CHAPTER 59: A Glimpse of Joy Amidst the Darkness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 58: Weary, Disheartened, and Anxious

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 57: The Beginning of Promise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 56: The Intensified Frenzy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 55: Moments of Bridging the Gaps

In Form 4, there was a phase that we informally called the "Honeymoon year." It was a time when students were supposedly in a carefree period of youthful joy, untouched by the looming academic challenges.

For me, this honeymoon phase didn't really exist, or I didn't pay much attention to it. I didn't indulge in the leisure and relaxation typically associated with such a period. Instead, I threw myself into various extracurricular activities, particularly the nasheed group, which was closely connected to the Asrama community.

Among the Asrama residents, a tradition had developed of forming a nasheed ensemble. All it took was selecting a vocalist and a group to serve as the chorus. This created a nasheed group that, despite occasional discordant notes, was considered quite reputable.

Despite the lack of perfect harmony and the occasional dissonance in our singing, I found satisfaction in being part of this nasheed group. Through our melodious performances, I formed deeper bonds with my peers.

It's not that I hadn't interacted with them before, but this environment allowed me to broaden my social circle. Previously, my interactions were limited to a select few, but now, I had the chance to connect with more people.

I recall the initial gathering of Form 4 Asrama students to create a nasheed group, although I can't remember the specific occasion. What's important is that it was related to a significant Islamic event organized by the school.

I don't remember the details of the song we sang that day or how the audience reacted – those memories seem to be lost. My main goal at the time was to finish our nasheed performance quickly because being on stage for an extended period was beyond my comfort zone.

After that event, our nasheed group gained recognition among the teachers and students. As a result, the school asked us to perform at the Annual School Award Presentation Day, which was held at the end of the first semester.

To our surprise, we weren't asked to perform nasheed songs but to present a choral performance, which was a departure from our usual nasheed repertoire. What made it more intriguing was that a professional trainer was provided to improve our singing skills.

This marked my first experience of being coached by an experienced vocal teacher. Our practice sessions were quirky because we often didn't follow the trainer's instructions exactly. Instead, we ventured into melodic experimentation, with each voice having its unique interpretation. Despite this, we managed to sing, albeit not always in perfect harmony.

The actual ceremony was a grand celebration honouring student who had excelled academically and in extracurricular activities throughout the previous year, with a focus on those who performed well in the PMR examinations.

I was still at the same school, but many of my accomplished friends had moved on to more prestigious schools. Others had taken different paths, but fate had kept me in the same place.

The day of the ceremony was full of excitement after weeks of intense preparation. I looked forward to receiving recognition for my academic achievements. While my life hadn't undergone significant changes, I felt grateful for the blessings that had allowed me to reach this significant moment.

Unfortunately, on this important day, I was plagued by a persistent cough that made my throat feel sore and uncomfortable. Each cough brought up phlegm and added to my discomfort. However, I couldn't bear to abandon my fellow performers, so I soldiered on.

Considering my poor health, I stood silently during our performance, merely mouthing the lyrics without making a sound. Thankfully, the coughing fits didn't disrupt the performance.

Our performance received reviews of being adequate rather than outstanding, as judged by the professional pianist who supervised our vocal presentation. However, my involvement in this musical endeavour was not one of extreme seriousness; it was a light-hearted dance with the rhythm of life. Once it was over, it became a part of our history.

After the ceremony, our nasheed/choir group became more popular. The school no longer had to struggle to assemble a nasheed group; we were consistently chosen as the school's nasheed ambassadors.

We were selected to represent our school in a nasheed competition organized by the Johor Bahru City Council, which was to be held at Plaza Kotaraya Johor Bahru. Nasheed had become quite popular nationwide, so our participation in the competition was almost a given.

We had numerous rehearsals, not limited to the Asrama but also within the school's academic walls. Our chosen song was "Fatamorgana" by Hijjaz, a beloved chart-topping piece that had captured the hearts of many.

Memorizing the lyrics was not a challenge, but rendering the composition in perfect harmony without tonal errors or rhythmic irregularities was the real challenge.

On the day of the competition, we traveled to the venue in the Asrama bus. It was my first time performing in front of a large and unfamiliar audience, unlike the sanctuary of our school where we were used to performing. Despite our practice, I felt embarrassed and nervous, especially because I worried that our performance might not match the virtuosity of professionals.

We couldn't claim to be professional nasheed artists; our ensemble was formed out of our proximity within the Asrama. Only a few of us had truly melodious voices like Iman, while the rest struggled to maintain a sonorous tone.

To add to our unease, the judges for the competition were none other than Hijjaz themselves. This situation filled me with anxiety and a sense of vulnerability. As our performance unfolded, I felt a deep discomfort that stayed with me long after the final note.

To be honest, I can't remember what happened after our performance. It's like a cloud of forgetfulness has obscured those moments. Unfortunately, I can't provide a clear account of our fate or what happened afterward.

Following the competition, my enthusiasm for nasheed significantly declined. It became clear that my vocal range, and that of some of my friends, didn't quite fit within the realm of music.

I made the decision to abstain from participating when the nasheed ensemble was invited to perform at Plaza Angsana. I even convinced Min to join me in this break, leaving only a few Form 4 students from our school's Asrama.

I didn't feel remorseful about leaving the nasheed group. I believed it was more honest to step back rather than participate half-heartedly. Additionally, the demanding practice schedule and differing views among group members created discordant notes within me. So, the freedom to step away was a welcomed relief, and the nasheed group continued to thrive without my presence, fulfilling its mission with greater cohesion.

Admittedly, my ego had started to grow during this time, affecting my decisions. Assertiveness took over, leading me to follow my own path instead of seeking consensus. As adolescence influenced my thoughts, my ego expanded accordingly, introducing personal viewpoints and preferences that often diverged from those of my peers.

These evolving perspectives led me into introspection, solidifying my beliefs and fostering a stubborn tendency towards contrarianism. These elements combined to signal a shift in my approach to life, foreshadowing an inevitable change in my life's trajectory. Life is a constantly changing journey, and I had to navigate its ever-shifting tapestry with unwavering determination.

CHAPTER 54: Serendipitous Carelessness

In the previous chapter, I shared my wrongdoings, a regrettable episode that might have disappointed the respected authorities at the Asrama if they had read it. I openly admitted that my actions were regrettable, and I firmly believe they should not be seen as an example to follow.

It was still crucial to remain diligent and strive for academic excellence. One must resist the temptation of distractions and stay committed to learning.

However, the circumstances of that time led me into a different path. It seemed like I had momentarily lost my way and put my focus on things other than academics. I, who was once very dedicated, now felt adrift and confused due to my newfound interests.

Every situation has its pros and cons. My changing state of mind, although different from before, had its advantages. I was no longer self-centred and started becoming more humble.

I was grateful that my academic performance hadn't suffered severely. Overall, it was still commendable, allowing me to compete healthily with my classmates, which made me proud. Despite my reduced concentration, I managed to maintain my academic achievements.

This was particularly evident in the monthly exams we had throughout the year. I don't intend to brag, but I want to share what happened. I knew that studying didn't come naturally to me, but I had found alternative strategies to excel. All I needed was a solid understanding of the key concepts taught by our teachers.

