CHAPTER 25: The Unforeseen Reality

During my time at Asrama, several events unfolded that had a lasting impact on the formidable Encik Hussin. Although I didn't have a close relationship with him, I was aware of his age and lifelong bachelorhood.

Some suggested that Encik Hussin's solitary life had contributed to his strictness as our warden. His lack of experience with parenting may have made it challenging for him to fully understand our problems.

Midway through the year, tragedy struck when Encik Hussin's father passed away. He left Asrama abruptly to be with his family in Perak. When I heard this news, it was shocking, and I felt deep sympathy for his loss. The fact that he couldn't be there with his father in his final moments was truly heartbreaking.

His sudden departure brought a noticeable change to the atmosphere in Asrama. Without his authoritative presence, the tension that had been hanging in the air seemed to dissipate.

During his absence, a security officer with an overbearing demeanour took charge and began imposing fines on students indiscriminately, making everyone cautious around him.

When Encik Hussin returned, the atmosphere in Asrama became even more serious. It was clear that his personal struggles had taken a toll on him, and he became stricter in enforcing rules and disciplinary measures.

Encik Hussin spent most of his time alone in his quarters, with occasional interactions with security personnel stationed nearby. His interactions with students were far from friendly and often seemed tense, which was disheartening.

He rarely showed a friendly side, except when joking with a select group of students known as his "pet children." This division among students based on their relationship with him was unsettling.

Encik Hussin's trials continued as his mother passed away. It was difficult to witness him endure successive tragedies. His absence from Asrama during these times was understandable.

With each loss, it was clear that Encik Hussin's solitude was deepening. He remained unmarried and seemed to carry the weight of his personal troubles on his shoulders.

Despite his hardships, Encik Hussin returned to Asrama with his usual "cool" demeanour. He seemed to hide his emotions well, but his strict standards and discipline remained unchanged.

It was apparent that Encik Hussin had categorized students into different groups. Some had a friendly relationship with him and were often the recipients of his friendliness. Others seemed to always be in his disapproval, and my heart went out to them.

I had grown weary of Encik Hussin's mannerisms and decided not to continue my Form 4 year at Asrama. The thought of being under his strict supervision for another year was unbearable.

However, for the time being, I had to endure until the next year. The looming pressure of the PMR examinations already filled me with dread, and I feared that academic life would consume me entirely.

The news of Encik Hussin's upcoming marriage brought relief. I hoped that with a life partner, he might adopt a milder approach to his duties, and his previous conduct had perhaps been influenced by his solitude. After the wedding, Encik Hussin returned to Asrama with his new spouse. I didn't see her, and I respected their privacy.

Life in Asrama continued with its routines. We had to submit revision notes and summaries, and Encik Hussin closely monitored our homework. Cleanliness and hygiene standards were strictly enforced, with penalties for those who didn't comply.

The news we had been waiting for finally arrived. Encik Hussin would no longer be our warden or supervisor in the coming year. This marked his farewell year as he had chosen to pursue a career with FELDA in Perak and focus on his family obligations.

At first, it was hard to believe that he would be leaving Asrama, an institution that had been his life. However, I gradually accepted this fact, though my emotions were mixed.

The farewell ceremony to bid adieu to Encik Hussin was an event filled with complex emotions. I was eager for the changes the future would bring, but I also felt a sense of sorrow at the departure of someone who had left a lasting impact on my life.

During his farewell speech, Encik Hussin seemed more relaxed. Unfortunately, my thoughts wandered during his speech, but when it was time to say goodbye and shake his hand, I was overwhelmed with emotion.

In retrospect, I realized that I hadn't fully understood Encik Hussin's actions and appreciated his dedication to Asrama. I regretted not being able to see the depth of his character and motives.

Later that evening, after the Isyak prayer, Encik Hussin gave a final speech to the male Asrama residents at surau. He offered valuable advice as we prepared for the PMR examinations and apologized for any misunderstandings that may have arisen due to his strict methods.

Although I forgave him, I still had reservations about his approach. Nonetheless, I was grateful for the wisdom he had imparted during his time as our supervisor.

The farewell ceremony at surau was a significant moment, marking the end of an era and the beginning of a new one. Emotions ran high, and memories mixed with sentiments.

When I approached Encik Hussin for our farewell embrace, I felt a rush of emotions. His words, filled with belief in my abilities for the upcoming PMR examinations, touched me deeply. His trust in me was a heavy burden, but it was also comforting.

His departure, which I had longed for, was bittersweet, and I felt a sense of nostalgia. I regretted not fully understanding Encik Hussin's character and the complexity of his motives, leaving me with mixed feelings.

CHAPTER 24: Portents of Transformation

As expected, news of dormitory reassignments for the upcoming academic year reached us, much like the announcement the previous year. I didn't have a particular preference for any specific dormitory. To me, they all seemed the same, and I was content with any place that offered comfort and convenience.

However, when the dormitory placements were revealed, I was momentarily surprised. To my astonishment, I had been assigned to Dorm 1—a unexpected twist. Until then, I had consistently been placed in the last dormitory. So, the unexpected move to the first dormitory caught me off guard. Initially, the thought of relocating to an unfamiliar setting filled me with a hint of apprehension. But as I contemplated this change, I began to wonder about other transformations life might have in store.

Although I initially received the news calmly, my unease grew gradually. Dorm 1 differed not only in size but also in occupancy compared to the others. It was smaller and hosted fewer residents. However, what brought me relief was the knowledge that two dear friends, Iman and Kaido, would also be residents of Dorm 1. The comfort of their companionship eased my concerns about potential loneliness.

Indeed, the upcoming academic year promised significant changes in my Asrama life, and I wondered whether it would bring more stress or positive experiences.

Fortunately, my closest friends, Min and Bel, were assigned to dormitories nearby. Min was in Dorm 2, and Bel was allocated to Dorm 3. This ensured that communication channels between us remained open, and I wouldn't be without their companionship.

Iman, on the other hand, was assigned to share a dormitory with me, which boded well for our friendship. We looked forward to the opportunities for shared activities and anticipated a positive future.

Moving day arrived, and it involved the task of transporting my locker and mattress from the distant Dorm 6 to the coveted Dorm 1. Surprisingly, the thought of being separated from the others for a while made me feel somewhat privileged.

Fate had decided that I would share a bed with Iman. In a kind gesture, he chose the upper bunk, sparing me the trouble of setting up a mosquito net, a daunting task for the occupant of the upper bunk.

Next to me was Kaido, our beds positioned by a window that offered a view of Hutan Bandar. My bed was close to Dorm 2, while Kaido's was near the entrance door.

Dorm 1 had a unique ambiance that I couldn't quite define. It was like breathing a different kind of air. The atmosphere felt purer, fresher, and the natural light streaming in brought serenity. Despite its smaller size, I found myself growing fond of Dorm 1, even in those initial days.

Furthermore, Dorm 1 provided a commanding view of all the other dormitories. From this elevated position, I could observe the behaviours of my fellow residents, each with their distinct traits. Dorm 1 offered a perfect vantage point for an observant person like me.

Unfortunately, the bathroom facilities were inconveniently distant from our dormitory, requiring us to traverse several other dormitories, which was less than ideal.

But what truly set Dorm 1 apart were its inhabitants—a congenial and unobtrusive group. Iman and Kaido, in particular, made efforts to create a comfortable atmosphere in Asrama. Their unique personalities and thoughts added vibrancy to my life and helped alleviate the prevailing stress. More about this will be discussed in the next chapter.

As I mentioned earlier, Encik Hussin had assigned our Form 3 class placements, and I found myself in class 3L1. Stepping into this new class, I noticed little change from the previous year. Most of my classmates were familiar faces, and I anticipated a similar atmosphere to the previous year. However, this time, our classroom was on the upper floor.

This change seemed to align with the transformations already happening in Asrama. Dorm 1 and the upper-floor classroom were now conveniently close, making it easier to move between them.

