CHAPTER 36: The Challenge Presented

The atmosphere within the confines of Asrama remained unaffected by the passage of time, keeping its familiar rhythm. Gradually, the inner turmoil that had been swirling within me calmed, leaving me with a sense of inner peace. The primary source of pressure continued to be the realm of academics, especially the impending PMR examination. In all other aspects of life, tranquillity prevailed.

As per tradition, the annual Sports and Academic Festival involving various Asrama institutions took place in the middle of the academic year. This time, the responsibility of hosting fell on KJ Asrama. Although I had earned recognition in the previous year's carom competition, I had no expectation of reprising that role. Such matters, however, held little significance to me as I was content with a quiet existence, avoiding the allure of attention or special privileges.

One evening, Encik Zul gathered the students in the hall for the customary participant selection ritual in preparation for the upcoming KJ competition. As he read out the list of chosen students, I remained unfazed until my name was called as Asrama's representative in the Mathematics and Science Quiz competition. A wave of disbelief washed over me because I considered myself an ordinary choice compared to more academically accomplished peers.

A persistent question lingered in my mind. Why had Puan Zaidah, who barely knew of my existence, selected me over students she had a more substantial acquaintance with? Our interactions had never gone beyond brief exchanges during my time in Asrama. Perhaps, word of my previous district-level success had reached her ears, prompting her to extend this opportunity to me. Whatever the reason, I felt deeply grateful for this chance to compete alongside Maro and two other female students.

As I contemplated my own capabilities, I could foresee a path filled with challenges that surpassed any I had faced before. While my fellow competitors would encounter their unique difficulties, I realized that my journey would be different, with its own peculiar trials.

Despite this understanding, a lingering sense of apprehension clung to me. Doubts crept in, making me worry that I might not be adequately prepared for the high expectations. In those moments, I turned to prayer for solace and sought divine guidance and blessings.

To my surprise, my role extended beyond the quiz competition to include volleyball. Though I was a reserve player, I had never expected to step onto the playing field. The impending quiz match loomed over me, overshadowing any concerns about my role in the volleyball team.

My greatest worry was the possibility of leading Asrama's esteemed quiz team to defeat, a team known for its excellence. The memory of our team's triumph in the quiz competition the previous year, with Maro as a distinguished participant, remained vivid. I couldn't shake the haunting fear that this year's competition might not end in victory, and I might bear the blame for our loss.

Furthermore, this marked the moment when my previously inconspicuous life would be scrutinized. While I had always advocated for modesty and avoided the spotlight, I now found myself thrust into the limelight, needing to prove my worth to others. I refused to resign myself to being just another face in the crowd and nurtured a desire for recognition that stirred within me. These rising expectations enveloped me in a whirlwind of unease, with the opinions of others occupying my thoughts. Did I have what it takes to conquer these challenges and overcome my deepest fears?

As we made our way to KJ Asrama, I marvelled at the grandeur and magnitude of this institution, filling my eyes with wonder. It was clear that KJ Asrama surpassed not only in size but also in grandeur, evoking a sense of awe unlike the Asrama facilities I was accustomed to. Its impressive architecture, spacious design, and captivating allure gave it the appearance of a college campus, yet it retained the distinctive ambiance of Asrama. Every encounter, whether it was a restroom or a surau, left me entranced by its vastness and splendour.

The period before the quiz match was filled with restlessness and anxiety. My diligent efforts to prepare by studying a science treatise were no match for the nervousness that had taken hold of me, scattering my thoughts. Maro, the intellectual prodigy whom I had admired from afar, remained calm and composed, a stark contrast to my inner turmoil. I hoped that his remarkable intellect would compensate for any shortcomings I might bring to the competition.

As the designated time for the afternoon's Zohor prayer signalled the start of the contest, a sense of apprehension washed over me. An unusual unease gripped me, a feeling that was hard to explain. Unlike my previous experiences as a school representative, I now carried the banner of Asrama, knowing that my performance would be closely watched by an audience familiar with my face. In this crucible of scrutiny, the consequences of my mistakes felt insurmountable.

Despite my reservations, I found myself among the three contestants chosen for the quiz round, a development I accepted with a sense of bewildered determination. Alongside me was a formidable female student known for her mathematical prowess. In comparison, I felt inadequate. The presence of reserve participants added an air of uncertainty to our situation, complicating our prospects. In the event of any mishap, a legacy could be altered, a significant burden to bear.

Finally, the much-anticipated quiz contest began, pitting three teams against each other: KL, KJ, and JB. Our JB Asrama team consisted of myself as the second contestant, Maro as the third, and a female student as the lead. Questions arose, and time for contemplation was scarce. My heart raced with anticipation.

Standing on the stage, I looked out at the enthusiastic audience, feeling an unexplained shiver down my spine. An indescribable unease enveloped me, a sentiment that was hard to put into words. Unlike my previous experiences as a school representative, I now represented Asrama, and the weight of this responsibility was heavy on my conscience. The more discerning audience, familiar with my face, scrutinized my every word, and I couldn't escape their judgment.

Despite my unease, I was thrust into the midst of the quiz competition as one of the three participants. By my side was a brilliant female student known for her mathematical prowess. Compared to her, I felt like the weakest link, a feeling intensified by the presence of reserve participants whose role remained mysterious. With each question, I struggled to focus my thoughts and channel my cognitive abilities while battling inner doubt.

The questions, spanning Mathematics and Science, were complex and demanding. I tried to solve the intricate problems as quickly as possible while dealing with my nerves. Fortunately, I performed well, boosted by the support of our loyal JB Asrama team members.

The penultimate question, which would determine the winner between KJ and JB, brought a wave of tension to the room. KL, having fallen behind from the start, was no longer a contender. As the host institution, KJ seemed to enjoy a home-field advantage, with their teachers acting as judges. A sense of unfairness hung in the air.

The final question, a complex Science query, was of great significance:

"What is the most effective method of contraception?"

As a teenager with no personal experience in the matter, I could only provide a technical response: the ligation and severance technique. Surprisingly, KL, my competitors, agreed with my answer. In stark contrast, KJ advocated for the contraceptive pill. To my disappointment, the latter answer was deemed correct, and victory was awarded to them. Maro and I couldn't shake the suspicion that the competition had been tainted by prior collusion with KJ's allies, their endorsement of the contraceptive pill serving as a prelude to a dubious triumph.

Upon learning that I had contributed the most points to our team's score, I felt a sense of relief. Victory had eluded us, but I held no blame. What mattered was that we had given our best effort.

At a certain moment, I found myself at the centre of Asrama's collective attention—a feeling of unexplainable joy washed over me, accompanied by a mysterious smile. It was an emotion typical of the teenage transition into early adulthood, and I hoped it would blossom into a beautiful feeling, like a bouquet of soothing colours cradling my spirit in contentment and grace. However, it eventually dissolved into the realm of illusion, a fleeting mirage. In truth, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

CHAPTER 35: Mandated Pursuits Beyond the Classroom

My narrative now shifts its focus to the events of my school journey in this particular year. This year brought forth a multitude of academic commitments, which was inevitable as it marked the time when my peers and I were preparing for the significant PMR examination—a pivotal milestone in our academic journey that filled us with a sense of unease.

Academic pressure, as it often does, became a constant presence in our educational path. Our feelings about this demanding situation were likely similar to your own, dear reader—unwanted but inescapable aspects of our lives.

Fortunately, our venerable Asrama was well-equipped to provide us with various academic programs. Since our arrival as wide-eyed Form 1 students, Asrama had played a crucial role in nurturing our academic abilities. It had guided us through a range of enriching workshops and inspirational speeches.

I must admit that, initially, the term "bengkel" or "workshop" puzzled me. My mind would conjure images of automotive repair shops. However, over time, these workshops became an integral part of Asrama life.

For me, these mandatory workshops didn't spark much enthusiasm, mainly because they took place on weekends—a time we usually reserved for relaxation and leisure. Instead of enjoying a break, we found ourselves in the hall, attending these mandatory instructional sessions.

As Friday night descended, the announcement echoed throughout the dormitories, calling all Form 3 students to gather in the hall. Here began a rather laborious task of setting up tables and chairs, a daunting job that involved transporting these items from our classrooms to the designated hall.

My own classroom happened to be in an elevated location, making the process of bringing tables and chairs down quite challenging. After much effort, we finally arranged them in long rows across the hall.

I sometimes felt a bit self-conscious about occupying the front rows, yet I usually ended up in the third row from the front, a spot frequented by many of my peers. During those moments of tedium, I often engaged in lively discussions and friendly banter with my fellow students.

Typically, the workshops took place on Saturday mornings, extending well into the afternoon and then continuing with an evening session that spilled over into Sunday afternoon. The idea of dedicating an entire weekend to academic pursuits was, to be honest, a daunting prospect.

In Form 3, these workshops became quite frequent, covering a range of subjects. Even less celebrated subjects like Bahasa Melayu, Kemahiran Hidup, and Pendidikan Islam were not exempt from these rigorous programs. While Mathematics and Science had their fair share of workshops, they were not spared from this demanding schedule.

During one such workshop, a small yet painful incident occurred. As we were carrying tables and chairs back to our classroom, I and a fellow student crossed paths on the stairs—one going up and the other going down. To make way for my companion, I leaned against the wall, inadvertently taking the weight of the table. It was then that a sharp edge pierced my head, causing sudden pain and disorientation. My head throbbed intensely, and blood started to flow from the wound as I struggled to cope with the sudden pain.

