Happy Birthday...

Ayah.

Yeah. I haven't updated for a while. A long while. I have no good reason why I haven't. Just because.

@!@!@!@!@!@!

It was a hot Monday night, hiding under the table with her small unknown sketch pad, she feels like she's in a heater. The heat's getting to her as she tries to draw a potrait of a person; making each mistake exagerated and soon she's nearly torn her sketch pad into half with frustration.

Cluttered attempts surround her and soon she's ready to explode; she's never been well known for her patience with herself. Crawling out of her hiding place, that she really is getting to long for, she's muttering to herself about the idiocy of her hand.

She's in the living room. Alone.

She knows she should go to the Tv room where the rest of her immediate family was; loitering and talking. Yet she felt a need to be alone.

So she remained.

She decides to sit on the long couch, relaxing her muscles after a tiring day at school. She hears loud voices, ringing pass through the thin glass sliding door seperating her from her family. Just like anyother day in her grandmother's house it's rowdy, noisy and nearly impossible for peace and quiet, something she craved.

Hours pass by and she gets thirsty. Dragging her legs to the kitchen to get a glass of water, she passes a scene that happened every other time. Seeing him sitting there, with a cigarette dangling between his fingers, she marches off to him and sits by sipping in the plain water.

The water trickles down her gullet as smoke travels his trachea.

Scathingly, she says smoking is bad for health. That it could lead to death.

He nods knowingly and takes a puff anyway while rubbing his stubble.

Frustrated by being ignored for what felt the hundredth time, she frowns and is ready to get up. It's always like this.He smokes, she reprimands, he shrugs it off. Always been, always is, always will.

Until he spoke.

He says the three words that she seldom hears, and though they were short and gruff, they were a shock. She's shaken and eyeing him wierdly, and instead of answering back she just nods and walks away.

"I love you."

She'd never know, she'd come to regret that for the rest of her life.

The next thing she knows it's thursday night, she's in a speeding vehicle and she doesn't care.
The next thing she knows she's clutching her cousin to stop him from screaming.
The next thing she knows she's desperately pulling on her mask.
The next thing she knows she's holding in tears.
The next thing she knows her heart's broken.

But most of all
The next thing she knows, she regrets not saying "I love you" back to her uncle.

Malay Orals.

Entering through the automatic sliding door, cold air tighlty grips your lungs.

It claws your insides out; feeding the dreadful monster you just had locked in. The monster awakens and it purrs in contempt as you make your way to the designated seating area. It crawls inside your abdomen demanding your attention and distracting you from reading the given text.

You know you should ignore it, or perhaps lock it in further.

You're now grasping the yellow card tightly.

You doubt it really shows, but the monster is now on the loose. Inside you, the monster snarls and prowls through your veins; pushing your heart, your poor tired heart, to press itself further outwards into the cage of your ribs.

You've read the text twice and in that time given you know you could've read more, if only that monster had remained in its slumber. If only you had enough sense or courage to lock the monster in a more stronger prison; an impenetrable fortress in the middle of a maze filled with dangerous conquests where not only the chance of entrance was abysmal but the chance of escape was impossible.

If only.

You hear a shuffle, and you know it's your turn soon. So soon.

It's too soon.

Your overworked heart is on overdrive as the monster places a single long-nailed finger onto on of your arteries; you fear that the arteries would cut open and you, you would slowly bleed to death.

Panic!

You could practically see red lights flashing and a siren blaring through the usually quiet abode as you place your bum squarely onto the chair.

Eyes searching for a distraction from the monster's whining, you re-read the rules and regulations pasted right infront of you. After nearly memorising them you can't help, but roll you eyes. Nobody was stupid to do that in a public place.

No one ; everybody knew the consequences. Even you did.

Thinking on the subject, another's words fill your ears.

"Relax. You'll do fine."

You can't help it; you scoff. It was easy for her to say that, she already went through it. She was probably at home. You were here. You were the finale, the person who'll suffer for being the last as they who were to judge would've heard so many answers similar to the ones your primitive mind will feebly concoct.

Diverting yourself from the troublesome thoughts that so easily plagued your now fragile mind, you hear the footsteps of one that you've known for a while. Looking up, you ask with you widen your eyes and your eyebrows rise above the status quo.

She squeezed her brown eyes, the big brown eyes that you (unfortunately) had a soft spot for, in a disgruntled way, but you see a glimmer of joy dancing in her irises and a pulsating pupil that was practically grinning.

"All the best."

Her words linger, as you yourself go to where she had been just moments ago.

Your heart is practically in your throat; you fear that you might haemorrhage right infront of the two women.

One.

They're still talking. About food.

Two. Three.

Rumble.

Four.

That was your stomach being squeezed by the monster.

Five.

You think your heat just might stop from exhaustion.

Six.

You take a seat.

You hear the woman on your left speak in a language that even after all these years of studying it, even if it was your supposedly 'mother language', you find alien.

In a split second, just like a flash, you hear what was said just an hour ago; as if you were watching a movie.

Smiling, you take a deep breath and read the text.

With each word,the monster slowly dissipates; curling into itself.

With each word, you find yourself drawing in something you didn't know you had.

With each word, you grow more confident; answering with more ease than you had thought possible.

With each word, you thank god, for the fact that you had actually listened to her.

At the end of the day, Malay orals had been better than you had dare thought.