so far so good

7 a.m., Kelana Jaya.

There’s a loud thump on the kitchen door and I needn’t turn my head around to know that it’s Mother.

“Faster, your car here already!” Her tone is sharp.

“Okayyyy…” I say in between mouthfuls of Coco Puffs, swallowing the chocolatey bits and pieces of cereal mixed deliciously with the milk left in my bowl, while deftly putting on the cotton jacket that was hanging on the chair. It’s crunch time.

Porn! The Myvi, too, honk sharply.

“Okay, okay!”

“Every time so slow, later you become Aunty then you know,” Aunty School Car says the moment I settle into the front passenger seat and pull the door shut.

“As pretty as Aunty then can already la,” I retort with a smile, pushing loose strands of hair behind my ears. I take a glance in the rearview mirror and smil at my reflection. My fringe long di, I think. I retrieve my phone from my pinafore pocket and glance at the home screen. Dunno this Friday got time to cut my hair or not. Maybe ponteng after Sejarah lah —

“Your phone, you better keep properly,”Aunty School Car interjects. The traffic pauses as cars take turns to exit the T-junction where Loong Foong Restaurant used to be at, and we stop right next to Kian Seng Workshop long enough for a few of their Ah Bengs to pay attention.

“Tchwwwwtsss…!”

I roll my eyes and groan silently.

“Eh, Ah Miao, lei geh lui pang yao lei zhor, wei! (Eh, Ah Miao, your girlfriend is here, dy!)”

I determinedly fix my eyes upon the looming St. Ignatius Church before me, hoping to appear clearly disinterested or deaf, because Aunty just had to wind down her side of the window to respond.

“Fatt mong ah lei! (Dream on-lah, you!)” I can hear the smile in her voice as the boys chortle. “Hei yao lam pang yao chor! (She already has a boyfriend.)”

I look away, at the LDP to my left as my cheeks reddening as the banter continues. One Proton, one Perodua, oh, look, that taxi is trying to tailgate, highlighting the Peugeot in front like crazy; have patience-lah, uncle, not like you can go far anyway—

“Kam hai la (of course-lah),” one of their voices — Ah Bao, I think — is louder than the rest, as if trying to make sure I could hear him. “Hei kam leng… (She’s so pretty…)”

I blush harder, my eyes still rooting for the Peugeot. It manages to cut left without a signal, meeting a slight screech and honks of the middle lane.

“Aunty, car moving already,” I mumble. “Faster go…”

“Okay-lah, bye-bye!”

The window rolls up and I breathe.

“Why-lah you kan cheong? I say you got boyfriend-ma.”

“Because I know I don’t have…and I dunno……I just don’t talk to them.”

Faster…faster…

The car is moving, easing out into the intersection, and I can tell Aunty is staring into the back of my head. I hope my French braid is okay.

“Just because they don’t speak in English, doesn’t mean they’re bad or unworthy of your attention, you know.”

I stare at the road ahead, turning my head briefly to look at the huge cross high up on the peak of the church. I wonder if Jesus had a fear of heights.

“Even God would want you to accept them too.”

“I don’t believe in God.”

919 a.m., Section 12.

The one thing my school is good for is the lax security. We have a guard house, sure, but the jaga is often asleep with his legs propped against the desk anyway. So when assembly is dispersed, the class monitor is done counting heads for the day, and the sub for our second lesson, Sejarah, is busy entertaining the class nerd’s kiasuness for SPM, I slip out of my chair that’s right next to the door, casually making my way three floors down, picking up my school bag from the toilet stall in the ladies along the way. I switch the name tag on my chest, from dark blue (Form 5) to light blue (Form 2), and my fish braid for pigtails. I’m too early for school now, I smile in the mirror, grateful for my genes — I’ve always worn the same uniform size since I was 14.

“Asia Jaya LRT,” I say to the first cabbie that stop for me.

“Ponteng skolah, ah? (Playing truant?)” The driver has on a kopiah and some cheap Raybans.

My heart skip a beat.

“Huh? Mana adalah, Pakcik (Where got-lah, Uncle),” I say with a small smile, breathing deeply as I sit firmly in the back seat of his Proton Wira. A faint smell of old socks waft through my nose. “Berapa-ah, Pakcik? (How much-ah, Uncle?)”

The taxi driver silently assesses me in the rearview mirror. “Tengok meter baru tau. (We’ll see what the meter says.)”

After what feels like forever, he finally presses on a button and the screen comes alive, flashing three digits and a minuscule racing horse. As the vehicle finally taxis off, I steal a glance at the school building behind me.

Chao sin, motherfuckers.

946 a.m., Asia Jaya LRT.

I’m not sure what it is, but the short ride to the station consists of many rides of Uncle Taxi Driver’s life in bed with his infertile wife. He goes deep into details of how knowing he can never impregnate her somehow gave him a sense of sexual liberation. “Sangat syok, tau (Very satisfying, you know)!” he says passionately.

