The Silent Room

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Small Talk:
Sigh. Classes have started again. What a drag.

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This is a story about a world I was once a part of, and left behind – and found again.

Nine years ago, I left Jenan, my boarding school in Kedah, after an unpleasant… case, that happened in which I was involved. It was definitely one of the saddest moments in my life. I was forced to leave behind the school I had grown to love, friends I have shared meals, laughter, tears, cuts and bruises with. It was a painful separation that left me in great pain for a very, very long time.

Back in early 2000, I was only 15. Computers and the internet was very much a foreign concept to me, and we didn’t have handphones either, so keeping in touch was a time-consuming (and troublesome) affair. Absence of present day technology had completely cut me off from the world I was so familiar with from the past three years. Throughout my upper secondary years, I gradually began to forget about them and rebuild my life with new friendships. Of course, some of those bridges remained unbuilt, or burnt before they were even done.

When I enrolled into MMU Melaka back in 2003, I was reunited with about three of the people from my boarding school. Naturally, I rebuilt those bridges and we recounted plenty of nice memories and I tried to catch up with what everyone else was doing. You see, in a boarding school, you adhered to very strict disciplines.

You wake up at 6 am.

You make the bed before 7 am.

You sing Negaraku at 7.30 sharp.

You observe all five prayers with everyone else at the same time.

You attend prep class from 3pm sharp.

You will be at the field with everyone else by 5pm.

You will be at the roll-call at 7 pm sharp.

You will have dinner with everyone.

Our daily routine would be governed by an epic fire alarm bell that rang mercilessly throughout the school compound at preset hours. We also led very religious lifestyles. Every week there would be a tahlil session, a Yaasin session, and an usrah session, and it is compulsory for everyone to attend. There is no question of whether or not you will do all these things – you just do.

I lived those days for almost three years before that unfortunate incident and my parents pulled me out. While I went on to discover a new life, the world I left behind kept spinning and the friends I left behind continued that routine for a full five years. With no proper means of communication, any attachment I once had there was completely severed. I was oblivious to all that happened to them, and likewise.

Then came Ramadhan 2009.

I was invited to a reunion dinner by one of my old schoolmates who were in MMU with me. When I heard that over 40 people from that school were attending, I was thoroughly excited to see them. It has been nine years since I met any of them, so meeting these people again would definitely be something to look forward to. Who knows how they have turned out, or if they even remember me.

The day came, and I was a helpless, nervous wreck. Still, I put on a brave face forward and stepped on to face my past. Now, most of the people who have known me over the past three-four years would know what kind of a fucked up bastard I’ve turned out to be, and here’s me meeting people who underwent hardcore religious routines for at least five years. So, I had to carve myself a smile, and move forward to meet them.

Naturally, nine years apart does things to your appearances but it didn’t take long for them to realise it’s me, and for me to put names to their faces. Then I met them, almost 50 of them, and to be honest, it almost moved me to tears. Though the tears I held back weren’t just because I missed them.

It’s also because I realised that I can no longer be one of them.

Ever since I left Jenan, I have pretty much stepped into a world that many people thought was not meant for people like me. A world you see in magazines, on TV or hear people talk about at coffee shops – usually talks that were followed by a disapproving “Tsk, tsk, tsk,”. I grew up in a way that was completely different from them, and lived a lifestyle that was completely unthinkable. I led a life of risks, of thrills, and of dark adventures.

To put it bluntly, I no longer live the life a normal Malay Muslim would.
(Okay, you can shut up and stop snickering, already.)

The rest of them went on to do politically correct things. Answer the phone with ‘Assalamualaikum’, and depart with the same. Play futsal, covering their aurat. Have dinners at typical Malay restaurants. Heck, even their girlfriends are the politically correct type. Tudung-ed, timid and reserved around other men. Some of them have even gotten married, one of them even brought a baby to the reunion! For me, the entire thing was a mixture of awkward nostalgia.

Presently, I’m hanging out with people from pretty much all walks of life. A variety of ethnicities, a variety of personalities, a variety of lifestyles. I’ve made friends with musicians, radio announcers, graphic designers, photographers, clubbing folks, gay men, lesbian women, liquor experts, shisha aficionados and more recently, my much beloved weird-ass, batshit insane, worldwide otaku community.

Being at that reunion, I felt like an outsider. A tourist in an aloha shirt looking at a bleak, monotonous country, filled with predictable and repetitive routines. Like I’m watching Cerekarama on a black and white TV set. Like drinking sugarless Teh-O Ais. Don’t get me wrong, though.

I’m not saying that I’m so much better than them, no, not at all. I’m not saying that they are ‘low’ either, no. It’s just that, I feel like I can’t relate to them anymore. I have nothing to talk about with them. I have nothing to offer them that they want. I’m,… an outsider now.

Part of me wonders what I would have been like if I went on to graduate from Jenan. Would I still be as fucked up as I am, right now? Or would I continue to bind myself to strict discipline and set various standards based on my religious principles? Would I shun girls who do not put on a headscarf or would I look at clubbers and drinkers in sheer distaste?

They are nice people, my old friends. They lead healthy and politically correct lifestyles. Parents would look over them with pride and joy at how ‘proper’ they turn out to be. It’s something I used to have, but no more. Sometimes I kind of regret leaving behind the assurance of a ‘normal’ and ‘proper’ future like that.

At one point, I found myself standing at the boundary between two worlds. One foot in the light of a certain, promising and comfortable life, and the other one in the dark, unpredictable void with no telling of what lies ahead. So I steeled myself, gave that bright, gleaming world one last look and drew both my legs into the shadows, never to look back.

I feel much more comfortable here, now.