Camille Saroyan

I currently have a student who, besides being utterly contemptuous of any sort of rules, is a cunning putaq alam. Worse, her entire family are all big putaq alams.

So basically, she returned from her weekly overnight stay at home late. Although she and her carpooling friends obtained permission to return late, she neglected to collect her outing card from the warden on duty, which her friends duly did. Come the weekend, she frantically called the warden who had her outing book because she needed it to go home. When asked by the warden why she didn’t collect it early, she nonchalantly replied, ‘I don’t know. Maybe I forgot.’

Nobody wanted to make a deal out of a minor, first infringement, but then that week also the student was late again. And did not collect her outing book again. When the warden on duty made a fuss about the back-to-back transgression, our Programme Coordinator asked that the outing book be turned to to her, and she called the student up for a meeting. In which the student apparently was rude. To teach her a lesson, the Programme Coordinator barred her from leaving the college for a month, until after she’s sat for her TOEFL exam.

She complied for one weekend, because all female students were expressively forbidden from going home since we had a gotong-royong and a hostel open house, but on Tuesday she called me, saying, ‘You know that I’m going home tonight, right? Where can I get my outing book?’ At that point, I had no idea about it – all I knew was that she wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. ‘Yeah, because I have my driving test on Thursday and I have to attend a final driving class tomorrow.’

Turned out she had asked permission from our Programme Manager (not to be confused with the Programme Coordinator), who has a toasted marshmellow for a heart and could easily be persuaded by the students. What she told me was that the PM had given her permission; as it turned out, what the PM had said instead was to write him an official letter requesting leave to attend the test. This conversation occurred within the previous week; up to that point, she had neglected to submit to anyone any sort of letter at all.

Meanwhile, I had barred her from leaving that day, causing her father to call me. The gentleman sounded reasonable enough, and I spoke plainly with him, explaining what the issue was and why my stand was such. He alleged during the conversation that the letter had been passed by the student’s mother through one of her carpooling friends, and he tried to shift the blame for the missing letter to that student. I explained to him that regardless, at this point the student was being detained as a consequence for her disregard of the rules and general rudeness to her teachers, and he said that he’s grateful for the feedback, and that he agrees that the student should spend the weekend at college.

And I thought that was it, until lunchtime the next day when the student came to see me again, saying that she wanted to submit the stray letter to the PC, but since the PC was away, could I accept it on PC’s behalf? I asked what the letter contained, and she told me it was to apologise for the uproar she’s caused. I asked her what was the point of my receiving the letter since it was simply an apology? I told her she should wait until the PC returns next week and then she should see the PC personally.

She said that she accepted my logic, but in the next breath she claimed that she needed to leave for the weekend because her maid was returning to Indonesia. I told her that wasn’t what her father agreed to do yesterday. So she called her father, right in front of me, and accused him of giving her inconsistent information. The gentleman demanded to speak to me. So I did, trying to keep my patience and maintaining a certain sense of professional courtesy, while he came up with some nonsense about the student having to be present as he arranged for her driving test to be postponed. Obviously this does not match what the student told me, so I told him, in polite terms of course, that that was bullshit, that he could make that arrangement without his daughter. It was with great difficulty that I upheld the stand that the student was not to be released under their hogwash pretenses.

I returned the phone to the student and she started walking away, only to return saying the father wanted to speak to me again. This time is was because they were going to have some kenduri – I assume for that maid, but it wasn’t mentioned by the gentleman. Anyway, by this point I was getting really impatient at the audacity of the entire family, of their putaq alamness, and I knew that the more I talked to them the weaker I will be, since they’re so practised in weaving lies after lies, so I said in a very firm tone that this was not what he agreed yesterday. I told him that to me, this was a closed issue. I hope he understands, but from my end, there will be no further discussions on this issue.

This morning, PC called me as I was finishing breakfast and trying to rush to class. Apparently, her mother called the PC and tried to negotiate the release of her daughter. PC asked me if I would be willing to talk with the mother concerning this issue. I’m very pleased that I was very honest with the PC. I told her, rather vehemently, that I was not. I told her that the entire family was cunning, and the more I talked to them the deeper in trouble I would be, since they are all so skilled at twisting words around. I told the PC that I had talked with the father 3 times, and in each of those times he had agreed to comply with our decision, so for me there is no longer any issue to be discussed.

But the PC explained that among the mother’s persuasion techniques was mentioning her connection to one of the senior officers at the headquarters. I directly asked the PC if that was a threat, and the PC confirmed it. I told the PC that I stood by my decision, that we should have integrity, that I have done nothing wrong. The PC stated that unfortunately if the issue does wind up in the HQ, the Director-General has a reputation for not siding with his staff. ‘If the issue does wind up in the HQ,’ said PC, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you were summoned by the Director-General.’ Of course, that complicated things, as I am a very junior staff of a contractor company. So I told the PC that ultimately the decision rests in her hands – in any case I was just following her instructions – but if the reason she called me was to ask me to retract my decision then I will not do it.