By the time we reach the bus stop by the station, I pay him a good fiver. “Don’t have unprotected sex, okay?” comes his good advice loudly, just as I exit the red car door. I don’t dare to look at the faces of those seated aunties before me.

And before I can pay anymore attention to what I just heard, a crowd of commuters wash over me as I fumble around, quickening my pace to match the mass’ to hurry to the platform, as the human traffic rush to and fro out and into the train, sucking me entirely — swoop.

And this is when peace begins.

It starts from the moment I arrive. From the spit of the ticket machine to the call of the ride, people amble about, looking distracted; yet, the moment the train arrive, everyone stands at attention, focused on just one direction. Then we all squeeze in, eager to be packed and delivered to that single destination. With each station, the passengers change yet the scene remains same; like how, oftentimes, these faces look anywhere but at each other.

957 a.m.

“Stesen berikutnye, KLCC. Next station, KLCC.”

A minute later, the doors slide open and commuters pour out, filling the cabin once more with breathing space. I move mindlessly with the flow, only to break away in the opposite direction to use the stairs instead. Not so much because I could use the exercise; I didn’t want to stand out any further in my turquoise pinafore.

I huff a little as I walk stealthily past the men’s room, towards the ladies’, and widen my eyes as I nearly run into a tall man with long hair and an extremely strong resemblance to my Sejarah teacher.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! I look straight ahead, gripping the straps of my backpack as I almost dive into the entrance on my left, not breathing until the toilet door lock latches on with a loud click.

My heart is thumping. My breath is short. I stand still for yet another eternity, thinking he must have seen me, and —

“Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play; and the haters gonna— ”

Shit, shit, shit! I fumble for my phone, jabbing the Call button, putting it to my ear before I stop breathing and die.

“Oi, where are you?”

I inhale deeply. It’s Samantha. Thank fucking God.

“At KLCC, where else?” I say.

Samantha’s the only person I can trust with this information. Usually she’d be here with me, but lately, the extra tuition classes her parents had signed her up for has successfully eaten up her sense of adventure for the rest of the year.

“Oh. Can you help me check if they still have that limited edition of Archie?”

“Sure. Did anyone ask for me?”

Samantha sits next to me in class.

“Nope. But you might wanna come back though; the monitor just told me that extra class with Jason is today.”

I blush. Jason is our Sejarah teacher. He’s less than a decade older than us, and is quite fit, about 5’11’’, with thick, wavy hair that falls just below his chin which frames his high cheekbones perfectly, like a Japanese-Eurasian god. We decide he’s too hot to be just called Mr. Wong.

“Er…” I open my mouth, and then close it.

Jason’s in KLCC.

“What?”

“Nothing. ’Kay, I gotta go. See you.” Click.

Another minute pass as I stand, slowly opening my backpack to retrieve my T-shirt and jeans. For a brief moment, I wish I had brought my sundress instead. It would show off my shoulders nicely.

1018 a.m., Suria KLCC.

Quick pace. Muted steps. Sleepy voices. Coffee for two. A tray for six. Rotiboy on the double. Triple shot macchiatos. Loud shudder of opening stores. Storekeepers wiping glass windows. Storekeepers arranging window displays. Dozens of office workers aiming for the escalators and lifts. It feels like everyone is here, yet no one is around.

So this is what KLCC looks like at 10am, I think, pausing at a very fragrant Cinnabon station. The crowd is small, just four people staring at the menu on top. Standing in front of the cash register was an elderly Chinese lady dressed casually in slacks, with a distinctive air of worldliness about her.

“May I please have a cinnamon roll and a straight black?” Her accent is crisp, in English.

I look at her in admiration. My eyes wander for a bit around the menu.

“I’ll have a cinnamon roll and an English Breakfast, please,” I say when it’s my turn, making sure to enunciate. The lady look at me with what I think is a look of mild surprise. I pretend not to notice.

“Where are you from?”

“Oh, ah,” I blink, turning to face her. “From around, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and where are you from?” I smile warmly.

“I live in London, with my son.” She smiles back.

“That’s lovely,” I say, wrecking my brains as I try to figure how to keep our small talk going, fulfilling my fantasy of being able to converse in the Queen’s English with a bloody accent. “I used to live there for a bit, too.”

“Really? Where did you live at?”

“Oh, ah…Surrey!” I blurt.

“That’s wonderful; where in Surrey? I have an aunt who lives there too.”

Where did Harry Potter used to live at again?

“Somewhere on Privet Drive.” I look away, at the server behind the counter as he yawns, slowly moving towards the oven that has popped out fresh rolls. I will for him to hurry the fuck up.

“Privet Drive?” She blinks.