I quickly realized that the corner of the fire alarm switchbox, concealed by the table I was carrying, had caused the injury. My initial irritation toward my companion for this mishap soon turned into relief when I realized that the injury was not as serious as I had feared.

The rest of that day was spent recovering in Dorm 1, where I had an epiphany: I had hardly used the television for entertainment throughout the year. Back at home, the television was at my disposal, but the demands of Asrama life and my diminishing interest had made it a forgotten commodity. Instead, I sought comfort in the dormitory, listening to music on my Walkman and reading humorous magazines.

Weekends became a haven of rest, where I indulged in the luxury of sleeping in within the peaceful confines of the dormitory. The soothing sounds of insects from the nearby Hutan Bandar, the gentle touch of sunlight, and the refreshing breeze from the oscillating fan created a symphony that lulled me into serenity.

In the realm of academics, the school introduced a supplementary program in preparation for the upcoming PMR examination called "Tuisyen Kampung," exclusively designed for Malay students. This program offered teachering sessions in Mathematics, Science, and English, conducted three times a week, with each session lasting two hours. As residents of Asrama, we had become accustomed to such academic endeavours and accepted their necessity without reservation.

Our tight schedules made it impractical to travel between Asrama and school multiple times a day. Thus, immediately after these tuition sessions, we headed straight to school, a decision influenced by practicality.

It was somewhat puzzling that, despite our location in the urban hub of Johor Bahru, the program was called "Tuisyen Kampung," a detail that left me perplexed. Nonetheless, we were accustomed to the demands of such programs and needed no further persuasion.

These weekly teachering sessions spanned three days, with each day dedicated to a specific subject. Starting promptly at 10 in the morning, they concluded with a break at noon. Consequently, there was little time to return to Asrama before our next journey to school. We would stay within the school premises, waiting for our lunch to arrive.

Lunchtime marked the arrival of a group of Form 2 students, carrying polystyrene containers filled with food. The sheer quantity of these containers, needed to satisfy the hunger of our group, often piqued the curiosity of onlookers who were not part of Asrama. Our gatherings at the school canteen, observed with interest by others, left me somewhat self-conscious. It was an inexplicable feeling, although it held a certain degree of amusement, which I now find amusing in retrospect.

So, my enthusiasm for the Tuisyen Kampung program remained lukewarm at best. The schedule didn't quite align with the rhythms of Asrama life, and it often led to a sense of hurry and frustration. However, a fortunate change in our class schedule allowed Asrama students to attend without the rush.

This change seemed to be driven by several factors. Firstly, non-Asrama students preferred a later start time for classes, reducing the need for multiple trips between school and Asrama, especially for those who lived farther away from the school. Without this change, I believe the stress of punctuality would have made my non-attendance a likely outcome.

This was the academic routine that defined that year for me. At the time, I didn't view it as a matter of great significance. I simply persevered, aiming to face and overcome each challenge that came my way. By not dwelling excessively on these demands, I managed to reduce much of the stress associated with that year.

This stoic attitude, shared by many of my fellow students on the academic journey, helped alleviate my sense of isolation. Our collective efforts and shared burdens gave us the strength to bear the weight with equanimity. My optimism remained unwavering, and I believed that my efforts, though demanding, would eventually yield results.

CHAPTER 34: The Allure of Youthful Pursuits

I apologize if my stories often revolve around academic pursuits and exams. I ask for your understanding in this regard. Let me explain, for I was only fifteen years old, and the looming spectre of the upcoming PMR examination dominated my youthful existence.

My thoughts were consumed entirely by the pursuit of academic excellence. The intricate corridors of emotion and profound contemplation remained dormant, unexplored, as they lay beyond the scope of my usual musings.

Despite my unwavering dedication to academics, I remained an active participant in the athletic activities of Asrama. Volleyball, in particular, had captured my heart. This sport seamlessly blended relaxation with competition, requiring a combination of strength, focus, and agility—a challenge I embraced eagerly.

My involvement in volleyball began with my limited knowledge of the sport. My first introduction to it came from a Japanese television drama series that my much older sisters had avidly followed when I was just a kindergartener. In those early days, I viewed the sport with disinterest and indifference. However, as I observed my friends' daily games, my feelings evolved from apathy to fascination.

Despite my initial lack of expertise, I didn't emerge as a helpless player on the volleyball court. While there were certainly more skilled players, I had my moments of prowess that occasionally impressed my peers.

Our volleyball games usually took place on weekends, following a routine affectionately known as the "King method." The victorious team, like reigning monarchs of the court, remained in control, while the defeated team was promptly replaced by a fresh set of competitors. The popularity of the sport ensured a continuous stream of eager participants waiting for their turn on the hallowed grounds.

As I look back on those fond days, a deep sense of nostalgia washes over me, filled with memories of the simple joys of youth. Volleyball, with its blend of athleticism and strategy, will always hold a special place in my heart.

To be honest, volleyball was not without its moments of monotony, especially when the ball ventured outside the court's boundaries. Retrieving it, especially when I was the errant launcher, could be a challenging task. Climbing the fence to retrieve it held little appeal for me.

Playing volleyball, however, was far from tiring. It demanded not only physical skills but also unwavering focus. Hours could pass by in joyful engagement with this sport. It was a pastime I cherished.

I discovered that I had a talent for endurance. I would often be drenched in sweat after a game, my clothes soaked, a testament to the physical benefits of playing. Afterward, I would feel rejuvenated, filled with contentment and energy.

The original Asrama volleyball ball had seen better days and was no longer suitable for use due to wear and tear. In our collective enthusiasm for the sport, we embarked on a communal effort to acquire a replacement. I was fervently involved in these endeavours, as I was one of the regular players. Eventually, we replaced Asrama's traditional white volleyball with a multi-coloured one.

As the number of participants inevitably exceeded the capacity of the volleyball court, some of us resorted to playing football on the adjacent field. Form 2 marked the beginning of a surge in football activities, despite the field's modest size. It was during this time that the Asrama football league was born, with teams representing their respective schools.

I make no claim to being proficient in football; I recognized my limitations in this sport. However, I held no contempt for it and even managed to enjoy it, albeit with a touch of awkwardness. My ineptitude was not as pronounced as one might expect.

Interestingly, fate bestowed upon me the honour of representing the school's premier football team in the Asrama league, consisting of six players per side. To be honest, words scarcely do justice to my astonishment. Nonetheless, I accepted the opportunity with unbridled enthusiasm.

During my time in Form 2, I noticed a significant shift in the interpersonal dynamics among the students. These relationships became increasingly complex as each student matured, and their thoughts and attitudes became more intricate. Discordant ideas and varying interests became the basis for deliberate or unintentional divisions among the student population, influencing their decision-making processes. Distinguishing the truly important from the trivial became more challenging, ensnaring their judgment in a web of confusion.

For instance, when assembling the school's premier football team, victory was not the sole objective. If it were, only the absolute best players would have been chosen. I had no illusions about the difference between those with remarkable skills and those without. However, pride and dissatisfaction often took precedence over skill, and a preference for enjoying the game outweighed the call of victory.

As one of the fortunate few selected for the top team, I found myself in a position where I had limited input. I played my role as dictated by the circumstances and managed to achieve success in our matches.

However, in Form 3, my interest in sports within the hostel underwent a noticeable shift. When I ventured onto the field, it was more often for a game of volleyball. Over time, I noticed a significant improvement in my skills, which extended my participation.

Who among us would willingly embrace mediocrity? During this period, I found myself with numerous opportunities to engage in longer volleyball matches. My passion for the sport grew stronger, yet I remained uncertain about its eventual course.

The size of the hostel field was not conducive to a wide range of sports. Apart from volleyball and football, we occasionally played badminton and table tennis, neither of which were my forte. I admired the skill displayed by my peers in these games, but I had no personal inclination to pursue them. One of my friends, Iman, had a particular fondness for both sports, especially table tennis, where I often found myself as an unwitting opponent during free time matches.

During this period, sports served as a remedy for my emotional well-being. It provided an escape from the complexities and challenges that besieged my mind.

The path I traversed was not without its trials and tribulations. It was a time of significant transformation, both physically and mentally. A multitude of thoughts weighed heavily on my mind, causing disquiet.

I subjected my thoughts to thorough introspection, carefully weighing the pros and cons of each decision. Family, friendships, and the environment played a significant role in my deliberations. In the past, decision-making had come naturally, unburdened by uncertainty. Now, the landscape of life was more complex, and I grappled with each choice presented to me.

Life within Asrama illuminated my existence with each passing day. A sense of completeness enveloped me, providing a stark contrast to the doubts and anxieties that once plagued me during Forms 1 and 2. I longed to forget those memories, to rid my soul of their oppressive weight. Perhaps, though, every trial and tribulation served a purpose, and it was the will of Allah that I experienced this moment at this time.

My concept of happiness differed from that of others. While some found joy in material possessions or thrilling adventures, my contentment stemmed from simpler sources: the confines of Dorm 1, the world of volleyball, and the pursuit of academic excellence. I understood that the tapestry of human purpose and the spectrum of happiness were vast and varied, with each individual thread being unique and valid in its own right.

At this point, I realized that the tapestry of my life had been woven with meticulous care. I was grateful for this awareness. The path I had travelled must continue, undeterred by the allure of more complex journeys that threatened to divert me from my course.

