CHAPTER 62: Looking Forward to New Beginnings

I had a few days of rest at home, coinciding with the beginning of the sacred month of Ramadan. This year, I had the rare privilege of being able to observe the full month of fasting and then celebrate Raya with my family, without being confined to the Asrama. The overlap of Ramadan and the year-end school holidays spared me the often-challenging experience of fasting within the institutional walls. At home, fasting unfolded as a peaceful and graceful affair, blending seamlessly with the holiday atmosphere.

It was during Ramadan, a sacred time, that I began my registration as a Form 1 Asrama student. The memory of that moment stayed with me, as it marked a significant milestone in my life. To break my fast as a new Asrama student on that first evening required a considerable amount of courage. Fasting during Ramadan while starting a new and challenging chapter was a test of unwavering resilience.

During Ramadan, my daily routine saw subtle adjustments. In the early morning, my mother would wake me up to have sahur with the family. The joy of having sahur every morning during Ramadan with my dear family was a pleasure I had not fully appreciated before. Only in later years would I fully grasp the value of this experience and how elusive it would become in future Ramadans.

Despite the challenges, fasting, the iftar meal, and the nightly tarawih prayers proceeded without major difficulties. In the comfort of my family home, my soul found peace, and thoughts of the Asrama took a back seat. As I had mentioned earlier, this year seemed to conclude without much significant impact.

The year appeared to have flown by, leaving a minimal mark on my life. Countless events had occurred, many of which would fade into the depths of forgetfulness due to their insignificance. In an ideal world, I would gladly forget all that did not bring me joy and instead focus on the opportunities the approaching year held for me.

The next year would mark the beginning of the final phase of my academic journey—an important juncture. It would signal the end of a decade wearing the school uniform and the conclusion of my eventful Asrama life.

This realization struck me with sudden clarity, unsettling my thoughts. The Asrama had played a significant role in my life for a long time, and now it was coming to an end. Only a year remained until my graduation, and it was almost certain that I would not return. This marked a significant change in the fabric of my life, one that required a dignified farewell.

Yet, an unease lingered. I was anxious about the uncertain path of my future academic pursuits. Understanding my lack of exceptional talent, I knew the challenges of achieving outstanding results in the upcoming exams were daunting. I pledged to dive into every subject, avoiding distractions, and aiming for the pinnacle of academic excellence. The thought of failure was unacceptable.

In pursuit of a successful future, I meticulously planned my approach for the coming year. Academics would be my sole focus, a return to the mindset I had embraced during the PMR examination in Form 3. Distractions would be eliminated, and the pursuit of excellence would be unwaveringly followed.

As the year began, my unwavering commitment was bolstered by self-reflection. I recognized that my study habits needed improvement. Past lapses in thorough revision and wasting time on unproductive activities had left gaps in my understanding, particularly in subjects like History and Biology.

I was resolute in my determination to rectify my approach and work ethic, even if it meant distancing myself from friends who had chosen the more conventional path of pursuing SPM in SBP or MRSM. Their absence may have bothered me momentarily, but the importance of my mission far outweighed momentary discomfort.

Despite my concerns, I remained steadfast in my pursuit of excellence, undeterred by the uncertainties. My determined resolve had the potential to yield significant rewards in the academic realm, and I was ready to see it through.

This year had its share of challenges stemming from my involvement in Asrama life. At times, I tried to control matters beyond my influence, hoping to shape their outcomes according to my wishes. When these outcomes didn't align with my desires, anxiety became an unwanted companion.

However, as the calendar turned, my resolve to ensure academic success solidified. I made an effort to minimize my involvement in Asrama, pushing it to the periphery of my life. My primary concern was my own well-being, and I was determined to craft a destiny free from unnecessary distractions.

The approaching end of the year marked the impending grand SPM examination, a mix of anxiety and anticipation. I was eager to see the shape of my future. As the days approached for my return to Asrama, my excitement grew, driven by the anticipation of executing my well-planned strategies.

The challenges posed by the evolving Asrama environment did not affect my determination. A smaller group of junior Form 3 students was expected to move on to Form 4, resulting in fewer juniors in Forms 1 and 2. My interaction with these new students would be minimal, a situation conducive to my undistracted pursuits.

While the intricacies of Asrama life might trouble others, for me, they represented a canvas on which I would paint the strokes of my destiny. My firm mission was to showcase that excellence could thrive even in the most overlooked of locations, demonstrating the worthiness of my choice of Asrama.

In my story, the changes brought by seniority held a unique aspect. As a member of the upper ranks, I witnessed a time when my batch held a dominant position. We had ascended to a seniority free from the tormenting shadows of the preceding batches. We rejoiced in this, thankful for the respite from the traditional challenges faced by junior students.

However, in the coming year, the mantle of seniority would envelop me further. It would be my final year as an Asrama student, concluding a four-year journey. This realization, tinged with trepidation, gave me pause.

Unlike many who relished the rise to seniority, I was not enticed by the allure of power over juniors. The vengeful cycles that characterized senior-junior dynamics did not concern me. I harbored no grudges from my early days in Asrama, as my journey had been free from their malice.

Indeed, the difficulties of Asrama life—endless chaos and torment—had not arisen from peers but from the challenges of the environment itself. The trials endured during Forms 1 and 2 were etched in memory as a period of profound suffering unrelated to the actions of seniors. This phase, marked by endurance, had left me eager to move on from it.

Nonetheless, the emergence of an empowered Form 5 senior class presented an intriguing prospect. I contemplated this shift with a mixture of curiosity and indifference, as I was firmly focused on my pursuit of academic excellence.