“Ah, yes, er…” My god, do I keep having to say ‘ah’ every time? “I was staying with my parents there, but it’s been a while, you see…” Fucking ‘th’, so hard to pronounce.

“Okay, miss, your order here.” A hand reaches out to me with my bag and I quickly pass over some notes and coins.

“It’s lovely meeting you, but I’m afraid I’ve to take my leave.” I flash her a smile as I turn around, practically speed walking towards the escalators. Passing by the designer, jewellery and high-street brands of each floor, I ascend to the sanctuary that is Kinokuniya.

1135 a.m., Suria KLCC.

I walk around the aisles, gracing the books in glossy wrappers with my fingertips, making a light ruffling sound as I pass by.

Young Adults, Thriller, Romance, Science Fiction, Mystery…

I stop by the stand labelled “Comics/Manga”, scanning around for Archie Comics Super Special. Archie was super popular in the ’90s and most people I know don’t even read comics anymore, so surely there are at least two or three sitting around somewhere?

Surprisingly, there are plenty of Dragon Ball, Doraemon, Sailormoon, Crayon Shin Chan, Lao Fu Zi paperbacks (all in Malay, by the way) but there isn’t even a single copy of Archie. I huff in silent and walk around the Travel aisle, picking out a Lonely Planet: Malaysia, Singapore & Brunei. As I settle into my usual bench, facing the customer service desk, I start flipping around the pages.

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice says, and my heart skips a beat. I look up and meet a familiar penetrating stare.

Shit, Jason.

“Uh, not really.” I manage to sound coherent, while I will the redness of my heated cheeks to subside.

“Good. I hope to see you in class.” He says with a wry smile, and there goes my heart.

“Yes, sir,” I mutter quickly. “I don’t mean to skip school today, it’s just — ”

“Just today?” His eyes glint.

Shit, he knows. My jaw tenses.

“Well, it’s just it’s SPM season, and we keep going over the same materials, and I’ve been going to extra tuition classes since last December, and — ”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Jason widens his eyes and raises his right hand, looking slightly alarmed. “You don’t need to explain yourself. Relax. I’m not going to report you.”

His voice is melodious with a sultry undertone. I relax, just a little, saying nothing.

He takes a seat next to me.

“So…why are you reading about Malaysia?”

I’m on page 9 of “20 Top Experiences”.

“Why not?” I said as my eyes skim through Jungle Treks, Danum Valley, Sabah.

“You’ve never been there?” He leans in, looking down at the page with me. I struggle to choose whether to move away or stay.

“More like, I want to see the places our Geography textbook never talks about or tries to but fails miserably.”

He chuckles. I smile, feeling pleased with myself. We read in silence for a while.

“Is this why you come here every Wednesday then? To read books?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Well, we have a library, don’t we?”

I stop at ‘Mt Kinabalu, Sabah’ and look at him. Slowly, he looks up.

“Do you think we’re really learning?” I ask.

He blinks. “You don’t think we are?”

I look him in the eye for a moment more, before looking back at the colourful photographs of the iconic Kinabalu mountain and the token tea leaf picker of the Cameron Highlands plantation.

“You see this?” I point at the peak.

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry for that.”

“So go for it.”

“But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

A surge of emotion rushes through my veins. For some reason, I feel irritated.

“Mr. Wong…” I look at him.

“No Mr. Wong, here. It’s Jason.” He looks me square in the eyes. I can feel my cheeks flushing.

“Okay…Jason.”

“Yes?”

Oh, god, please stop that. I clear my throat, trying to concentrate.

“Are your parents rich?” I ask, point blank.

He blinks, looking taken aback.

“I…wouldn’t say they are. They earn enough to support us.”

“Enough to let you get by as a part-time teacher. And that makes you happy?”

“Well, yes…but that’s not the point.”

“But that is my point,” I say, slapping down on the page. “You’re rich enough and content, but I’m poor, hungry for adventure!”

I blink, catching how my voice has risen and stop myself. I look away, feeling embarassed. There’s a brief silence.

“I’m listening,” Jason says softly. I sigh.

“I mean…” I start to look around, at the rows upon rows of books. “Just look at these books around us. They are stories by hundreds, if not thousands, of people, of not just researches, but innumerable experiences. First-hand, too.”

I look at the stack of bestsellers before me. Some bunch of Eat, Pray, Love kind of books or something.

“As much as I want to, I don’t think I can travel. Not anytime soon, at least. And not just because I’m poor or anything…but, yeah. So, nothing lets me travel the world like a good book does. And these aren’t just any books; so many genres and titles…for any mood, at any time…I could read to my heart’s content. I could go to the school library, yeah, but have you seen the books there? Like, really take a look at them?”

Jason chuckles. “Too…boring…and religious, maybe?”

I smirk. “Not just that; they’re just books for our exams. And didn’t you once tell us in class that history, like any story, is only one part of life, and that the world is so much bigger than that?”

