Mistaken Identity

With Isaac's wedding just a week away, this was definitely the last weekend two best friends, close like heat to fire, will be spending their time together. All those preparations, done laboriously bit by bit over the last few months have finally come to a cease fire. Isaac's mind was finally at ease, from the harrowing nagging his wife to be had bestowed upon him. Like all women, Isabella just wanted her wedding to be perfect like a long lost painting. The men as they say, just don't get it.

It would have been one of those nights where we intoxicated ourselves silly with hard liquor, dancing amongst the lilies, willingly encouraging our hands to roam freely on ravishing dancing queens. Tasting foreign sweat dripping languidly down angelic faces, gyrating with pleasure as they moan and squirm beneath those monster bass beats. But alas, we were having none of those stag night splendour. Truly love shouldn't be put through such tests.

Red Hot Chili Peppers was performing to a sold out crowd that night, and that was how we planned to rock our last weekend away. All those boyhood memories of jamming those Red Hot numbers during our youth slowly flooded our minds as we stood patiently in the snaking queue. Silent and oblivious to those anxious fans amongst us, we reminisced those days once again. Days where Michael, Johan, Bob, Irfan, Isaac and me ruled our little own world. Days of being wild.

We always did things together says the other boys in school. We played on the same football team, we fought those back lane brawls together, we shared our first packet of cigarettes, and pooled whatever money we had to take girls out to fancy restaurants. Silently, both Isaac and I flashed back on our glamorous youth and how we have grown into fine men and now, for once, Isaac will be leading a life with the other love of his life taking over watch duties. I knew I was going to miss our frequent coffee shop talks and Sunday football, yet I'm utterly elated that finally he has found a gem of a woman. Isaac, was in good hands.

Red Hot Chili Peppers didn't disappoint as usual. A blazing performance that rocked the stadium wild with blood sweat and tears. As we departed from the concert, the euphoria of the night still left our ears popping. It was as though our ears had trapped those melodious riffs in our heads, unwilling to let them out into the night sky.

"Im getting a drink. Bloody thirsty. What do you want?", I asked Isaac as I trotted my weak from jumping knees toward the 7-Eleven store. "Just get me a bottle of 100-Plus man", Isaac replied while tossing a cigarette into his mouth. A group of rowdy young men exited the store as I was about to enter it. They reeked of alcohol and apparently, it wasn't enough as each of them carried a 6-pack in their hands. The boys sure looked like trouble, all of only 18 years of age max!

My shoulders brushed against one of those hooligans, who immediately glanced back in mockery. I felt his piercing stares on under my leather jacket and shot back a look over my shoulders. "Eh Jerome! You're Jerome right, Sonia's friend?". I nodded in partial bewilderment. "This is Jack lah, Sonia's younger brother", he slurred like the drunk that he was. "Oh Jack. You've grown up huh. Tell Sonia I said Hi man", I thought he looked awfully familiar.

I grabbed the drinks and joined in the unusually long queue. I blamed the concert for that, leaving all those fans hyped with thirst. As I was paying for the drinks, shouts filled the air, disgruntling the night peace. Those people behind me darted toward the glass entrance, plastering their faces onto the squeaky clean glass door. "Gang fight! Gang fight!", one of them squealed with excitement.

It was over as soon as I stepped out of the store. Isaac was not where I left him. A small crowd had miraculously gathered at the crime scene. The assailants, as I deduced were just making their getaway on foot. It was the hooligans from 5 minutes ago. I recognised from the Tiger Beer 6-packs sprawled across the pavement, like the three almost motionless bodies beside it.

I felt queasy as I approached the crowd. I knew Isaac was one of them. Spending half of my life with him, I could tell it was him even if we were in a dark room. Isaac was in shock and gasping hard for air. His white shirt was soaked a dark red, and in that few seconds, it metamorphed into a hellish black. I looked up and caught Jack's eyes fixated on mine as he was running away.

Isaac's elbow seemed clownishly out of sorts. It was as though he replaced his right arm with a left arm. And it was dangling motionless. The other two victims seemed to be in a worst off situation as they lay motionless in their own mess of blood. Isaac rolled over onto his knees and stared aimlessly at his right arm before passing out in indescribable pain.

Isaac's parents were quick to arrive at the hospital, together with Isabella. They seemed to be in a more disastrous shock than Isaac was and didn't want to hear anything I had to say for now. They just hugged each other and whispered prayers. Looking at them made me feel worse than grazing upon a motionless Isaac. Somehow, I felt responsible. Jack's eyes was plastered in my mind as I stood up and lugged toward the cafeteria.

It must have been a good 20 minutes sitting down at a cold dark corner. My coffee had already turned room temperature by then. I didn't even take a sip all these while whilst I thought hard about the incident just over an hour ago. Isabella's warm hands on my shoulders robbed me of my brooding mental activity. "What happened?" she quizzed in between sobs. I reiterated the story as how I have just told you. Isabella seemed like a strong woman from all the years that I've known her and I have never seen her, or any woman for that matter break down like how she did at the cafeteria that day.

I had no comforting words for her. Lying to her that Isaac was going to be OK was totally out of the question. I just remained silent and let her bury her tear empty face on my shoulders.

Michael, Johan, Bob, and Irfan stormed into the cafeteria like the rowdy boys that they once were not too long ago. They haven't lost it one bit at all, but god we still love them to bits. They stood patiently a few tables away, respecting Isabella's presence. Isabella looked at them with the same hurtful stares she shared with me and muttered, "I'm going to join Isaac's parents outside". She knew that the boys just had to be boys once again and wanted to be alone.