As my journey through the labyrinth of Asrama continued, its complexity grew. My focus expanded beyond academics to encompass the broader panorama of life's challenges. The year-end break was coming to an end, and the return to Asrama awaited.

As the days passed, my anticipation of new beginnings intensified. I longed to put my carefully laid plans into action, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the horizon of academic success. It was essential to validate the purpose of my time in Asrama, showing that the less-traveled path held its own treasures.

In the end, I gained the profound wisdom that life's challenges were unique opportunities, each offering its own lessons. I pledged to embrace these trials, remaining a humble servant of Allah, steadfast and content in His divine plan. Patience, the most important virtue, would be my possession, for wisdom would be revealed in due time. Thus, I would patiently await the unveiling of that precious wisdom.

In a peculiar twist of fate, my desire for an ostensibly easier path was effortlessly and gracefully thwarted by Allah. I grappled with acceptance, understanding that life's relentless march could not be halted by my regrets. Moments of remorse, though a reflection of my humanity, served as poignant reminders of my imperfection.

As the new year approached, the Asrama atmosphere braced for change. The junior Form 3 cohort, transitioning to Form 4, would be significantly reduced. Only a few would choose to remain within Asrama's confines, promising a different atmosphere. Even though I would continue to reside there, the environment, I sensed, would be noticeably different. However, this did not pique my enthusiasm.

As I mentioned, my sole focus was on my life's direction. My unwavering concentration on the impending academic challenges demanded my full attention. The challenges brought about by the changing Asrama landscape were of little concern to me. The experiences of Forms 1 and 2, filled with trials, had faded into the background due to my unwavering dedication to academic achievement. Significant events of that period held little relevance to my present, as the hardships I had faced were unrelated to senior-junior dynamics.

Indeed, my companionship with the oldest Form 4 students had prevented any lasting conflicts or grudges. I approached the upcoming chapter in Asrama life with equanimity, fully aware of its tangential relevance to my academic aspirations.

These were my thoughts as I welcomed the new year, determined to transcend academic boundaries. Amidst the winds of change, I aimed to steer a steady course, shaping my destiny with unwavering determination. My unique Asrama experience would serve as a valuable lesson, demonstrating the resilience that could thrive even in the most unassuming of environments.

CHAPTER 61: Reflecting on the Past

For four long years, my time in the Asrama brought about numerous changes. It was a life far from the comforts of home, a divergence I hadn't anticipated. Here, I had the responsibility for my choices thrust upon my young shoulders, a significant burden. I often wondered if it was appropriate for an adolescent to navigate critical junctures without the guidance of family.

My decision to continue my education in the Asrama was influenced more by my success in the UPSR exams than I'd like to admit. Hailing from a rural background, I took great pride in achieving highest scores in academic tests. During that time, mental sharpness, unwavering diligence, and determined perseverance were the only means to academic success. Fortunately, I found myself excelling in these areas.

To my surprise, I emerged as a top performer in the UPSR exams. Unfortunately, I hadn't reached such heights within my school. During that period, my focus shifted from academics to more immature pursuits like joyriding on motorcycles, fishing, and swimming in the river. My textbooks collected dust as I wasted precious time on frivolous activities.

However, amidst this general laziness, there was one exception - my proficiency in Mathematics. I cannot explain how I possessed such an extraordinary talent, but I was unequivocally the best in this subject, reaching the pinnacle of my school's math ranks. Regardless of the complexity of mathematical problems, I could solve them with ease. Achieving perfection in this discipline was not uncommon for me, with only occasional lapses in attention causing me to miss a point or two. My math skills set me apart academically, despite my average performance in other subjects.

So, when a teacher informed me that I had received straight A's in the UPSR exams, I was dumbfounded. The revelation left me completely astonished because I had never aspired to such academic heights. How a student who wasn't among the top ten could be counted among the top seven achievers was a mystery to me. Nevertheless, I felt elated and grateful for this unexpected blessing.

It was from this elevated position that I saw a divine sign, guiding me toward life in the Asrama. After this unforeseen triumph, I began to perceive a subtle design crafted by destiny. It seemed that my path had been set from the beginning, destined to spend my adolescent years within the Asrama's walls.

My time in this place was not always filled with joy or beauty. My fellow students and I, with no older peers to torment us, were spared the troubles that often came with senior students. In the Asrama, seniors were usually feared, as their apparent maturity often concealed their inclination to bully juniors. Their absence gave my friends and me the chance to enjoy our teenage years without their shadow.

However, divine retribution took the form of Encik Hussin, our warden - a terrifying figure whose exploits I've recounted in previous chapters. Just remembering his name sent shivers down my spine, like an electric shock to a Parkinson's patient.

During those formative years, Encik Hussin's presence was oppressive. I often contemplated the cruel hand of fate that had placed me under his care as a young student. His influence was like that of fifty senior students, and even now, his demeanour continues to bother me.

Life under his authoritarian rule was almost unbearable at the tender ages of thirteen and fourteen. I regretted accepting the Asrama's offer despite my mother's advice. Fortunately, I was not alone in my suffering, as my fellow students shared the burden of dealing with Encik Hussin's strict discipline. The impending freedom that came with the end of Form 2 was a welcome relief. I prayed that I would never have to encounter anyone like Encik Hussin again. The ordeals of those two preceding years were etched in my memory.

Continuing in the Asrama with Encik Hussin as our warden until the end of Form 5 would have been a disaster. Parting ways in Form 4 became the only choice. Subjecting ourselves to two more years of his strict rule would have been a mistake I'd always regret. Fate, however, had other plans and saw fit to bid farewell to Encik Hussin.