The term 'concept' became popular during that year, and I played a big role in emphasizing its importance. Whenever friends asked for my academic advice, I always stressed the need to understand the underlying concepts to overcome any difficulties.

My friends, always the playful ones, made fun of me for this habit. However, my determination to grasp our teachers' teachings never wavered. I attended their classes attentively, trying to understand the depth of their explanations. Understanding these concepts early on saved me time during study sessions.

Despite my commendable academic achievements, I no longer obsessed over them. I had transformed into a different version of myself, distinct from the previous year. My attention was now drawn to other areas, and I was no longer enticed by monthly exams, test results, or my rank among the Asrama student.

I didn't derive my sense of identity from these achievements anymore, and they didn't inspire the same passion in me. Instead, I had a longing to explore broader horizons and enjoy the pleasures of teenage life. In my eyes, life extended beyond the narrow confines of academic success.

I hoped that continuing my journey in the Asrama would help me overcome my previous obsession with academics. I thought that my life in the previous year had been too isolated.

I don't discredit the virtues of such a life; it has its merits. It minimizes the challenges one has to face. Your concerns are mainly about personal matters, free from other people's problems. It gives you a sense of purpose and focus, without unnecessary distractions.

However, I began to see myself as a mechanical automaton, lacking vitality. I believed that humanity was a divine creation, with the soul at its core. The soul creates human relationships with the like minded souls. I thought that excessive self-focus could stifle the soul's purpose.

In such a state, you become rigid, unimportant, and disconnected from the human tapestry. While this life may minimize life's risks, I realized that perfection wasn't achieved in this paradigm.

If you genuinely care about your surroundings, you must accept the increased risks that come with it. These risks arise from the diverse personalities of fellow humans. Being vigilant becomes crucial as you strive to avoid conflicts. The goal becomes a deep dive into the environment, an attempt to understand and gain wisdom from each unique individual.

I admit that there were times when I made mistakes, and my actions made others uncomfortable. I am imperfect, with my own flaws that occasionally repel others.

But avoidance was no longer an option. I pretended to blend into this environment, facing the ongoing challenges and pressures. Blaming external factors for the stress it caused would be futile. That's the nature of life – an unfolding tapestry of unforeseeable changes – and we must confront them with equanimity.

My proficiency in Mathematics earned me the opportunity to represent our school in the National Mathematics Olympiad competition, thanks to my excellent Mathematics capability record. At first, I was bewildered by the prospect, as it was my first experience with such a prestigious event – a great honour.

To my delight, I discovered that I was the only Malay participant, symbolizing minor diversity within our delegation. Until then, previous representatives had always come from non-Malay backgrounds, which was not an unusual departure from the norm. Our mentor, a non-Malay Mathematics teacher from my class, had unwavering faith in my abilities, offering constant guidance and support. I hold her in high regard to this day.

The competition took place in a prestigious Chinese independent secondary school in Johor Bahru, known for being the largest such school constructed outside China, with colossal buildings spanning multiple stories.

The event allowed me to meet fellow participants from various schools, bringing back memories of the quiz competition from the previous year. Amidst the bustling crowd, my competitive spirit ignited.

Memories of past quiz victories resurfaced, and the upcoming competition, though different from previous ones, promised intellectual engagement. However, it felt like an examination with results that wouldn't be known immediately.

To my disappointment, the examination featured exceptionally complex questions, even though they were rooted in Mathematics. Their enigmatic nature was undeniable. There were only a few questions, just four, without any unnecessary complexity. Unfortunately, I lacked confidence in my ability to navigate their intricacies.

Half of the questions ventured into unfamiliar mathematical territories beyond my knowledge. As far as I could tell, they were better suited for Form 6 or Matriculation curricula. The remaining two delved into the realms of creative and critical thinking, posing formidable challenges in their own right.

One particular question remains vivid in my memory:

"At what point between four and five o'clock do the hour and minute hands of the clock align perfectly?"

This puzzle, unlike anything I'd encountered in my mathematical journey, perplexed me. I embarked on solving it, using the logical principles I had learned. How would you fare, I wonder? Eventually, I found the solution, but not without investing a considerable amount of time.

In Mathematics and Additional Mathematics, my performance was commendable. Throughout the year, I consistently achieved an A1 grade in both subjects, for which I was deeply grateful. I realized that my aptitude in these disciplines was a rare gift, bestowed upon me by a benevolent Providence. I acknowledged the scarcity of individuals blessed with this capacity and was profoundly thankful.

Additional Mathematics, a subject often criticized by students, didn't scare me. Even before entering Form 4, I had concerns about this subject. Ironically, these reservations only fuelled my enthusiasm, as I aimed to embrace the challenges it presented. I relished the opportunity to grapple with its complexities. When you're passionate, challenges become milestones on the path to mastery.

The previous year had seen my fervent passion for the sciences, particularly Physics. However, this year, my enthusiasm had waned due to the demanding nature of Physics and Biology. Physics, I believed, was primarily responsible for my dissatisfaction, exacerbated by uninspiring teachers both in school and the Asrama. If I were to excel in this subject, it was up to me alone.

That's where I stumbled. My once unwavering motivation had dwindled, replaced by unfortunate apathy. Summoning the necessary effort became a daunting task, and I struggled with my newfound laziness. Biology presented similar challenges; without dedicated study, I couldn't provide accurate answers. So, I faced an impending struggle in these subjects. However, rest assured, I did not fall into failure or receive a D grade. My predicament was merely about securing an A1 or A2.

Chemistry, on the other hand, remained a reliable subject, thanks to dedicated teachers both in the classroom and during tuition. I performed well in this subject overall. Across the scientific spectrum, I maintained my balance, yet my heart was drawn back to Mathematics.

In other areas of study, I found myself in the middle, not at the top but certainly not at the bottom. History, however, presented an increasingly challenging scenario, demanding that I commit copious facts to memory – a task at odds with my lazy reading habits.

Bahasa Melayu and English introduced a new instructional format during our studies, incorporating literary elements. For reasons still unclear to me, the literary component captivated me, granting me a newfound appreciation for the world of literature, especially the art of fiction.

Therefore, what you're currently reading is an expression of my love for literature. Without this exposure, I might never have embarked on the path of writing. I passionately advocate for the inclusion of literary elements in language education. Does the name "Pusaran" trigger any memories for you?

CHAPTER 53: A New Path to Adulthood

This year turned out to be quite an adventure, a departure from the usual story of my time at the Asrama. Even though I was still in the same place, it felt like I had started a completely new chapter in my life, one that was very different from the previous ones. This change was closely connected to the people I met in the Asrama.

As the new millennium began, I found myself in sync with the changing times. While my daily routine still had elements of the past, it also had clear signs of modernity. The things that used to be the same as before were now mixed with a sense of newness and progress.

Let me explain the tuition and prep classes that became a significant part of my life this year. Being in the upper secondary class, my friends and I saw a big shift in the way we approached our studies. The stressful exam atmosphere we were used to was replaced by a calmer one.

Our classroom, located at the first floor of the building, had a peaceful atmosphere, unlike the busy classrooms elsewhere. The beautiful view from the windows made it a great place for our study.

I especially enjoyed the afternoon prep class. During this time, the Asrama had a magical atmosphere, especially when the sun bathed everything in warm light. It was a moment of pure joy.