Life followed a routine, with each day beginning with the Subuh prayer and then proceeding through breakfast, laundry, morning shower, and morning prep class. After these formalities, the school day started, filled with lessons, revisions, and academic pursuits. After a mid-morning break, we prepared for school and then headed to the dining hall for lunch. Finally, dressed in our uniforms and carrying our books, we boarded the school bus and resumed our roles as students.

Outside the school grounds, I was just a student following the demands of academia. But within the hallowed walls of Asrama, I transformed into a person whose identity was inseparable from this sacred place. Challenges and trials were ever-present, but I faced them with composure because the path I walked was undoubtedly chosen for me.

CHAPTER 33: Intense Academic Competition

 I stood in bewildering contemplation of the wellspring from which I summoned the courage to compete with my brilliant companions. As I mentioned earlier, I lacked any exceptional privileges that would set me apart from my peers. However, over the course of the year, a transformation began to take shape within me—a budding sense of pride quietly sprouted. Though I remained a mystery to others, I couldn't help but wonder about the significance of this newfound attitude. Did it carry any significance, or was it merely a fleeting aspect of my life? Why then include it in this narrative?

In Asrama, I resided in Class 3L1. The numerical "3" represented Form 3, "L" indicated the male gemder, and "1" designated it as the top-ranked class. In total, our class consisted of sixteen students, each an exceptional academic performer. They dedicated themselves relentlessly to preparing for the upcoming PMR examinations, studying even during brief moments of respite, be it through exercises or concise study notes. It was a group of formidable competitors, and I was determined to excel through diligence and determination.

I should note that this competitive spirit was devoid of animosity or resentment. It was a healthy rivalry, although not entirely free from occasional envy or bitterness. I cannot claim to understand the inner thoughts of my fellow students, and my observations are speculative. Nevertheless, our collective focus was firmly fixed on the impending PMR results, overshadowing any social interactions among them. As for me, I found their interactions and relationships with each other somewhat mysterious, and I had little interest in deciphering the intricacies of their interactions.

Allow me to reminisce about the memories of Class 3L1. These memories are somewhat hazy, and I invite my former classmates, should they come across this account, to correct any errors—whether accidental or intentional.

Our classroom was located on the upper floor, conveniently close to my beloved Dorm 1. Whether it was due to its proximity to my favourite residence or a genuine sense of belonging, I cannot say for certain. Strangely, I gravitated towards the back desk in the middle row, even though my classmates were generally well-behaved, in stark contrast to my unruly disposition. In my opinion, it was the calmest corner in all of Asrama, disturbed only by my own spirited nature.

During breaks from our academic endeavours, it was common to find us engrossed in our reference books. Maro, in particular, was a model of studiousness, while my own inclinations often led me into daydreams. On particularly gloomy days, I would wander over to my nearby dormitory, recline on my cot, and lose myself in reverie.

Our prelude to prep or tuition sessions always began with a collective Quranic reading—a tradition passed down through the generations of Asrama. This nightly ritual filled our classrooms with the melodious recitation of Quranic verses.

In Class 3L1, we gathered around a single open Quran, taking turns to orally recite its verses. While not all of us were proficient in Quranic recitation, we participated in this communal practice with unwavering dedication.

After our recitation, it was time to immerse ourselves in the rigors of tuition classes. Among these, I found myself most drawn to the Science class, although I'm unsure why my interest shifted from Mathematics, which had been my primary passion before. At this point, my academic journey began to revolve around Physics, Chemistry, and Biology. My love for the sciences was undeniable, to the point that I can't even recall who my Form 3 Mathematics teacher was, or if there were any tuition sessions for it. On the contrary, I have vivid memories of Science, History, English, and Geography teachers, especially when they were frequently absent.

As time passed, the intensity of our academic competition increased, particularly during monthly and semester exams. The anticipation of our results was palpable as we vied for supremacy within Asrama. After each assessment, we engaged in enthusiastic score comparisons, each student striving to ascertain their rank.

Initially, I felt a degree of unease about this competitive atmosphere, but I eventually came to terms with it. The thrill of the competition gave the whole environment an exhilarating quality. Although we were a diverse group with our unique quirks, we all shared the same goal.

For my part, the competitive atmosphere in Asrama did not breed disdain, and I bore no ill will towards my classmates, even in the face of Maro's consistent success. I recognized his exceptional abilities and achievements without a hint of jealousy.

In summary, my time in Class 3L1 was meaningful, yet I felt that the true completeness I sought could be found elsewhere, especially within the embrace of Dorm 1. This classroom, while essential for academic pursuits, couldn't impart the deeper life lessons I was beginning to seek.

Now, let's shift our focus to Class 3KS, my academic home within the school itself. About half of our classmates came from Asrama, and we had been together since Form 1. Unfortunately, our class had no female students, making us the rowdiest and most vocal students in the school.

Many of the Malay students in our class were appointed as prefects, an honour I politely declined when offered. Unlike some of my friends who felt pressured to accept the position, I provided a sincere rationale for my refusal, and my decision was respected.

However, with time, I would come to regret my choice as I witnessed most of my friends rise to the esteemed position of prefects, including Bel and Min. The competition within this class was fierce, especially when competing with the school's top Chinese male students. While we weren't all exceptional, the majority were formidable competitors, which motivated me to excel in every test and exam.

In the classroom, I sat close to Bel, while opportunities for interaction with Min, despite being in the same class, were limited. My time was mainly spent with Bel, a friendship I cherished.

During this period, I became acutely aware of my deteriorating eyesight. Words on the blackboard that were once clear became blurred, making note-taking a challenging task. Eventually, I was provided with corrective lenses. I initially felt self-conscious about wearing glasses, but as more of my peers embraced them, I accepted my own spectacled appearance. The prevalence of myopia among us remained a mystery.

Despite the classroom's resemblance to those in Forms 1 and 2, there was a noticeable change in the atmosphere. I began to appreciate the educational environment more, finding value in every subject except Pendidikan Seni (Art). The teachers in this classroom, although not without quirks, had a certain air of distinction, even though one of them was considered the school's least favourite teacher.

Cikgu Bakar, our Science teacher, was a master of his craft. His teaching finesse was unmatched, and he incorporated elements of Physics, Chemistry, and Biology into his lessons. His teaching style, distinct from the prescribed textbooks, elevated him to a pedagogical virtuoso. Even our Chinese peers, who were typically reserved in their praise, admired his teaching, despite his occasional sternness.

On the other hand, Cikgu Syakir, our Bahasa Melayu teacher, also served as the discipline master for afternoon sessions. This dual role earned him the reputation of being the least liked teacher among students. However, there was a dramatic transformation in the classroom. He adopted an air of professionalism, mixed with a cheerful humour that made his teaching enjoyable. His stern and gruff demeanour outside the classroom gave way to an attitude marked by respect and camaraderie within its confines.

But it was Cikgu Kartina, our Mathematics teacher, who left an indelible mark on my memory. A paragon of kindness, her commitment to her students transcended the usual teacher-student relationship. While I may not have held a prominent place in her memory, her impact on my classmates was undeniable. Each student who admired her remains, in my view, etched into her memory. I held no grudge for not being among the most memorable in her eyes; my existence did not bear any extraordinary marks worthy of such distinction. Such is the nature of life, unwavering in its relentless progression.

As the days went by, the intensity of academic competition grew, especially in Class 3KS. We pushed ourselves to achieve greater heights, nurturing loftier aspirations. I found myself unwittingly caught in this web of rivalry, determined to lead. Why, you might ask? To this, I cannot offer a straightforward answer. Is this the inevitable path of life? Must we relentlessly pursue academic excellence as our ultimate goal? These are the lasting impressions of our environment, and we are summoned to this pursuit, a pursuit of undeniable significance.

CHAPTER 32: Treasured Havens

Dorm 1, a place unmatched in its charm, left an enduring mark on my soul during my time at Asrama. It stood as a paragon of perfection, a sanctuary where I remained perpetually free from worry or disturbance.

The passage of time had no power over my fondness for this dormitory. During moments when I was not occupied with academic pursuits, I often preferred the comfort of its confines over venturing into the common areas or neighbouring dorms.

Here, on my cot, I would relax, my Walkman filling my senses with sweet melodies as I enjoyed the humorous content of Ujang or Gila-Gila magazines. Strangely, I never quite grasped the appeal of Mangga magazine, despite Kaido's subscription.

Allow me to share with you the story of my dear friend, Iman. Fate had placed his sleeping bed directly above mine, resulting in close quarters during our nightly rest. Despite the serious exterior he projected, Iman's friendship remained steadfast. This assertion is not motivated by any hidden agenda; it stems from a genuine belief.

Throughout our friendship, Iman embodied friendliness and never caused me any annoyance or trouble. I say this not to boast but as a testament to the fact that Iman's behaviour never provoked annoyance, vexation, or any other troubling emotions in me. To the best of my recollection, I never noticed any wrongdoing on his part.

Our friendship was devoid of formalities, and we often engaged in jokes and laughter, which frequently led to tears of joy. Notably, Iman had a habit of waking up early, starting his day before Subuh. It was he who would wake me up, and when I regained consciousness, I would find our dorm bathed in the soft light of early morning.