His absence during Form 3 was a tremendous blessing, allowing me to mature as an adolescent. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a path to happiness that had been obscured before. Life in the Asrama took on a smoother and more pleasant trajectory.

Form 3 was a time of enrichment in my life. The atmosphere was filled with positivity, especially in academics. During this period, I reached the pinnacle of academic achievement.

This was a stark contrast to the previous year when academics were not a priority. My newfound dedication to academic excellence marked a significant shift. I embraced a commitment to excellence that pushed all other concerns to the sidelines.

Form 3 emerged as a peak in my life. Without Encik Hussin, my academic pursuits flourished, making the Asrama environment more enjoyable. I grew fond of the charm of the Asrama.

Looking back, my memories of life in the Asrama have a rosy tint. A place once filled with boredom and despair now appears in my mind as an enchanting European botanical garden, a testament to Allah's benevolence. The challenges of the first two years were the crucible in which my subsequent excellence was forged.

As Form 3 came to an end, I achieved another significant milestone, one that filled me with gratitude. This time, the pursuit of excellence was not a capricious whim but a goal pursued with unwavering determination and single-minded focus. I channeled all my energy and abilities into this singular ambition.

Allah, in His boundless benevolence, answered my fervent prayers. The countless requests I had made to Him were finally granted, a testament to His love for a humble supplicant who dared to dream big. The trials I had endured with a heart free of bitterness had found their worth, epitomized by the excellence I had achieved.

Yet, amidst the joy of my achievement, there was a note of disappointment. My dream of enrolling in a prestigious MRSM school was shattered by divine decree. Despite meeting all the requirements, an acceptance letter from SBP, which was a technicality I hadn't considered, left me disheartened and empty. I questioned the ups and downs of life, overwhelmed by sadness and regret. My sorrow and frustration prevented me from seeing the profound reality of Allah's divine plan.

It wasn't until Form 4, which is drawing to a close, that I found solace in my beliefs. Emotions, turbulent and confusing, surrounded me as my peers pursued various paths to academic success while I remained in the Asrama, grappling with existential questions.

During this time, few notable incidents stood out in my Asrama life. Periods of unexplained unease occasionally overcame me, clouding my judgment and obscuring my priorities. As a maturing adolescent in the Asrama, I surrendered myself to Allah's guidance and mercy, recognizing the wisdom hidden in this unique crucible.

So, I present this concise account of my four-year Asrama journey. I encountered various individuals, some of whom left lasting impressions, while others passed by without forming a connection. Unfortunately, my ego often hindered me from forming lasting bonds, a testament to my excessive pride at the time.

In my pursuit of the best, I knew that Allah was the ultimate arbiter of outcomes. Gradually, I resolved to adopt a more accepting attitude toward life in the Asrama, diligently seeking to uncover its hidden beauty. The Asrama surely held unique treasures, and it was up to me to discover them if I had the determination to do so.

During the year-end break, I reorganized my life, fully aware of the upcoming challenges in the coming year. A significant trial awaited me—the SPM examination, scheduled for the year's end. Regardless of my state of preparedness, the inevitable moment was approaching. It marked the culmination of three crucial exams, with the previous two marked by remarkable success. Expectations, especially those of my family, were high as they anticipated a repeat of academic excellence.

Without much introspection, I solemnly resolved to dedicate myself entirely to academics in the coming year. The Asrama environment in Form 4 had not been conducive to other pursuits, making academic excellence my most reliable ally. I passionately aspired to excel, knowing that the path ahead would be challenging and demanding. Nevertheless, my determination remained unshaken, and my hope continued to burn brightly.

As I grappled with the impending SPM examination, anxiety and stress coursed through my veins. This exam represented the culmination of the previous two trials. Having established myself as a top performer in the UPSR and PMR exams, expectations, especially from my family, had reached new heights.

Aware of the arduous journey ahead, I resolved to transform into a dedicated student, with the firm belief that the upcoming year would witness my remarkable change. The Asrama, which had failed to reveal its full splendor, would now become the crucible of my destiny, where I would carve my path to academic excellence.

In the end, I remembered that destiny's design remained a mystery, a tapestry yet to be unfolded in the winding corridors of the Asrama.

CHAPTER 60: The Long-Awaited Conclusion

As the school year approached its end, the PMR examinations followed their scheduled dates. For those in Form 4, there was a one-week break granted, but we couldn't go home during the PMR period unless it was a semester break on the calendar.

However, a determined group of students managed to persuade the Asrama authorities to allow a short break during the PMR season. Their plea was heartfelt, with the intention of maintaining a quiet environment for our Form 3 juniors who were facing the challenging PMR exams. We wanted them to have an undisturbed setting to strive for excellence.

Finally, I found myself heading home, filled with euphoria. In the midst of mental exhaustion, I sought comfort in the familiar embrace of home. Engaging in lively conversations with my parents during this break offered a sense of peace that had eluded me for some time. The sanctuary of home, even if only briefly, allowed me to escape the sombre atmosphere of the Asrama.

However, my family remained unaware of my unique experiences, as I had never discussed my life at the Asrama with them. Since I started in Form 1, I had kept the details of my Asrama journey hidden from them. My mother, in particular, was perplexed by my silence, which often vexed her.

Instead, our conversations revolved around family matters and the happenings in our neighbourhood, a constant source of anecdotes. Even though my life was entwined with these narratives, the essence of home resonated more profoundly during this break.

As the PMR exams approached their conclusion, I eagerly anticipated the year-end break. Once the exams were over, I lost interest in the daily affairs of the Asrama, focusing solely on counting down the days until I could return home. I existed in a peculiar state, a mental space I had carefully constructed, impervious to the external world.