The classroom I usually went to had a calm and private feeling, different from the bustling ones. But what made it special was the breathtaking view outside, which made studying there even better. The afternoon prep class was a cherished break, with the unique charm of the Asrama. On clear days, when the sun's rays filled our sanctuary with warmth, it created a unique sense of peace.

The Asrama, as a whole, became my refuge after a long school day. I clearly remember taking a refreshing shower before heading to the prep class, which always revitalized me. In those peaceful afternoons, life felt almost perfect. Looking back, it feels like a dream. While hindsight has given me a clearer perspective, at that time, reality and dreams seemed inseparable.

Given the circumstances, I didn't always use my afternoons for serious studying during prep time. If I felt tired, I would lean back in my chair and let my thoughts wander. Sometimes, these moments led to doodling on paper or just daydreaming. Occasionally, I would become a source of distraction for my friends.

Indeed, during prep class, we often engaged in activities that weren't strictly academic. We played games like "dots and boxes" on grid paper or let our minds wander in daydreams. The calm atmosphere would sometimes make me doze off at my desk, taking me away from the demands of studying.

Luckily, Encik Hussin was no longer a significant presence in the Asrama during this time, so our casual activities were less likely to be criticized. It was during one of these breaks that I developed an interest in chess. I got my own chess set and soon found myself in numerous matches. While I was a beginner in terms of strategy, I could easily beat other beginners. However, more experienced players provided a tough challenge, making our games mental tests.

At night, I immersed myself in academic work. Night classes played a crucial role in my academic journey, motivating me to excel. I must admit that these night classes were instrumental in my pursuit of academic success.

I have great respect for these night classes because they played a key role in my decision to stay in the Asrama. Rejecting this opportunity would have been a significant loss. Here, I had an environment that supported intellectual growth, and it was in these tuition classes that the foundation of my academic success was built.

I had a deep passion for Mathematics and Chemistry. Cikgu Ismail, an excellent teacher in the Asrama, taught Mathematics with great skill and dedication. He never wavered in his commitment to our education. His classroom was filled with the sounds of learning, with no canceled classes to interrupt. My love for Modern Mathematics translated into academic success, which was also shared by my peers.

On the other hand, Chemistry became clearer under the guidance of Cikgu Buni, a seasoned educator and my school afternoon supervisor teacher. Cikgu Buni, a true expert in the subject, explained the intricacies of chemistry with great precision, leaving a lasting impact on my understanding. However, it's worth noting that Cikgu Buni's tendency to give lengthy explanations could sometimes make students sleepy. My friend Min often fell asleep during these sessions.

In the afternoons, between tuition classes, school assignments demanded my attention persistently. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm for completing these tasks had decreased compared to my earlier years in Form 1 and Form 2. There were times when fatigue would reduce my determination, especially when it came to assignments in Bahasa Melayu and English. The strictness of Bahasa Melayu assignments, combined with the leniency of English ones, influenced my approach to schoolwork.

Idle moments in the classroom often found me exploring the Asrama or visiting my dormitory. If that wasn't an option, I would slip into another Form 4 classroom on the lower floor, next to the prayer room, sometimes causing disruptions. 

Boredom would occasionally lead me to seek refuge in the restroom, a temporary escape where time could be passed. Sometimes, the temptation of a quick nap would overcome me during prep time, though those moments were rare.

CHAPTER 52: Pursuits of Significance

Life within the Asrama had undergone a transformation, becoming more enjoyable, and I relished the newfound ease. Each day brought the joy of returning to the Asrama, filled with gratitude for the rich experiences it offered.

As I settled back into the familiar routines, I found comfort in the familiar surroundings, routines, and even the simple acts of daily life like showering and prayer. I believed that Allah had hidden wisdom to share with me, and I was determined to uncover it. Day after day, I embarked on a quest to understand the meaning of this intricate tapestry of existence, finding solace in the bits of wisdom that began to reveal themselves.

My relationships with fellow students, especially the girls, flourished as I delved deeper into their world, seeking to connect with them on a more profound level. My role as the head of the Education Bureau within the Asrama played a significant role in facilitating these interactions.

I initially considered the Education Bureau as a somewhat ordinary affair, but I embraced the role despite my initial reservations. The previous year, I had been a committee member under Maro, the most brilliant student of that era. My elevation to the head of the bureau was a surprising turn of events, not a reflection of any extraordinary academic prowess on my part. It had come about as a result of a random incident, rather than any planned action.

Nevertheless, fate had its own ways, and this year, I became the head of the Education Bureau. This position allowed me to form a stronger connection with Puan Zaidah, who hadn't paid much attention to me before. This change happened because of a sudden improvement in my academic performance, which had previously gone unnoticed by her.

My nature had always leaned towards humility and modesty, and I had a tendency to maintain a low profile. Shyness played a role in this preference. Even in moments of success, I avoided the spotlight and didn't draw attention to my achievements. I had no inclination towards showiness and often wondered if my reticence bordered on self-absorption.

In the previous years, my interactions with Puan Zaidah had been minimal. However, this year was different, as she became more affable towards me. It was known that I was her number 1 supporter within the Asrama, particularly with the Education Bureau. As the bureau's leader, I saw this as a golden opportunity to gain insights into organizational leadership, despite my limited prior experience.

The Education Bureau had a range of responsibilities, going beyond the usual routine. It was involved in formal Asrama events that included all students. While my fellow bureau members didn't contribute significantly, I took on my responsibilities diligently. These activities included scholastic contests such as debates and speeches.

My primary responsibility was to prepare the stage, which took up most of my time. From crafting backdrops to designing, printing, cutting, and putting up letters, shaping polystyrene, using colour schemes, and attaching each component to the wall, I undertook these tasks with minimal help. It was a complex process, but it provided invaluable experience, now a memory.

My role as the head of the Education Bureau allowed me to explore my artistic side. I was tasked with creating banners to decorate the Asrama courtyard, a task that initially seemed daunting but couldn't be avoided, given Puan Zaidah's expectations.

With just a blank banner canvas and a set of paints, I had to channel my creative side. The content for these banners had already been decided, conveying words of encouragement to the Form 3 students who were about to face the PMR exams at the end of the year.

Being in a leadership role, I was responsible for conceiving and creating these banners, from conceptualizing the lettering to meticulously colouring and sculpting each component. It was a challenging task, and I largely worked on it alone, even though I sought help from fellow bureau members. However, it was a task I couldn't back away from, given the trust Puan Zaidah had placed in me.

After considerable effort, the banner was finally ready and displayed proudly in the Asrama courtyard, serving as a source of inspiration for the Form 3 students in their academic endeavours.

Other official events also required my attention, and I was entrusted by Puan Zaidah to play a significant role in preparing the stage for them. As time passed, the process became more familiar, and the once-daunting task became less intimidating. Creating banners also became a routine for me, and my proficiency didn't go unnoticed.

A tuition teacher in the Asrama recognized my work and commissioned a banner for use in their school. This unexpected request, despite the demands it placed on me, was accepted as a mark of respect. It was time-consuming and required significant effort, but knowing that a teacher's prayers were with me made it all worthwhile.

One of my more interesting responsibilities was selling snacks to fellow students, earning me the title of "Snack Boss" in the Asrama. These snacks, with the Apollo brand, were supplied by Puan Zaidah, likely originating from the nearby Apollo factory.