These two locations were the primary areas of my Asrama life, and the newfound proximity promised to simplify my daily routine. I wondered if others in similar circumstances felt the same sense of relief.

What was certain was the feeling of impending change in the air, signalling future events. As 1998 came to a close, I contemplated the challenges I had faced in Asrama and felt grateful for having navigated through them. These struggles had strengthened my determination and taught me that joy and pleasure can be elusive but should be embraced when fate allows.

During this period, I began to feel a growing anxiety as the PMR examination approached. The realization that I would soon be a Form 3 student felt surreal. I watched the senior students in our school preparing for the PMR with trepidation.

The examination halls filled me with apprehension as I imagined myself in their shoes the following year. During my first year in Asrama, I had learned of a remarkable achievement—every male student had achieved 8A in the previous year's PMR, except for a mere three who still attained commendable results, one securing 6A and the other two achieving 7A!

I struggled to understand how such results were possible. Did it mean that getting 8A was relatively easy? The idea of achieving such results weighed heavily on my mind, and I wondered if I could rise to the occasion and secure 8A in the upcoming PMR examination.

In an attempt to prepare, Bel had managed to obtain a set of PMR questions from a source, and we attempted to solve them. However, I found myself struggling with many of the questions. Math was the only subject in which I felt somewhat confident, but even my grasp of it was less than comprehensive.

As time passed, I made a conscious decision to push thoughts of the PMR examination to the back of my mind. I chose to confront it when the time came. The impending pressure weighed on me, but I knew I couldn't falter when the moment of reckoning arrived.

CHAPTER 23: The Inescapable Quandary

I have recounted numerous trials that beset me during that time. Amidst the chaos, I have briefly alluded to the inner conflicts I concealed, those internal struggles I typically kept to myself. While most of that year remains a blur of anxiety, certain memories stand out, demanding attention.

Before I could comprehend its swiftness, the year 1998 drew to a close. The academic environment, characterized by Encik Hussin's unrelenting pressure, remained a constant. However, its weight grew heavier, compounded by the issues I've previously mentioned.

In hindsight, my time in Asrama was marked by negativity, with Form 1 and Form 2 offering only a brief respite from its challenges. My days were filled with a never-ending sense of urgency and anxiety, lacking the substance that creates cherished memories.

The year-end exams followed their usual course, demanding heightened vigilance on my part due to the past struggles. I approached each paper with honesty and sincerity. The upcoming PMR exam cast a daunting shadow, and the pressure was hard to overstate. Nevertheless, I summoned my determination and resolved to give nothing less than my best.

Encik Hussin's guidance, through his concise notes and extra exercises, played a crucial role in improving my study habits. As a result, I excelled in some subjects, but this newfound proficiency brought its own challenge—the overall balance of my academic performance. Still, I found contentment in my level of preparation.

During this time of exam preparation, I noticed a recurring theme in our school—a troubling trend of cheating, particularly during objective question segments of exams.

I must admit that I wasn't entirely immune to receiving covert assistance. Students resorted to secretive methods, not only by sneaking glances at their neighbours’ answers but also by exchanging notes and asking direct questions.

While I understood that helping them cheat wouldn't benefit me in any way, the temptation to appear helpful was hard to resist. So, I occasionally provided answers, but I limited it to no more than five questions. Requests for more than that were firmly rejected.

Once, during an exam, a persistent classmate approached me and boldly asked for answers to all sixty objective questions. I was surprised but couldn't help but find it somewhat amusing. I responded with a gentle, albeit wry, smile, refusing his audacious request with a resolute shake of my head. To my surprise, he understood and didn't seem disappointed.

It wasn't lost on me that unethical conduct had become prevalent in our school. Cheating had insidiously become a part of our academic environment, eluding control. Those who resorted to such methods did so out of deep insecurity about their own abilities, preferring to rely entirely on others. To me, this was a symptom of the immense pressure they were under, imposed by their surroundings.

For students in Asrama, this pressure was even more burdensome. Encik Hussin often threatened expulsion as a severe consequence for failing to meet academic benchmarks. To avoid this dire fate, students were willing to do anything, even engage in self-destructive behaviour.

As the academic year drew to a close, my exam results were considered satisfactory, although I didn't reach the pinnacle of Asrama's academic achievements. There were others who had performed better than me. I had given my best effort, and in that sense, I had triumphed over my academic challenges.

However, some of my friends were still facing uncertainty regarding their results. Encik Hussin had hinted that those who didn't meet the required quota would face consequences.

The pressure on the students was so immense, driving them to extreme measures by altering their report cards to manipulate their grades. Their goal was to achieve the required number of A grades, as mandated by Encik Hussin to avoid punishment. Some even went beyond the minimum requirements, trying to boost their standing in Asrama's academic rankings.

Surprisingly, Encik Hussin seemed unaware of these underhanded actions. However, I inadvertently stumbled upon this scandalous revelation when Encik Hussin assigned me the task of distributing report cards to my peers. I took the opportunity to check the report cards, and to my dismay, I uncovered the audacious deception by certain students.

One report card caught my attention due to the excessive use of correction fluid. Suspicious, I examined it more closely to find a discrepancy between the score written and the original marks that had been tampered with. It was clear that the initial grade didn't deserve an A.

As I continued to inspect other report cards, I discovered that this offense was widespread. I couldn't believe that fellow students could conceive and execute such audacious acts. I pondered the potential consequences of their actions, leaving me deeply unsettled.

Despite my discomfort, I chose not to report the matter to Encik Hussin. Instead, I confided in a small group of close friends. The weight of this knowledge was heavy, and the idea of exposing my peers to the full consequences of their actions was too burdensome for me to bear alone.

It wasn't lost on me that Encik Hussin likely knew about the dishonest conduct among some students. His silence suggested hesitance to escalate the matter further, as the deception involved was rudimentary and unlikely to escape his discerning gaze.

In that moment, I began to understand Encik Hussin's wisdom. Deliberating his options, he seemed to realize that the very strict rules he imposed on students had fuelled these regrettable actions.

The situation took a more serious turn when Encik Hussin assigned classes for the next year. To the disappointment of several students, they found themselves placed in classes they were ill-suited for, depriving more deserving peers of better placements.

The disparity between the qualified and the undeserving remained an unresolved issue, and whether those who benefited from cheating felt satisfaction or remorse was yet to be determined.

Our batch was divided into three classes, with the third class subjected to an intensified academic regimen, supervised by a counsellor contracted by Asrama, who denied them breaks. It was unfortunate that some students were misplaced. Without the deceit of a few, more deserving students would have filled the second and first classes. It was a significant injustice that these students faced penalties due to the wrongdoing of their peers.

CHAPTER 22: A Source of Complication

I must admit to a penchant for holding grudges when offended by others' actions. However, this tendency only arises when I perceive myself as wronged. If I am at fault, I bear no ill will. Nevertheless, I often find myself overwhelmed by anger, leading me to distance myself from such individuals.

This inclination of mine may be attributed to a considerable inner ego. At times, stubbornness clings to me, and I firmly stick to the path I choose, even unintentionally imposing my decisions upon others.

However, my dilemma arises when I struggle to choose confidants. The mystery of finding a true friend escapes my understanding. To me, friendship is a bond based on mutual respect and organic partnership, free from coercion or undue pressure. When one-sided, it withers, with the potential for exploitation always looming.

The story I share emphasizes the importance of maintaining clear boundaries in friendships. While I am open to forming new alliances, I am cautious about setting limits. Without mutual reciprocity, the foundation of friendship crumbles.

My connection with him was not a calculated move on my part. Our initial contact seemed like mere acquaintanceship, gradually developing into a close bond. I took on the role of a patient listener, and he found comfort in confiding in me. Despite our character differences, we grew closer as days turned into weeks. However, as time passed, a sense of unease began to surface.