The final exams, which passed swiftly, yielded commendable results despite the mental and emotional pressures. Amidst the whirlwind of stress, I clung to the principle of unwavering academic diligence, understanding that success in academics was a solitary pursuit, unaffected by external judgments.

As the academic routine eased, leisure moments emerged, fostering camaraderie among friends and creating quintessential teenage experiences. My friends quietly guided me through this transformative year, their companionship alleviating the regrets that had plagued me for so long.

During this period, I was appointed as a school prefect, a distinction that made me ponder why I had been selected from among the Asrama's students. Nevertheless, despite this recognition, my life increasingly felt mundane, lacking the vibrancy I longed for.

The final stretch of my Asrama journey passed without noteworthy events. While communal activities and cooperative efforts were abundant, I intentionally avoided physical exertion, preferring to provide moral support from the sidelines. My heart had grown distant from the demands of the Asrama, a paradoxical disconnect from my surroundings.

As the end drew near, I found myself reflecting deeply, indulging in idle contemplation. A lack of meaningful engagement left me in a state of languor, surrendering to idleness. No significant events occurred because everything that did happen was fleeting, leaving no lasting impact. I abstained from pursuing anything new.

Year after year, the Asrama's climax centred around the presentation of the annual Asrama magazine, known as the "Pinang Raja." This eagerly awaited publication was distributed once a year to Asramas across Malaysia and displayed the previous year's PMR examination results.

When I saw my name among those who had achieved commendable distinctions, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. Although a year had passed since that significant moment, the euphoria of my outstanding performance remained vivid in my memory.

This was a moment of enduring significance, a treasure trove of memories that I knew I would cherish for years to come. The excitement that coursed through me was heightened by its immortalization in the pages of a modest yet meaningful magazine that had become inseparable from my life.

Time passed swiftly, and I eagerly awaited the end of the year, the beginning of a new chapter. Despite the seemingly monotonous routine of my life in the Asrama, I found solace in the consistency of my academic achievements, the only remedy for the challenges I faced.

Despite the discomfort I experienced during my time at the Asrama, there were moments of positivity that shone through. I focused on the connections I made with fellow students, allowing myself to engage with those who sought my company. While my preference for solitude persisted, I recognized the need for interactions that led to memories that would outlast my time at the Asrama.

Finally, the long-awaited end arrived—the last day of school. As I embarked on my journey home, I did so with immense relief and tranquillity. I was grateful for having navigated the trials of this academic period to a successful conclusion. The Asrama, too, was poised for change, as it was every year. Challenges would come and go, but my presence, in the same temporal continuum, remained constant.

I could never have imagined that my life in Form 4 would be so diverse, filled with moments of joy and moments of sadness. I grappled with a range of emotions, swinging between exuberance and despair, creating a sharp contrast to my experiences in Form 3. The previous year had been joyful, but this chapter in my life unfolded differently.

One of the significant differences this year was my increased openness to the Asrama's surroundings. This newfound receptivity made me susceptible to experiences that were different from my usual preferences. A paradoxical conflict arose, causing anxiety, lethargy, and ultimately frustration.

If only I had remained indifferent to the Asrama's surroundings, as I had done the previous year, I might have been spared this emotional turmoil. My life had revolved solely around my own goals, without room for external disruptions. My adolescent mind was too limited to accommodate ambitions beyond academic success, fearing that they would disrupt my carefully constructed world.

This was the gamble I had taken, a decision that left me dissatisfied with the life I had created for myself. So, I resolved to return to the contentment of my Form 3 mindset, undisturbed by the happenings around me.

With this intention firmly in my heart and mind, I chose to ignore trivial concerns about the Asrama's surroundings, so that my journey would remain focused on the ultimate goal: the upcoming SPM examination. I carried the mantle of perseverance, determined to prove to all doubters that my decision to extend my Asrama stay would eventually be rewarded.

Although I was clear in my own conviction, my ego remained the final hurdle to overcome. Despite being just an Asrama resident, with no obligations to anyone but myself, the need to prove myself remained strong.

In the present moment, I found myself searching for divine wisdom in the pages of a life that had perplexed me thus far. Surrendering to the will of Allah, I embarked on the final chapter of my Asrama journey, knowing that my heart's desire was within reach—an additional year within the Asrama's embrace.

CHAPTER 59: A Glimpse of Joy Amidst the Darkness

As I struggled with the complex web of emotions brought on by a life that didn't align with my expectations, I remained unaware of the relentless passage of time within the Asrama's enclosed walls.

After enduring a year filled with uninspiring experiences, I began to grow indifferent to what was happening around me. I went back to the belief I had held in the previous year, which was to focus solely on my own life. Whatever had happened was now in the past, unchangeable and unmoved by the tears I shed or the nights I mourned. The past could not be rewritten.

The looming PMR examinations cast a long shadow over us. The Form 3 juniors, exemplars of diligence, dedicated themselves relentlessly to self-improvement. All I could do was watch, a passive observer of their academic pursuits, reminiscing about my own struggles the previous year. The PMR exams carried significant weight within the Asrama, shaping our adolescent lives. I remained grateful for the providence I had enjoyed in the previous year.

Despite the unexpected twists and turns in my life, I couldn't forget the exhilaration when the PMR results were revealed—a moment of profound and unforgettable significance. The results were just as we had hoped.

It was a life-altering experience, etched into my memory, a testament to the hard work I had put in, guided by divine decree, and celebrated with immense gratitude and joy.