Sometimes, I would overcome my inertia and join him, unfurling the mosquito net, going to the surau for Subuh prayer, and then returning to my beloved cot. Unfortunately, sleep often eluded me as the dormitory came alive with the activities of others. In the meantime, Iman would have already completed his morning routines with meticulous precision, making his bed neatly.

Among the many memories, one particular incident remains vivid—an event that clung to my consciousness with unwavering persistence. It occurred one morning after Iman had woken me up as usual. However, this morning had an unexpected twist—a sudden drenching with cold water, a prankster's playful act courtesy of Encik Zul.

Luckily, I was not the only one to experience this watery assault. Several drowsy students, who had neglected the Subuh jemaah prayer, were also on the receiving end of Encik Zul's whimsical prank. Instead of malevolence, the result of this watery escapade was laughter and amusement.

In the aftermath, as cheerful banter filled the air, I playfully teased Iman about his delayed wake-up call, which only added to our amusement. This early morning drenching, although a new experience, was free from any fear and was simply a source of shared laughter.

Iman later revealed that he had tried multiple times to wake me up from my deep sleep, suspecting that tiredness from the previous night might have held me captive. I hurriedly went to the surau for Subuh prayer, but the spectre of Encik Hussin remained in my thoughts, amplified by the looming presence of Encik Zul making his rounds.

As Encik Zul began his rounds from Dorm 7, my unease led me to seek refuge behind a locker, a precaution that even Encik Zul himself usually ignored. On one day, to my astonishment, Encik Zul opened the locker door, revealing my hidden sanctuary, which was a source of great embarrassment for me. Amused by the irony, he gave me a knowing smile before continuing his inspection, while the dorm's residents shared in the amusement.

My embarrassment transformed into unrestrained laughter. My inexplicable urge to seek seclusion remained a mystery from that era. What was undeniably clear, however, was the strong bond that existed between Iman and me.

Our leisure hours were filled with various amusements and unique diversions, one of which was gathering beneath the dormitory's whirring fan during the night. This kind of meeting, held in darkness when the dormitory lights were off, became a favourite pastime among our peers.

As respected members of Dorm 1, we strived to maintain our distinction by engaging in lively conversations, passionate discussions, and even candid critiques of our fellow students. Although these gatherings lasted no more than fifteen minutes, they held a special allure. Afterward, we would return to our cots, satisfied by our nighttime revelry, and drift into peaceful sleep.

Kaido, the luminary mentioned earlier in this narrative, remained a significant presence in my Asrama life. Our initial misunderstanding regarding my ablutions after Quranic recitation, which was mistakenly believed to emit ammonia gas, blossomed into a friendly companionship.

Our shared destiny, as both classmates and dormitory residents, meant that we spent twenty-four hours together. In my opinion, Kaido had a remarkable sense of humour. His ability to inject levity into even the most serious situations was undeniable.

Despite our camaraderie, Kaido's inner thoughts and emotions remained a mystery. While he projected an air of joviality, he concealed introspective thoughts and deeper feelings. I refrained from speculating about the hidden aspects of his being, and our relationship remained light-hearted.

Our rivalry, although playful, continued within the dormitory. Playful banter and light-hearted exchanges were the hallmarks of our interactions, ensuring that laughter always emerged victorious.

In addition to our main characters, Dorm 1 was home to three junior occupants: Abu, Abe, and Abi (aliases used for discretion). Despite their similar physical statures, their temperaments and personalities were distinctive.

Out of prudence due to my seniority, I avoided getting involved in their youthful intrigues, mindful of the potential for discord. Among the three, Abi stood out as the most compatible companion and showed an unexpected interest in my daily routines. He had a mysterious aura, setting him apart from the typical junior students in the dormitory.

In summary, Dorm 1 exuded an atmosphere of harmonious coexistence, with minor tensions barely noticeable. The living conditions were excellent, and the junior occupants posed no apparent problems. The question of who would be the leader, whether Iman or myself, had vanished, reflecting the dormitory's peaceful atmosphere.

Reflecting on the individual experiences of Iman, Kaido, Abu, Abe, and Abi, Dorm 1 filled me with a sense of joy—a pinnacle reached in my Asrama life. It represented a period of pure delight, where every experience was cherished, and I revelled in contentment.

However, the state of Dorm 1 played a significant role in my decision to leave Asrama the following year. I wanted to preserve the pristine memories of this era, untarnished by the passage of time. While the initial two years of my Asrama journey may have seemed unremarkable, they, in some inexplicable way, had fostered an attachment to Asrama itself.

The question lingered—could I leave this realm of unspoiled beauty and perfection? Could I recreate such harmony in a new environment? The answer, as revealed in subsequent chapters, cast a profound shadow over my heart.

CHAPTER 31: Profound Gratitude

The glorious victory in the quiz competition, a moment of unparalleled triumph, sent waves of euphoria coursing through my very soul. Within the revered halls of Asrama, my spirits soared to dizzying heights. Following this triumph, the once-daunting realms of Mathematics and Science seemed to bow to my command.

While Mathematics had long been my trusted companion, Science now unfolded before me like a captivating story, captivating my imagination in unprecedented ways. An inexplicable fondness had taken root, urging me to explore its intricate depths with insatiable curiosity. Whether I was within the school's hallowed halls or the familiar embrace of Asrama, the thought of Science classes filled me with unbridled joy.

This deep passion for the subject kindled a fierce determination to excel, going beyond the mere desire to impress Encik Hussin. It was an inner fire, an unwavering belief that greatness was within my reach. Indeed, I held an unshakeable conviction in my own potential for greatness.

The first monthly test was a testament to this growing self-assuredness. It culminated in a resounding success, leaving me floating on a sea of profound contentment. I had evolved, trusting in my own abilities without seeking external validation.

I saw a path paved with brilliance stretching ahead, and my life had undergone a significant transformation. My focus was now unwaveringly fixed on the pursuit of academic excellence, guiding me resolutely. However, I didn't drown in the arduous work of constant studying, as I had unshakable faith in my intellect and self-assuredness to steer my journey.

In fact, an unexpected serenity enveloped me, and I appreciated this blessing. I, who had once been an unremarkable child, blessed with fortunate all-A in the UPSR examination, had earned a coveted place in Asrama. For this transformation, I felt profound gratitude.

The improvement in my academic pursuits wasn't the only positive change within the enigmatic embrace of Asrama. My social skills also underwent noticeable refinement as I skillfully navigated the complex web of friendships with my adolescent peers.

Within the sheltered boundaries of Asrama, each resident had their quirks and unique personalities, creating a diverse tapestry of characters. I realized that the key to forging harmonious relationships lay in adapting my interactions to the distinct characteristics of each individual.

However, my unwavering commitment to the principle of causing no harm, whether physically or emotionally, remained steadfast. Any conflicts that arose were unintended missteps, which I worked tirelessly to avoid.

This commitment resulted in an absence of significant conflicts with my fellow Asrama residents. With each passing day, my happiness increased, and the minor troubles that occasionally came my way seemed insignificant. I resisted the temptation to dwell on issues that could potentially disrupt the delicate balance I had painstakingly achieved.

Unlike my Form 2 self, who was vulnerable to pressure and quick to perceive offenses, I had evolved into someone capable of forgiveness and forgetfulness. My focus shifted towards strengthening my bonds with my close friends, especially the deep connection I shared with Iman, my dormitory mate. Similarly, I nurtured new acquaintances, whether they were classmates or dormitory residents.

In our friendly banter and jesting, we discovered the magic of building connections without causing harm or crossing boundaries. Having spent time getting to know each other, we were ready to defuse potential conflicts before they could escalate into more significant disputes.

One noteworthy aspect that added charm to this period was the realm of academic pursuit. Departing from the usual, I found myself invigorated by the prospect of each new school day. Inside the classroom, I was an eager student, a model of enthusiasm for learning. My thirst for knowledge remained unquenchable as I absorbed every word shared by the wise teachers. These teachers not only fulfilled their duties diligently but also provided valuable insights that I eagerly embraced.

However, within this sea of academic enthusiasm, one memory stood out—the recurring issue of tardiness. This unfortunate situation arose due to the unreliable bus driver's erratic behaviour. Furthermore, his habit of transporting female students from the other school before us exacerbated our problem, delaying our daily commute.

As a result, by the time we reached school, the students were invariably lined up neatly in the open hall, their faces filled with cheerful anticipation. It was an embarrassing sight that left me mortified.

Nevertheless, with determination, I walked alongside my fellow Asrama comrades towards the assembly area, bearing witness to our daily ordeal. Thankfully, the discipline teacher showed understanding and refrained from imposing penalties, likely aware of our predicament.

However, as our chronic tardiness persisted, the discipline teacher felt compelled to take action. Several of us held the prestigious titles of school prefects, with Bel serving as the head prefect. Our inability to fulfil our prefect duties before the start of classes undermined the authority of the prefect team in the school. In response, the discipline teacher lodged a formal complaint with Asrama.

Promptly, Asrama reprimanded the tardy bus driver, warning him against repeating his late arrivals. In response to this scolding, he chose to expedite our arrival at school, seemingly offended by the reprimand.

This decision was a clear act of defiance, as the bus was originally scheduled to depart at precisely noon. Anyone who arrived late faced the embarrassment of being left behind, as lunch was scheduled for 11:30 a.m., leaving no room for tardiness.

