A Crimson Red Realization

Appreciation. It's something almost all of us lack in. We take almost anything and everything for granted. By and far, almost all of us don't really appreciate our country. Yes, I'm talking about us, Malaysians, not being grateful of our birth land Malaysia. Perseverance. Acceptance. Education. Integrity. Meritocracy. Humility. Loyalty. Culture of Excellence. Does these eight values sound familiar? Well, it's all the values of our '1 Malaysia' concept. I always thought of it as a joke. However, as time pass people change. So did I. Now, I believe in it whole heartedly. Why? Well, this is my story.

All my life, if I've ever felt indebted to anyone, it had to be my father. He's a fifty-six year old man, very tall with broad shoulders and when he smiled he his dimples on his right cheek. He has a white collar job. Despite sitting in front of a computer all day long his salary is barely enough to make ends meet. Even so, he's always given full priority and attention to my education funds. It pained me to watch him live a dog's life. I've always tried to help him but never had the opportunity. A scholarship. If I could get my hands on a full scholarship, I'm sure i could ease some amount of burden off his shoulders.

Luckily, I'm capable of getting one. I'm a 19 year old student. not an ordinary one though. I'm the kind that makes all the other kids say,"That dude is just ain't normal" or "That kid's from another planet". Why? Well it's due to my exceptional rapport and resume I have. I'm the school's head prefect, President of the English Club, Secretary of Scouts and the captain of the Badminton Team. A perfect all rounder I was. My recent public exam result, the STPM is enough to make almost every parent in my neighborhood to be either green with envy upon my single father or to be purple with rage at their own kids. It was A+ from top to bottom, all four subjects. I was confident that my application for a scholarship would definitely be approved.

I was right. Just two weeks upon collecting my STPM results, I received a letter from University S, England. This letter was the turning point of my life. It was 11.15 a.m., the time of the day when mail usually arrived. I went out to fetch today's lot as i heard the engine of a motorbike. i slipped my palm into the pigeon hole at the receiving end. Collecting all three letters, each different in size and paper material. i shuffled the envelopes, identifying their origins and guessing their content. The last letter had my name on it. On it's bottom right corner it had University S, England printed in bold letters. I searched for a ruler on my messy desk, opened the envelope and began reading it's content. I was offered a scholarship and had to attend an interview in England a fortnight from the 17th of August 2010.

I was in cloud nine. If my father is to know of this he would definitely be as proud as a peacock. I had to tell tell, I just had to, or else i might just blow up. i felt like a six year old on a sugar rush. I quickly dashed out, jumped on my bicycle and paddled as fast as i could to the train station. The warm air ran through my hair. I rode so fast, i nearly crashed at the corners. Reaching the station, I just chucked my bike where the other motorcycles were parked in order almost causing a domino, before rushing to the counter to purchase a ticket. I ran up the stairs, three at a time. Reaching the top, I was slightly relieved as there weren't many people at the que. I continued the short line, behind an old woman and waited for my turn, wiping off the sweat that had dripped from my smooth forehead, to my square jaw line before dropping off my chin.

After a couple of minutes spent waiting, I was the front in line. I punched my fist into my jeans pocket, reached for the RM5 note and gave it to the woman in charge in exchange for a one way ticket to city central. "That will be RM1.70 sir, with a chan...!!" I snatched the ticket, almost ripping it apart before she could finish her routine dialog and yelled out,"Keep the change!" smiling ear to ear. I didn't intend to be rude, the train would depart at 11.40 a.m. and it was already 11.35 a.m. I had to hurry if not I'd miss it. I looked around for my train and found it at first glance. But guess where? It was at the far front end of the railway track. I sprinted toward it, slipped mt way through the closing doors and fell on my side, making me the center of attraction in the train."Phew! I made it," I thought. I laid on my back for a moment, panting. Then, I turned over and pushed myself up. Now, I had to wait.

For almost a quarter of an hour, I 'enjoyed' the dull scenery. Finally, the train reached city central. My father worked at the Quill 6 building just a stone's throw away from the train station, here at Masjid Jamek. Now, my only problem was getting into the building. I should call my dad, ask him to come down instead. I patted my pocket hoping to hear a few coins to jingle but it was in vain. I regretted not waiting for my change before. Even though i didn't have a single cent, I proceeded to the telephone booth. Testing luck. I slipped two of my fingers into the change receiving slot with my thumb supporting out. I felt a cold piece of metal, moderate in size. I knew it was a 20 cent coin. I used it to call him.

While dialing the most familiar set of numbers I had in mind right after the ones on my identification card, I thought of giving him a little shock. I fabricated an amazing story. My father answered on the fifth ring. I started off with a small voice. I told him the house was robbed and I was beaten up badly as the thieves weren't satisfied with the loot. I told him I was frightened, waiting down at the train station near his office wanting to see him."What?! I'll be right there! How bad are you injured? Did you report to the police?" one after another questions filled with concern, rage and worry."Dad, I just wanna...," before I could complete my sentence the time limit came to an end. I felt bad for telling him such a lie. i hung up the phone and walked out along the pavement towards the zebra crossing.