Puan Zaidah also provided me with small packs of Nestum and oat-based cereals, along with small packets of Milo. These snacks were in high demand among Asrama residents, and the response was indeed encouraging. Puan Zaidah had started selling these snacks to students the previous year, but the sales process was previously under her own personal control. Now, it was my responsibility under education bureau.

I initially enjoyed the role of Snack Boss, with a steady stream of customers seeking my snacks. When supplies ran low, I diligently collected the proceeds and handed them to Puan Zaidah in exchange for more snacks. However, as time went on, the task became burdensome. Collecting unpaid debts became increasingly challenging, sometimes requiring me to prioritize my personal finances. I didn't share this dilemma with Puan Zaidah, as I felt a duty to fulfil my responsibilities.

Ultimately, the burden was mine to bear. Chasing unpaid dues made me uncomfortable, as it risked tarnishing my reputation for friendliness. However, I continued in this role, extending credit to my peers in the hope of future transactions. This strategy eventually paid off, as my snack offerings remained consistently popular.

The popularity of Milo and Nestum among students led me to ponder whether frequent consumption of these snacks had adverse effects on their digestion. Despite the challenges, I look back fondly on my time as the Snack Boss within the Asrama.

My relationships with the Asrama authorities gradually improved. It's important to note that this wasn't an attempt to win favour; rather, it was a result of recognizing the need for a harmonious relationship when required. My visits to their offices were always for legitimate purposes.

In contrast, my interactions with Encik Zul were less frequent, although I found him to be quite amiable when dealing with students, particularly those from our batch. So, I didn't feel uncomfortable when I had to visit his office. This was a significant departure from my earlier years in Form 1 and Form 2 when I wanted to avoid the office due to Encik Hussin's imposing demeanour.

I should clarify that one reason I chose to continue staying in the Asrama was the absence of Encik Hussin. If he had remained as the Asrama warden, I likely would have left. Encik Zul's arrival revitalized my enthusiasm for staying in the Asrama. He could enforce discipline when necessary but did not burden me excessively. Please don't misunderstand my sentiments; he was firm when the situation demanded it, but only at specific times and with specific individuals.

I believe that Encik Zul was just as capable as Encik Hussin in maintaining the quality of the Asrama. Its standards remained high under his leadership, avoiding any decline into neglect or disrepair. If Encik Hussin had continued as the warden, it's possible that most of my batchmates would have left the Asrama. 

In conclusion, I want to express that I don't hold entirely negative feelings towards Encik Hussin. I am grateful to him for emphasizing the importance of academic achievement. Without his influence, my achievements might have remained elusive. I sincerely thank you, Encik Hussin.

My life within the Asrama was undergoing a profound transformation. Previously on the outskirts of the Asrama community, I now had the opportunity to contribute significantly. These changes brought a plethora of new learning experiences, freeing me from the constraints of a stagnant existence.

A new way of life had taken root, filled with contentment. It opened up unexpected horizons and expanded my intellectual outlook, fostering a more mature and evolved mindset.

CHAPTER 51: A Revelation Awaits

For quite a while, my focus had been solely on chasing success, an intense pursuit that left little room for anything beyond my personal goals. In my relentless pursuit of my own path, I had unintentionally ignored the rich experiences happening around me within the Asrama.

Both my peers and juniors barely registered on my radar, receiving minimal attention and hardly ever occupying my thoughts. It took me a while to realize that this was a significant oversight, a realization that only recently dawned on me. I had failed to fully immerse myself in the vibrant Asrama community, and this was something I needed to rectify.

Determined to shift my perspective and approach to life, I made a commitment to become more connected with those who shared this unique phase of life with me. After all, what harm could it do to lend an ear or offer a helping hand? In doing so, life might become more profound and meaningful.

The opportunity to make this change came when I wasn't yet consumed by the impending exams and other responsibilities. Unlike the pressure-filled Forms 1 and 2, Form 3 brought some respite, allowing me to broaden my perspective.

In the earlier years, I had been struggling with the daily challenges and anxieties of living under the watchful eyes of unfamiliar Asrama wardens. By Form 3, I had also undergone a transformation in terms of academic performance, which had been my sole focus and left little room for building interpersonal connections.

But now, looking back, I realized the folly of my previous mindset. The environment within the Asrama was incredibly fascinating and worthy of my attention.

As I observed the social dynamics, I noticed a significant transformation among the Form 3 students that year. The Asrama now hosted three groups—Form 1, Form 3, and Form 4. Although I didn't have the exact numbers, it seemed either Form 1 or Form 3 had the largest population.

The Form 3 students of that year had undergone a remarkable evolution in their thinking and behaviour. They had shed their earlier immaturity and were now almost indistinguishable from their Form 4 counterparts.

Traditionally, the Asrama had a clear hierarchy, with seniors and juniors, and some of my batchmates had been quite rigid about maintaining this division. However, in this context, the hierarchy seemed less pronounced, possibly because everyone was heading toward the same finish line. The junior designation was somewhat blurred, allowing for more interaction and exploration within the Asrama.

Next up were the Form 1 students, noticeably different from their older counterparts in terms of maturity and thinking. This marked a unique phenomenon in my Asrama experience. The significant age gap between two concurrent groups had never been so evident before. There was a faint memory of this when I had first entered Form 1, but it was more pronounced now.

My attention was drawn to a hierarchical structure where the Form 4 students held dominance within the Asrama. In contrast, the Form 1 students bore the brunt of this dominance. I found it curious how these seniors, who had once been in the same position as juniors, had acquired the ability to assert their dominance.

Within the Asrama, the seniors indeed held sway over the juniors, a result of the principle of seniority. It was an inevitable aspect that no amount of effort could fully eliminate. Despite attempts to prevent such behaviour, it persisted.

I couldn't help but wonder about the resilience of these junior students, as I had no firsthand experience of their challenges. In my Form 1 days, we had been given relatively limited attention by our seniors, who preferred not to interfere in our affairs.

However, the difficulties faced by my Form 1 peers were nothing compared to the trials and tribulations my friends and I had endured under Encik Hussin's strict guidance. Our experiences had been marked by constant fear and trepidation, quite different from the occasional hardships imposed by the senior students.

The hardships imposed by the senior cohort were episodic, not constant. They chose their targets, evading trouble with ease. It was a selective form of antagonism, mostly aimed at the juniors who sought attention, sometimes even inviting their own problems.

Yet, there was a group within the juniors who remained largely unaffected by the senior students' actions. They employed a strategy of inconspicuousness, avoiding undue attention, and this seemed to be the most effective way to navigate Asrama life—a strategy I had once adhered to.

This social dynamic also played out in my dorm, Dorm 7. Personally, I had no grand expectations for this dorm; it was simply a place for rest and sleep. My previous dorm, by contrast, held countless memories and remnants of the past. This new dorm, to me, was rather unremarkable, perhaps due to my short time there or my tendency to forget.

I decided not to dwell on these matters too much. I had grown tired of expecting events to unfold a certain way and then being disappointed when they didn't. This dormitory, I decided, I would accept as it was. If good things happened there, I would appreciate them. If not, I would accept it with equanimity.

Being in the rear dormitory allowed me to interact more with students in adjacent dorms, especially those in Dorm 6 and my own Dorm 7. This led to encounters with a diverse group of people, each with their own quirks and traits.

