I lived in Damansara Utama, a small housing area in the huge city of Petaling Jaya. However, due to work circumstances, I was forced to move out of the state. I’ve always wanted to go back home, I missed my parents. I often dreamt of returning home to be greeted by the warm welcome and embrace of my parents, yet I never seemed to be able to find the time to do so. You see, I work in the advertising line where life is all about date lines, date lines and more date lines. The purple-blue rings smoothed like smudges of dirt under my eyes simply prove how much sleep I get. I’m perpetually fighting off sleep and have to down at least 10 cups of coffee and sometimes a few cans of red bull to keep me awake.
As the traffic finally starts to ease out, I reach for the can of red bull on the passenger seat and take a sip. Home. The word brings back so many memories. Home is where you get all your “firsts”- your first word as a baby, your first tooth, your first day of school, your first sports day. Now, that’s an interesting memory, sports day. Inside my mind, my memory box unveils itself and the memory of my first sports day begins to unfold.
I was 8. It was the annual Puay Chai Primary School sports day. A few weeks before, teacher had chosen me to represent my house in a running event. Ever since that day, I would plead my mom to take me to the nearby park to practice running. I loved it. My brown hair bounced in waves on my shoulders as the wind whistled in my ear. After weeks of practice, the big day finally arrived. I could’ve sworn there were ants in my pants, I felt so nervous. “Students involved in the running event, please take your places on the tracks,” announced the principal. I pressed my lips together to conceal my nervousness. As I stole a glance at my contenders, a fresh spasm of fear leapt through me and I inhaled deeply to calm myself down. I scanned the crowd and looked to my mom for reassurance. She gave me a thumbs up and that was all I needed to feel confident again.
The gun shot sounded and I pounced forward. The crowd was cheering, yet all I could hear was the sound of my adrenaline pumping. It battered in my ears, pounded in my head and drummed in my throat. Every step sent jolts up my body. I saw the finishing line, it was less than 5 steps away. I can make it, I can win, I thought. Just then, I tripped on my own foot and fell. My face closed down, like dominoes falling, my expression went from hope to defeat. The other runners, oblivious to my fall, ran past, vying for the grand prize. My knees were scratched up and my palms were red from trying to break the fall, but that wasn’t what hurt the most. Tears welled up in my eyes and I pressed my lips flat to stop myself from breaking down in public. I looked to my mom expecting disappointment to be knitted on to every inch of her face. Instead, my mom gave me a big smile and continued to cheer on. “You can do it, Emily!” my mom cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled. I gave a toothless grin, got up and finished the race. I may not have won, but that day, I learnt something of much higher value- my mom believed in me and she still does. Plus, it’s not always about winning, it’s the journey that you gain the most from.
The memory folded itself back into the memory box and I was back on the road. To my surprise, I was already in Petaling Jaya. In fact, my car had turned a corner into a very familiar road- my secondary school.
I pulled up my car by the school gate for a moment and wound down the windows. I perched my sunglasses on the top of my head to get a clearer view of the school. Nothing much seemed to have changed. Besides the new coat of paint, the layout of the school was still the same as before. I took a breath of the school air. Perfume from the teachers, oil from the canteen and the scent of puppy love entered my nostrils and filled my lungs. Let’s not kid ourselves here, we’ve all had at least one crush in secondary school if not more than that.
Another memory popped up from the memory box. This time in the form of a book. Pages flipped and flew and then it stopped. I rested my chin on the open window and the little time machine in my mind brought me back to my secondary school years. I was in form 2. Being in the older group lo students in the afternoon session, I thought I had seen it all. Clearly, I was being naïve, there were still countless lessons I had yet to learn, one of them being heart break.
His name was Alex. He was of average height with a muscular physique. He had mahogany brown eyes that could light up the room, an aquiline nose, high cheek bones and a mop of dark wavy hair. His cheeky smile revealed a set of perfectly aligned pearly whites. Being of mixed heritage, he inherited his father’s olive complexion and his mother’s thick, long eye lashes. Although I consider myself a cheery soul, his genuine bonhomie made me look like a miserable kid that didn’t get her ice cream. Even though he was new at the school, he soon became the heart throb of every girl- every girl in school except me.
He was placed in my class and as the monitor, I was assigned to be his “tour guide” around the school. I really didn’t mind, he seemed like a nice chap. As I took him around school and explained the rules and regulations, he listened attentively. Normally, these sort of things would have a soporific effect on students, I have to admit, I had to stifle a few yawns myself, but this guy seemed genuinely interested. As we talked more and got to know each other better, I found out he liked history and aspired to become a lawyer. I guess that explained why he was so interested in the history of the school. He was laid back and easy going, he walked with the confident loose-limbed swagger of youth. He also loved acoustic music just as I. We clicked and soon enough became best friends.
The pages of the book flipped vigorously again and opened up at my form 5 year. How fast time flew was a wonder to me. Alex and I managed to maintain our relationship as best friends. Though I was often warned of the dangers of platonic relationships, I personally found no harm in it. After all, it was never going beyond the borders of best friends, or so I thought.
We studied hard and later found out that we scored with flying colours in our SPM examinations. I was convinced that there was only one thing every girl and guy look forward to in form 5- prom. I was no exception. I had long ago planned to go with a group of friends, but recently I had myself wondering if Alex would ask me out. Why? Because you like him. I ignored the little voice in my head. No, I can never ever develop feelings for him. Yet, I secretly waited to see if my wish would come true. To my surprise, it did!
On the night of prom, I was grinning from ear to ear. As Alex’s car pulled up outside my house, I pinched myself to make sure it wasn’t just a dream. Alex came out of the car and took my breath away. His hair was gelled up, his brown eyes scintillated under the moonlight and his smile shone as bright as ever. His tux enhanced his physique and gave a glow to his olive skin. I bit my lip to prevent myself from smiling like a Cheshire cat.
The night was perfect until I decided to take a trip to the loo. As I went into a cubicle, a group of girls came bustling into the toilet to reapply their make-up, I suspected. The girls started speaking in hushed muffled tones, but I heard everything. “I can’t believe Alex decided to ask Emily out. I was hoping he’d ask me,” one of the girls whined,
“He told me why he asked her out and the truth is, he wants to get the scholarship from her dad’s university.”
“No way!”
“Yes, way! He knew she was hoping he’d ask her out too.”
They giggled and strutted out of the toilet, their high heels tapped against the marble floor. I edged out of the cubicle, rivulets of tears streaming down my face leaving a black trail of mascara on my cheeks. A million thoughts circled my mind like blood thirsty vultures. The room started spinning. My chest tightened and I gasped for a breath of fresh air. I ran out and hitched a cab home. I never saw Alex again and as far as I’m concerned, he never got that scholarship. The poignant memory of prom closed together with the book and returned to its place in the memory box. I started the engine and drove off.
Not before long, I was in my housing area. The houses seemed to have grown. Who knows how many owners have move in and out of them while I was gone. Though the place had changed drastically over the years, I still felt its warmth. Home is not just a house but rather a place where I grew both physically and mentally. This is the place where dreams were made and accomplished, the place where I shared experiences that last a life time, the place where relationships were built. As my car pulled up by my gate, I knew I had done the right thing. To be honest, I resigned from my job and applied for a new one here. Though the pay is much less, it was all worth it. I rang the doorbell and called out into the dimly lit house.
“Mom! Dad! I’m home!”
-AW :)
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