It was mid-day at city central and it was crowded. The crowd pushed me back and forth as I stood still looking for my father. then, I spotted a familiar face from a far. paler though. It was him, my father. His tie was loose at his chest and a few buttons at the top of his shirt weren't buttoned, exposing his collar bone. From the expression on his face, I could tell he was facing difficulties elbowing his way through a sea of people. But he did. He made his way to the pavement opposite where I was. He saw me. Our eyes met. He stopped for a second and then sprinted across the road ignoring the red light on the traffic signal. In about fives steps, he would have grabbed me, strangling me with a suffocating hug. He could have. Fate however was cruel. A white 2.0 Toyota Camry ran into him.

Where did that come from? I heard a loud thud, followed by a woman's scream seconds later. It was the first time I witnessed an accident in person. The car's front bumper hit my father at his leg, throwing him in the high enough just to be rammed again. This time the impact of his body cracked the windscreen before throwing him back a few meters, lying on the hot tar road. I was rooted to the ground. I was completely at lost. Coming back to my senses, I rushed to where he was. I knelt down, held him "Dad? Hey, dad you know my...my scholarship got approved. Haha, cool right? Dad, common say something? Dad you can't do this to me, not now, please!". I could see him mouth something as he couldn't voice out what he intended to say. My name. Giving me a smile, with a dimple on his right cheek as usual, he dozed off. I felt his crimson red blood warm against my skin. He was bleeding profusely. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't fix him. I cried.

Then, I felt someone grab me by the shoulder "We have to get him to a hospital fast!" it was the owner of the Camry. With the assistance of three other men, they carried my father into his car and whisked him to the hospital. Along the way, the man said,"There's a hospital just uptown, we'll head there. I'm Nazarudin by the way," the man. the traffic was only making the situation worse. It took almost a half hour before we reached the Chinese Maternity Hospital. Even though it was a maternity hospital, the staff's didn't make much of a fuss and were generous enough to lend a helping hand. My father was taken into the Emergency Room at haist. I just stood outside watching nurses going in and out with medical equipment. I could only watch. Speechless. Helpless.

Fear. It completely took over me. When things seemed to settle down, the doctor came out, his gloves smeared in blood. My father's blood. My blood. He asked who brought my father in and immediately Mr. Nazarudin and i stood up. he took off his gloves and handed it to one of the nurse. then took a deep breath and said in a clear, calm voice,"I'm sorry. We couldn't save him. It was too late and he;s lost too much blood,". My knees felt weak. I nearly collapsed but somehow found the zest to stand. Mr Nazarudin apologized. He helped inform the police and handle other formalities. It was late evening, with my directions Mr Nazarudin took me home. He explained the current situation to my neighbor, Mr. Lim and made sure I spent the night at his place. He was concerned. Genuinely.

I had trouble sleeping that night. the only thought that kept running through my mind was the accident. My father is dead. I killed him. To receive such punishment an account of my mischievousness. It simply wasn't fair. The next morning, Mr. Lim woke me up. He gave me some toiletries, told me to wash up and get ready since Mr. Nazarudin was waiting downstairs. I crawled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. From my reflexion on the mirror, I noticed I had bags under my eyes and a stubble at my chin. Acknowledging the fact that my presence was awaited downstairs, I brushed my teeth, took a quick bath, wore a pair of jeans Mr.Lim had for me with a plain white shirt and went downstairs.

It was nostalgic. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Just the way my father makes them. We all sat for breakfast. Mrs. Lim had prepared fried noodles. The air was intense and slightly awkward. Mr.Nazarudin then broke the silence,"My wife and I have decided to adopt you. Mr. Lim told us about your academic background and I have to admit, I'm impressed. you see, my brother is one of the senior administrators in University Malaya. I'm sure we can support you till the very end. So, what say you?". The offer was offhand. I was perplexed."Is this some kind of blessing in disguise?"I thought to myself. I glanced over at Mr.Lim and he nodded with approval. He tried to reassure me,"Listen, son. You're a talented young man, you don't always have such offers knocking at your door. Strike the iron while it's hot. Don't worry, you'll be in good hands. Mr. Nazar here is actually an old acquaintance of mine". Life has to move on. I had to make a choice. The right one. Reluctantly, I agreed. The next couple of weeks, Mr. Nazar, his wife and I were busy travelling to and fro Putrajaya to 'adopt me' properly.

Did I make the right choice? I don't know. What amazed me is that there are still people who are willing to help. For instance, Mr. Nazarudin, Mr.Lim, the three men at Masjid Jamek, and the staffs at the Chinese Maternity Hospital. All of them offered a free hand regardless what race I was or what religion I practiced. It dawned on me then, that "1 Malaysia" truly exists in everyone. all we need is an opportunity. A chance to prove ourselves. In two weeks the country will be celebrating it's 53rd independence Day, so let us all have a hand in the celebration and live by our country for our country in line with the motto "1 Malaysia; People First, Performance Now".