though to me, all I think about is payback. How can this, this competition between us be… fun? I thought it would kill the guy the way that it did me. I looked at the guy, confused as ever. This guy brought my confusion to another level of perplexity when he reverted to my screaming remarks by smiling, chuckling, and smirking. A smirk that was formed until this…this…. this dimple emerged at the end of his cheeks. I thought he would be hurt. Shouldn’t he be hurt?
That is what law school taught me. That a taunting
remark would hurt. How can he turn something so daunting to an excitement
so jolly?
The next few rounds were basically us playing while making a fool out of one another. Him, teasing my outfit and me teasing how he should have worn my blouse instead. Everyone was simply laughing, choosing whose remark hurt best and the day ended with everyone feeling joyous. Fun laughter brazed through the college doors until dusk came and we had to force ourselves to quit. Me and FP packed our things, and all of us walked together to the centre hall before departing to our dorms.
As I was climbing the stairs to my room, the hollow ache that filled my heart that week was suddenly fuelled by the presence of this new man. This new man who had changed my entire perspectives. How can this man possibly able to turn something that I thought had been leaden and dingy to something that has an actual potential of being vivid and beaming? This man were radiant with positivity. A positivity I desperately need. A positivity I anxiously desire.
Who is this man? And why is he always so.... happy?
2019
Instantly,
I was brought to reality. Me, donned in red baju kurung while him, looking ravishing in his buttoned shirt, across from one another, separated by a table, with two spectators pretending to eat.
Bruno.
That is his name. The name of the guy that was radiating from positivity. The guy with the smirk. A smirk he had
then, as the same one he crafted now. The difference is, I despised him now
more than ever. Did I? Timorously, I can’t even answer. It’s been six long
months since the last I saw him.
Almost
faint to ears, I said “thank you” as a revert to his wee compliment.
I
should have talked more about why it tasted good and who cooked it and how he
should add more to his plate like how a great hostess would say but my mouth was
glued shut. I just want the moment to pass, as quickly as it should have if we
never had any history together.
“You
cook it yourself?” He asked. I nodded. Foolishly, I nodded.
I
didn’t even do anything. Yes, I helped. I helped peeled stuff. The onions
and potatoes….. Does that count as cooking?
So
badly, I wanted to say that it was Ana’s mum that bawled her strength, day in
and day out, cooking this perfection, but too many eyes were on both of us,
just like it did back then. Talking more gives rise to attention and we all
know it is something I never crave. I just wished we were both invisible from the
eyes of these lemurs watching us. I just hoped we could talk to one another in
an ambiance that provided no boundaries between us.
Wish.
Hope.
Two
words that I often begged for but never been lucky enough to be rewarded with.
I quickly
took his plates and rushed to the sink. My heart was pumping too fast it could
burst into shear of blood inklings.
“Kenapa
dengan kau?” Ana asked, concerned, but mostly just weirded by my shift of
tension. Just before I could speak, Bruno walked inside the kitchen.
I can
tell he wanted to wash his hands at the sink at where me and Ana stood, but I
hugged Ana’s arms so tightly against it, basically forcing her not to look
behind, it made Bruno paused. Noticing my body language and the undesirability
of his presence, Bruno swayed into another direction, heading for the bathroom behind
us instead.
I
sighed, both relieved and overwrought.
“Kau
ni kenapa? Macam nampak hantu.”
“Ana…
Ada lelaki belakang kau, dalam toilet…” She wanted to glance back but I pushed
her back to the sink, faking to mingle with the water dripping from the tap.
“Well,
I kinda had a crush on him. Long……. time ago.”
“Ha?”
Shocked, Ana turned and as quickly as she tried to, I twisted her body back to
the sink. I can understand what I said could came out as a bolt from the blue. I have a long term boyfriend all these while then dated a new man for six months before I got my heart broken two days ago. If I were Ana, I would have slapped myself to sleep.
“Ana!
JANGAN!” At this point, I am just embarrassed that I confessed; confessed of ever liking this man. Did I really like him? Like, like him? I never even confessed it to myself before and now I blurted it out as if I was soooooooo confident that that was the case.
“Asal
aku tak pernah tau?” Maybe because I don't even know that myself, Ana. Maybe that. Or maybe I've gone cuckoo. Or maybe because my breakup that I faced upstairs two seconds ago over the phone made me want to believe that I actually like this man.
“Nanti lah aku cerita…..” Part of me were begging her to not open a wound I had cast a band aid upon while another part of me wanted to blast all the wicked tales till she punch his face to the door. His face, or mine, or both of us. Part of me just miss seeing him, part of me wanting to strangle him. Until I figure which is which by myself, I rather not speak out of proportion.
Ana, knowing that today itself were a mess, obliged in the end. Probably because
she knew me well than I knew myself without me having to scream anything out. This is
what I love about us, our telepathic communication since we were kids.
Our
moments were cut short when Bruno was done washing his hands. He wiped his wet
hands to his pants, and walked next to me. He subconsciously breathed to my ears before holding
out his hand to the cabinet at my side to grab a cup before waltzing his way back to the dining room. Though
it was brief, but every wrecking second were a torment to my soul.
“He’s
cute.” Ana chuckled. “Kau sumpah kena cerita semua benda…”
Trust
me Ana, I wanted to. I do. But I really, really just want to forget everything.
- END
OF PART TWO -
Lots of love,
QE.
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