Towards mid-morning I heard from the PM that PC had indeed granted her the leave, provided that the student write a formal request, so the student was writing her formal letter right in front of the PM. I was slightly upset by that decision; I had felt that I had responded with great integrity and maturity so my superior should stand by me. Anyway, come afternoon, the student was summoned to meet the college’s Director. The Director interests himself in student affairs like this, and I hope he has the backbone to stand up for the rules and for his subordinates, regardless of the petty political machinations of parents. Unfortunately I am not privy to the outcome of that meeting, and I have no idea who I could discreetly ask.

The point I’m trying to make is, Camille Saroyan is a strong woman with a very strong sense of integrity. She is unafraid to fight for what she believes is right, and she is prepared to face the consequences. I thought that I had acted the way Camille Saroyan would have in my situation, and I hoped that my superior would protect me the way Camille Saroyan protects her subordinates. Alas, it is much easier to have backbones when you are in a fictional world, but I would be proud if I were half the person Camille Saroyan is.

Conscience

I suppose since you see it everyday you become desensitised to it, but how can you tell my student, who is clutching one side of her face, tears quietly flowing down her eyes, that because her accident occurred last year, the stabbing pain in her head is not an emergency? How can you so callously suggest that you’d give her paracetamol and then we should be on our way?

That’s the best you can do?

That’s the best I can do. I’d suggest we x-ray her, but because her accident was last year, I can’t perform the procedure since we’re after hours. If you want an x-ray you’ll need to get to a hospital.

And so when we get to the regional hospital, hope brimming that something might be done to ease her pain, how can you have the heart to so dismissively tell her that because you’re unfamiliar with her medical history there’s nothing you could do for her. That the other medical officer was silly to suggest an x-ray when what she probably needs is an MRI, but anyway our hospital does not have an MRI, so if that’s what you’re looking for you’ll need to go to another hospital. That for all her stoic endurance, she will be given nothing more than some painkillers and then waved out of your concern?

I guess she’ll be alright, but let’s say something goes wrong. Let’s say there’s something actually causing some cranial pressure and it builds up through the night and it causes a blood vessel to burst. How can you sleep with the risk that a girl might suffer a stroke and be paralysed for the rest of her life on your conscience?

Another married man

I don’t know why but men that catch my eye all tend to be married. The only single man that I’ve fallen for in a very long time is Tom Hiddleston, and we all know how hopelessly unrequited that love is. I suppose it’s inaccurate to say that my taste runs towards married men because this latest guy – I had no idea he wasn’t single until the little crush had time enough to properly manifest.

It must have been my third week here, and I was using the copier machine when it jammed up. I’m no stranger to copier machines and usually I could figure them out, but this particular one was still flashing the error message even after I made sure that all its little compartments were clear. I was at my wits’ end when in he came sailing. He took a look at the compartments as I did, found that there was nothing wrong with it, and promptly opened the paper tray to reveal that it was empty. He explained that the eccentric machine always says it’s jammed when it means it’s out of paper. And he gallantly offered to fetch paper from the office.

I had time to mull while he was getting the paper. It certainly didn’t escape my notice that he was cute – so uncomfortably cute that I considered leaving and returning after he’d taken care of things. Even though at this point his cuteness was more of a deterrent than an attraction to stay, I finally decided to stay because it felt very irresponsible to simply leave. Anyway, pretty soon he came back and restocked the machine and it began spewing out copies again. As I still had quite a few copies remaining, he made go to. I must say that I was impressed with myself that I managed to introduce myself as I thanked him. In return, he smiled and said a single word – his name.

I thought a lot about him over the next few days. I had no idea who he was, until a teacher was who my junior in Wellington told me about him – and, get this, he’s a fellow warden! That was the first time I ever felt excited about being a warden. Unfortunately, she didn’t find it pertinent to mention that he was married.

Anyway, the very next day there was a Warden’s Unit meeting, and I think you can imagine how much I looked forward to it – all for the wrong reasons, of course. And of course what I saw in the meeting further entrenched him in my heart – he’s strong-minded, very rational, efficient, dependable, and eloquent, with a pinch of sarcasm thrown in. In fact, he was one of my stauchest champion regarding the accommodation issue – had it not been for his lashing tongue, I don’t think I, along with two other new lady wardens, would be given one of the quarter’s unit yet since it means booting a single male lecturer out of his house into a bachelor’s unit with a vacant room. (Incidentally, that lecturer is a very good sport about things and in fact it was he himself who semi-jokingly volunteered to move out in the first place when he heard of our homelessness.)