As the year drew to a close, the customary Majlis Anugerah Cemerlang Asrama (Excellence Awards Ceremony) approached. For most Asrama residents, it was just another day, an ordinary pause in the grand scheme of life. However, for those who had achieved excellence, it was a day to commemorate.

This year's ceremony promised to be particularly festive as it would honour those who had excelled in the previous year's PMR exams. Fate had placed me among the privileged few to be recognized. My former comrades from the Asrama were invited to join the occasion, to relive the memories of a bygone era, even if only for a brief half-day. The prospect of reuniting with my former companions filled me with eager anticipation.

Filled with curiosity and an unquenchable desire for a better life, I longed to hear the stories of my friends, their tales of the wonderful lives they had built after leaving the Asrama. I thirsted for their accounts of the moments of greatness they had experienced in new schools—places I had declined at the beginning of the year, foolishly believing that the Asrama offered little that was exceptional.

And there they were before me, familiar faces, including Bel, a steadfast friend from the past, serving as a poignant reminder of our shared journey. I also noticed Maro, a brave soul who had returned to the Asrama to celebrate our collective success from the previous year. Most of the distinguished students who had achieved 8As in the PMR exams now graced the halls of the esteemed SBP school in the northern state of Johor.

Their thoughts and experiences outside these hallowed walls remained a mystery to me, as they seemed reluctant to talk about their lives beyond the Asrama. They appeared content to bask in the memories created in this place over the past three years. Maro was the central figure of their conversations, having taken his Asrama-honed skills to new heights in the SBP domain. My heart swelled with admiration and pride for Maro, a testament to his incredible potential.

During the event, to my surprise, I was coerced into joining the nasheed and choir ensemble. Despite my initial reluctance, Puan Zaidah, exercising her authority, vetoed my departure from the nasheed group.

The nasheed ensemble was made up of several male and female students, mostly Form 4 students since the Form 3 cohort was busy with the impending PMR exams. It was a mystery why I, among the Form 4 male students, had been chosen, as my voice wasn't particularly sweet, and I couldn't boast of a melodious tone.

I was just an ordinary sixteen-year-old, still navigating the complexities of adolescence, and my voice was a work in progress, trying to find its unique rhythm. My selection for the ensemble left me puzzled, and I wondered about the reason behind it.

Despite my initial reservations, I gradually developed an appreciation for the beautiful harmonies of the nasheed and choir ensemble. Through the melodic blend of their voices, I discovered the profound truth of existence, encapsulated in the lyrical verses of Sudirman's evocative composition, "Ayah dan Ibu."

From the moment I heard those verses, I was deeply moved. They opened up the depths of my adolescent consciousness, reminding me of the boundless sacrifices of a father and mother. During our rehearsals, my thoughts often revolved around my own parents, their sacrifices etched into my memory.

Growing up as a child in the crucible of a FELDA pioneer's life, I understood that life demanded physical, mental, and spiritual fortitude. I was humbled by the stories of adversity that my parents had shared, highlighting the modest tribute I had offered in return.

There was no material wealth that could adequately repay the exhaustion and sacrifices that parents made to nurture their children. As we passionately performed the song, I was overwhelmed with an indescribable sense of gratitude toward my parents and, by extension, all parents worldwide who selflessly sacrifice for their children.

The profound message of the song, an ode to parental sacrifice, left an indelible mark on me. My dedication to the performance grew stronger, even though I breached decorum during rehearsals, earning the leader's reprimand for my less-than-ideal singing. My scratchy voice led to admonishment, but I accepted it with grace, reserving any lingering resentment for Puan Zaidah, who had persuaded me to join this endeavour.

As the performance reached its climax, I was unexpectedly rendered mute, unable to contribute any vocalizations. I stood there, captivated by the emotional tableau presented by the parents in attendance, their faces reflecting a symphony of emotions. Unable to utter a single note, I was left speechless and in awe. Yet, to my surprise, our performance was met with thunderous applause, as if my absence had enhanced the ensemble's harmony.

Afterward, the outstanding PMR students of 1999 took the stage one by one to receive the Asrama's awards. Although it was a small institution, it held immense sentimental value for many. In a final act of camaraderie, my friends returned to the Asrama, rekindling memories of a bygone era, if only for a brief moment.

As we celebrated these poignant moments one last time, I was deeply moved by the conclusion of this chapter. We had all chosen different paths to pursue our life goals. I had taken a less-traveled road, one that prompted introspection and scrutiny from those involved in my journey. Rice had turned into porridge. Yet, all I could do was pray to Allah for His blessings on my current circumstances.

At the same time, I received additional awards as the Best Male Student in Form 4, Overall Best Student in Form 4, and Best Mathematics Student in Form 4. I accepted these honours with humility, although they didn't bring the same elation as before. This year, my life had taken a different direction from the previous one.

A year earlier, I had aspired fervently to achieve the pinnacle of success within the Asrama, and being named the Best Mathematics Student in Form 3 had filled me with unparalleled joy. But this year, my enthusiasm had waned, and my aspirations were overshadowed by the changing circumstances of my life. I continued to adapt to preserve my sanity, avoiding misguided choices in the shifting sands of life.

Although I accepted these Form 4 awards with equanimity, I couldn't help but feel curious when I learned that my friend had been named the Best Science Student. It was a well-known fact that I had excelled in all three science subjects—Physics, Chemistry, and Biology. I had never flaunted this as a mark of superiority.

However, I found it perplexing that the Asrama had chosen to recognize someone else with the award. I was left puzzled, wondering why the award had gone to a runner-up. This unexpected turn of events became a topic of discussion among my friends, many of whom expressed astonishment that my academic achievements had seemingly been overlooked.