True friendship requires understanding and acceptance of each other's quirks. I believed he failed to truly understand my nature and character. In the intricate web of my traits, there existed a darker side capable of causing harm to those around me. It appeared that I was the main contributor to our interaction, while he played the role of the perpetual receiver. I didn't expect material reciprocation for my help; instead, I yearned for basic tokens of respect and consideration.

Unfortunately, he used humour as a weapon, often hurting my feelings with hurtful jokes that angered and vexed me. It seemed he didn't take our friendship seriously, a lack of respect I couldn't tolerate. I couldn't subject myself to such treatment. In my defence, I drew a line, determined to protect my boundaries, because if not me, then who else?

Over time, my reluctance to spend time with him grew stronger. I began to see him as just another resident of Asrama, cutting the ties that had once bound us. This decision stemmed from my inability to endure his constant teasing.

Perhaps he remained blissfully unaware of the distress he caused me. As mentioned earlier, our perspectives differed significantly, making him blind to the seriousness of his actions. In his view, it was all harmless fun. But I couldn't condone such behaviour.

I didn't blame him for the end of our friendship; it was my choice. I stopped being his confidant, stopped listening to his stories, and avoided any form of interaction. The freedom and peace that came with this decision were unmatched. I didn't hold grudges or bitterness towards him, knowing that circumstances were beyond his control.

It was his behaviour that I found unacceptable. My well-being took precedence, overshadowing any feelings he might have had. If he sought a more suitable companion, it was well within his rights.

The second incident I'm about to recount was my own mistake, a private matter involving only me. This incident occurred during school hours and, unfortunately, was discovered by one of my friends.

While I remained unaware of the identity of the culprit, suspicions were abundant. The only person near me at the time of the incident was a particular friend, and it seemed plausible that he had witnessed it and reported it out of malice or jealousy. This assumption filled me with anger.

At that moment, anger consumed me. Even in a private setting, the teacher scolded me sternly. However, the shame and humiliation I felt, hidden from the wider world, remained potent.

Initially, I couldn't find it in me to apologize, as my anger was still too strong. My thoughts revolved around the betrayal by this friend, and I felt nothing but despair. Nevertheless, I didn't hold any grudges against him, as the mistake was mine to bear.

Fortunately, I received a relatively light punishment from the teacher, considering the gravity of my mistake. If it had been more severe, the consequences would have been much worse.

In an attempt to make amends for my error, I wrote an apologetic letter to the teacher. I promised not to repeat such careless acts in the future. The error I had made, though common among students, filled me with anger, making me wonder why I was the one caught while others escaped punishment. Perhaps this friend harboured lingering resentment.

Although my suspicions lacked concrete evidence, I chose to ignore them and treated him as if he were invisible. Confrontation proved futile, as he remained silent. Despite our previous closeness in the classroom and Asrama, I held onto my pride and cut all ties. Yet, my ego wouldn't let me go without some form of revenge.

Little did I know that time would bring an unexpected reconciliation between us. His jokes were so ridiculous that even in my frosty demeanour, laughter would escape me during classroom fun. Trying to stifle my laughter, I often found myself blushing.

Gradually, a reunion took shape, and though time had strained our friendship, he bore no ill will towards me for the past. Internally, I acknowledged the foolishness of severing our ties. He proved to be a loyal friend, undeserving of such treatment. Since then, we have remained on good terms.

The incident, however, humbled me and filled me with shame for my mistake. It wasn't just a personal failing; it had the potential for wider consequences. If I had continued down that wrong path, the successes I now enjoy would have remained out of reach. Looking back, I'm grateful for that incident, as it shed light on the complexities and challenges of adolescence.

While my relationship with the teacher was tarnished, I am grateful to the person who exposed my mistake. Whether out of jealousy or other motives, his actions didn't concern me. What mattered was the opportunity this experience provided—a chance to develop a more positive outlook on life's unpredictable twists and turns.

CHAPTER 21: The Untold Confession

In the preceding chapters, I have scrutinized the shortcomings of others, from Encik Hussin's imperfections to the foibles of my fellow peers. In my narrative, I may have seemed like an impeccable figure, but the truth is, I am no different from any ordinary individual, prone to the frailties of human nature.

Within my own history, there lies a clandestine episode, a grave misstep of significant gravity that, if brought to light, would have cast a shadow of shame upon both my family name and myself. It was a serious error, one undertaken with scant regard for the potential consequences.

In my youth, a spirit of carefree nonchalance often governed my actions. The gravity of my deeds eluded me as I ventured into this misadventure, oblivious to the precipice upon which I teetered. Divine providence, it appears, shielded me from the ignominy of public exposure and granted me a second chance for redemption.

As much as I'm inclined to reveal the specifics of this transgression, I find myself lacking the courage to do so, as the prospect carries immense embarrassment. Nevertheless, a select few were aware of my misdeed at the time, and their reluctance to expose me to the world prevented the potential disaster that might have befallen my life had they chosen otherwise.

Regrettably, another Asrama resident bore the consequences of his own misdeeds, mirroring the shadows of my own past. His penance amounted to a two-week suspension from Asrama life. I stood in trepidation upon learning of his sentence, realizing that the dark corners of my own soul held the potential for malevolence of which I had previously been blissfully unaware.

During that period, I questioned how my Asrama peers perceived me. Though I didn't occupy any elevated status in their collective view, they seemed to regard me as an ordinary student, unblemished by grave errors. Little did they know that beneath the veneer of normalcy, I harboured a hidden truth, a truth that, as long as it remained concealed, perpetuated my illusion of invincibility.

Initially, this lack of attention didn't bother me, as long as my covert misdeed remained hidden. It was only when the tangible consequences of my actions surfaced that the gravity of my mistake began to dawn on me.

Divine retribution didn't take the form of public exposure, but rather manifested as an examination, a test that would leave an indelible mark on my soul. This test came under the guise of academic performance. As I've recounted, in the early stages of Form 2, my scholastic performance sparkled with at least five A grades in each monthly exam.

However, there came a point when my results took a nosedive, leaving me despondent and humiliated. The high position I once held, basking in the glory of a top-ten ranking among my Asrama peers, crumbled to dust. This experience forced me to confront the magnitude of my past misdeed in a way I hadn't anticipated.

In that fateful month, my academic destiny took a bleak turn. I teetered on the edge of failure in one of my subjects, receiving a mark below 40, glaring in crimson ink as a stark testament to my inadequacy. When my answer script was returned, it bore a grade that left me astonished.

Initially, I had failed the subject outright, only salvaging a passing grade through a minor adjustment. Though it was just a D, I clung to it as a lifeline, shedding tears of relief despite the modest grade.

The nature of my mistake lay in a misinterpretation of the instructions for a section of the monthly test paper for that subject. Consequently, I received a zero, despite the simplicity of the questions, which I could have answered with ease, securing an A or B grade. Yet, fate had other plans.

As if to compound my troubles, in another subject that seemed straightforward, I failed to secure an A. A B grade, a mere whisker away from an A, was all I managed to attain. Since the overall assessment of students depended on the count of A grades, my performance was deemed subpar. It marked a harrowing descent into ignominy and disappointment.

As I reflected on these recent trials, the most formidable spectre that loomed before me was the spectre of failing any of my monthly tests. Yet, in the midst of adversity, Allah's grace granted me a measure of reprieve, averting a precipitous plunge into the abyss of failure. For this, I remained deeply grateful. The consequences of an actual failure filled me with unimaginable dread.

It was then that I comprehended the intended purpose of these trials—a lesson, a lesson that would serve as an indelible reminder, a deterrent against a repetition of the regrettable act that had cast its shadow over my past. I bore the burden of shame for my prior actions, yet I was spared the immediate retribution that could have befallen me. Instead, I was given the opportunity to learn and grow.

From that point on, a transformation gradually took root within me, reshaping the contours of my character as I navigated the turbulent seas of adolescence. I came to understand that every action carried its consequences, meted out by Allah's justice in this world and the hereafter. I made a promise to myself, a commitment to remain vigilant in my conduct and treat others with fairness and kindness.