Anyway, I watched him the entire meeting. I wasn’t even trying to be discreet, but then again he kinda dominated the meeting so I don’t suppose anyone suspected anything. Or they did, but what the heck. I noticed that he wasn’t sporting any rings, which further led me to believe that he was unattached. I did wonder, even then, at the obvious lack of teasing – it is almost customary to tease an unmarried member if another eligible person joins a group – but I thought that just meant that they all knew his girlfriend. As it turned out, they knew his wife.

It wasn’t until the Eid holidays that I learned that he was a married man. And even then I wouldn’t have, except that a budding infatuation demands to be shared, and I told Best Friend about this guy. Best Friend immediately Googled him up, and within seconds she’d found his Facebook and there they were – photos of him with his daughter, photos of him getting married, his relationship status listing his wife’s Facebook name.

If I’m being honest, then I’ll have to admit that my heart broke a little. I didn’t reply to Best Friend’s messages about him until, well, until well after the Eid holidays, until after I properly stomached the fact that, yet again, I fell for a married man.

I think he probably realises that I find him attractive. There were moments in a faculty meeting when he was asked a question and I could swear he looked at me before answering, or maybe that’s just my fancy because, well, because I fancied him. And maybe he was just being friendly, but he hosted an open house last week and he personally invited me even though he’d sent a group invitation on the wardens’ Whatsapp group. And so I met his pretty what-a-Malay-girl-should-be wife and their adorable 8 months old. It’s probably creepy that I asked a married man that I was crushing on if I could hold his daughter, but he gave her to me, citing some lame joke about not to worry about my wudhu’ because she’s a lady (it’s the weirdest thing he’s ever said to me, and of course I’ve been wondering about what he really meant since). It took another conversation with one if the new lady wardens (she’s been a lecturer for a while) for me to discover that his wife wasn’t a staff here – she’s a practical student!

So these days my eyes still zoom in to his cubicle every time I enter the staffroom, but as usual there’s nothing to worry about. My heart is finished with the business of cracking, and for now I’m just enjoying how cute and mischievous he is – from afar. There’s nothing to worry about – I’m not a homewrecker: I have kept Christina Aguilera’s maxim “I’ll only look but I’ll never touch” close to heart for more than a decade now, and I think it’s doubly applicable to married men.

Dowdy

Maman critisised my dressing again.

I think the only person who should be allowed to critisise my dressing is one who would throw out my entire wardrobe and give me a complete makeover like they do on TV.

BTW can you believe the facial powder she gave me and forced me to wear is RM125? Like effing hell.

A woman and a soldier

I don’t know if something prompted it or if my brain dreamed it all up on its own, but there are two parallel dirt lanes, separated by a rather thick foliage down the middle. The weather is perfectly fine, bright and balmy, and we see a veiled woman walking down one lane. She clearly is a civilian.

Out of nowhere we hear a tank firing a shot, and within seconds the other lane was ablaze, and we hear an explosion as the shot finds its target. The woman, long accustomed to such hazards, scoots to the far side of the lane and squats down, trying to protect herself as much as she could. And then it is over and the woman stands up, brushes the dust off her, and starts walking again.

In the aftermath of the attack everything is calm and silent, eeriely peaceful. There is no hysteria, no wailing siren, not even a cry for help, but perhaps we are rendered deaf by our closeness to the explosion.

And perhaps that is why we do not hear him, the soldier, until we see the folliage shake and dance, and then suddenly he springs out of it, not two feet away from the woman, all bloodied and crying, and yet his rifle is trained squarely at her.

For the longest second the two look at each other, and the entire world vibrates with the intensity of their stare. For the moment, the entire war resides within these two, as if its outcome depends wholly on the woman and the soldier.

And then he fires.

For a moment we feel ourselves lunging forward, trying to shield the woman from the bullet, as if anything we do would mean anything at all, until we see that she still stands, obviously shaken but completely unharmed. And she walks away even as the soldier’s pitiful wail starts to penetrate our consciousness.

For in the next lane, in a puddle of blood lie his charred hand and one end of his rifle. As we watch the severed hand tightened around a nonexistent trigger and fires, and the sound of the shot reverberates throughout history and shakes our humanity to its core.

Hidayah dan rahmat

Pagi tadi Tuan Pengarah panggil aku masa aku tengah mengajar. Suspense juga kenapa Pengarah nak aku tiba-tiba dan serta-merta. Bila aku sampai bilik dia aku tengok budak ni ada kat situ.

Pengarah tanya, “Awak kenal dia ni?”