Upon our arrival at school, an unusual silence hung in the air, and with little to do, I often reclined by the edge of the drain next to the hall. Many of my Asrama peers joined me in this activity, recognizing the scarcity of sleep within Asrama's hallowed halls. Even a brief break was considered a precious treasure.

After school, a frantic race ensued to secure a coveted spot in the bus queue. The sight of Asrama students placing their bags behind the signboard pole was a symbol of this daily ritual. We gathered by the green wire fence, which had been gently curved by the countless students who leaned on it every day.

Upon returning to Asrama, dinner took precedence, and the memories of those communal meals still bring a smile to my face. Afterward, we went our separate ways to start our evening routines. For me, it involved quickly retrieving my bag and towel through the classroom window next to the back veranda.

From there, I made my way to Dorm 1, climbing the front staircase with purposeful steps. Once inside my dormitory, I unfurled my mosquito net, took a refreshing shower, and performed my Maghrib prayer in the surau. This routine prepared me for evening tuition or night prep, leading me to the nearby classrooms, each step taken with determination.

It was a life to which I had grown profoundly accustomed, one that I found intellectually stimulating and personally enriching. With each passing day, my focus sharpened on the singular goal of achieving outstanding results in every examination. This ambition consumed me, overshadowing other aspects of my life.

Matters that perhaps should have warranted deeper consideration were dismissed without much thought, a decision whose consequences would ripple through my life for years to come.

CHAPTER 30: The Pivotal Commencement

The days followed a predictable rhythm, similar to the steady heartbeat of a diligent student. My sole focus was dedicated to the rigorous preparations required for the upcoming PMR exams at the end of the year. Encouraged by the supportive environment around me, I embarked on these academic endeavours with a sense of satisfaction.

In the company of friends who were equally committed to their studies, I was driven forward. The goal of achieving high marks was always in front of me, both motivating and challenging me. Strangely, this constant pressure acted as a catalyst, propelling me to put in more effort. Without it, I might have wasted my days in idle daydreams.

However, it was a seemingly ordinary event that would usher in a transformative chapter and leave an indelible mark on my teenage years. This event was the prestigious Johor Bahru District-level Junior High School Mathematics and Science Quiz competition, and it would thrust me into an unexpected world of positivity and wonder.

The news of my selection as my school's representative in this competition came as a surprise. It was an unexpected honour and left me feeling a mix of disbelief and humility. In my school, there were other outstanding students, particularly individuals like Bel and several Malay male peers who, in my opinion, seemed more deserving of this recognition. Yet, fate had chosen a different path for me, favouring my participation.

The teacher responsible for the selection process had used our performance in the final-year Form 2 exams as the criteria. In both Mathematics and Science, my scores had shone brightly. While I was on par with Bel in Science, my score in Mathematics was slightly higher. This was a first-time distinction that outperformed Bel for me, a fortunate stroke of luck.

What added even more significance to this accolade was that Cikgu Bakar, the strict Science teacher known for his rigorous standards, had personally identified me as the most proficient among Malay male students in both Mathematics and Science. The emotions I felt upon receiving this honour were a complex mix of humility and joy, coupled with the weight of responsibility. I was tasked with proving that I deserved this trust.

Similarly, Cikgu Kartina, the Mathematics teacher, must have been equally surprised when my name was announced. Compared to Bel and others who were more well-known, I was relatively unknown. However, I embraced this opportunity eagerly, determined to make my school proud. The fact that our school had never advanced beyond the initial round in this competition didn't discourage me. Instead, it fuelled my determination.

Each school was allowed to send four representatives, adhering to specific racial and gender quotas. Although my selection was based on the Malay male quota, I didn't let that affect my commitment. The primary goal was to demonstrate unwavering dedication, regardless of the circumstances.

Our group of representatives included a male and female student of Chinese descent, along with a Malay girl from the RK class. Participating in this competition was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and I wasn't the only Asrama student tasked with representing our school. My friend Maro had also entered the competition on behalf of his prestigious all-boys school, sparking my curiosity about his performance.

The event took place at STF, a prestigious boarding school in Johor Bahru. It marked my first visit to another school, and the discovery that STF was an all-girls' school filled me with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The venue, charged with anticipation for the impending competition, was unfamiliar but exhilarating.

The preliminary stage of the competition required a written examination. This phase acted as a crucible, narrowing down the field of competitors to select only the most distinguished schools. Realistically, I had little expectation of our school's advancement, given our past performance. Yet, my fellow representatives were undoubtedly gifted, adding to my apprehension.

The questions in the examination were challenging, and it was in the field of Mathematics where my strengths shone the brightest. Since my primary school days, my aptitude in this subject had been evident, and I faced mathematical conundrums with unwavering confidence. In Science, while I remained confident, I did encounter moments of trepidation that required me to rely on educated guesses.

Between stages, I took the opportunity to explore STF's premises, searching for Maro. He seemed to be engrossed in strategic discussions with his own teammates.

The climax of the event arrived with the announcement of results. Each school was named one by one, building up the suspense. The prestigious STF was announced first, and my heart raced in anticipation. Surprisingly, our school was included in the select group that had secured a spot in the next round. A wave of relief and excitement washed over me, witnessing the disappointment on the faces of schools that didn't make the cut.

However, an unexpected revelation awaited. It turned out that only three participants from each school would proceed to the next stage, and I was informed, somewhat sheepishly, that I would be the reserve member. The truth was that I was considered the least promising among our representatives. I acknowledged this fact with a wry smile.

But the event organizers were considerate of my disappointment. In a surprising turn of events, they announced that the three most deserving participants would represent their schools. My name was mentioned in this unexpected announcement, filling me with pride and amusement, mirrored by the surprised look on our accompanying teacher's face.

Without guilt or hesitation, I took my place on the competition stage, surrounded by a sea of onlookers, primarily the girls of STF. Embarrassment mixed with excitement coursed through me, creating an electrifying atmosphere.

The start of the highly anticipated quiz competition brought a wave of nerves. Seated between my two teammates, I marvelled at the careful arrangement of our positions. It was a grand event, and I was consumed by mounting anxiety. My previous experiences in competitive arenas, even representing my primary school at the Zone level, paled in comparison. Here, in the company of formidable opponents, including brilliant Malay girls from the host school, the magnitude of the occasion weighed heavily on me.

As the competition progressed, I focused on suppressing my nerves. Questions were posed in a rotation, with each participant responsible for a specific domain, without the help of their teammates. My contributions were crucial, as any mistakes on my part could affect our team's ranking.

However, I found solace in my ability to accumulate substantial points for our team. My mathematical skills shone brightly, and I tackled each question with confidence. Even in the field of Science, where the questions were particularly intricate, my responses often proved correct.

The atmosphere was electric as scores fluctuated, with the host school emerging as our most formidable rival. The competition remained fierce.

When the moment of reckoning arrived, the announcement of victory left me bewildered. Our team was declared the winners, and a wave of happiness and disbelief washed over me, momentarily leaving me speechless. Despite being initially considered the weakest representative of our school, I had proven my worth.

I smiled triumphantly as I observed the disappointed faces of the former favourites, who were relegated to second place. I looked around for Maro in the audience, but he seemed to have left with a heavy heart.

The realization that my school had emerged victorious in the District-level Junior High School Mathematics and Science Quiz competition, a historic first, filled me with jubilation. I had left an indelible mark on my school's history, a blessing from Allah. I understood that this significant victory would mark a turning point in my life, even if it meant I wouldn't get to know the girls of STF.

At the next school assembly on Monday, I stood on stage for the first time, receiving the coveted victory trophy. I felt a deep sense of pride as the school showered me with praise, if only for a moment, in front of the afternoon session students.

Cikgu Bakar, the strict teacher, was delighted with our success. From then on, he took a keen interest in my academic pursuits, a sentiment shared by Cikgu Kartina. Our achievement had clearly struck a chord with both of them.

However, it was the invitation from the Head of. the Science Department that filled me with even greater pride. She asked us to share our story of triumph, and our team's photo holding the coveted trophy found its place in the school magazine as a testament to our ability to achieve greatness.

I accepted this recognition with humility. I had never expected such accolades, but I realized that the events that had transpired were part of a larger plan, unfolding as a testament to divine providence.

CHAPTER 29: A Distinctive Transformation

Let me elaborate further on Encik Zul, the newly appointed warden of Asrama, who took over the role previously held firmly by Encik Hussin. The change in guardianship at Asrama sparked my curiosity and led me to inevitably compare the two wardens in charge of our discipline.

Would Encik Zul, like his predecessor, govern with an unwavering demeanour, emitting an aura of stern authority that had always been associated with Encik Hussin? Just the echo of Encik Hussin's footsteps used to send shivers down my spine, and I wondered if Encik Zul would evoke a similar visceral response.

I soon discovered that Encik Zul came from Asrama Kuantan, where he had previously served as a warden. This fact provided me with a sense of reassurance, as his prior experience in gurdianing students eased my concerns. Moreover, since Encik Zul was also a family man, I assumed he might have a more compassionate perspective toward students, who were essentially like children of his own.

In contrast to Encik Hussin, who had a vigilant presence, our interactions with Encik Zul were less frequent. This newfound freedom brought a sense of ease that was previously unfamiliar to the residents of Asrama. Gone were the days of constant surveillance, allowing us to breathe more freely.

