NURUL HASYA

                                            That One Boy (Prose)

The world was silent as if it ended the night. The sun was still below the horizon and outside, it was dark, pitch black to be exact. It was time for Fajr, where Muslims perform their Subuh prayer to thank God to be given a new day to begin, a new day to explore. I took my ablution and grabbed my prayer mat to start my day. One week of school holidays as a student has come to a halt. It is not a novelty for us, students in teacher training institute to be pampered by a whole week of relaxing and suddenly knocked onto an adventurous school-based experience the next one week. Walking downstairs, the tantalizing smell of the ambrosial lasagna wafted into the air from the kitchen. How wonderful it was to waltz down the stairs heading towards the kitchen to see a delightful serving of lasagna and pancakes with maple syrup squeezed on top for your first day of school? Not to forget the hot  Milo to complete the menu. Mother has always been a good cook since day one, even though I did not have the chance to taste the delectable set of food on the table since I spent most of the school days in the hostel, far far away from this little town. To stare at her face that will wrinkle, to gaze at the black hair that will turn to greyish white, to glance at her delicate fingers handing over the plate to serve me brings tears to my eyes. I wish to be a strong, compassionate and caring woman, just like my mother.

At the crack of dawn, the sun peaks out from the mountain tops. Laptop in my left hand, I stepped out from the car. ‘Wait! You forgot something, Kakak’, her soft voice was heard. I felt bad for forgetting to kiss her cheeks goodbye. I took her hands and kissed it too. ‘Thank you, mom. Don’t forget to pick me up at 1.30’, I added. The first day at school was really alarming and it chilled me to the bones. The entrance was beautifully carved with a spectacular piece of school badge made of metal hung on top of it. The carving was ‘SK Laguna Merbok’. Out of nowhere, a part of me was jumping in exhilaration and was screaming as if I achieved something, but what was it? ‘Aaahhh, I remember now’, I mumbled. This was my dream school since it was opened when I was in Standard 6, back in 2010. Tons of memories flashed back inside my mind. There was a night where I tiptoed to my parent’s room, finding the perfect timing for me to start this dreadful conversation I had been imagined inside my head long before I reached the master’s bedroom. I was pleading, begging to my knees to let her know that I desperately wanted to transfer to the new school in our neighbourhood. ‘If you don’t want to send me there, let me go by bus or I can just walk, it’s not that far, mom’, I suggested. The 12-year old Hasya had suffered for almost a month without her best friend who had transferred to this new school earlier. Now that was a vivid piece of memory that I always treasure during my childhood.

Surprisingly, there was no trace of a ringing bell in this school at all, not even once. It was a wonderful approach for the school community to ensure that everyone was punctual and do their job within the allocated time. Looking at my dead watch, glad I followed my hunch and brought my power bank with me. The English head of department asked me to follow her to a Year One class soon after I finished a short tete-a-tete with the headmaster, who had given me a lecture in the morning, especially on my first day. ‘What a great way to start off the day!’, I sighed. The very moment Mrs Munesh entered the class, the whole class was quiet. Not a single sound was made, except for the whirring of the fan above the pupils’ small heads. Jumped into conclusions, I knew that these kids are polite, well-mannered and cultured. The way they greeted her and the way the class monitor did not take a second late to greet me too was astounding. For a Year-One class to behave like this was something uncommon and deserved a reward, at least an applause to the teacher who shaped them. When they were asked to make a hand puppet using a piece of coloured paper, some were still gawking at the back and some already paved their way half through the process. Adam Uwais was a name I could never forget. He was struggling to even hold the scissors correctly. From what was observed, he was left-handed. He can write using his left hand but not cutting papers using the same hand. Adam obviously needed help. When I offered to help him, he was already in tears. Tears cascaded down from his fluffy cheeks leaving him so weak and frail even to lift up his head to look at me in return.

Madam Munesh, in her vibrant pink printed saree was standing in front of his desk, looking assured about how to put a stop to his tears. Slowly, she approached Adam and said ‘What is wrong, Adam? Why are you crying?’ ,she patted his back several times. His answer had taken me aback. It was not something uncommon to say but Adam has put them into words that changed my perspective about it. ‘Adam rindu ibu’, he uttered softly. As Madam Munesh was comforting him, I had this quick thought about his words. Three words that mean everything to a kid, even to a grown up like myself that regardless of our age, a mother had a special place somewhere in our heart that no one can replace. At this moment, a 21-year old girl learned something new on her first day at school and look forward to learn more in the future.

                                       
                                       

Every day is a new day (Poetry)

The scorching heat from the sun strike,

But none of them are in fright,

Of the blazing heat while playing kite,

Physical Education is what they like.

Every day is a new day,

For every pupils has a price to pay,

So teachers need to keep them away,

From the danger the kids might go cray.

The ringing of the bell they wait,

The teacher yelled ‘Line up straight!’

Only then they can rush to the gate,

All they have to do is cooperate.

Yes, every day is a new day,

For every pupils has a price to pay,

So teachers need to keep them away,

From the danger the kids go astray.

                                       Advertisement (Non Prose)

On the 1st of April (Monday), SK Laguna Merbok conducted a spelling bee contest where 12 contestants were fighting for the first place.

Here is the advertisement that were pasted around the school compound.

The contest was a success and everyone in the school had given their cooperation.

Thank you everyone.