“Tak.”

Pengarah buat muka incredulous, “Tak kenal?”

“Maksud saya, saya tahu tentang dia tapi saya tak kenal dia.”

Terus Pengarah pun bersyarah kat budak ni. Oleh sebab aku ada kat situ, maka dengan aku sekalilah kena dengar syarahan tu. Tapi nak kata hidayah Allah tu halus. Pengarah dok berleter kat budak tu, tapi aku rasa pada aku pula yang lebih terkesan. Antara benda yang Pengarah tanya adalah sama ada dia mendoakan ibunya. Budak tu jawab ada. Budak yang “jahat” ni sentiasa doakan Allah ampunkan dosa ibu bapanya, murahkan rezeki mereka, dan permudahkan segala urusan mereka dunia akhirat. Tertampar juga rasa bila direnung bahawa dari aspek ni, rasanya budak ni jauh lebih baik dari aku. Pengarah beritahu budak tu suruh minta ibunya doakan supaya dia mendapat hidayah; aku rasa Pengarah, budak tu dan seluruh insiden ni adalah suatu bentuk hidayah buat aku.

Dalam kami berbincang tu, pada suatu ketika Pengarah tanya adakah aku bersetuju jika budak ini ditamatkan pengajian sahaja. Berderau darah aku. Sebuah masa depan, sebuah kehidupan – semua tu Pengarah tiba-tiba letak dalam tangan aku. Nasib baik malam sebelumnya, apabila aku ditunjukkan status di atas, aku dah sembang-sembang dengan kawan-kawan baik aku tentang apa yang aku patut cakap pada budak ni andai kata dia call aku. Jadi aku cakap bahawa pada aku ia bergantung kepada rekod pelajar. Jika dia memang sudah banyak bermasalah mungkin kita terpaksa berbuat begitu. Lalu Pengarah kata ini kali pertama buat pelajar ni. Maka aku jawab jika itu keadaannya maka aku tidak bersetuju. Memang pelajar ni dah buat silap, tapi takkan kita tak beri ruang langsung untuk anak-anak kita perbaiki diri mereka?

Pengarah tersenyum sekejap. Dia tanya aku umur berapa. Hakikatnya beza umur aku dengan budak tu tak mungkin lebih dari 10 tahun. Kalau nak kira dia tahap adik sahaja, tapi aku rasa Pengarah sangat impressed sebab aku anggap para pelajar sebagai “anak-anak”. To be honest aku sendiri pun impressed macam mana aku boleh keluarkan speech macam tu.

Benda kalau dah jadi selalunya kita manusia tak nampak hikmah Allah. Contohnya benda macam ni – ianya sebuah kejadian yang kurang elok dan semua orang jadi kalut sebabnya. Tapi di sebalik kekalutan itu, terlihat sebenarnya sokongan dari rakan-rakan warden dan para pensyarah yang lain. Mana-mana mereka yang tahu cerita semua took offense on my behalf dan tak salahkan aku langsung, malahan mereka pula yang mendesak pihak pentadbiran untuk ambil tindakan terhadap budak tu. Oleh sebab perkara ni terjadi, aku yang bukan kakitangan kolej tapi sekadar kontraktor sedikit sebanyak telah mendapat ruang di kolej. Kalau Tuan Pengarah sendiri campur tangan untuk mempertahankan seseorang, maknanya orang itu dianggap sebagai ahli organisasilah kan? Dulu mereka tak mahu beri aku tempat tinggal pun; tadi sebelum bersurai Pengarah tanya aku sudah pindah masuk kuarters ke belum dan nampaknya dia expect aku untuk pindah dalam masa terdekat.

Ini semua rahmat Allah yang tersirat yang kita mungkin takkan perasan kalau kita tak halusi sesuatu insiden tu. Maka sesungguhnya Allah sahajalah yang lebih mengetahui segala sesuatu dan aku mestilah berubah menjadi orang yang lebih bersyukur.

Occupational hazard

So the whole warden gang is in uproar because a student had the audacity to post this status after I, as per the rules for those who broke curfew, refused to let him bring his motorcycle into the college compound.

See those pink squiggles? They’re my name. I know that I should be scandalised and all but when I read the status, all I could think of was, “Yay, he spelt my name right!”

Anyway, everyone else is indignant at the boy but I’m really quite indifferent – sticks and stones and all that. Mostly I’m more worried that he might go and scratch my car.

If only

Saya pergi shopping. Random mak cik tanya, “Kau nak pindah ke dik?” Saya kata saya baru pindah. Mak cik pun sengih, “Oooo baru kahwin ya.”

Home

It’s funny how you can be thousands of miles away from home and still be home but when I’m home I’m never home except when I’m home with my parents.