Encik Zul's demeanour was notably different from Encik Hussin's. He exuded a remarkable sense of calm and collectedness, a stark contrast to Encik Hussin's authoritative aura. Encik Zul did not instill the same level of trepidation in me, at least not to the extent that Encik Hussin did. While I can't speak for my peers, I firmly believed that, in terms of service, Encik Zul had exceeded Encik Hussin in my estimation.

Under Encik Zul's guardian, I felt more at ease and less burdened by the weight of expectations. I wasn't inclined to stir up trouble, so my interactions with Encik Zul were generally free of discord. He showed respect to all students, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed or unappreciated.

I vividly remember a touching moment when Encik Zul entered our classroom during the morning session, carrying a file given to him by Encik Hussin. This file contained valuable insights into each student's behaviour and quirks, meticulously compiled by Encik Hussin himself. The purpose was to help Encik Zul get acquainted with his charges.

It was a touching revelation to see Encik Hussin's deep affection for Asrama and its residents, evident in his carefully documented observations. The realization that Encik Hussin had left a commendable assessment of my character touched me deeply, and I was profoundly grateful for his enduring guardian.

Encik Zul had an uncanny ability to remember students' names with ease, despite his limited interactions with us, except for those in positions of authority or those who actively sought his attention. It was particularly astonishing to experience his recognition, considering my reserved nature. A chance encounter in a corridor marked a turning point when Encik Zul greeted me by name and asked about a recent phone call I had made. His familiarity with my identity, mere days into his tenure, left me astounded and elevated his stature in my eyes.

In contrast to Encik Hussin's strict approach, Encik Zul displayed greater leniency in our interactions, granting us autonomy when appropriate. The time following evening study sessions, which used to have us anxious due to the prospect of compulsory lectures, now offered us respite. Encik Zul didn't intrude during this time unless circumstances required it.

Weekends also saw a more relaxed approach, with Encik Zul refraining from unnecessary interference in our leisure activities. This newfound freedom fostered contentment and allowed us to pursue various interests, as long as they adhered to the norms of adolescent life.

Furthermore, Encik Zul presented himself as more approachable and congenial, engaging in light-hearted banter with students, which was a marked contrast to Encik Hussin's stern demeanour. Our gatherings, presided over by Encik Zul, had an atmosphere of camaraderie, with laughter free from constraints. He avoided arbitrary rules and group punishments, dealing with matters in a composed and fair manner. His equanimity contributed to an overall sense of tranquillity.

Encik Zul's impartiality stood in stark contrast to Encik Hussin's favouritism, where only a select few enjoyed privileged status. It left me pondering the disparities and wondering why Encik Hussin hadn't extended his fairness universally, as Encik Zul did.

Interestingly, Encik Zul not really keen to homework inspections. This deviated from Encik Hussin's method of regularly checking our academic work. While homework inspections seemed integral to a warden's duties, Encik Zul's sporadic implementation left us perplexed. Most notably, he did only once which focused on notebooks related to the "Kemahiran Hidup" subject, a departure from the established norm. These inspections, while initially confusing, ultimately became superfluous, as our notebooks languished on his desk for extended periods, necessitating our request for their return.

Subsequently, Encik Zul discontinued the practice of inspecting our homework, a development I personally welcomed. It relieved the stress that had previously accompanied the task, allowing me to complete assignments with ease. Under Encik Zul's guardiance, my life transitioned to one marked by liberty and serenity, a stark contrast to the anxieties that had characterized the previous year, largely due to Encik Hussin's strict oversight.

As I adjusted to life under Encik Zul's leadership, the differences in our lifestyles became increasingly apparent. His approach represented a significant departure from that of Encik Hussin, a shift I wholeheartedly embraced. Asrama no longer felt constricting; I was free to explore my interests within the boundaries of acceptable conduct.

In an ironic twist, Encik Hussin, who claimed to be the least authoritarian warden, turned out to be just one among a series of wardens who had employed stricter methods. Contemplating the possibility that there had been even more idiosyncratic wardens than Encik Hussin left me bemused.

My apprehensions before Encik Zul's tenure were replaced by gratitude for the positive transformation he had ushered into my Asrama life. The Asrama no longer felt oppressive; I could now pursue my interests and engage in activities within the parameters of acceptable conduct.

Under Encik Zul's wardenship, the nightly routine became more relaxed. The once rigid curfew of 11 pm was subtly relaxed, and Encik Zul rarely patrolled the dormitory after lights out. This newfound flexibility led some students to engage in late-night conversations. When encountered, Encik Zul advised sleep rather than reprimand as was customary under Encik Hussin.

However, my preference for late-night conversation remained mostly dormant, as I had grown accustomed to a different nighttime routine. I would retire to my bed promptly when the lights went out, readily surrendering to sleep, undisturbed by extraneous commotion.

My newfound contentment was palpable, and a profound sense of liberation washed away the memories of two years prior. I realized that I had wasted the initial years of my Asrama life. However, I also recognized that every twist and turn of my journey had a purpose. Accepting this fact was crucial, and I embraced it wholeheartedly. Perhaps Encik Hussin had been a necessary guide, preparing me for the life I now cherished.

Within the confines of Asrama, my social dynamics underwent a noticeable shift. Previously, I had confined myself to a select group of friends, but now, I embraced the prospect of forming new connections. Gone were the days of scepticism and suspicion, replaced by a newfound openness.

In forging these new bonds, I approached them with sincerity and receptivity. I held deep respect for others, and this sentiment was reciprocated. The complexities of Asrama's social environment, though not without challenges, no longer filled me with fear. The spectre of physical intimidation and seniority hierarchies persisted, but I remained resolutely unaffected, my equanimity serving as a steadfast anchor.

I had no inclination to incite discord, as I believed such actions would only invite trouble. I avoided unnecessary drama, maintaining a low profile that brought me peace in my surroundings. My focus was on the present moment, avoiding dwelling on the past or worrying about the future.

Life held a profound sense of purpose and fulfilment, regardless of where I was. The mere thought of Asrama and school, where I spent most of my days, brought me unique and indescribable joy. I was overflowing with gratitude for this wonderful opportunity that had come my way, with no desire to seek happiness beyond its boundaries.

My deepest aspiration was to continue experiencing this profound contentment, carrying me through to the end of my Asrama tenure. At the same time, I harboured dreams of leaving Asrama the following year, hoping to secure admission to one of Malaysia's prestigious schools. To achieve this, I was unwavering in my pursuit of academic excellence, aiming to join the ranks of students in MRSM or SBP schools, rather than languishing in this ordinary boarding school - the Asrama.

Indeed, it seemed that this aspiration resonated with many of my fellow Asrama residents. The question that loomed was, what good would outstanding PMR results be if not as a stepping stone to a superior school? Was it wise to continue as an Asrama student when other options were available? I'm eager to hear your thoughts and reflections on this matter.

CHAPTER 28: Fulfilling Desires

At last, the much-anticipated moment arrived, marking the beginning of a new chapter in my life as a Form 3 student within the premises of Asrama. Approaching the imposing gates, a strong sense of eagerness engulfed me. In stark contrast to the previous year, when returning to Asrama left me with a feeling of emptiness, this time, I was filled with unbridled enthusiasm.

My mind was brimming with curiosity, ready to embark on a journey of discovery in this uncharted territory. Without wasting any time, I made my way to Dorm 1. Upon my arrival, it was clear that I had adopted a rather fashionable tardiness, as the dorm was already bustling with fellow students.

Initially, I couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy as I surveyed the scene, noticing the absence of fresh-faced Form 1 students. It soon became apparent that no new batch of students would be admitted this year. While this revelation initially surprised me, it quickly turned into a source of comfort, as I realized that Asrama's population would not become overcrowded.

Thinking about accommodating another batch seemed like a daunting task, as these two batches alone had already brought forth a whirlwind of complexities. The current number of residents seemed to strike a harmonious balance – not too many, yet not conspicuously few.

In Dorm 1, I found myself assigned to share a sleeping space with Iman. He took the upper bunk, while I settled into the lower one. Our dormitory was next to Dorm 2 and offered a beautiful view of Hutan Bandar.

Among my dormitory mates, Kaido played a familiar role, a fellow I had known for quite some time. Right from the beginning, Kaido's collection of jokes and quirks would always bring out hearty laughter from me. His unique ability to make us laugh, whether it was intentional or accidental, had the power to put a smile on my face just by being around him.

While the rest of the dorm's occupants were junior Form 2 students with whom I hadn't formed a particularly close bond, communication was not a problem. Initially, I was inclined to keep to myself, engaging in limited interaction. However, as days turned into weeks, I found myself gradually breaking free from my shell, revealing a more sociable side.

Although the memory of Encik Hussin, the former warden, still loomed large in our collective consciousness, the healing process had begun. In his place, Encik Zul, the newly appointed warden from the recently closed Kuantan Asrama, had taken on the role of leadership. My initial impressions of Encik Zul were inconclusive, and I had concerns about what kind of leadership he would provide. Only time would reveal the answer.

Dorm 1, I soon realized, held a special place in my heart. In my opinion, it reigned supreme among the dormitories, distinguished by unique characteristics that set it apart from the others. 

Firstly, its population was smaller, housing only a handful of residents, creating an atmosphere of coziness and camaraderie. Its relatively modest size added to its charm, making it visually appealing and comfortable. The ease of maintenance added to its appeal. I'll delve into more details about this unique Dorm 1 in the upcoming chapter.