Yet, I held no ill feelings toward my friend who received the award; after all, he wasn't the one who made the decision. It was possible that the Asrama wanted to give another student a chance to be recognized, considering my previous achievements. Maybe they saw my omission as a commendable act of generosity.

As I pondered this twist of fate, I struggled to understand its significance. Nonetheless, I maintained my composure, holding onto a positive outlook even in the face of this enigmatic development.

Finally, Bel, Maro, and the rest bid farewell to the Asrama, marking a definitive departure. They embarked on a new chapter far from the sacred halls of our former home. In contrast, destiny had decreed that I would continue as a student of the Asrama, in Johor Bahru.

Every day, I waited under the scorching midday sun for the school bus to arrive, ate meals in the Asrama's dining hall, showered with water drawn from the Asrama's tank, which flowed from the same rivers that graced this land, and slept on a double-decker bed, where the persistent Hutan Bandar mosquitoes disturbed my rest.

But the most profound challenge was the knowing gazes of my fellow Asrama residents, who were entangled in the same struggles as me. None of this would have happened if I had accepted the invitation to join Bel and Maro in another school months earlier.

Initially, I had minimal regrets about my decision. However, as time passed and conditions in the Asrama deteriorated, disappointment and frustration grew within me. I longed for wisdom, an epiphany to light my path. As a humble servant of Allah, I understood the importance of trusting in His divine plan, as the course of our lives was written in His celestial decree.

CHAPTER 58: Weary, Disheartened, and Anxious

Following that, I began to feel a sense of resignation creeping into my life. The Asrama, once a source of hope, now seemed to be filled with negativity. My constant search for purpose had drained my energy.

At this point, the Asrama had disappointed me. None of my expectations had been met, and my plans felt like they were intentionally thwarted. I was sinking into a pit of despair.

I was on the verge of giving up, almost ready to abandon the pursuit of wisdom that had guided me since I committed to this Asrama journey. Endless questions swirled in my mind, probing my predicament. Why did it seem like I was the only one facing such challenges while others glided through life effortlessly?

I couldn't find any way to stop the torrents of adversity in the Asrama. I found myself caught in a relentless downward spiral, struggling to find peace amidst all the turmoil. It was a period marked by resignation to a life filled with constant searching for solace.

Unable to create something beautiful from my struggles and overcome the growing distractions, I was reduced to merely existing in my own life. It was a life filled with a sorrowful quest that unfolded like a tapestry of sadness. To find some comfort, I turned to building strong friendships that went beyond gender boundaries.

The lack of girls in our Asrama had a silver lining—I could get to know all of them. Some of them became close friends, and our interactions flowed naturally. Our budding maturity allowed for a sense of responsibility that strengthened our bonds. In these connections, I found an emotional landscape that temporarily eased the pain of life's challenges.

It wasn't until I was appointed as the Head of the Asrama Education Bureau that my interactions with these young women deepened. Their presence brought me a peace that had been elusive. They seemed to understand my struggles innately, providing a soothing balm for my weary soul. In their company, I found solace.

There was a certain tranquillity when I was with them, a harmony that was missing in my interactions elsewhere. They didn't create unnecessary disturbances; instead, they were a source of peace that I had longed for.

This was a new experience, quite different from the past. It served as a reminder of the simple joys that had escaped me three years ago. Every day brought new excitement, enriching my life.

They were like a refreshing breeze in the midst of the Asrama's storms, capable of dispelling the dark clouds that hung over my consciousness, struggling to break free.

Similarly, in the school sphere, a pattern emerged. The ease of interacting with female friends at school, necessary to maintain harmony in the educational environment, led to diverse relationships, each with its own emotional currents. Once again, I found myself unhappy within the Asrama.

The stifling atmosphere within its walls had become a source of discontent, much like an abandoned, haunted mansion. The relief I sought was now found in my school life, where interactions with friends of all genders, especially girls, restored emotional balance. They became the antidote to the festering negativity of the Asrama.

I was particularly drawn to a lively schoolgirl, always wearing a sweet smile. Our interactions started innocently, but a subtle transformation occurred in our relationship. At the tender age of sixteen, I began to experience unfamiliar emotions. I longed for constant conversations, playful banter, seeking every opportunity for engagement.

But my shyness hindered me from expressing my feelings. Doubt and uncertainty overwhelmed me. Her friendliness extended to everyone, not just our interactions. Yet, this didn't stop my yearning. Her genuine friendship added profound meaning to my life, giving each day a thousand shades of significance.

For a while, I allowed myself to be entangled in the web of these emotions. However, my adolescent immaturity would soon guide me towards a wiser path, revealing the fleeting nature of such longings. Although we remained friends, the depths of our connection remained uncharted, an unspoken yet poignant truth.

At the same time, my school life was brightened by the presence of a lively and cheerful girl who never failed to grace me with her infectious laughter and radiant smiles. Our daily interactions became the key to my happiness, setting the tone for my days.

My contentment became closely linked to these moments, shaping how I felt throughout the day based on our morning exchange. A positive interaction paved the way for a day filled with joy, while a negative one cast shadows over my perception of the Asrama.

Despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me, I chose to bear this burden alone. My inner turmoil remained a well-kept secret, one that even my dearest friends Min and Mamat couldn't decipher. I refrained from burdening them with my personal struggles, knowing that my honesty might inadvertently hurt them.

I began to reflect on the wisdom of my decision to forego a perfect 8A PMR score from the previous year. I questioned the depth of my sacrifice, wondering if I had gone too far.

However, I gradually recognized the hand of fate and the unfolding decree of Allah, shaping the fabric of my life within the Asrama. Each trial was a hidden lesson, a mystery filled with boundless wisdom, reserved for His faithful servants.