Initiating these interactions was initially challenging, as my previous reserve held me back. However, I gradually found the courage to engage with them, particularly the junior Form 3 students, and it turned out to be a rewarding experience.

These interactions opened up new perspectives and insights for me, which was a stark contrast to my earlier belief that they wouldn't be beneficial. I grew grateful for my Asrama life as I realized the value of building a network of connections and relationships, understanding that a self-centred life wouldn't be as rich and fulfilling.

Dorm 7 was a microcosm of Form 4, Form 3, and Form 1 students. Among them, only two were from Form 4—Min and myself. Form 3 had three representatives, while Form 1 had two. Observing the dynamics within this dorm, I made a conscious effort to avoid arrogance and maintained a more open attitude.

In many ways, the dorm exuded a sense of tranquillity, with all residents showing respect for one another. Any odd behaviour was typically relocated elsewhere. My main companions were Min and a Form 3 student who attended the morning classes with me. Our nocturnal activities often took place elsewhere.

In the academic realm, I had undergone a shift in mindset, allowing me to befriend non-Malay classmates. My prior prejudices had faded, replaced by respect for all students, which was reciprocated. This change had a positive impact on my relationships with non-Asrama Malay acquaintances, particularly those in the Science class.

My shyness, which had been a significant hurdle, dissipated as I began to form friendships with Malay girls in my class. With the male cohort, especially those from KS or RK classes historically associated with the Asrama, interactions flowed smoothly.

The most significant revelation was my preference for fewer, more meaningful friendships over a multitude of superficial connections. This allowed me to appreciate the bonds I had formed more deeply and helped me see the value in exclusivity. I reveled in the novelty of it all.

All these new relationships marked a departure from my earlier years of isolation, during which I deliberately kept myself away from external influences, convinced that solitary pursuits were the only path to success.

As time went on, I realized that life within the Asrama was far from dull. It was within these walls that I witnessed a multitude of experiences, making the regrets of the past seem futile. The anxieties that once plagued me, stemming from the fear of not finding happiness and fulfilment, were now replaced by a recognition of life's unpredictability and the potential for remarkable experiences.

CHAPTER 50: A New Beginning

As the middle of March approached, I noticed a semblance of stability in my daily life. Surprisingly, my time in this place no longer resembled the harrowing ordeal I once feared. Guided by Allah's grace, my journey began to unfold with a bit more ease, and I learned to accept my fate without futile resistance.

The allure of grandeur and loftier destinies had faded into obscurity. I had to accept the blessings that had been bestowed upon me and continue on my path. This experience had transformed me—an egoist humbled by the unpredictability of fate, learning a valuable lesson along the way. 

While I found some peace in my newfound equanimity, my thoughts often drifted to my former companions who had left the Asrama, embarking on new adventures. I wondered where they were and what they were up to. Occasionally, I allowed myself to daydream about being with them, free from these confines. But a reminder echoed within me—this was not the path destined for me.

My fate was intertwined with this Asrama, where I played the role of a vigilant observer of its evolving story. Perhaps, I thought, this was a privileged vantage point. While they explored the world, I bore witness to the transformations within these hallowed walls. And maybe, just maybe, they, too, wondered about the happenings here.

It was possible that some had completely forgotten about the Asrama, deeming it unworthy of remembrance. Their new lives might have been filled with more significance and importance. Yet, here I stood, contemplating, my thoughts in constant turmoil.

With the arrival of the Form 4 year, my social circle mostly revolved around Min, my dormmate in Dorm 7. I had known him since we first entered this Asrama, and over time, our friendship had deepened. Sharing a dormitory provided a unique opportunity to understand Min's true character.

I gained access to the intricacies of his life, each facet revealing the calm, composed demeanour with which he navigated life's ups and downs. He refrained from meddling in others' affairs, determined to shoulder his own burdens, a trait I respected.

In Form 4, a noticeable transformation occurred in the personalities and outlooks of my peers, including Min. He displayed a matured way of thinking, free from the juvenile behaviours of the past. His words carried weight and encouraged introspection.

Conversations with Min took on a more serious tone, and we discussed a wide range of topics, no matter how mundane or ordinary. My admiration for him grew.

With time, I developed an affinity for this way of life. It became clear to me that my decision to stay in the Asrama had been a wise one. Despite my prior closeness to Min, I had never truly understood the depth of our friendship. In the mysterious ways of Allah, I found countless meanings concealed within.

A similar sentiment applied to my interactions with other friends. We reached out to each other, imperfections and all. Over time, I realized the extent of my previous reserve—a whole tapestry of unexplored connections obscured by detachment. Despite sharing the same space for three years, it felt like we were just getting to know each other now.

The most surprising revelation was my newfound fascination with human behaviour. I became intrigued by the complex spectrum of human character. I regretted not paying attention to this aspect of life in previous years. I had been self-absorbed, with narrow and ego-centric aspirations. Now, I was more aware, discovering the many wonders I had overlooked.

Over time, I grew closer to my peers, forming deep bonds with certain individuals. The journey of our friendship was marked by irony—years of limited interaction followed by a sudden, warm camaraderie. It was strange how distant acquaintances from the past were now part of my inner circle.

Reflecting on the past, I wished I had taken a different path. Despite sharing the same space, I had failed to truly understand them. Unfounded assumptions had led to baseless judgments and a lack of communication. My previous arrogance and narrow focus on a select few from my class had blinded me to the richness of these experiences. Hindsight showed me the limitations of my old perspective.

I felt grateful for rejecting a previous offer extended to me. If I had accepted that narrow worldview, I would have missed out on these rich experiences. A resolute inner voice had guided me away from that restricted path, and for that, I thanked Allah.

Let me share more about Mamat—a dear friend and confidant. He had joined us in Form 4, and our first meeting happened when he arrived. However, Min had talked so much about him during thier primary school days that I already felt familiar with him. Min played the role of the storyteller, painting a vivid picture of Mamat's character. So, when we formally met, it felt like a reunion. Min's role as an intermediary brought about a sense of gratitude within me.

Mamat had a unique gift—he could help you forget the past. What set him apart was his warm and comforting nature, skilled at soothing anger and sadness.

Dorm 6, Mamat's dorm, was next to Dorm 7, my dorm. Our close proximity allowed for shared experiences. Initially, he was closer to Min due to their long history together, but soon, our friendship extended to me as well. Together, they created a tapestry of stories, engaging in playful banter and camaraderie, which always brought laughter.

Mamat's greatest quality was his unfiltered honesty—he spoke his mind without pretense or artifice. His stories remained authentic, untainted by societal conventions. It was a quality I admired, making any attempt to decipher hidden meanings or masked emotions futile.

But above all, his benevolence shone brightest. He had a unique ability to reconcile with those who had wronged him—a trait as rare as it was valuable. It was no surprise that he and Min had maintained their enduring friendship, rooted in their shared history. In contrast, my own relationships lacked that same depth from the past. In that sense, Min was truly fortunate.

In the Asrama, Min and Mamat became my pillars of strength, providing me with hope and resilience for this new chapter. Their presence filled my life with meaning and enrichment, and through their wisdom, I gained invaluable life lessons and fresh perspectives.

