“Faizul, I really learnt a lot from the past two days, especially today, I think,” said the nine-year-old boy to his red-capped best friend as they made their way through the dispersing crowd along Tanjung Mas Avenue and into the shady and decorated shop lots nearby.
“Well what have you learnt so far, Azrun?” kindly asked his best friend, quietly sipping the remaining ‘Black Hole’ Coke from his paper cup.
“(Sigh) Well I guess, I can now imagine how chaotic would our country be should we forget how hard it was for it to be as it is now, even more so if we treat all calls for unity and tolerance as just fulfilling personal gains! (Sigh)” he began his statement.
“I realized now how destructive ignorance and apathy can be to any country, and how easily and quickly it destroys everything our forefathers had worked so hard to achieve, and how painful it is to restore our glory, pride and reputation once the damage is done!
These last two days had really opened up my eyes Faizul, and with these new experiences we’ve gained I, I seriously think, it made quite an impact on me, making me into a better person I guess…
So what if maybe… I mean just maybe, that that Viceroy was right, Faizul? That I would find my calling in politics when I grow up? (Snicker) And ended being the next Prime Minister of Malaysia later on? (Snigger)
So what do you think? Pretty cool, huh?” he asked; sounded very much unlike the cynical little boy he used to be.
Then, as he unwittingly noticed that his best friend had pretended to fall asleep before his meaningful words, the grinning Azrun rudely pulled down his friend’s priceless red cap over his supposedly sleepy face, and immediately Faizul reacted by screaming alien profanities at him before they shared a heartfelt bouts of laughter next; laughing at themselves, their possible vocation—and how would their lives look like if everything that their dead foe had revealed really should came true!
Twenty minutes worth of a bus ride and the exhausted best of friends finally entered the eternally hectic ‘Kilometre 8 Bakri Camp Bus Terminal’, gladly resuming their walk into that noisy station at the outskirt of the city for their only ride home.
And here within the compounds of this noisy and bustling place, the nine-year-old kid miraculously became his old self again!
“Hey Faizul, last one in the bus is a Chromedomed Beefcake, a-ha!” shouted the white-shirted boy before running hysterically towards the terminal’s entrance, followed by the fuming Faizul running close behind him, annoyed and humoured at the same time.
“Hey come back here Azrun! Hey, no fair, okay! Hey, wait up, wait up will you?! Oh, wait till I get my hands on you, you moustached Gorilla Boy, a-ha!” he shouted before doing an impression of an angry gorilla just to annoy him.
Immediately the red eared boy stopped running, turned around, stared angrily at him and chased his simpering friend all over the building, shouting and laughing gleefully to their hearts’ content before buying themselves some bus tickets and boarded the purple coloured Semarak Jaya Town Bus bound for home—still noisy and cheerful all the way!
-ECHOES IN THE WIND TRILOGY-
Writer
Saiful Nizam Shukor
Duration of Writing
October 2000-February 2001