So, I kept my dislike for the Asrama to myself. There were hearts to cherish, relationships to nurture, and I couldn't let my ego overshadow these responsibilities. Those around me deserved my full attention.

I was still a flawed human, often unsure of how to navigate the complexities of human behaviour. To those who may have felt resentment or frustration during that time, I offer my heartfelt apologies. It was a flaw I now recognize, a chapter in the ongoing journey of self-discovery and growth.

CHAPTER 57: The Beginning of Promise

Time passed swiftly, carrying us deeper into the second semester. Weeks slipped away, and the mid-year break felt like a distant memory buried in the corners of my mind. I returned with lingering disappointment from that break.

Life, once full of hopeful aspirations, had now taken on a sense of disillusionment. Unforeseen disturbances haunted my days. Despite my efforts to bring joy to my Asrama experience, the life I had imagined remained out of reach. The improvements I had initially made had turned into stagnation, a troubling setback that bothered me deeply.

The second semester of Form 4 began on a sombre note. The Asrama seemed enveloped in a sense of disappointment and boredom. A series of unfortunate events and discouraging circumstances conspired to plunge me into sadness. The outlook appeared bleak, and I struggled with feelings of desolation.

Contrary to my expectations, the Asrama had become a place of negativity. I sat alone, burdened by despondency, longing for things to improve. I regretted not heeding the advice to leave the Asrama at the beginning of the year.

In recent months, I had made progress in accepting my situation. But the current state of affairs had become unbearable, weighing heavily on my shoulders. I often questioned whether enduring life within the Asrama was the right choice.

Deep down, I knew that life's challenges were tests from Allah, and in this crucible, endurance was the key. I chose to hold on, embracing the trials and hoping to discover the wisdom they concealed.

I wondered endlessly what form this wisdom might take. I longed for a source of genuine happiness, a solution that would make me forget my decision to reject the offer from the prestigious school. This longing, profound and uncharted, consumed me.

Within this yearning, there was a fervent hope that this wisdom was unique to the Asrama, and I would not find it if I had accepted the offer from the other school. But for now, it remained elusive, and I patiently waited for it to reveal itself.

These trials had brought about changes in my social behaviour. Once respectful of my friends, I now carried an air of aloofness and irritability, which often led to disputes. My ego had grown, and my analytical skills, a double-edged sword, sliced through their arguments, causing discord. This inclination clashed with the principles of my faith, but the compulsion persisted.

Fortunately, my friends were forgiving, choosing reconciliation over pointless arguments. They recognized the futility of engaging with my stubborn stance and decided to spend their time on more constructive activities, like doing their laundry.

The social dynamics within the Asrama began to change. Maturity brought clearer relationships, and forming connections with the Form 3 juniors was less challenging due to fewer physical and mental differences between us.

While the Form 3 juniors had their distinct personalities, the gap was less pronounced compared to my own batch the previous year. They seemed to have a wider network of acquaintances that spanned their entire batch, avoiding the distinct cliques of the past. The smaller number of Form 3 students may have contributed to this sociological shift, promoting greater interaction.

During this period, an unexpected passion took hold of me: television. It was odd because I had rarely been interested in the TV shows aired on Friday and Saturday nights. Occasionally, I would join friends in the common room to watch, but my stay was usually brief. Thirty minutes of viewing was often enough before I returned to my own activities.

But something changed. I found myself going to the common room with increasing enthusiasm, unexpectedly captivated by the world of television. It both amused and surprised me how I could become so engrossed in this new interest. I would have never imagined such a connection with television.

Friday nights brought the eagerly anticipated episode of "Xena," centred around a strong, muscular woman. "Fact or Fiction" on Channel 5 also caught my attention with its reenactments of paranormal stories submitted by viewers. The guessing game of whether these stories were true or made up added to the enjoyment. Both shows made me smile.

On Saturdays or Fridays, I was enthralled by the science fiction story of "Honey, I Shrunk the Kids," a tale from the past that never failed to make me laugh. Every show I watched brought me joy, akin to a grinning goat. Looking back, I now understand the peculiarity of that particular phase.

During my viewing sessions, laying in the front row and facing the screen was essential. If that spot was taken, I refrained from watching. The back row held no appeal, making it a pointless endeavour. If I couldn't get the front row, I would leave the common room, feeling empty.

My growing attachment to television puzzled me, prompting introspection. The common room, which had once held no allure, now exerted an inexplicable pull on me. Even mediocre shows couldn't deter my newfound fascination.

Reflecting on this fondness, a smile crossed my face. Asrama had brought about numerous changes, each one embraced and reflecting the essence of life.

Yet, the changes kept coming. The environment became increasingly oppressive, causing discomfort. Amidst this turmoil, certain aspects of Asrama life still made me smile like a goat, confusing and dissatisfying, tugging at the fabric of my soul. I longed for some semblance of order, hoping life would align with my desires. But when reality unfolded differently, it brought despondency and self-blame.

In this crucible of uncertainty, where disappointment battled with hope, I waited for destiny's decree to be revealed. The future held a promise yet to be uncovered, a glimmer of hope whispering of a new beginning.

CHAPTER 56: The Intensified Frenzy

This year brought a sense of newfound freedom, allowing me to act as I pleased, often without much consideration for others' feelings. This freedom was most evident in my academic pursuits, which had once been a top priority but were now taking a less significant role in my life.

I hadn't completely abandoned my studies, but they had taken a backseat to other interests. My thoughts flowed freely, unburdened by the responsibilities and commitments that used to define my daily life.