During that time, there was one aspect of my nature that proved difficult to relinquish—a vengeful inclination. I confess that forgiveness in the face of personal inconvenience posed a significant challenge.

I didn't seek to sow discord or inconvenience others; I tried to move through life without causing harm. However, when circumstances forced my hand and individuals-imposed difficulties upon me, a spark of anger smouldered within me.

In Asrama, there existed a group of individuals who, whether due to ignorance or intent, became the source of my vexations. Unfamiliar with my true nature, they misjudged my character and took liberties.

While I was capable of responding to more significant provocations, I recognized the futility of such actions. My hesitation didn't stem from fear but rather from the understanding that any response on my part would bring consequences more severe than the initial offense. Intense loathing for these individuals grew within me, an emotion I had not experienced before.

Without hesitation, I removed them from my life, making them inconsequential, irrelevant. It appeared that they remained oblivious to the distress they had caused. Such individuals, it seemed, were indifferent to the impact of their actions on others.

In the days that followed, they attempted to return to our previous interactions, filled with jokes and casual conversation. However, I gave them no acknowledgment, and they reciprocated my indifference. My contentment was what mattered most to me.

I was not someone to be trifled with; those who caused me grief or anguish would neither be forgiven nor forgotten. Instead, I would reciprocate, ensuring that the discomfort they had inflicted on me was returned in kind.

When faced with individuals who had caused me pain, my first instinct was to shun them entirely. I wouldn't acknowledge their presence or engage with them in any way.

For me, individuals who disrupted my life in such a manner didn't deserve a place in it. Several individuals fell victim to this fate; I refrained from speaking to them, regardless of any previous camaraderie we might have shared.

What mattered most was my inner contentment, a state that would be disrupted if I allowed these individuals to continue causing turmoil in my life. However, one particular incident remains etched in my memory—an episode that left me seething with anger and seeking retribution.

In this instance, my vengeance took a form I won't disclose, yet it had an impact on the individual beyond their expectations. It was an unfortunate manifestation of my inability to control my temper. Such episodes, however, were infrequent, for I harboured ill feelings only toward those who remained wholly inattentive to the necessity of treating others with respect.

CHAPTER 20: Those in Whom I Placed Trust

Within the confines of Asrama life, my existence contrasted starkly with my primary school days of yore. As I navigated the tumultuous waters of adolescence, a profound lesson emerged from my experiences—an appreciation for the essential value of discernment. Trust, that precious commodity, did not flow freely from my heart; instead, it was bestowed judiciously upon those who had proven their worth in my discerning eyes.

Chief among these select individuals was a lad named Iman (an alias, preserving his true identity). From our initial meeting, an exquisite sincerity radiated from his demeanour, weaving the tapestry of friendship with threads of respect and kindness. I sensed that this bond was deserving of mutual admiration.

Despite his popularity and prominence, Iman was not immune to the rigors of Asrama life. During those challenging moments, I stood by his side, for his authenticity and loyalty had won my heart from the very beginning. Our shared conversations, filled with wisdom and guidance, became a testament to our shared journey in Asrama life, and I was deeply moved by his willingness to extend the hand of friendship during my early days in Form 1.

Another cherished confidant in whom I placed my utmost trust was Min (the very same individual introduced at the beginning of this chapter). Our friendship, forged during the crucible of Form 1 where we sat side by side, blossomed and deepened over time.

I sought solace in Min's presence, sharing the innermost recesses of my soul and confiding my most intimate troubles. His wisdom and discernment provided invaluable counsel, and I took comfort in the knowledge that his empathetic ear and supportive hand would always be available to me.

In my mind's tapestry, Min was an admired figure. Much like my own disposition, he remained steadfast in the face of external influences, a resolute soul. We hailed from the same district, a geographical connection that strengthened our bond, as our shared bus rides home from Asrama brought us closer than fate had bound me to any of my other companions. 

Unfortunately, the second semester brought a change in classroom assignments, limiting our encounters to just a few. Yet, our connection remained unwavering, an unbreakable bond resilient to the vicissitudes of circumstance. Additionally, the geographical difference in dormitory accommodations added complexity to scheduling our rendezvous.

It wasn't until Form 2 that my friendship with Bel blossomed into deep intimacy. In a brief period, he, too, earned my unwavering trust. Sharing a dormitory in Dorm 6 and attending both academic and Asrama activities together, Bel and I found ourselves immersed in shared experiences.

He, an academic prodigy surpassing my modest abilities in every monthly evaluation and semesterly examination, was always willing to offer his insights whenever I needed them. Our bonds extended beyond academic prowess; I could rely on Bel as a patient listener to my complaints about the trials and tribulations of Asrama life. His unwavering optimism was a comforting anchor in the turbulent sea of Asrama existence.

These three close friends had palpable differences in their thoughts and dispositions, yet the separate bonds of friendship held us together. Interestingly, it amused me that despite their differences, Iman, Min, and Bel each had a closer affinity to me individually than to each other. This curious paradox was a source of fond bemusement.

So, it can be deduced that my preferences were not excessively selective. The foundation of my friendships lay in mutual respect, a quality that I observed abundantly in these three cherished souls. Their quirks and beliefs didn't matter to me; it was their inherent regard for me as friends that mattered. They carved their unique identities and pathways in their individuality.

These cherished companions posed no obstacle to their interactions with each other. In each other's company, we revelled in jokes, laughter, tears, moments of anger, and all human emotions without the fear of offense. However, when in the company of others, our interactions lacked the same candour, as the slightest misstep had the potential to spark lasting conflicts that weighed heavily on my soul.

At that time, cultivating close friendships was of paramount importance. These intimate confidants became guiding lights that illuminated the otherwise daunting journey of Asrama life. The presence of my classmates further eased the challenges of daily life in Asrama, making it somewhat more bearable. The only vexing element in this tapestry was the looming figure of Encik Hussin.

Within the bounds of Asrama, smaller clusters of students bound by profound bonds of friendship were discernible. These cliques, in contrast to the larger groups, consisted of fewer individuals, typically three, rarely expanding to include a fourth.

These tight-knit circles invariably found comfort in each other's company, whether during shared meals, hours spent watching television, trips to local shops, or even the chore of doing laundry. Their lives appeared harmoniously intertwined, an embodiment of compatibility.

Their affection for each other, evident in every gesture, attested to their ease in each other's presence. Moreover, the intimacy of their bonds did not infringe on the lives of their fellow Asrama residents, a stark contrast to the larger groups I described earlier.

Observing their behaviour never ceased to amuse me. It was clear that each individual had their unique approach to crafting a comfortable life within the confines of Asrama. Secluded from their families' embrace, the role of friendship assumed paramount significance in shaping their existence. A misstep in choosing companions could lead to profound dissatisfaction with one's sense of self, resulting in inner turmoil.

For those who chose solitude as their path within Asrama, their resilience was a constant source of wonder. Their resolute hearts beat to a different rhythm, strong and unwavering. As for me, I was grateful for the abundant blessing of true friendship that graced my life through these individuals.

I marvelled at the unique nature of my approach to forming connections, distinct from many others. With ease, I forged indelible bonds with three distinct souls, and astonishingly, these cherished friends maintained separate friendships that, while somewhat distant from me, didn't affect our own relationships. It's convention that like-minded individuals naturally gravitate towards each other, forming close-knit circles.

However, for me, adhering to this convention wasn't necessary for forging profound connections. I could engage with any of my cherished companions at any time, regardless of the passage of time. Thus, our shared stories were extensive, with each friend bringing their unique experiences and perspectives to the tapestry of our shared existence at Asrama. 

CHAPTER 19: An Unexpected Opportunity

 Amidst the yearly rhythm of academic and athletic events, tradition dictated the hosting of lively sports and academic festivals across the various Asramas scattered throughout Malaysia. In this unfolding tale, it fell upon Asrama Kuantan to organize these events for the consecutive year. So, our Asrama collectively undertook the discerning task of selecting those deemed most deserving to represent us.