As my journey in Form 3 began, the academic aspects of the school remained relatively unchanged. Despite feeling like a senior during the afternoon sessions when interacting with the upperclassmen, in Class 3KS, I continued to share space with familiar faces, alongside Class 3RK. 

The essence of Asrama persisted, making it unimaginable to sever our shared identity. However, my classmates exuded a palpable sense of maturity, despite occasional incidents of racial tensions. Seated in the central area with Bel, I had a front-row seat to the diverse classroom dynamics.

Two teachers in particular, left a lasting impression on my academic journey – Cikgu Kartina, who taught Mathematics, and Cikgu Bakar, our Science teacher. Initially, Cikgu Kartina appeared strict, with a didactic demeanour that lacked levity. However, as time went on, her friendly nature emerged, and she developed a warm rapport with us Asrama students.

Cikgu Bakar, on the other hand, had a completely different teaching style, exuding sternness and seriousness, creating an atmosphere of unwavering discipline in the classroom. Despite his strictness, his expertise in the field of Science was undeniable. His teaching method, though rigorous, was characterized by clarity and a deep command of the subject matter.

In the realm of Asrama, my class placement followed expectations, ensuring that I remained familiar with my peers. Disruptions were rare, and I even found amusement in the classroom environment.

My classroom was on the first floor, conveniently located next to Dorm 1, which brought me great delight. This proximity allowed for easy transitions between the classroom and my dormitory, giving me a sense of freedom. When boredom struck in the classroom, I could easily retreat to my bed, savouring moments of unique happiness. Upon my return to class, refreshed and invigorated, I cherished these episodic bursts of joy.

As the year progressed, the looming spectre of the upcoming PMR examinations drew nearer, signalling the beginning of tuition sessions with new teachers. Notably, Cikgu Mokhtar, our Science teacher, retained his role. Unfortunately, Cikgu Faridah, a teacher I held in high regard who had been our teacher since Form 1, was noticeably absent. This absence cast a shadow over my spirits, as I had expected her continued guidance to excel academically.

Despite this disappointment, one teacher emerged as a true paragon of teachers – Cikgu Mustafa, our History teacher. This year marked his debut as our teacher, following a previous tenure of instructing our junior counterparts.

Cikgu Mustafa's teaching style set him apart in many ways. He blended humour and seriousness seamlessly. Before each class, we were required to write our names on our desks, a ritual for easy identification. After a customary recitation, we were asked to recite the "Ayat Seribu Dinar" (The Verse of a Thousand Dinars). Mastery of this verse was mandatory, and he would occasionally call on one of us to recite it, leading to harmonious echoes from the rest of the class.

Cikgu Mustafa's lectures had a lively tone, enriched with enlightening anecdotes from his academic journeys abroad. These stories left an indelible mark on me.

In the classroom, his demeanour encompassed a wide range of emotions. His talent for humour often led to hearty laughter, turning the classroom into a place of joy. Sometimes, his humour ventured into controversial territory, a testament to his ability to navigate the nuanced world of comedy.

His conduct was often unpredictable. On one occasion, he introduced the provocative novel "SHIT" with a mischievous smile, leaving me pondering his intentions. He even recited select excerpts from the book, perplexing my sensibilities.

However, the most memorable aspect of Cikgu Mustafa's teaching was his playful banter with Maro, a standout student whose excellence in History had earned Cikgu Mustafa's admiration. Maro's remarkable achievements left Cikgu Mustafa in awe, and he would often gaze at him with amazement, marvelling at his brilliance. These moments of levity never failed to amuse me.

When Cikgu Mustafa saw a pile of books on Maro's desk, he affectionately referred to them as "kitab-kitab" (holy books), designating Maro as the expert to refer to. When faced with a difficult question, Cikgu Mustafa would instruct the class to consult Maro, calling him to review the "kitab-kitab." Witnessing Maro's chagrin at this jest, the rest of us, his classmates, would burst into laughter.

The tuition teachers, with the exception of Cikgu Mustafa, followed a more traditional approach. With the PMR exams on the horizon, a serious atmosphere prevailed during their sessions. Cikgu Mokhtar, our Science teacher, introduced a new teaching method. He tasked us with creating and answering ten questions from any source, which he would review at the beginning of each session.

Among all the subjects I studied, I found Science tuition particularly engaging. Cikgu Mokhtar's teaching method was magnetic, focusing mainly on PMR-style questions. Alongside these practical exercises, he explained fundamental concepts vital for our upcoming exams.

However, it was the Geography teacher who proved to be the most enigmatic presence. With his imposing demeanour and occasional absence due to rugby commitments, his subject matter was sadly neglected.

It puzzled me why Asrama had entrusted him with the role of teaching when someone like Cikgu Faridah, known for her dedication, would have been a wiser choice. Nevertheless, when he did teach, he assumed an unexpectedly relaxed demeanour, devoid of the usual academic rigor.

Such was the journey of my Form 3 life within the esteemed walls of Asrama. Everything unfolded according to my envisioned path, and happiness became my constant companion, both in Asrama and the classroom. The full weight of academic pressure had yet to descend upon us. Upon reflection, the conspicuous absence of Encik Hussin was a pivotal factor in my newfound sense of liberation.

Without his pervasive influence, I revelled in a sense of freedom that I had never experienced before. Externally, not much had changed in my surroundings, but the transformation within me was profound.

My nightly routine always ended with the dormitory lights being turned off, signalling the end of each day. This ritual, so familiar to me, made late-night studying a foreign concept. Besides, my dormitory companions shared my preference for retiring early.

Filled with contentment, I would lie down on the comfortable mattress, taking a moment to appreciate the atmosphere of my beloved dormitory. Wrapped in solitude, I would reflect on the day's events, allowing my thoughts to settle before succumbing to the embrace of sleep.

As the veil of slumber descended upon me, a current of anticipation always flowed through my mind, foretelling the arrival of new hopes and dreams. Realizing that this was my final year in Asrama, I made a promise to myself to live each day to the fullest, cherishing every fleeting moment and etching them into the lasting memories of my life. With these sentiments as my constant companions, I would drift off into a deep and restorative sleep.

CHAPTER 27: The End of Suffering

Encik Hussin's grand motivational program unfolded as planned, but I walked through it with reluctant steps, filled with boredom and frustration. Can anyone truly comprehend the endless torment of enduring continuous lectures, day and night, for an entire week?

Interestingly, despite these talks supposedly being sources of motivation, they had the opposite effect on me, leaving me drained and disheartened. A cloud of sadness descended upon me, and my thoughts constantly returned to the comfort of home, longing for relief from the relentless pressures.

In final day with Encik Hussin, I felt a rush of excitement. This day marked my release from Encik Hussin's clutches, a period that, to my surprise, had lasted only two years, not three.

This time, the Asrama arranged for us to return to our respective hometowns by bus. I boarded the Asrama bus with my Kota friends, my heart filled with eagerness for the long-awaited holidays.

Before we left, we shook hands and hugged Encik Hussin, saying goodbye to him for the last time. As the bus started moving, I cast a final glance at his face, a face that would forever be etched in my memory as a symbol of challenging times at Asrama.

Goodbye, Encik Hussin.

As I stepped into my home, a wave of happiness washed over me. I felt free and peaceful, liberated from the oppressive weight of Asrama. The constant feeling of unease that had plagued me for so long was gone. Life within those walls had been far from perfect, and the fact that I had endured it for two full years was a marvel beyond my understanding. Throughout that difficult time, joy had been rare, and the burden of relentless pressure had become unbearable.

I relished the newfound freedom, savouring the simple pleasures of being at home. Every experience and emotion held deep significance because I knew that such solace couldn't be found within the confines of Asrama. However, at times, the habits I had developed in Asrama lingered, especially during my waking hours.

Sometimes, it felt as though I were still under Encik Hussin's authority, despite the physical distance that now separated us. The spectre of Encik Hussin loomed over my life like a haunting ghost, a constant reminder of the challenges I had faced within Asrama's walls.

At home, there were few distractions, and I intentionally distanced myself from the world of Asrama, even cutting ties with former comrades. Instead, my days unfolded in the warm embrace of family, with the familiar surroundings providing comfort to my restless spirit.

And when moments of idleness lingered, I would hop on my motorcycle, embarking on leisurely rides through my FELDA, soaking in the natural beauty of the area. If boredom crept in, I would seek solace in sleep, a luxury that had been in short supply within Asrama. I confided in my family, expressing my intention to catch up on the sleep I had missed during my time at Asrama, as anyone who had lived there could attest to the preciousness of sleep.

Contemplating the future, a sense of apprehension enveloped me. The looming prospect of the important PMR examination in the coming year weighed heavily on me, accompanied by many challenges. The previous batch had achieved excellent academic results, setting high expectations for our batch.

Despite my reservations, I understood the responsibility placed on my shoulders. Not only did I carry the aspirations of Asrama, but I also faced the immense pressure of keeping up with my peers. My final year at Asrama underscored the seriousness of the task.

It was ingrained in Asrama's culture that students should strive for excellence in the PMR/SRP examinations, with the hopeful goal of gaining admission to superior schools like SBP or MRSM for Form 4. This belief had become my own, with its principles deeply embedded in my conscience.

Leaving Asrama and gaining admission to a superior school was my goal, and to achieve that, I was determined to excel academically. I wanted to sever ties with Asrama proudly, proclaiming that I had risen to the ranks of SBP or MRSM, disassociating myself from any connection to Asrama. The prospect of leaving Asrama and enrolling in a more prestigious school filled my dreams, a desire too strong to ignore.