Life, I realized, was not just about academic achievements; it encompassed a wide range of experiences and connections. I felt a deep sense of gratitude for choosing to stay in this sanctuary, and I had no intention of straying from this newfound path—a path illuminated by the multifaceted nature of life.

The days at the Asrama were characterized by a tranquil serenity. Unlike the previous year, I was adapting to my new dorm with relative ease. Dorm 7, although similar in size to my previous one, had its own unique qualities. I had made a wise choice by selecting the farthest corner—it offered a broad view and had an ambiance I had yet to explore.

However, despite the panoramic view, the rear dormitory brought its own unease. It lacked the sense of peace and security that the front one provided. The discomfort I felt wasn't related to physical security but rather to the sanctity of my thoughts and introspection. Therefore, my vigilance remained heightened in this dorm, and I wasn't sure if my trepidations were justified.

Nevertheless, the dream of a fresh start in a new place had become a reality. I had ventured beyond my comfort zone, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

CHAPTER 49: The Pinnacle of Determination

As I reflected on my current circumstances, a harsh truth dawned on me—I couldn't change the past, a realm beyond my reach. There was no point in dwelling on what I couldn't alter. I decided to acknowledge my situation and shift my attention to what I could control—my perspective.

I made a commitment to view my time at Asrama with a positive outlook, freeing myself from the grip of disappointment and despair that had held me back.

However, despite my newfound determination, I couldn't shake the unease that lingered in my mind regarding my future within these walls. The path ahead was filled with obstacles I knew I had to overcome. A desire for untested strength ignited within me – an innate need to confront whatever challenges fate had in store for me, a clear call to validate my choice of staying here.

An opportunity to move to a new dormitory presented itself as the Form 4 students, who had received invitations to other schools, left the Asrama. I saw this as a chance for a fresh start. Dorm 1, once the lively centre of camaraderie, now felt empty without friends like Iman and Kaido. Loneliness and boredom had taken over, and I longed for an environment that could revitalize and motivate me.

As I considered the possibility of changing dormitories, an inner certainty told me that this was the right choice. Dorm 1 no longer held the appeal it once did, and I yearned for a new beginning in a different dorm. The decision, though difficult, was embraced with an open heart, knowing that change was inevitable.

In our daily routines, the growing discomfort within Dorm 1 became more pronounced, the small issues that were once dismissed now seemed overwhelming. I yearned for a more meaningful existence, a place where I could discover my purpose and sense of belonging. This time, I was determined to pursue it wholeheartedly.

I carefully communicated my decision to the prefect in charge, emphasizing the importance of choosing the right dorm. Expressing my desire to distance myself from my current surroundings, I selected Dorm 7, the most secluded option available, with the hope of finding a retreat in a distant place.

The ultimate goal was to start a new phase in my life, completely separate from my past experiences. I had been resolute since the previous year about leaving this dormitory as soon as possible. One year of staying there had been enough.

While I cherished the memories associated with it, I felt that the time had come to explore different paths. A change in environment was necessary, and I had to adhere to the established norms. My destiny had not brought the opportunities or fortunes I had envisioned, but remaining true to my aspiration was non-negotiable. Although this change had been imposed on me, it was crucial to prioritize personal interests and avoid hasty decisions driven by fleeting emotions.

Furthermore, the move to the rearward dormitory was a good decision, as it brought me closer to my close friends. Iman had already resettled in Dorm 6, and I was eager to join him. Relocating Min from Dorm 2 to Dorm 7 would also allow us to be closer to Mamat, Min's dear friend who stayed in Dorm 6.

Without a doubt, Dorm 7 was the best choice to start my new journey. It was a considerable distance from Dorm 1, giving me the chance to let go, to some extent, of the memories of the past. I was confident that in this new environment, I could wholeheartedly pursue what truly mattered.

The decision to move from Dorm 1 to Dorm 7 weighed heavily on my mind. However, as the auspicious day of migration approached, I realized that the time had come to let go of my anxieties and embrace this transformative shift.

The day was filled with busy activity, with students moving their belongings, lockers, and even mattresses. While some hesitated to part with their possessions, I was determined to keep mine. It was a challenging task, but through unwavering perseverance, I successfully transferred my locker and mattress to Dorm 7.

As I looked around my new surroundings, I briefly felt nostalgic for the memories created in Dorm 1. However, I knew that it was time to move forward and explore new opportunities. With Min by my side, we made our way to our new sanctuary.

I chose a bed positioned at the far end of the dorm, offering a view of the back gate that overlooked Hutan Bandar. It was a bold choice, but I was ready for this transformation. Min selected a bed close to Dorm 6, near our friends Iman and Mamat.

As I settled into my new bed, I felt a sense of comfort knowing that my close friends were nearby. Their presence reassured me that I wasn't alone in this unfamiliar place. While Dorm 7 might not have the liveliness of Dorm 1, I believed that this decision was the right one for me. Perhaps, in this new environment, I would learn valuable lessons and find answers to lingering questions. Time would reveal the truth.

As the shadows grew longer and night fell, I was overwhelmed by anxiety and concern. I worried about my ability to adapt to my new surroundings. The daytime had been manageable, but as it got darker, my unease grew. The atmosphere in Dorm 7 was completely different from Dorm 1. It had a gloomy and oppressive feel, lacking the previous tranquillity.

A mosquito infestation made it challenging for me to rest. Despite diligently setting up mosquito nets, I was constantly under attack. The rear part of the dormitory seemed to be particularly vulnerable to these pests. That first night was filled with irritation and regret, and I longed for the peacefulness of Dorm 1, where I could sleep without disturbance.

Regret began to creep into my thoughts about my former bed. I realized it was no longer mine, as it had been taken by a new Form 4 student. Guilt weighed on me because my pride had led me astray. If only I had been less stubborn and less concerned with my ego, I could have kept my previous dorm. My stubbornness was to blame.

However, during this challenging time, I took comfort in the understanding that I had to endure and adapt to this new reality. Maybe Dorm 7 had valuable lessons yet to offer, and in time, I might learn to appreciate it.

The environment in my Asrama classroom presented an interesting scene. Located at the second floor of the building, the room accommodated a small group of senior Form 4 students. The limited number provided me with a unique opportunity to build stronger connections with each of them. Once preoccupied with life's ups and downs, I now approached this situation with humility, careful not to disrupt the delicate balance. They were essential to my success here, people I couldn't afford to alienate.

As the days passed, my interactions with both peers and new Form 4 students developed into growing camaraderie. I found a natural bond with them, based on their wisdom and integrity. Among this group, Mamat, Min's close friend, became my closest confidant. His wit and humour were infectious, creating a sense of lasting friendship despite our recent acquaintance.

The Asrama tuition classes continued as usual, and I was truly grateful for them. One of the main reasons I declined prestigious invitations was because of the ongoing support these tuition sessions provided.

Over the past three years, going for tuition had become a routine, a stronghold for my academic revisions. Sometimes, I struggled to concentrate when studying alone, making these tutorial sessions a real lifesaver.

The Asrama had covered a wide range of subjects in their instruction, with the exceptions being Pendidikan Islam, History, and Biology. Without a doubt, the teachers put in a lot of effort to help us progress. Tuition, which used to lift my spirits when they were down, had been a great help.