I, a rather unassuming figure among my peers, did not have any illusions about being among the chosen few to represent our Asrama on this grand stage. To my no surprise, the volleyball team had already picked its members. The notion that these selections might not necessarily be based solely on merit nagged at my conscience, but such is the way of things in these circumstances.

To my astonishment, news reached me that I had been chosen to represent our Asrama in carom sports. A chuckle, unexpected, escaped my lips at the absurdity of it all. I had never imagined that my modest skill in carom had drawn the attention of discerning eyes, leading to my selection over peers with more apparent talent.

To tell the truth, carom had been a faithful companion since my early years. An older sibling, passionate about the game, had ignited my interest. A carom board, a prized possession in our family home, often witnessed lively gatherings of neighbours who joined us in spirited matches. Through countless flicks of carom seeds, I honed my skills, acquiring a degree of proficiency unbeknownst to me until this significant moment.

As the day of our trip to Asrama Kuantan finally approached, my excitement brimmed like a surging river. Being a novice visitor to the state of Pahang, I was engulfed in anticipation. The journey, beginning at dawn and concluding in the late afternoon, proved smooth and uneventful.

In anticipation of our trip to Asrama Kuantan, I looked forward not only to the Asrama Kuantan itself but also to the companionship of my fellow Asrama-mates. The feeling of not quite fitting in weighed on me, an invisible burden evident in my interactions with this group. An inner voice whispered that I need not have embarked on this adventure, as the familiarity of our own Asrama might have been a more suitable environment for my spirit.

For within this group, decisions flowed with an unstoppable current, with collective will taking precedence over my individual desires. As I've often stated, the mantle of complying with others' dictates didn't sit comfortably on my shoulders, and I found solace in charting my own course.

Not to be forgotten, an anecdote from that time emerges from the annals of my memory—a story of the male Asrama contingent's effort to acquire their own distinctive jersey. Initially, one among us obtained the garment as everyday attire. However, the allure of this jersey, a sartorial marvel, soon captured the curiosity of others. It wasn't long before a consensus formed, designating it as the official attire for our Asrama's contingent at the upcoming sports festival.

Ironically, the jerseys saw limited use during the actual tournament, as the Asrama generously provided uniforms for the participants. Thus, the jersey became everyday wear, a common sight. The spectacle of multiple young men dressed identically elicited both laughter and camaraderie.

CHAPTER 18: Sensations, Ah, Sensations

During my early school years, the world of couple-ship remained largely foreign to my circle of friends. We were still innocent and naive, unfamiliar with the intricate dance of romantic feelings. Even the expression of affection was a secretive endeavour, as revealing such emotions would likely result in mockery and embarrassment. This was the prevailing doctrine among children.

However, a significant change began to manifest when I entered the second form. I could not have imagined that the atmosphere of couple-ship would infiltrate the sacred grounds of our Asrama. Given Encik Hussin's vigilant watch, one might wonder how anyone dared to engage in such frivolous pursuits. The consequences of discovery were ominous, promising severe and unforgiving retribution.

Nevertheless, this cultural phenomenon persisted, much to my surprise. It was truly remarkable to witness the proliferation of romantic sentiments and inclinations, even within the confines of our institutional exile. Despite the intense pressures and challenges of our time in Asrama, it was clear that we were still quintessential adolescents, filled with the usual tumultuous desires of youth.

As time passed, a new aspiration emerged among us - a longing to form connections or friendships with individuals of the opposite sex. The era of secrecy and timidity in expressing our feelings had undeniably come to an end. We began to openly articulate our affections and claim each other.

In contrast to other schools, our school and Tasek School were coeducational, providing ample opportunities for students to engage in this kind of social interactions. However, I couldn't help but wonder why the Asrama students seemed to hold a special place in the popularity rankings within our school. I must refrain from exaggeration, but the evidence was clear. It was not uncommon to see the girls from the RKA class on the lower floors of our school building showing a keen interest in Asrama students. I was truly astonished!

Almost thirty students from my school made up the Asrama group, all of us from the same cohort. Our close proximity naturally led to frequent gatherings, making the distinction between Asrama students and non-Asrama students quite noticeable.

The occupants of the RKA class on the ground floor seemed to have a particular fascination for us, the residents of Asrama, who frequently climbed the staircase to participate in the prayers at the surau. Perhaps their interest was in understanding the complexities of our behaviour or in forming a deeper connection with our group. Unfortunately, I cannot be certain, as I never attempted to inquire about their motivations.

It started with only a few, but soon enough, a group of young Malay girls sought friendship with our group. The tradition of discreetly passing notes and exchanging small tokens of affection during class lessons became a common practice. It appeared that the frequency of these offerings depended on one's status within the group of benefactors, a subtle skill seemingly perfected by certain residents of Asrama. Unfortunately, I found myself without such tokens, and to this day, I remain unsure if my exclusion from this tradition should make me feel disheartened.

During our carefree youth, we embarked on a journey through a world filled with peculiarities. In this world, we navigated the complex paths of romantic relationships with our peers and even dared to seek the affections of young ladies a year older than us. Surprisingly, among the residents of our dormitory, there were a select few who had earned a reputation among the older girls. One of my friends, in particular, stood out by winning the admiration of two such respected female admirers, who affectionately called themselves his "pet sisters." His face beamed with pure pride at this unique distinction.

Interestingly, it turned out that one of his "pet sisters" already had a younger brother of the same age as mine. This situation intrigued me greatly, as it raised the question of why she desired another "pet brother" despite having a re sibling brother within our school. At a quick glance, the situation appeared almost comical.

As Asrama students, some of my friends were fortunate to enjoy the sweet companionship of young ladies and the happiness it brought. Conversely, Maro and his peers could only look on with longing from the sidelines, devoid of such romantic opportunities. Furthermore, in the unlikely event that such romances did occur, the objects of their affection would invariably be the esteemed young ladies of the Asrama, held in high regard.

In the esteemed halls of Asrama, none dared to initiate relationship, for the consequences, once uncovered by the discerning eye of Encik Hussin, loomed as vast and unfathomable as the endless sea. Therefore, we concealed our affections, even though the charming Asrama girls possessed a captivating allure that could ensnare even the most stoic of souls. Alas, the agony we endured!

As expected, a few couples had managed to ignite their romantic bonds, with most of the initiative coming from the kind hearts of the young ladies. In a realm where such relationships were strictly prohibited, the Asrama young gentlemen found themselves being pursued with affection!

Amidst the complex challenges and the constant fear of exposure by Encik Hussin, they persevered in their quest to satisfy their yearning for companionship. The loneliness of their tender fourteenth year was simply unbearable, as youth's hearts are often capricious.

However, the days of blissful happiness were not everlasting, and it was only a matter of time before Encik Hussin discovered their secret affairs. True to his usual demeanour, he seethed with anger upon realizing that his wards had succumbed to their primal desires, fully aware of the danger it posed to their academic progress and the violation of the principles of their devout faith.

Once he had discovered the true details, those caught in the predicament hurriedly concealed any evidence of wrongdoing, whether it be love letters, tokens of affection, or other mementos from their secret relationships. Encik Hussin was not to be underestimated, and he tolerated no obstacles in his determined pursuit of his goals!

Encik Hussin had a remarkable ability to uncover the complex web of romantic relationships that clandestinely intertwined the residents of Asrama. Despite his sincere efforts, those who had kept their relationships hidden remained frustratingly beyond his reach, skilfully evading his watchful eye. However, those whose indiscretions were exposed were summoned before him and subjected to the stern admonishments of his discipline.

One of his young charges praised Encik Hussin's extraordinary insight, sharing a surprising story of how he was left astonished by Encik Hussin's knowledge of his secret phone conversations with a young lady during the school's brief breaks. The methods by which this knowledge was obtained remained a puzzling mystery!

