Feet

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel” – Maya Angelou.

The teacher’s eyes were filled with anger. She looked at me with a disgusting look. ‘Where did you copy this?’

I stood in front of her silently; I wanted to scream at her that I wrote the essay by myself. But I know she would never trust me because she had personally told me that she hated me because I am Malay. There were another thirty-four pairs of cynical eyes were lingering on each inch of my skin.

The teacher grabbed my hands harshly; I could feel the burning fire in her heart, and another thirty-four envious hearts around me. I stared on the dusty floor and awkwardly I said, ‘I wrote this on my own, my dad helped me with the grammar’.

The flame was getting higher. She looked at me like I am a piece of shit. As I had expected, she tore my essay into pieces, and splashed them right on my face.

‘You, stupid girl! You think I am that blind? There is not a single grammar mistake here!’ The teacher stood up and raised her voice in hoping that the next class would hear her too. Wished that the world would agree with her too. The teacher’s high-pitched and shameless voice struck into my ears, into my brain, ‘Get out!’ she shrieked. I could feel there were thirty-four faces were smiling and gawked at my face in repugnance.

I walked out of the class in pride. I glanced at the teacher, bursting in disgust and I never looked back ever since.

“Feet” by Norwani Wahid, 2000.

I was only fifteen during that time, the time when I lost my respect towards the teachers especially English teachers. Yes, I wrote that essay on my own, I love writing and I worked hard to get my essay error free. My dad helped me with my English and most of the time; I spent hours to write English essays. By repetitions and drills that I received from my dad, I managed to successfully write some English essays. My English was not as perfect as my other classmates, and the teacher that I’ve mentioned above could not tolerate with Malay girls much particularly me. Since the incident, I have never attended her English classes, I would just walked out of the class and she would never even care. As for me, the irresponsible teacher should not be called a teacher. I am taught by my parents to respect my teachers, but sorry, I could never respect her.

I proved her wrong by my PMR results as I obtained 8As. My English results throughout my schooling time were always "A". My father was my English teacher. I would never forgive her for what she had done and today, I proved her wrong again as I am the new generation that would replace her in anytime. I promised to myself when I’ll become a teacher in a few months more, I would never do such a horrible thing to my students. I’ve learned that the teacher of that kind would never be respected. It is hurtful to hate somebody and too bad that I have to hate her.

Without a shoe

To the boy with a losing shoe.

Ummi, why are they so cruel?
They killed
Abi, khoya and okhti,
Yesterday I was running
free,
Today I am wrapped in
blood,
with stitched skin and soul,
Why is the sky grey?
There is no more birds flying
free,
Are they being shot
dead?
There is no sun, but why
I could not open my eyes?
I could only see lights, lights and lights,
But I see no
life,
Because there is blood among the lights,
I know why I couldn’t play anymore,
Because my friends are all
dead.

Sg Petani, March 3, 2009

My friend and I were having dinner at our favorite Tomyam Stall where usually we would settle there for hours to enjoy the tomyam and watching the Astro channel. There was a news flash that caught my intention; a Palestinian boy was shot by the Israeli and I could feel the pain that the boy endured. His body was bleeding; his left leg was already crushed into pieces, and that moment, I felt myself as the luckiest person in the world.
Looking at the poor boy, I began to reflect myself and my mind went off to the moment when I was a little girl. I was only seven years old when I was involved in an accident that I thought that was much more horrible than anyone else. I was mischievous and adventurous, as my mum always say, I had not much friends to play with because my neighbours were all adults, and my brother and sister were already 20 and 21 years old, so they won’t play with a 7 - year old girl. Most of the time, I was alone, and I was always preoccupied in investigating and exploring things around me. Then, I saw a strange, shiny black and red metal which was huge and beautiful. When I looked upon it, it was like looking up to the blue sky and the light from the sun had reflected the silver metal on top of it that made my eyes became smaller and curious. I took a small stool, stepped on it and climbed on the gigantic metal thing that I’ve found. The brown leather seat was too wide for a child, but I had successfully placed myself on it. My pale hands grabbed the handle tightly so that I would not fall on the ground.
It was my late grandpa’s old bicycle that caught my attention. I had never cycle a bike before, that was my first time encountered a bicycle. To a child’s point of view, it was extraordinary and mystifying. I placed my feet on the pedal and I could feel my world was spiraling. It was slow and then, I was moving faster and I could feel the spinning breeze around me. I was flying and free!
The excitement and happiness lasted only for a short time. My new-found bicycle was cycling by itself and I lost control. It was going so fast and it pushed me down in a waterless drain. My face fell right on the surface of sharp and prickly rocks that caused the skin on my face being torn into half. I didn’t feel any pain as my brother found me unconscious in the cruel drain. When I woke up, my mum took a big ‘rotan’ to punish me, but my brother managed to calm her. My face had 52 stitches, and I looked like a monster for a year because my face was blue and swollen. I had broken leg and hand too. My brother looked after me because mum was scared to look at me, and dad was always away.
That was the most horrible thing ever happened to me when I was a little girl, but the Palestinian boy in the news were facing much more difficulties in his life. I’ve lost the skin of my face, but the boy lost even more. He lost his family, his friends, and he was fighting to survive in agony. When I looked at my shoes, where my feet were nicely wrapped by it, I could see the boy’s feet, one bare-footed, another one had gone because of the cruelty and the ravenous of human.