There and Back Again

Today I went to my youngest brother and sister's school for their end of the school year majlis penyampaian hadiah. Yusof, who is in Primary 5, got number one in his class while Betty Jane, who is Primary 1, was doing the chicken dance. I, who am freeloading, was ordered to go and be camera-person.

And so I found myself hovering uncertainly near the plastic chairs labeled 'ibu bapa', until I finally settled on sitting at the relatively lonely back-of-the-hall. Not long after I sat down, Betty Jane came running up to me, wailing that she didn't have any make up on. Following close behind her were a handful of girls decked in pink and what looked to me like kabuki face paint. One girl kept looking around with her eyes widened consciously, no doubt flaunting her sparkly purple eyeshadow. Understanding her anxiety at being bare faced, I dug around in my bag and produced eyeliner, pale pink blusher and nude lipstick, which made Betty Jane happy enough.

I played arm and thumb wrestling with the pink kabuki chickens while men with potbellies bulging under their batik shirts gave speeches. The girls gave me hugs and giggled in my ears, thoroughly easy with this kakak that they have known for only 5 minutes. Every five minutes or so one of them would come up to me and ask anxiously if their makeup was still intact.

Then came the part where they gave out the awards. I watched as the excellent students marched onto the stage one by one to accept their prizes. The very excellent ones, the ones who had to run back to the other end of the stage again to receive multiple awards, had a familiar expression on their faces. Happy, proud, a feeling so great as if the whole world revolved around that award. My thoughts wandered back to my own school days. I used to be one of those multiple achievers, too. I used to imagine all eyes on me when I went on stage to shake the headmaster's hand and receive my trophy.

Those awards don't mean a thing at all, I thought to myself as I pulled my thoughts back to the present. What good are plastic trophies in the real world?

I turned my head to my right and saw a boy in a songkok proudly presenting his certificate to his father. His father smiled. Wiping a tear from his eye he hugged his boy and patted him on the back.

I reviewed those cynical thoughts I conceived moments ago. So that's what it's for.

Life so far and after that

I've spent four years studying to be a Civil Engineer. I have graduated, got my degree, and applied for jobs related to that degree. I have looked forward to using what I have spent four years to acquire. I have looked forward to playing a part in 'building Malaysia'.

Yet when things have reached their critical point, the so-called moment of no return, I find myself hesitating. Suddenly, being a Civil Engineer does not seem so fulfilling. It has lost its appeal even before I have begun to experience it. I am plagued with visions of a different sort, of dreams I have long discarded. Why, after four years of walking this road, do my regrets catch up to me now?

Regrets -- are they? I can still go down that road -- that which I have thought not to take. I can still change my direction. It is a winding road and one abound with obstacles. But the road is mine to traverse. The path is mine to clear.

Do I have the guts to take it?