Unfortunately, matters of the heart began to cast their shadow over the students of Asrama, causing discord in the form of minor disputes over the affection of a young lady, heart-wrenching breakups, and the exquisite agony of unrequited love. No longer satisfied with the simple pleasures of youth, their thoughts were now consumed by the pursuit of their beloved's affection. In their conversations, some of them spoke with a level of candour befitting adults, even though they were just fourteen years old.

CHAPTER 17: The Escalation of Authority

Allow me, dear reader, to delve further into the character of Encik Hussin, a figure who played a significant role during my time in Form 2. As days and months passed, it became clear that my recollections were inexorably linked to this formidable warden. Few other memories from that period managed to take root, with moments of joy and camaraderie pushed to the periphery. The dominant colours of my experiences were marked by the oppressive shades of pressure and tension.

As the student population continued to grow, the already cramped living conditions of the Asrama became even more restrictive. This posed a significant challenge to Encik Hussin, whose responsibility was to maintain order and discipline among the increasing number of students. We had transitioned from childhood into adolescence, where wielding authority appeared to be more challenging. It was against this backdrop that I observed a transformation in Encik Hussin's approach, marked by a noticeable increase in his strictness.

This transformation was exemplified by the escalating severity of his punitive measures. Gone were the days of leniency; instead, an unyielding and aggressive stance took its place. Caning, an emblematic symbol of punishment, became a central feature of our lives. His office, as I distinctly recall, was adorned with various canes, each with its unique dimensions and weight, all of which he wielded with a seemingly sadistic relish. Just the sight of these implements struck fear into our hearts.

During this chapter of our Asrama life, Encik Hussin often delivered long lectures, focusing on themes of cleanliness, discipline, and the pursuit of academic excellence. While some may have found wisdom in his words, I saw them as lengthy dissertations, consuming precious hours with little tangible benefit. The elusive goal of fostering camaraderie remained out of reach.

In terms of disciplinary measures, Encik Hussin was an unwavering authority figure. Even minor offenses, like littering, did not escape his scrutiny. The slightest hint of misconduct could summon the entire student body, with the identity of the offender kept secret. The ensuing lectures were interminable, with no one daring to confess. At times, Encik Hussin went as far as prohibiting male students from going to the grocery store as punishment for a collective infraction. It was a heavy-handed response to a minor transgression, and it appeared disproportionate.

The consequences of a single, minor infraction, such as discarding candy wrappers, were felt through Encik Hussin's unorthodox approach. He decreed that all students, both guilty and innocent, must share the punishment, with the expectation that the true offender would eventually confess. However, it became evident that his intent was not to deliver justice but to exact vengeance. Innocent students were subjected to unwarranted punishment, a grave affront to their rights and dignity, all under the guise of discipline.

Who among us had the courage to defy him? We were impressionable youth, susceptible to his authority. But beneath our apparent compliance, a nagging question lingered: was this treatment legally sound?

Dissatisfied with caning as an instrument of punishment, Encik Hussin imposed physical demands that went beyond traditional penalties. These took the form of arduous tasks that he relished watching us struggle with. I vividly remember one occasion when several classmates and I were subjected to punishment for making disrupting noise after night class with our laughter. It was a minor indiscretion - little more than a friend's raucous laugh - that had caught Encik Hussin's attention.

As a punishment, we were asked to sprint through the boys' and girls' dormitories for five laps. We passed open windows without shame or remorse. Instead, we felt irritation and anger. After this nocturnal escapade, we were ordered to endure a grueling push ups session on the tarmacked area in front of the Asrama office. I often wondered how satisfied Encik Hussin was, watching us endure these physical ordeals.

In truth, Encik Hussin dispensed a range of punishments that went beyond traditional definitions of discipline. In my view, they bordered on acts of bullying, administered capriciously to innocent students. What troubled me most was the blatant injustice of his actions, which extended to the arbitrary punishment of the blameless. Who had granted him the authority to act in such a manner?

The policy of collective punishment, where all students suffered for the actions of one, created an environment where offenders sought to identify and rectify the wrongdoer. It frustrated them when the culprit refused to confess, implicating others in the consequences. I distinctly recall Encik Hussin once suggesting that it was our duty to unmask the offender and resolve the issue among ourselves. Our youthful minds failed to grasp the broader implications of such an instruction, and it was enforced without question.

After a routine caning of all students as punishment for an unidentified offender's actions, students took it upon themselves to uncover and "resolve" any perceived wrongdoing. Angry at the perpetrator's silence, the student body collectively pressured the offender to confess. Consequently, these endeavours went beyond Encik Hussin's direct control.

However, this campaign of "resolution" took a dark turn when students began to take matters into their own hands without Encik Hussin's explicit approval. Some students were penalized for playing Chapteh during midday hours, despite no action taken by Encik Hussin. It served as a stern warning against behaviour that might displease him. Consequently, anyone who displayed behaviour deemed antagonistic, arrogant, or stood out in any way became susceptible to relentless punishment.

What becomes clear, dear reader, is the inherent flaw in Encik Hussin's approach to moulding the character and moral fibre of Asrama students. Despite his dedication to maintaining order, he struggled to instil virtues of fairness and compassion. Why did acts of violence, such as caning, persist? My heart weighed heavy as I contemplated the mounting pressures that pervaded every corner of the Asrama. It seemed that stress and suffocation dominated this environment, leaving little room for joy or contentment. I was left with a nagging question: who was ultimately responsible for this state of affairs? Was this the inevitable path of boarding school life, where the weight of expectations cast a perpetual shadow over the prospect of happiness?

CHAPTER 16: An Academic Awakening

In the records of my school days, the narrative of academic excellence was not one I was naturally inclined to claim. My position in the ranks of the academically gifted was modest at best. After completing my sixth-grade endeavours, I found myself in the thirteenth position, far from the top, and my trial examination resulted in only two A grades. However, Mathematics was an exception, a subject where I had some mastery amidst a sea of mediocrity.

The blessing of all A grades during the UPSR examinations held significant importance for me, as it allowed me to continue my education within the esteemed walls of the Asrama, an opportunity I highly valued.

The awakening of my academic potential became evident during the initial monthly assessments. I had, as was customary, approached my preparations diligently, studying reference materials and revisiting my notes. Yet, when the results were revealed, they exceeded my expectations. While I didn't achieve a perfect eight A grades, I found myself in the upper echelons. My classmate, Bel, had a similar performance, sharing in the accolades of success. I was overjoyed, as this marked the first time I had achieved such a milestone.

Following this academic ascent, I began to contemplate the origins of this newfound success. The self-image I had developed had rarely aligned with that of an exceptional student, making this transformation deeply perplexing. If I were to recount this transformation to my elementary school friends, they would likely find it unbelievable.

With this academic resurgence, I noticed an improvement in my overall scholastic abilities, both within the school and in supplementary tuition. Except for my persistent struggle with English, I experienced a noticeable upward trend. English continued to be a challenging subject, seeming insurmountable. Yet, many of my peers within the Asrama shared my difficulties, as only a few of us could claim proficiency in the English language.

Much like my experiences in elementary school, I took great pride in my proficiency in mathematics. From Form 1 onwards, I remained committed, maintaining a flawless record of A grades. I began to see divine benevolence in my mathematical prowess, recognizing that it wasn't just a standalone achievement but a harbinger of success in other areas.

Alongside my academic ascension, I noticed a subtle change in how my peers perceived me. Despite this, I remained steadfast in my principles and resolute in my path, immune to the influence of popular opinion.

Among the many acquaintances I made in the Asrama, a select few left indelible impressions on my soul. These individuals, with their unwavering camaraderie, provided crucial support during a time when I had no remarkable attributes. Their authenticity was evident in their constant presence, a topic I will explore in future chapters.

Despite the fluctuating opinions and pressures related to academic success, I paid little attention to the perceptions of others. My focus was solely on continuing my journey within the Asrama.

My interactions with Encik Hussin, though infrequent, were marked by a modicum of respect. My personal record remained impeccable, free from homework negligence, locker disorder, or disciplinary issues. Additionally, my academic achievements shielded me from many of the challenges that befell my peers. In the grand tapestry of my life in the Asrama, I navigated the turbulent waters with poise and grace.