Fortunately, the leadership of Asrama had changed, with Encik Hussin stepping down as the warden. This shift in authority made my days feel more flexible, freeing my thoughts from the usual obligations. However, this newfound freedom came with a cost.

I developed a fervent passion for volleyball, an obsession that went beyond mere enthusiasm. I was deeply passionate about the game, and almost every afternoon, after our prep class, you would find me on the volleyball court, drenched in sweat, participating in spirited games.

Unlike the previous year, there were fewer students interested in volleyball. Since my school session only covered the morning hours, the male students present in the afternoon at asrama were limited to Form 4 and Form 3 students from other schools. This fortunate turn of events gave me more opportunities to play and fuelled my enthusiasm even further.

Perhaps my growing physical strength contributed to my love for volleyball. I had matured, and my body was better suited to the demands of the sport. The camaraderie with friends who shared my passion also played a significant role.

In their company, I played with great zeal and skill, often relegating those less talented to the sidelines. Such is life - you must adapt to its changes, whether willingly or not.

One vivid memory is when I suffered an ankle sprain during an intense volleyball match. The pain was excruciating, and all I could do was groan in agony. I had jumped to the net, but a slip caused my ankle to twist, immediately swelling and rendering my foot useless, unable to bear any weight.

My height surpassed that of my peers, but my ankle was slender. The shoelace, meant to secure my foot during high jumps, proved inadequate and led to the sprain. Fortunately, it was just a ligament injury without any bone damage. If it had been a bone injury, the pain would have been much worse.

With a bandage from home, I carefully wrapped my swollen ankle to reduce the swelling. Two weeks later, I had fully recovered, and the allure of volleyball called me once more.

However, my recovery didn't go unnoticed, catching the attention of Encik Zul, who decided to prohibit Form 3 students from participating in volleyball to prevent further injuries. I was surprised and contrite, as I hadn't anticipated such a response from Encik Zul. The guilt of depriving Form 3 students of the sport weighed on my conscience.

In hindsight, I realized the wisdom of this decision. Form 3 students could now focus on their upcoming PMR exams, leaving behind volleyball. It was a moment of accountability, a recognition that I needed to take responsibility for my actions.

Then came days when the sun was less bright, and the volleyball court sat empty. Whether the ball was deflated or taken away by Encik Zul after an extended play the previous day, I didn't care. My growing boredom became unbearable because I was accustomed to sweat-soaked afternoons.

However, others continued to enjoy the green expanse of the field, especially Min and his friends, possibly even Mamat. They engaged in a unique game called 'Baling Selipar,' where two teams competed to either set up three slippers or throw them at the opposing team while they arranged them.

I was intrigued by this game, which brought back memories of my childhood in FELDA kampung, where such diversions were legendary among the children. In FELDA kampung, we played 'Baling Tin' instead, a game that held a special place in my youthful pastimes. So, I rallied Min, Mamat, and others, proposing a 'Baling Tin' showdown since we lacked engaging diversions.

The next day, Min and I collected milk cans from the Asrama canteen, ensuring they were cleaned properly. Initially, there was strong enthusiasm for participation, making the first day lively. It reminded me of my FELDA kampung days when such games were cherished pastimes among the residents.

Before the competition began, teams were formed based on physical resemblance, with a secretive selection process guiding the participants' choices of the team members. I trust you understand the subtlety of these proceedings.

Going into detail would prolong my narrative unnecessarily, which I wish to avoid. Suffice it to say, we enjoyed the sport, and its appeal grew with each passing day. Our numbers swelled until the Asrama grounds were bustling with male students. Some took part in the competition, while others became spectators. These moments were marked by peculiar and amusing antics, adding to their charm.

Before the semester ended, as was tradition, an Asrama sports and academic festival was scheduled, this time in Trolak. My enthusiasm for the activities was lukewarm, but I was drafted into the Asrama volleyball team, a role I accepted with detachment.

The journey to Perak was long, and I spent most of the time sleeping, trying to avoid the intermittent disturbances that had recently affected me. I wondered why these disturbances were occurring in Perak and not in the familiar surroundings of Johor. Unfortunately, I had no answers to these questions.

The day of the match arrived, and surprisingly, our Asrama team emerged victorious against the Kuala Lumpur team, a result that was hard to believe. We had always seen KL and KJ teams as superior to ours. Winning against KL was an extraordinary and unexpected triumph.

This victory was a testament to our hard work, the daily trips to the volleyball court that had resulted in unexpected success. However, we couldn't secure the top spot, as we were later defeated by the formidable KJ team. It wasn't a disappointment, as the KJ team was undeniably strong, and achieving second place was commendable.

Among the events, I was most interested in the Mathematics and Science Quiz. For this year, I served as an observer, reminiscing about my former comrades, now scattered across different paths. Their absence was poignant, but I found solace in reliving the past.

The other parts of the festival showcased impressive performances by the JB team, ultimately leading to our victory as the overall champions. However, the joy that usually accompanied such victories didn't fill me with the same excitement as before. I participated in the celebrations with a sense of detachment, my thoughts drifting to friends who had moved on to different places.

As the festival concluded, the JB Asrama population had temporarily dwindled, with those uninvolved in the event returning to their homes in their respective FELDA kampung. A peaceful silence enveloped the Asrama, with empty hallways echoing with quietness. During this period, the disturbances that had accompanied my time in Perak now found their way to Johor, demanding my attention.

Puzzling and unwelcome, these disturbances surrounded me, their origin mysterious and their purpose unclear. I didn't have the courage to confront them directly, so I chose to ignore them, hoping they would fade away with time. Unfortunately, hope is fragile in the dark.