Every day, I became more familiar with the surroundings of this Asrama and learned to appreciate its atmosphere. Through the gaps in the metaphorical foliage, I caught a glimpse of the beginning of a brighter era.

came to understand that the life I desired depended largely on my own choices – what I was willing to do to achieve my goals. While I believed that our ultimate destiny is in Allah's hands, I was determined to give my best effort.

I wouldn't allow stress, fatigue, or frustration to overwhelm me, as I had consciously and willingly committed to this path. Unlike the temptation of seeking new opportunities elsewhere, I remained steadfast in my pursuit.

I hoped for a significant transformation to occur within these surroundings, proving the wisdom of my decision to stay here. I sought answers to the questions that had troubled me, hoping to find reassurance that fate had set me on the right path.

These questions weighed heavily on my mind, and their answers remained elusive. Nevertheless, I prayed and trusted that, with time, I would find the answers I sought. These challenges, no matter how daunting, added purpose and meaning to my life.

CHAPTER 48: The Unfolding Path

When I returned home for a week's break, I found an official letter waiting for me, bearing the seal of Sekolah Sains Muar. I carefully read its contents, absorbing every detail. The letter outlined the requirements for enrolment, a list of necessary items, and the prescribed attire for my supposed upcoming journey to this new school.

In my solitude, I grappled with the idea of change and the impending transition to this new school. While my friends might be diligently preparing for their new journeys, I chose to embrace the avoidance of acceptance and enjoy the leisure presented.

During this break, I found myself reflecting on the path I had chosen and how it compared to the dreams I had held so dearly. The idealized dreams I had built in my mind now seemed less grand. In that moment of clarity, one truth became evident: Asrama was destined to be the place where the course of my life would be shaped, whether by chance or design.

Memories from the past three years at Asrama flooded my mind, bringing back moments of joy and hardship. As I revisited these memories, I realized that the diverse experiences had added depth to my journey. My life's tapestry was woven with threads of both happiness and sorrow, and I found solace in the fact that these contrasting moments had made my journey more profound.

Looking ahead, I could see the imposing presence of the SPM examinations, a daunting challenge that would occupy my thoughts. The weight of impending academic responsibilities was burdensome, refusing to be ignored. However, at that moment, I chose to postpone the relentless pursuit of scholarly excellence and enjoy the break, a much-needed respite for the weary traveller.

The friends who had previously fuelled my academic drive were now headed in different directions. Many had left for other schools, leaving me to navigate the path to intellectual excellence on my own—a new challenge altogether.

The complexity of this situation had left me feeling somewhat indecisive, hesitant to fully comprehend its intricacies. My immediate goal was to find contentment within the walls of Asrama, a fundamental aspect of my choice. I needed to quell any lingering regrets to avoid making my continued stay in Asrama feel in vain.

As I grappled with the weight of my decision, the 'takdir', in its unpredictable way, presented a surprising turn of events. During the break, Min shared some exciting news with me. His close friend from his FELDA village, whom he had often talked about since his primary school days, was going to join us as a Form 4 student in Asrama.

Min's excitement was contagious, rekindled by this unexpected twist of fate. He had also faced initial disappointment about staying in Asrama, but the prospect of reuniting with his childhood friend had renewed his optimism—a spark that once illuminated our shared path.

With no regrets, I eagerly looked forward to meeting Min's dear friend, hoping that this new friendship would mark a fresh chapter filled with discoveries and uncharted adventures.

Upon my return to Asrama, I was greeted by a mix of emotions. I felt both excitement and nostalgia as I saw the familiar surroundings of our sanctuary. I stood at the intersection of emotions, wavering between the anticipation of new beginnings and the sadness of parting with dear friends.

In this fleeting moment, I was delighted to see some familiar faces—fellow students who had returned for a brief visit. Among them were those who had been accepted into MRSM. However, their stay within these hallowed halls would be brief, just a prelude to their upcoming adventures in those renowned schools.

Amidst the flurry of arrivals, I had the chance to meet some of Form 4 newcomers, forming new connections that held the promise of camaraderie and shared experiences. One of them was Mamat, Min's childhood friend that I had eagerly wanted to meet, who brought a lively spirit with him. Min was absolutely right in describing Mamat. His presence added a touch of joviality, and I looked forward to welcoming new companions into our community.

The winds of change were blowing strongly, leading to a significant transformation in our student body. The seasoned Form 4 students were replaced by a diverse group of newcomers, requiring adjustments in our class structure.

Mamat, filled with the enthusiasm of novelty, was quick to share his perspective with me. During our first Chemistry laboratory class, his excitement was contagious, prompting me to ask about the source of his enthusiasm. To my surprise, he revealed that this was his first experience in a real science laboratory.

Mamat's previous educational journey had not included such privileges, limited to the theoretical aspects of PMR Science. He had not had the opportunity to engage in the practical science experiments. His earlier schooling had been far from conventional, as it was located within a primary school compound while their designated high school building was being constructed.

The genuine enthusiasm that Mamat brought to this laboratory experience was deeply moving. Looking back, I realized how much I had taken for granted—the chance to immerse myself in Asrama's education journey. Mamat's perspective served as a powerful reminder of the blessings that had been present on my journey all along, blessings I had often overlooked.

As I contemplated these unexpected developments, a deeper truth became clear. My time in Asrama had offered me a wide range of experiences, each contributing to the multifaceted nature of my life. From the fleeting moments of everyday joy to the profound lessons learned from challenges, my journey had given me a rich tapestry of memories that added depth and meaning to life.

With newfound clarity, I resolved to shed the cloak of complacency that had settled on my shoulders. The path ahead, though challenging, promised growth and self-discovery. As I navigated the currents of change, I carried with me the wisdom I had gained from my past, using it as a compass to guide me towards an unwritten future.

CHAPTER 47: Shattered Aspirations

The announcement from my non-Asrama friend was met with a tumultuous mix of excitement and disbelief. To my surprise, I too had been given an unthinkable opportunity to enroll in a prestigious school, Sekolah Sains Muar, alongside almost all my 8As friends. Ironically, despite this exciting revelation, a gnawing unease festered within my chest—the school was not my first choice.

As the days passed, I stuck to my daily routine, avoiding the growing news of my acceptance into the SBP. Yet, beneath my indifferent facade, my thoughts were filled with trepidation and uncertainty. What if my chance to attend MRSM had suddenly vanished? The dread of this possibility loomed large.

The friend who had shared this pivotal information had stumbled upon a troubling discovery online—that acceptance into an SBP might jeopardize our chances of securing a place at MRSM. Such a critical detail had never been disclosed to us beforehand; we were unaware that merely applying to an SBP could risk our prospects for MRSM. It was a harsh truth that was thrust upon us.

Despite the glimmer of hope, I was aware of the inevitable outcome. It was confirmed when we returned to Asrama—our coveted chance to attend MRSM had been irrevocably denied. The bearer of this crushing news was none other than Maro, and with it, my dreams of MRSM crumbled into dust.

A profound sense of disillusionment washed over me, an emotion so intense that it marked the first time in my young life that I had experienced its weight. I grappled with the incomprehensible reality that my cherished aspirations had been so abruptly quashed by forces beyond my control.

Even more poignant was the lack of forewarning. Had there been senior figures within Asrama to impart their wisdom, I might have navigated this quagmire with greater sagacity. Yet, fate had consigned me to navigate this labyrinthine ordeal in solitude.