However, there was an instance when I found myself on the receiving end of Encik Hussin's reprimand. It occurred on a weekend evening, during prep class, a time dedicated to academic work. As per my routine, I settled into a desk at the back of the classroom, adjacent to the waiting room.

While revising my lessons, I idly engaged in a skill I had mastered - twirling my pen - a talent that had garnered admiration from my peers. Little did I know that this seemingly innocuous act had captured the attention of none other than Encik Hussin himself.

Suddenly, his voice broke the silence, instructing me to stop my activity and focus on reading a book. I was astonished because this marked the first time Encik Hussin had personally reprimanded me. My heart raced, knowing well the notorious reputation that preceded him. Fortunately, his reprimand did not escalate further, as he simply directed me to cease.

While I felt relief for avoiding more severe punishments like caning or extended scolding, this incident served as a stark reminder of the unpredictability of life within the Asrama.

Through determination and grit, I managed to navigate the complex aspects of Asrama life. I had grown accustomed to its strict rules and had emerged undaunted. Despite Encik Hussin's exacting standards, I remained composed, and reprimands and chastisements, even in front of my peers, no longer fazed me. My academic diligence and hard-earned achievements served as my armor in times of trouble.

CHAPTER 15: A Profound Shift in the Social Fabric

Up until this point, the bonds within our batch were marked by effortless camaraderie, characterized by pure interactions without hidden motives or personal agendas.

But during our second year, a subtle transformation began to take hold as we entered adolescence, a transitional phase toward adulthood. It was during this time that a shift, initially imperceptible, gradually became clear. Fault lines began to emerge among students in our batch, creating a nuanced social divide.

In the past, our batch had a carefree approach to their relationships with each other. They engaged in activities like playing ball, going to the grocery store, sharing meals, doing laundry, or simply chatting without any ulterior motives or personal gain.

However, in Form 2, a change started to become apparent. With the onset of adolescence, some students began to be more selective about their social circles, while others maintained a stance of impartiality, avoiding factional alliances.

As an observer, I noticed this shift, but it didn't personally affect me as I had a close group of friends, particularly among my schoolmates. However, it was unsettling for those caught within this transformation. I saw their unwavering loyalty to their chosen cliques, waiting for all members to gather before initiating any activity.

Their unity extended to every aspect of their lives, from sharing meals in the dining hall to waiting for the bus, playing games, going on excursions, grocery shopping, or just chatting. This loyalty was on full display for everyone to see, and it seemed unusual to those on the outside.

The easy-going nature of inter-student relationships began to fade, replaced by a tendency to spend most of one's time exclusively with their chosen group, regardless of the circumstances. As a result, interactions with other batchmates outside of their immediate circle became infrequent, and the camaraderie that had once thrived began to wither.

Inside the Asrama, tensions became palpable as the once mutual respect between students diminished. The more vulnerable individuals became collateral damage in the struggle for social networks.

As a neutral observer, my narrative often uses 'they.' I remained unaffected by this phenomenon, with no inclination to form, name, or brand a group. It simply wasn't my inclination. I navigated relationships with my peers smoothly, not through ceaseless interactions but by avoiding causing discomfort to anyone. My path remained clear, and life within the Asrama was already complex enough.

Others found themselves entangled in the web of indecision, pressured by 'peer pressure' to gravitate toward specific cliques, enticed by the allure of being 'in.' It was a disheartening and somewhat comical sight to behold.

I had no interest in group affiliations. I preferred independent thought and avoided tethering myself to any collective identity or individual when charting my life's course. Social boundaries allowed me to form relationships with individuals from various circles. I remained independent in perspective and resolute in my avoidance of group dynamics, guided solely by my own principles.

CHAPTER 14: The Unending Contemplations

As I made my way to the Asrama on the first day of the new school term, a sense of emptiness enveloped me. I had no grand expectations for what lay ahead, just the awareness that it was a continuation of my life, albeit under stricter rules.

Upon arrival, I noticed the new Form 1 students. Their arrival had been quiet, and their numbers were still relatively small compared to our batch. At this point, only the front dormitories showed signs of their occupancy; the rear ones remained empty.

Inside the school, I found myself in the same class as my classmates from the previous year. Few significant changes had occurred, except for the addition of non-Asrama Malay students. While the class was stimulating, it was predominantly composed of Chinese and FELDA students.

Over the course of the year, the RK class Asrama mates from the morning session last year also joined us in the afternoon session. Their classroom was next to ours, resulting in a constant gathering of nearly thirty Asrama students in that area.

The limited seating on the Asrama bus often led to the practice of seat reservation before departure, occasionally leading to disputes among students. Some even marked their seats with books, a practice that now seems amusing but sometimes led to heated arguments.

For the first time, the Asrama introduced a segregation system based on students' performance in the final Form 1 exams. The top achievers were placed in 2L1, the most elite class with around sixteen students.

During this period, I didn't consider myself an exceptional student. Even in the previous year's exams, I had barely managed to get more than five 'A's. Many of my male classmates outperformed me academically.

For instance, Bel, a student from my school, was considered among the top student in the Asrama. Beyond our school, another student named Maro (a pseudonym) from a different school consistently outshone everyone. I lagged behind them in terms of academic performance.

Nevertheless, I was unfazed by this disparity. My primary concern was the constant scrutiny of the enigmatic warden. All other considerations seemed less significant.

Gradually, Dorm 6 became more organized, with diligent cleaning banishing the once-present dust. I settled into the rhythms of Asrama life. The dorm's proximity to the laundry line was a significant advantage, making it easier to hang laundry, especially before the obligatory card-punching ritual at the office.

As I reminisce, memories of my Dorm 6 companions resurface. This group had a mix of students from my school and Tasek school. My interactions with my schoolmates fostered camaraderie, while my limited interactions with those from Tasek remained friendly.

Over time, a new group of Form 1 students joined Dorm 6, all of them second-call students. It was clear that these newcomers faced the same rigorous challenges, including encounters with the enigmatic warden and the intimidating seniors.

For my part, I didn't have the time or inclination to subject the juniors to harassment. I was dealing with my own trials and tribulations. However, there was one junior in my dorm to whom I gave a nickname, one that carried dignity and avoided embarrassment. Surprisingly, the lad took pride in this moniker.

I couldn't help but feel sympathy for those burdened with derogatory or humiliating nicknames that they couldn't escape. The Asrama had a habit of replacing given names with such monikers, perpetuating a unique naming tradition.

But the Asrama's atmosphere remained unchanged. The autocratic Encik Hussin continued to impose his "educational" methods with unwavering determination. I had grown accustomed to the routines and could predict his actions. This had become my normal.

I could predict which homeworks he would inspect each morning, and detention following the jemaah prayer to attend his sermons no longer bothered me. I was always prepared to be summoned to his office to endure his scolding. Resistance was futile, so I persevered to avoid further discord.

Due to this Asrama's tumultuous atmosphere, I cherished my time in school. Attending regular school provided a break from the oppressive rules of the Asrama, a brief escape into an environment where I could express my emotions more freely and find inner peace. The pressures that were suffocating in the Asrama didn't hold as much power here.

The contrast with regular school students was stark. The strict regulations during school hours couldn't compare to the suffocating rules of the Asrama. For me, the rules of school had no impact on my emotional well-being. I couldn't say if others felt the same way.

CHAPTER 13: An Unnoticed Shift in Perspective

With the beginning of the school holidays, I enjoyed the tranquillity of home, a haven where the daily routines of early Subuh prayer and floor sweeping no longer held sway over my life. It felt liberating to be free from the stern authority figures who governed every aspect of my existence.

During this time, I sometimes reflected on my experiences in the Asrama. It often left me feeling a sense of isolation and sadness. Although still a child, the boundaries of my life had already been set with unforgiving strictness.

