Within the hallowed halls of the Asrama, a unique ritual unfolded, one that involved the meticulous care of our clothing. It was an era where doing laundry held a special place in our daily routines, a ritual infused with both dedication and eccentricity.
In the days of my youth, my approach to washing clothes was quite different from today's practices. I took on the task of hand-washing my clothes every day, always vigilant to prevent a buildup of soiled fabric in my humble bucket, as the consequences of neglecting it would soon become burdensome. As a young child, I could only manage a small portion of laundry at a time.
Neglecting this chore, I soon discovered, led to an unfortunate result—the locker harboured an unwelcome and unpleasant smell, a problem that afflicted those who failed to maintain a strict laundry regimen. I vividly remember the laundry room bustling with activity in the early hours after the Subuh prayer. It was a marvel to witness the unwavering dedication displayed by these diligent souls. Some of them, driven by an insatiable desire for cleanliness, willingly woke up as early as 4 a.m., their commitment to laundry unwavering.
Whether these early risers also prayed Tahajjud or solely devoted themselves to the meticulous art of laundering clothes remains a matter of speculation. However, their aversion to unwashed garments was palpable, driving them to wash even clean clothes to satisfy their passion for laundering. Their dedication was so fervent that I would have gladly entrusted my laundry to them if the opportunity had arisen.
To avoid the frenzied rush that inevitably enveloped the laundry room after Subuh prayer, I opted for a more leisurely approach, postponing my laundry duties until after breakfast. By then, most of my peers had finished their laundry, leaving a few empty sinks for me to use.
I approached the task with care, ensuring the thorough cleanliness of my garments, using only half a bar of soap over the course of four to five days. Unfortunately, the constant threat of soap theft cast a shadow over my laundry efforts, often leaving me without this essential tool. While I could have asked my fellow friends for assistance, I preferred to undertake this task on my own.
The laundry process required resourcefulness as I navigated the varying water pressures. Sinks located towards the room's periphery had lower water pressure, making them less effective for the task at hand. Consequently, I always selected a sink closer to the water source. I also took care to protect myself from splashes by wrapping a towel around me, leaving only my small undergarments behind the towel.
Once I finished washing my clothes, I hung them with precision to let them gradually dry. Then, I proceeded with my daily ritual of morning shower, the cool water from the Asrama water tank refreshing my senses and revitalizing me.
After completing my shower, my small undergarments, destined for the same empty pail, awaited its turn for next cleaning. The decision to forgo separate washing stemmed from my reluctance to give up the comfort and security provided by undergarments. Consequently, I did not remove them during the washing process.
Ironically, this seemingly innocuous decision led to an unexpected confrontation with none other than Encik Hussin, our ever-watchful warden. On a weekend, his summons to the upstairs central area, alongside my peers, filled me with unease. The call to assembly always brought trepidation, and this occasion was no different.
It appeared that Encik Hussin had devised a new rule that would change our laundry practices forever: from now on, every weekend morning required the complete emptying of pails, leaving them devoid of any clothing. The rule was meant to encourage us to do our laundry on the weekends—a rule that would have a profound impact on my life, though not in the way I expected.
In adhering to his directive, I unwittingly became entangled in an ironic twist of fate. It was my adherence to this very rule that incurred Encik Hussin's disapproval. The sight of my single undergarment nestled in the pail was seen as evidence of my negligence. To my bewilderment, my explanations were ineffective, and I received his reprimand, leaving me grappling with the mysterious motives and reasoning of adults.
In the annals of time, this curious episode would stand as a testament to the inexplicable whims and caprices of life—a moment where duty and earnestness converged, leading to unforeseen consequences.
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