"What happened man?", Michael broke the silence. I repeated my story once again to a more captive audience, not sparing any details. "Doctor says that his right hand is really screwed man. He may never use it again. Its a fifty fifty thing. Just hope for the best I guess", I spoke softly. "And the worst thing was that it was a case of mistaken identity. Isaac was standing near some other 2 punks whose name was on the death cards", I continued.

"You guys remember Jack, Sonia's younger brother right? He was one of them assailants man", I muttered in disappointment. "Anyway, I think we should be outside with the rest of them", I muttered again as I motioned to the boys.

Isaac was still in the operating theatre and the hospital staff wasn't much help with any updates on our dear friend. Michael was busy on his cell orchestrating a maniacal payback with some of his underworld friends. I walked away from all of them as I stood outside Operating Theatre 4. I shuddered as I knew Isaac was somewhere beyond these deathly silent walls, not knowing if he can ever use his right hand ever again.

I hardly blinked as I recollected the night's events, burying myself with a series of What IFs. "Hey are you coming with us?, Johan asked in a stern and steady voice. "We got to go man", Johan sounded like the fighter full of confidence. I looked down just in time to see a tear glide off my chin. It painted a small tip of my black shoes a shiny gloss, allowing me to just steal away a tiny reflection of myself.

I nodded and followed a few steps behind Johan. Isabella's soulful eyes caught mine as she shook her head slowly from side to side, reading our intentions. "Please don't go", says her sorrowful eyes. But a Man's tears are precious they say. They're not meant to be wasted.

Life's Little Victories

Story by Mary Eu
Teacher
Malaysia


What keeps a teacher going? Well, it's really simple as pleasant memories of a job well done.

It was our school's Open Day. Prents had been invited to collect their children;s report books and to discuss their performance in the half-yearly examination. The year was 2000 and I was the teacher of a Form 5 class.

As the form teacher, I knew the students well. There were only five Chinese students and the rest of the class were Malays. Azlan was the assistant monitor of the class. He was tall and his uniform was always neat. He also spoke little English.

Azlan was often called to read in class because he had a loud voice but I had to interrupt him several times to correct his pronounciation. He did not mind. Still, he failed in his first English test that year.

When I gave out the test papers in class, he exclaimed to his friend," Ah, sikit lagi aku lulus". (A little more and I would have passed.) Only a few students in the class passed the first monthly test. When questions were asked in class, Azlan always shot up his hand to answer. The rest of the class were rather passive.

When his answer was correct, I praised him. When it was almost correct, I corrected it and told him that it was a good try. When he gave a wrong answer, I also told him that it was a good try and wrote the correct answer on the blackboard. i was pleased that Azlan showed interest in my lessons.

He passed the second monthly test by the skin of his teeth. He was all smiles. I was glad. I told him that if he could write a longer essay by giving examples and more elaboration, he could have scored a better grade.

Azlan tried to speak English with me. His friends sniggered and tittered. He ignored their smirks. He attempted almost all of the questions in his half-yearly examination and wrote longer essays. His marks were close to a credit now.

When I returned their half-yearly examination answer scripts, I called their names one by one. I had a short comment for each student. When it was Azlan's turn, he was all ears. "Azlan, you have improved a lot. In fact, you got the highest marks in English in class." He grinned, unable to contain his happiness. His friends wanted to see his answers.

On Open Day, I set up stall at 8.00am in our make-shift hall together with other form teachers of various classes. Parents started streaming in and many had to wait for their turn to talk to the teacher. They sat in a row near the teacher's desk. I noticed a petite Malay lady with sad eyes. She was waiting for her turn.

Finally, she had her chance to sit before me. She introduced herself as Azlan's mother. "How's Lan at school?" she asked softly, in Bahasa Malaysia, not meeting my eyes.

"Oh, Azlan puts in a lot of effort and has improved significantly in his English and other subjects too. he is very helpful," I told her honestly. Suddenly, she clasped my hand and hugged me. I was taken aback y her show of emotion. Tears brimmed her eyes.

"Thank you for your encouragement. Azlan was so happy because you praised him the other day. You're the first teacher who says positive things about my son. Thank you!" Moved by her sincere words, I hugged her back and for one bried moment, two mothers shared the joy of a child's small achievement as only mothers could understand.

After she had left, I found renewed energy to carry on the day's duties with gusto. A student's achievement, no matter how small, is indeed chicken soup to a teacher's soul.

Azlan sat for his SPM and passed. He even managed to get a credit for English. I do not know where Azlan is now but the memories have lingered - memories of days lived right. Sometimes, this is what keeps teachers going.

A Relentless Quest

Muhammad was talking to a friend, who asked him: "Have you ever considered getting married?"

"I have," replied Muhammad. "In my youth, I resolved to find the perfect woman. I crossed the desert and reached Damascus, and I met a lovely, very spiritual woman, but she knew nothing of the world. I continued my journey and went to Isfahan; there I met a woman who knew both the spiritual and the material world, but she was not pretty. Then I decided to go to Cairo, where I dined in the house of a beautiful woman, who was both religious and a connoisseur of material reality."

"Why didn't you marry her, then?"

"Alas, my friend, she was looking for the perfect man."


"The greatest challenge in life is to find
someone who knows all your flaws,
differences & mistakes,
but yet still sees the best in you."

"Anyone can make you smile.
Many people can make you cry.
But it takes someone really special
to make you smile with tears in your eyes."


- An Anonymous Contributor