He nods, smiling.

“I could find that bigger world here, and it’s so much more interesting too. I could learn about the cultures of different nations, the insights of different people, reading about the stories of the world…and not just what our teachers or the government think we should know.”

I turn to look at my silent listener. He has a look on his face that I don’t quite know how to describe, except, maybe awe.

“I hope all this knowledge will help you in your exams,” he says, deadpan.

I giggle.

“And, just a word of advice, from an Uncle like me…”

I roll my eyes and can’t help but to smile.

“…whatever you’re looking for, it’s already here.”

Jason holds my eyes, and I feel warmer as time goes by.

“Beep beep!” My phone shrills. I quickly look away, retrieving it from my backpack.

Class start in an hour. Comin? -Sam

“I better go,” I say.

“Yes,” he blinks and clears his throat. “Uh, do you want a ride?”

I blush furiously. “I, uh…”

“It’ll be faster than the LRT.”

I stare at the book in my hand and slowly close it, turning over to the back cover. I look over the glossy material. A highlighted sentence reads, “All you’ve got to do is decide to go and the hardest part is over. So go!” I take a deep breath.

“No,” I say quietly.

“’Scuse me?”

“No, thank you,” I say, more firmly this time.

“Oh…okay then,” he shrugs. “You’ll get back alright?”

“Yeah.” I put the book away on a shelf behind me and begin to pack my things.

“See you in class then?”

My heart thumps faster. “Yeah,” I continue, not meeting his eyes.

He says nothing, but I can feel his eyes studying me.

“Well, um…” He reaches into a plastic bag. “I know it’s not the most appropriate thing to do, but your friend might want this.” He puts a small book in my hands. My eyes widen as I see the cover: Archie Comics Super Special: Christmas Spectacular.

My heart skips a beat. How does he know? I look up.

“See you,” Jason says with a wry smile, slowly walking away. He raises his left hand slightly, waving my breath away.

215 p.m. St. Ignatius Church.

I’m sitting at a pew, staring at the large wooden cross behind an altar, draped magnificently with what looks like purple silk and adorned with a silver chalice. The nice Indian man who’s sweeping by the entrance let me in, and I can hear his footsteps echoing throughout the empty hall. My attention is caught, transfixed by the crucifix, and for a moment I wonder if Jesus ever felt stage fright. He was surrounded by hundreds of people after all, nearly butt naked and all.

I close my eyes for a moment, thinking about today. I exhale loudly.

“You can try ‘Hail Mary’.” A voice pipes in and I jump. Someone sits next to me. I look around in surprise.

“Sorry, I — ”

The Chinese lady shakes her head. Her voice is hoarse, making her sound ten years older than she actually looks. Her simple yet chic attire suggests someone who probably has travelled the world a bit, or at least beyond the Malaysian borders. And when she smiles —

Wait. Could it be…

“Is okay, don’t worry! Everyone welcome in the house of God. I tot maybe you can use a small prayer-mah.”

“Oh.”

But her accent is so local… My mind goes back to the English lady by the Cinnabon station. Maybe they’re related? I wonder. Then again, after the painful incident of nearly blowing my own cover, I don’t think I really want to know.

“Just finish school, is it?”

I blink. She nudges her chin towards the backpack by my side.

“Oh,” I say sheepishly. “Yeah.”

“Not going home?”

“Oh, I like it here.” I look around the hall. “It’s nice and quiet.”

“Ah.” She closes her eyes.

We sit in silence. I shift my attention to the stained glass windows, apparently the works of a Filipino company. There are pictures of angels and men in robes and rays of sunlight; painted stories that surround the church. In the one on the left side of the church stands the figure of a man holding a staff among sheep — golden rays shine behind him and a dove floats above his head, with giant hands that supposedly belong to God. But the panel that strikes me the most is the one of a man in an orange robe lying by the sea with a sailing ship and two angels in the sky.

I should go overseas. See the world.

“Maybe you should,” the Chinese lady suddenly speaks.

I jump. Did I say that out loud?

“Or maybe,” she continues. “What you looking for is already here. You just don’t know yet, that’s all.”

I blush at the familiar words, and immediately my mind goes to the comic book that’s still in my bag and the man that gave it to me. I turn my head to look at her. Her eyes are still closed.

“So what’s your problem, Ah Girl?” She opens her eyes and smile at me, as kindly as your friendly neighbourhood Aunty would. Suddenly, I feel like I should go home and give my mother a hug. And make sure I attend my tuition class later tonight.

I look at the bench before me and say nothing.

“Got boy problem, is it?”

I blush.

“At your age, it’s always a boy wan la,” she says sagely.

My lips curl. “He’s more like a man,” I begin.

“Nonsense; boys will always be boys. I know, ’cause I got a daughter your age.”

I say nothing, still smiling.

*Some names have been changed.

_
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