My comrades, who shared in this unforeseen fate, bore equal dejection. We had harbored the most fervent wishes to enroll in more prestigious MRSM, an ambition ingrained in our psyche since the beginning. To secure our stellar results in the PMR only for them to culminate in this bitter reality left us despondent.

Expressing the sheer magnitude of disappointment proved to be a difficult task. What had transpired to derail our hopes? Where had we gone wrong in this fervent pursuit? These questions haunted my thoughts, and maintaining composure under this overwhelming weight was a herculean task.

Adding to the wound was the stark division between those who had received SBP offers by virtue of their 8As and those who had not. The latter group had believed their place in MRSM was secure. I sensed that the congratulations extended to us were laced with insincerity, a hidden mockery.

The perplexity of the situation left me entangled in a whirlwind of emotions. Bewilderment consumed me, and I struggled with a sense of disorientation. I vividly remember a friend, equally caught in this situation, saying, "It's difficult if we had not achieved 8As, but it's equally challenging after we had achieved it." This statement left a deep impression, serving as a poignant reminder of life's unpredictability and the need for resilience in the face of adversity.

My heart sank as I watched my non 8As friends revel in the glory of their MRSM admissions, an opportunity that had eluded me due to the vagaries of my PMR examination results. Despite my personal disappointment, I consoled myself with the belief that Allah's divine plan was just, and I accepted my destined path. However, I was faced with a significant decision—whether to transfer to another school.

As I contemplated this choice in solitude, it appeared that Asrama was shifting its stance. While they had previously encouraged us to strive for admission into prestigious schools, they now seemed to exert pressure on us to stay. Some of my 8As peers chose to heed this call and decided to remain within the familiar confines of Asrama, yet I remained uncertain.

I sought advice from my family, considered the perspectives of my friends, and ultimately made a decision—to accept the offer. Although I had reservations about starting a new educational chapter, I saw it as the most prudent course of action.

Despite my concerns about parting ways with the few friends I had in Asrama, the spectre of inertia, unhappiness, and a future devoid of hope loomed menacingly if I remained tied to the status quo. As I grappled with this significant decision, I was enveloped in fear and uncertainty.

With the passage of time, my contemplations deepened. The thought of rejecting the offer would mean a future confined to the same routine, a prospect that seemed increasingly devoid of justification.

My circle of friends was limited to just a few—Min and Iman, as mentioned earlier—and their choice to stay gave me pause for thought. Their presence held a certain appeal, acting as a fragile tether to my current situation. Without them, leaving Asrama would have been an easy decision.

Yet, I withheld my final decision, even from my closest confidants, Min, Iman, and Bel. I grappled with indecision that hindered any semblance of resolute judgment. Perhaps, I thought, my resolve would solidify at the last moment.

Time flowed relentlessly, and the Chinese New Year holiday arrived, marking the need for new school registration upon its conclusion. These days marked the end of my stay in Asrama. The countdown had begun.

As the deadline approached ominously, I struggled with guilt for not informing Bel of my decision sooner. He assumed that I had accepted the offer and proceeded to finalize his own choices.

Maro and several other acquaintances also chose to accept the offer, but two friends, grappling with ambivalence like me, decided to stay, mirroring my own internal struggle.

Then, one afternoon, Bel and I went to the phone booth together. His purpose was to convey his final decision to his family. Once his conversation ended, he handed me the receiver, urging me to make my own call.

With a mix of trepidation and guilt, I gathered the courage to inform my mother of my rejection of the offer, choosing to stay in Asrama until the end of Form 5.

Her response was one of astonishment, as my decision to endure another two years within these confines was completely unexpected. Bel, too, registered his surprise, his face reflecting disbelief.

I offered my apologies and explained the reasons behind my decision. To his credit, Bel received the news with understanding, showing respect and refraining from pressuring me to reconsider. Life, I realized, must move forward regardless of the paths we choose.

Perhaps fate had already determined my course, just as it had for Bel. In a fleeting moment, news of my decision spread throughout Asrama's collective consciousness.

Many couldn't believe that I would forsake the prestigious halls of an illustrious SBP school for the familiarity of this place. However, I was aware that some in Asrama greeted my decision with joy, especially Min and Iman.

Furthermore, fellow friends who had also chosen to stay welcomed my decision warmly. I was both touched and pained by this situation, as the sacrifice I was willing to make for Asrama resonated deeply within me. I resolved to remain within these walls for two more years, hoping that my choice would bring about positive change within this community.

My new life had begun, and it bore no resemblance to the idealized existence I had once imagined. I was destined to sleep in Asrama's beds once again, eat meals from its kitchens, bathe in water from the same source, and breathe Johor Bahru's air once more. It was a cycle I was fated to embark upon.

In addition, I realized that I could now address the unresolved conflicts that had lingered from the previous year. I smiled wistfully at the prospect. I had never imagined that I could avoid that particular quagmire; it had pulled me in. Perhaps it was this very conflict that bound me to Asrama, preventing me from pursuing alternative opportunities.

Would my presence bring about a transformation within Asrama? Would my continued stay here disturb others? I couldn't answer these questions; they had never been a concern of mine. Last year, I had confidently declared my intention to leave Asrama and start a new journey. Unfortunately, I couldn't help but wonder if my declaration had left behind lingering hurt or anger. Yet, why should those emotions persist?

In the days leading up to the holiday, I watched as Bel and other friends prepared to leave for their new school. They diligently gathered the required documents and withdrew from their classes. I observed their efforts with a heavy heart, as three years of shared experiences, filled with ups and downs, were coming to an end. The thought of a future without their camaraderie was a painful prospect.

Bel and I had forged a strong bond, especially during our Form 3 year. I held him in high regard, grateful for his countless acts of kindness. He exemplified true friendship, a relationship built on genuine friendship rather than opportunism. Saying goodbye to him was deeply emotional. His emotions mirrored my own, and his decision to accept the offer, despite my rejection, left me puzzled. It seemed his determination surpassed even mine.

The farewell was bittersweet, but I clung to the belief that it was not a final farewell. Our paths might now diverge, but they remained connected by the memories and shared experiences we had accumulated over the years. While I chose to continue on the same path, I held onto the hope that our paths would cross again in the future.

Fortunately, I still had the company of Min and Iman. Although Min had also received an SBP offer but different school, unforeseen technical issues forced him to remain within Asrama's familiar confines.

His decision played a significant role in influencing my own choice, a choice imbued with profound significance for our shared journey in Asrama over the coming years. It was a decision entrusted to Allah's benevolent guidance.

The moment of parting arrived, and I bid farewell to my friends who, after the holiday, would embark on a journey beyond Asrama's sheltering embrace. A sense of regret prompted me to offer apologies for any transgressions, both intentional and unintentional, especially to Bel, Kaido, and Maro.

Bel, in particular, was moved by my words, and, to my surprise, he gave me a keepsake from his girlfriend—a gesture filled with sentiment, reminding us of the precious memories we had created during our three-year journey together.

As our paths diverged, I sought comfort in the knowledge that our shared aspiration remained unwavering. They were pursuing a different path, but our journeys remained intertwined by the tapestry of experiences and memories we had woven together. While I continued on my unaltered path within Asrama, I held onto the optimism that our paths would intersect again at some distant point.