Since my first year in Asrama, the idea of leaving had grown within me, nurtured when Encik Hussin first revealed that exceptional results in the PMR examinations could lead to attendance at Malaysia's top schools. The impressive academic journeys of our seniors confirmed this possibility, as they received acceptance offers from prestigious schools across the country. Thus, the desire to leave the lacklustre environment of Asrama in favour of more elevated surroundings took root.

The unattractive and mundane existence within Asrama held no appeal for me, and the decision to leave solidified when I read letters written by senior students who had left Asrama to attend superior schools. These letters, displayed on the notice board during my first year, resonated with me. They exuded the joy of studying in superior schools, with one senior even praising MRSM Taiping as the pinnacle of academic pursuit. These messages were sent by students immersed in their studies who took the time to share their experiences with their younger Asrama juniors. Their dedication left a lasting impression on me.

However, my main motivation to sever my ties with Asrama came from the spectre of Encik Hussin himself. The idea of enduring my Form 4 and Form 5 years under his guidance was unbearable, regardless of any offers from superior schools. I was not the only one who found his demeanour intolerable; many seniors before me had fled Asrama, seeking refuge from the troubles he caused.

However, with Encik Hussin's departure, I was unsure of my immediate decisions. It seemed wise to wait and observe the behaviour of the incoming warden. If they proved to be equally unpleasant or, worse, exceeded Encik Hussin in unpleasantness, then leaving Asrama quickly would be my only option.

This year, Ramadan arrived on a different schedule than usual. In the days leading up to my return to Asrama, I had already been fasting for nearly two weeks at home. Therefore, returning to the fasting routine at Asrama for a week before the Raya celebrations didn't weigh heavily on my conscience. This school holiday period signified contentment and peace.

As I began to pack my belongings in preparation for my return to Asrama, I promised myself to change my perspective. Instead of resigning myself to despair and frustration, I resolved to bring some joy into my life. Over the past two years, despondency and irritation had been constant companions, even in Encik Hussin's absence.

As the time for my return to Asrama approached, an inevitable anticipation grew within me. Although the new warden remained a mystery, my instincts told me that life within those walls would be less daunting than before.

I eagerly anticipated the transformations that the upcoming year would surely bring, hoping that these changes would be positive. The frustrations that had plagued me in the past no longer held sway, and I was determined to make the most of my time at Asrama. I wanted to create a bright and memorable chapter within those hallowed walls, a collection of cherished memories to carry with me into the superior realm of Form 4. The promise of the new year hung in the air, a guarantee of unfolding adventures to be savoured at a leisurely pace.

CHAPTER 26: The Onslaught of Demands

The commencement of the year-end break, which I had eagerly awaited, had begun its countdown. In just a few days, I would finally be heading home, a thought that filled me with joy and anticipation. It had been a long time since I last set foot in my humble abode.

As the days passed, the circumstances seemed to take a more favourable turn, filling me with a sense of peace. The realization that this eventful year was coming to an end brought a deep sense of relief.

The final days before the long-awaited holiday unfolded at a leisurely pace, allowing me to savour each moment. It was during this time that I began to notice a subtle yet undeniable transformation within me. My face, once full of youthful innocence, now showed signs of maturity, with more defined features and a slimmer stature.

As adolescence beckoned, my thoughts started to delve into deeper, more contemplative realms. Unlike before, when I had been content to observe life passively, I now felt a newfound sense of purpose and awareness.

However, just as we were about to bid farewell to another school year and embark on our eagerly anticipated break, an unexpected and unwelcome surprise disrupted our plans. Encik Hussin had decided to organize a motivation workshop for the Form 2 students during the first week of our holiday. This meant that our much-anticipated holiday would be postponed by a whole week.

I was shocked at the idea of enduring another motivational workshop at the end of the school year. I had no idea when Encik Hussin had planned this, and my emotions were a mix of anger and disappointment. It meant that we would have to spend even more time in the Asrama before finally going home.

The stated purpose of this workshop was to prepare us for the upcoming PMR examinations in the following year. Encik Hussin argued passionately that this program was essential to give us the right mindset and tools to excel in the exams.

I couldn't help but suspect that this was just another way for the Asrama to spend its budget. It seemed like these programs were organized just to use up the allocated funds. I couldn't understand why the Asrama was so committed to these endeavours.

During our Form 2 days, our weekends were filled with various subject workshops that lasted for two days each. These workshops, starting on Saturday morning and ending on Sunday afternoon, took away our precious weekend rest. If life during my Form 2 year had been challenging, I could only imagine how tough the upcoming Form 3 year would be.

Motivational programs were no exception to this demanding schedule. I remember one such program that was held outside of our Asrama premises. We were divided into two groups, and my group was sent to Ulu Tiram, where we attended what was called a motivational camp. 

To be honest, I couldn't quite grasp the essence of the program, as the facilitator assigned to our group didn't leave much of an impact. The activities we participated in lacked inspiration. Of course, my perception may have differed from that of my peers.

One vivid memory from that camp was the discoloured pool water, which looked more like teh tarik drink. We were expected to do activities in that unappealing water to test our resolve. The foul smell emanating from the pool was nauseating, and our clothes came out with a strange yellowish tint.

Later, we were divided into groups, each led by a facilitator. Our facilitator had us engage in a rather uninspiring activity where we had to create a line using only the resources immediately available to us within a set time frame. As we frantically untangled shoelaces and tried to use any available material to extend the line, our clothes suffered due to our efforts. To this day, I remain puzzled about the relevance of this activity in the context of motivation.

With our holiday plans postponed, my school classmates and I decided to participate in a class football tournament that took place during the last days of the school year. Since our class was all-male, forming a strong team was not a challenge. In fact, we could have easily formed two Malay majority teams from our group.

Interestingly, the RK class chose not to participate in this event, despite having a significant number of Malay male students. I didn't dwell on this mystery, as the unity within our own class, bridging the gap between city and Asrama students, was what mattered most.

Despite my limited football skills, I was honoured to be part of the first team. The reason for my selection remained a mystery, but I embraced the opportunity with enthusiasm. With our holidays postponed, the school didn't offer many other leisure activities.

Finally, the day of the tournament arrived, and we entered the competition with great excitement. The anticipation among us was palpable. We put into practice the skills we had learned during our PJ classes. Before the matches began, I felt a bit nervous as it was my first time playing in a football match.

A crowd of spectators watched us from the sidelines, which made me self-conscious and uneasy. I was worried that my shortcomings would be exposed for all to see. However, our team had several skilled players. Despite being known as the "smart" class, we had no intention of losing in sports.

As the football tournament progressed, our joy increased with each victory. We defeated opponents, including the Form 3 class, thanks to the skills of our talented players. Our teachers, amused and impressed, had to acknowledge our class's abilities not only in academics but also in sports. Unfortunately, our second team didn't perform as well.

Nevertheless, we still held hopes of winning the overall championship as the competition continued into the next day. However, our dreams were shattered when Encik Hussin unexpectedly intervened. To our dismay, he prevented us from attending school the next day, despite our eagerness to continue competing. His decision left us deeply disappointed, and his lack of understanding about our desire to play was frustrating.

Encik Hussin objected to our plans, believing that we lacked the necessary formal authorization from the school and that there were no such tournaments. Even as we tried to explain our point of view, he remained stubborn. He insisted that we needed the school's letter to participate in this extracurricular activity. My frustration and anger with him reached new heights; this was one transgression too many.

Adding to our frustration, he downplayed the significance of the tournament itself. He suggested that if our holidays had not been postponed, we would not have been interested in the game at all. He questioned our enthusiasm for football at that time.

I was disheartened by his words. It was true that if our holidays had not been postponed, we might not have played in the match. However, to me, the football match was a way to cope with the disappointment of the delay. Did Encik Hussin not realize how upset the students and I were when we learned about the postponement? Denying us even this small source of happiness felt like another cruelty.

Amidst our confusion, we discussed our next steps. Despite the setback, we felt a responsibility to our non-asrama teammates and the competition itself. The event had already started the day before, and our non-asrama teammates were counting on us. I couldn't bear the thought of letting them down.

I couldn't help but wonder why Encik Hussin had not allowed us to stay at the school the previous day. If he had, it would have lessened our disappointment. And what about our non-asrama teammates? How disappointed would they be if we didn't show up?

One of us took on the task of contacting the school and reaching out to the teacher in charge of the competition. Miraculously, he managed to make contact and explain our situation.

The understanding teacher, empathizing with our predicament, communicated with Encik Hussin through phone call and clarified the circumstances. With minimal delay, Encik Hussin granted his approval for us to attend the match. The relief and happiness we felt at that moment were indescribable.

We quickly boarded the bus, driven by Pakcik Awal, who navigated the roads with newfound enthusiasm. His excitement mirrored our own.

Upon arriving at the school field, we were greeted by the joyful faces of the non-asrama teammates. We had persevered and made it to the finals. In the decisive match, we showed incredible spirit, but luck was not on our side, and we lost due to a final penalty kick. Nevertheless, a deep sense of satisfaction filled me.

This event had turned into a memorable spectacle, leaving a lasting impact on me. I had never imagined that, within such a short period, Encik Hussin could exert such a significant influence on my life, a pressure I had not anticipated.