I had doubts that any other boarding school could rival the level of rigidity I experienced in the Asrama. The warden, who ruled with strict control, subjected us to a relentless routine that fuelled my unease. If I had not chosen to enter the Asrama at the beginning of the year, I pondered whether my life would have taken a different course.

I realized that I rarely delved into memories of my primary school years during this period of reflection. Those years seemed to have faded from my memory, buried deep within me. Even now, remembering the significant events from those years is a challenging task. Meeting former classmates from that time is like a role reversal, as they often recall events that I struggle to remember.

What happened during those years? It seemed that the pressures of life in Form 1 and Form 2 had overshadowed other aspects of my life. My focus was solely on surviving, as it presented many challenges that weighed heavily on my young mind.

I'm not sure how my fellow residents of the Asrama felt, but for me, the experience was daunting and unsettling. If given the choice, I might have wanted to free myself from its strict embrace. But I had developed resilience, and so I persevered.

The pressures imposed by the warden don't warrant revisiting. Some may argue that his actions were solely for our nurturing, but I believe that truth of getting nurtured requires a humane approach. It should avoid negative emotions like excessive anger and disdain, which often characterized our interactions with him.

One incident from my Form 1 days stands out in my memory. We, the students of the afternoon session, shared a close bond as residents of the Asrama. As carefree adolescents, we indulged in childlike games with our friends, one of which involved a spirited contest to set up mosquito nets. The winner, who managed to assemble their net before Maghrib prayers, enjoyed recognition from peers as their reward.

To some, this might have seemed like a frivolous endeavour, but I refrained from participating, trying to maintain a sense of maturity. One day, a bold friend suggested a new strategy: setting up the mosquito net right before going to the school to secure an unbeatable lead. Several students, including myself, hesitated, aware of the warden's strict rules and fearing the consequences of breaking them.

To our surprise, when we returned from school that late afternoon, the warden was furious. We felt a sense of dread and uncertainty as we gathered in the dining hall after Maghrib prayers. His face contorted with anger, and he unleashed a torrent of indignation and fury upon us, a group of thirteen-year-old children who had engaged in a harmless and very childish competition. It was a harrowing experience that highlighted the warden's absolute authority over our lives.

I often wondered if the warden ever considered treating us with the same courtesy he demanded. We were just children, adolescents in the early stages of self-discovery, while he, a grown man, was an experienced authority figure. Why did he not choose to maintain civility instead of unleashing his anger over a minor incident like hanging mosquito nets early? I found it perplexing that he treated us with such disdain when we were not criminals in need of intimidation.

During this period, I underwent a noticeable physical transformation. My childhood appearance gave way to a lanky, pubescent form that set me apart from my peers. I remember a poignant moment when my neighbour, upon seeing me, failed to recognize the changed face before her and had to ask who I was. It was a melancholic moment, a reminder that I had not chosen this transformation; circumstances had dictated it.

As Ramadan approached, a week before the new school term, I enjoyed the festivities and warmth of family gatherings. These were moments of pure joy, spent with loved ones. However, the looming return to the Asrama cast a shadow over these cherished moments. I was filled with apprehension, knowing the pressures and anxieties that awaited me. I couldn't help but question the need for such intense stress in the Asrama. Was it too much to ask for a life without these troubles, marked by peace and balance? These questions plagued my mind, leaving me feeling despondent

CHAPTER 12: The Long-Awaited Closure

As the year 1997 graciously released its hold on the stage of time, it carried with it a sense of temporal slipping away. After our year-end examinations, I found myself somewhat uncertain about my performance. The results, when eventually revealed, fell within the realm of mediocrity. However, they were enough to promote me to Form 2 in the upcoming year.

Many events left their marks on that year, but one unforgettable memory is the haze catastrophe that befell our nation. Johor Bahru, a bustling urban enclave, found itself engulfed in this environmental disaster, leaving a lasting impression on my memory.

During the haze's oppressive grip, even architectural marvels and the Singapore Customs complex across the causeway disappeared behind an impenetrable shroud. Fortunately, we were spared from any catastrophic consequences.

Life within the Asrama remained highly regimented. Order prevailed from Dorm 1 to Dorm 4, and the grip of control continued to tighten around every student's existence. Nevertheless, I underwent a subtle transformation as I navigated the turbulent waters of adolescence.

I grappled with the complex emotions brought on by this new phase in my life and chose to go along with its unfolding. One noticeable change was in my voice; even my friends noticed it. This shift in my vocal tone left me momentarily puzzled, as though I were wrestling with the incongruity of my own auditory experience.

In the case of my peers, they, too, experienced similar changes. The physical transformations were especially evident. Once pleasant voices now gave way to hoarse, grating tones that resembled the mournful croaks of monitor lizards suffering from throat ailments.

One lethargic afternoon found me reclined on my bed, partially conscious, dreading Encik Hussin's summons. Suddenly, a stampede of adolescents thundered down the staircase, disrupting my fragile tranquillity. Intrigued, I decided to investigate the source of the commotion.

I followed the noisy crowd to the notice board outside the lower-level lavatory, where several sheets of paper had just been posted. Curiosity piqued, I joined the group of curious students, eager to decipher the contents of these new notices.

To my surprise, these papers contained information about our dormitory placements for the upcoming year. Each student was assigned to new quarters, as the rules decreed that no one should stay in their current dorm. The news was met with palpable excitement.

I, too, awaited with bated breath to learn my new dormitory assignment. However, I couldn't help but feel a pang of discontent, as it was evident that our lives in the hostel were entirely controlled by Encik Hussin. His authority was supreme, and we had no say in these matters.

As I read the list, I was disappointed to discover that I had been assigned to Dorm 6, the most remote and least desirable dormitory in the hostel. It had a reputation for being both squalid and isolated. Unfortunately, I had no say in the matter.

But there was a silver lining—I would be sharing the dorm with Bel, a trusted friend and fellow inmate of Dorm 6. His presence provided some emotional relief, as I could confide in him about my concerns. Surprisingly, Bel seemed unfazed by our new living arrangements.

Encik Hussin didn't just dictate which dorm we would be in; he also orchestrated the spatial arrangement of our sleeping quarters. This level of control extended even to our sleeping berths, a disconcerting intrusion into our personal lives that left no room for protest.

With precise instructions, Encik Hussin assigned beds to each student, leaving no room for choice. Fate determined that Bel would have the bunk right above mine, a source of unexpected comfort.

However, my fleeting contentment was overshadowed by the absence of a fan in my designated sleeping area. Dorm 6 had only one fan, located at area near to Dorm 7. The sultry nights that followed, without proper ventilation, left me vulnerable to relentless mosquito attacks.

As the end of the school year approached, Encik Hussin directed us to move to our newly assigned dormitories, a ritualistic transition that prepared us for the year ahead. Reluctantly, I bid farewell to my former dorm and settled into the far corners of Dorm 6.

I had never ventured into this forsaken dormitory before, and my initial impression was far from favourable. Dorm 6 appeared neglected and marred by the absence of former occupants. Its grim appearance, coupled with its isolated location, left me disconcerted.

The ominous atmosphere of daylight gave way to the malevolent intrusion of nightfall, as swarms of voracious mosquitoes infiltrated my inadequate mosquito net. I felt vulnerable, as the relentless mosquito attacks marked my first night in Dorm 6. The prospect of enduring an entire year within its confines loomed menacingly.

On the very day I was set to return home, a fever struck me, perhaps a result of recent indignations or the ceaseless mosquito attacks that weakened my immune system. Upon arriving home, I collapsed onto the family sofa, overcome with profound vulnerability.

My mother, her eyes filled with concern, gently touched my fevered forehead and whispered, "My poor child." Despite my transition into adolescence, remnants of my childhood behaviour lingered, and I made modest requests with childlike innocence. I tried to downplay my illness as a common fever, but my mother's vigilance persisted. She noticed my emaciated appearance and questioned if I had been eating enough. I remained silent, tacitly acknowledging the truth of her observation.