Love Letter.

Ustaz says to Yusof and me; you sit here, and you go sit over there. And so that's how I got to sit close enough to Anita to figure out something while the class is going on. This being our second Agama class in a week in Form 1A classroom, I figure there's no need to rush things that could land me in trouble again, but it's hard not to rush things when Anita is so close behind me in a row to my right, and Kamal is a couple of seats further behind in the row to my left.

Ustaz calls out a name. A guy tries to read out a page from a book but he can't read too good and so Ustaz makes him go to the front. Another guy got called out but he can't read too good either and so he joins the first guy standing in front of the class. I figure I'm pretty safe on account I don't have the book which gives Ustaz a good reason not to call me to read out the page, which also gives me plenty of time to write a letter to Anita and pass it to her at the end of class. And so I write Anita a letter that goes something like this;

First I draw a picture of Anita and Faizah walking about the schoolyard. Anita has got the ribbon in her hair, and Faizah doesn't have any because she's not important. And then I draw a guy standing by the stairs looking out to them. This guy has got the dialogue bubble that says; 'Marka Jambu!' And then I draw a bit of the school building, and a bit of people milling about. You can't make out who these people are because I draw them small and they stand very far away that they look more like match sticks lining up the picture. And then I sign my name: Bergen (of course this is not my real name but for this entry let's presume this has always been my name because a guy like me can't have any other name except this one. I put a title on the letter: Anita Marka Jambu.

Ustaz calls out a name and a guy reads good. And then he calls out another name. By now a group of guys standing in front of the class has swelled quite a bit to include some girls too. Anita can't read too good and so she joins a group of girls standing in front of the class. And then Ustaz says; hah, oghang Trengganu, mai baca buang sekali tengok. This got a few laugh from the boys in class but I don't see what's so funny about it and so I look hard at one of the boys who laugh. I say; tak ada buku, Ustaz. He says something like this; Hang jangan nak dok pelemah mai buang, jangan dok nak buat loyar buruk, faham? Between you and me, I've been on Penang Island hardly a few months and I haven't quite gotten used to a lot of things like what he has just said about buang buang buang. And I'm thinking; nak buang apa? But all this comes to an end when a guy from the back gives me the book which he's been kind enough to open to a page I gotta read from. It's a short verse of a Qur'an that I've read long long time ago but I haven't been reading the Qur'an since the first day I came to live with Aunt Su and Pakcik Syed in Penang. They don't have a Qur'an in the house and I don't see a single sajadah in the house and I don't see Aunt Su or Pakcik Syed pray a single raka'at. All I've seen is Aunt Su and Pakcik Syed fighting night after night about money which got Pakcik Syed to leave the house to come back later in the night when every one's asleep, walking into the house swirling about like a boat in a rough storm, smelling of cheap liquor.

I start to read. And the verse got to me deep. I read loud. I think of Grandma. I think of Aunt. I think of Cousin. I think of Dungun. I hear the Azan from the mosque behind our house. I see Grandma smiling. I hear her voice, clear as the morning breeze. I miss Dungun. I miss home. Ustaz says; you read good. Of course I read good. You would read good too if you had been taught by Grandma.

We're walking toward the bus stop when Yusof says; I didn't know you can read good. Maybe you can teach me one day. No, I never had the chance to teach him to read. We were too busy stealing money from the beggars on Penang Road to do any reading. Besides I wouldn't know how to teach someone who doesn't know an Alif if it hits him in the head like a ton of brick. Furthermore, how was I supposed to know that my heart was slowly getting clogged with slime now that I am no better or worse than Yusof and Siva. Dungun is fading in my mind like the land I see slowly disappearing into the horizon when the evening falls on Gurney Drive while I munch on rojak apek feeling brave as a warrior even though it is Maghrib.

I never wrote Anita another letter. I never sent her one either. My heart belongs to the pretty girl I saw in the movie poster in Dungun. I promise myself that I'll write a million love letters addressed to her when I find her.