Young Writers Society

An old memory suddenly triggered in my mind and I just felt like writing it out. I myself don't quite understand what I wanted to convey to the readers in this short story.

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The young girl stood by the door of her classroom, blankly watching her classmates as they frolicked outside of the class.

Before the sun rose, it had rained heavily, turning Iman’s usually hot and dry school day into a cold one with a damp atmosphere. The windows of her class had fogged up with the humidity. The teacher had yet to enter the class. Her classmates took advantage of the free time to play outside.

The class of 1 Caring was situated on the far left of a long building, enough for three classes. Opposite their building was another building of the same structure and length, home to yet another three classes. However, these two buildings facing each other were separated by a gravel road, badly damaged and full of holes. Whenever it rained, water filled up these holes and created puddles.

Iman had been a student in that certain school for only four months. She was brilliant, a top student in the top class of the first grade, and fluent in English, having been raised in Vietnam where she entered an international kindergarten before she moved to her original country, Malaysia.

Compared to her city life in Vietnam, Kelantan was a far cry from the busy and noisy atmosphere she was used to. She moved into a small house, located deep in a kampung. For three years she had to adjust to her new lifestyle—away from the bustling environment, the luxury of having her own private driver and maid, and her best friend, Lia.

Iman was then schooled at a kindergarten which taught its students in English. Her English improved, her vocabulary lengthened and her grammar enhanced as she learned the basics. At the age of seven, Iman entered elementary school.

Here was where she got caught. For the whole of her life, she had never applied her Bahasa Melayu in her daily life. Entering the kampung school of Kelantan, where everybody spoke fluent Bahasa Melayu, Iman was unable to communicate well with her classmates, since she only knew bits and pieces of the language. Everybody considered her awkward, weird—an outcast. Nobody wanted to talk to her. They thought she was showing off when she spoke English. They envied her brilliance.

Now, its been four months.

Her classmates crouched around the puddles, poked at the water and smiled at their own reflections. The male students cupped the rainwater with both hands and splashed it on their friends. Bubbles of laughter filled the air.

Some of the girls created paper boats and approached an undisturbed puddle. They gingerly set their boats on the water. Iman watched them closely with interest as some of the paper boats sank, whereas others floated. The girls whose boats had sunk cried out in frustration.

The edge of Iman’s lips curved upwards into a small, sad smile. She always wanted to make paper boats. She wanted to see if her paper boat would float on water, or if it would sink. She wanted to know what caused the paper boat to sink and what made it float. Her questions couldn’t be answered due to one simple fact—she didn’t know how to make paper boats.

Her classmates didn’t want to teach her. When she asked, they shunned her and turned their backs on her. If she watched them make the boats, they glared at her. If she approached the puddles they occupied, they splashed her with the dirty rainwater and stained her white baju kurung uniform.

The dark-haired girl closed her eyes and leaned against the wooden door. She always felt offended by how her classmates treated her. Although some treated her nicely, they didn’t want to become friends. Every time she thought this way, Iman felt like breaking down.

Why? What was wrong with her? Why could they not accept her inability to speak Bahasa Melayu as fluently or as casually as they do? Was it erroneous of her to speak their language like a robot?

She inhaled deeply and unsteadily, before releasing her breath in an upset sigh. Her classmates laughed as tears streamed down her eyes. Iman cried without a sob, without hiding her face in her knees like everybody else did. She broke down when she knew nobody would look at her.

Suddenly, she felt a tender hand on her shoulder. Iman turned around slowly and saw one of her classmates, Baeilah, who stared back at her with a gentle smile on her face.

“Janganlah nangis,” She said, her voice soft. It took a few minutes for Iman to translate her words, which meant, “Don’t cry.”

Iman was quiet for a while as she constructed her sentence in Melayu. “Saya…sedih,” She murmured, “I’m sad.”

She returned her gaze to the paper boats which floated on the surface of the puddles. The science behind them was magical and mysterious, and she longed to enjoy the simple satisfaction of seeing her own paper boat float on the water. Iman felt weak with the knowledge she had no idea how to built one.

Baeilah followed her gaze. She realized what Iman was staring at, and she chuckled, “Oh, senang saja nak buat tu. Nak saya ajar ke?”

She meant, “Oh, that’s easy to make. Do you want me to teach you?”

Iman was at a loss for words. Her surprise at Baeilah’s sudden suggestion made Baeilah smile brightly. Baeilah led the dumbfounded girl to her table and took out two pieces of paper. Step by step, she taught Iman how to create a paper boat.

“Terima kasih,” Iman thanked, so happy she felt like crying. She stared at the delicate paper boat in her hands, besieged with a strong emotion.

“Sama-sama,” She said cheerfully, which meant a heartwarming, “You’re welcome.”

The two girls exited the class and wandered around the damaged road for a while, until they spotted an unoccupied puddle. Excited, Iman rushed up to the puddle with a large smile on her face. She lifted her kain to her ankles and crouched down.

She cupped her paper boat in her hands and lowered it down to the water. Iman had never been so focused and meticulous before—her eyes were set solely on her boat and the shiny surface of the puddle. Eventually, Iman had successfully set her boat on the water.

She and Baeilah were there for a few moments, staring at the paper boat. The water did not stir and laid perfectly still, reflecting the girls’ who watched tensely. After a few minutes, nothing happened and it took a while for them to absorb the information.

Without her realizing, a lone tear escaped Iman’s eye. It rolled off her cheek, shaped in a pristine and pure pearl of water, before it fell into the puddle. This caused small waves to echo throughout the puddle, slightly moving the paper boat from its original position.

Baeilah’s lips parted into an accomplished grin. She described Iman’s overwhelming happiness into a single cry. “Terapung lah!”

“It floats!”