Charity, Charity!

Everyday is a good day indeed. Yet, in my case at least, everyday is just like the day before, with the same routine. However, after almost drowning myself with self-pity on that fine Thursday as I was stuck in the house without anyone with my intellectual capacity to talk to, the phone rang. I dashed, with anticipation, hoping someone would save me by adding some spice to that fateful Thursday. Sure enough, I heard a familiar sound from the other side of connection. My saviour happened to be my old schoolmate back in secondary school. She goes by the name “Kamala”. Little wonder to why I found such joy for finally being able to fill up my Thursday evening with such a company for she is known as “ALAMAK” (Kamala becomes Alamak if it is read out the other way round!).

            “Alamak” is probably the best word to describe how I felt just under 5 minutes of conversing with her. First, I forgot that her birthday had just passed. After receiving a nice sounding for it, we resumed our conversation in which she gave me another blow. She told me that the coming weekend, she was going for a ‘medical camp’ where she would be a volunteer. After hearing the ring word ‘medical’ I gave her volleys of questions. I had always wanted to be a doctor since I was a kid that spent most of her television time watching the TV-series “ER” or emergency room. Of course it is hardly a reason enough for me to commit me life to the profession that is associated with sweating blood and slaving for at least a decade before becoming a ‘specialist’. Imagine the look on the faces of the admission officers for university when they hear my reason.

            To cut a long and winding conversation short, I agreed to come with her to volunteer my services to the society. I had been looking furiously for the past few months for a concrete reason as to why I want to be a physician. Medicine is a field where there has to be passion for what you are doing. And that is precisely what I am looking for. By searching myself now, I would not be making any wrong turns in life by entering this field blindly only to discover later that medicine is not for me.      

            The subsequent days left me in fits of anticipation. Would I like it? Is it going to be under the hot sun? I knew a few things though. This medical camp was organized by the Pusat Satya Sai Malaysia. They are a religious organization that does voluntary services. This medical camp is conducted for the villagers of Kampung Sungai Kayu Ara. The irony here is, this ‘village’ is actually situated in the city itself. Moreover, it is so near KDU. The residents of this village are mainly Indians. That is about the only information Kamala could give me and I was suppose to be contented with that. I did ask her what kind of volunteering we were going to do and she told me that there would be the ‘eye-chart test’, measurement of height and weight and also ‘urine test’. She added that I should not be in such high hopes because as a volunteer, we could be asked to pick up rubbish or control the crowd. Being more of a technical kind of person, I hoped that I would not be doing something I do everyday. I want some experience in the medical field to add colours and dimensions to my personal statement when application for places in university comes along.

            That day finally came. On the 3rd July, I woke up in the morning, took my breakfast and with a deep breath left home and hitched a ride with dear Kamala to go to “Charity Medical and Health Camp”. When we got there, it looked more like a political rally camp than a medical camp. There were banners and there was a continuous stream of people walking towards that area. That ‘area’ turned out to be a Tamil school after all. It is sad because its condition was bad, nearly dilapidating under the watchful eyes of the city. I did not even manage to get the schools name. Kamala then spotted a fellow volunteer and asked her where we were suppose to meet-up and finalize matters. We then moved in the direction shown by her, to find ourselves in a room. There we met the other volunteers, which included Saras, Supriya, Dhanya, Michael (a white guy who unfortunately was not good-looking) Raj, Kala, and Pravin. Subsequently we were given identification tags and divided into groups by Dr. Wong. Kamala, Michael, Raj and I was in-change of the ‘eye-chart test’, while Supriya, Kala, Saras and Dhanya were told to measured the height, weight and BMI (ratio of the weight to the height of a person). Then, we were shown in a room where the booths were set up for us to carry out our respective tasks.

            This room is where I spent my entire day of this camp. My booth was in the middle, separating Dhanya’s booth and the “blood-sugar level test”. Dr. Wong then gave us instructions on how to conduct the eye test. First, patients would stand behind a line    (approximately 2 meters from the charts) on the floor marked by tape. We would then close one side of the patients’ eye to test its acuity. The patient would then be asked to name the alphabets In the report papers carried along by the patient, we would write the smallest font size the patient can read based on the chart. The font sizes were from the biggest to the smallest: 60, 36, 24, 18,9,7.5,6,and 4. Eye acuity of 60-9 would be categorized as “red”. Within this group, those with eye acuity of 24 and above would be sent to see the ophthalmologists next door for further medical evaluation while those below 24 to 9 should consider wearing spectacles. On the other hand, font size below 9  would be termed “blue” (more like an no-need-to-worry sign). In the report papers, we must write the results by ratio, which was 6 per the font size patients could see (ex. 6/36). According to Dr. Wong, this test would enable us to spot those people who actually never come to realize that they are partially blind. Some of the older patients would also come with cataracts and myopia.

            By that time, residents of Kampung Kayu Ara were streaming in steadily, wanting to take this once in a lifetime chance to get their medical check-up. An elderly man, aged 103 came on wheel chairs. This shows that they took this medical camp seriously. My job was to write out the results on the report papers carried by the patient, Michael in controlling the traffic, Raj and Kamala got to play the models on “Wheel of Fortune” by doing the alphabet pointing. Now, it took me a while to get warmed-up to the task of getting it right. However, I managed to memorize the reactions on the patients face when they could not see anymore and jot down the font size without being told by Raj what the results was. I realized that this test was well adapted to suit all kinds of patients. For those who were illiterate, symbols was used. The patients would use a card to turn in order to show us the shape pointed on the chart (the letter E laid in different angles).

            The height and weight measurements were carried out in this manner. Patients would come in to have their weight and height measured. The numbers was than recorded in the report papers. Once this was completed, a scale was used to see if their weight was proportional to their height. This scale made the work easier as in actual fact the BMI can be counted by this formula: weight per unit square height (weight in kilograms and height in metre). If this scale showed a number larger than 24, the patient would than be considered to be overweight and obese if the number was larger than 27.

As time passed, call me naïve, but I was certainly shocked when many requested for the symbol card. It was a hard blow because most of them were middle-aged women. This clearly shows that there is still the prevalent attitude among the Indians that women are useless if not for being a good wife, a loving mother, and a productive baby-making machine. Then again, I must not forget to say that some men could not read too, noticeably among the elderly ones. The kids were joyous bunch to work with. Some were so shy to even tell us what they see. They keep glancing at their mothers. On the other hand, some found it as an opportunity to showcase their intelligence. They practically shouted the alphabets to us and we appreciable gave them the “bagus” hand-sign. 
           
            On the more medical side of my evaluation, I noticed that these villagers had a serious eyesight problem. Many were given the “red” label. There was a case where this teenage girl, who was wearing glasses, recorded a result of 6/36 on both eyes. This shows how badly in need these people are. Her parents probably could not help her because of their financial constrains. I can safely say that 90% of them needed spectacles to see clearly. Far more saddening was fact that this group included a large number of school-going kids. I also learned that those who were considered overweight or obese had a high chance of having bad eyesight. Of course this would be then a clear indication the patient suffers from diabetes. When we were conducting the eye-test, we were told by Dr. Wong to refer those who were above 40 years of age to the ‘blood-sugar level test’ booth. We were also to keep our eyes open to those who were overweight to refer them to this booth. Patients who did not belong to either of this group would then be cleared for the subsequent check-up, which was physical check as I was told. 

            Moving on, I cannot avoid saying that I suffered the most violent slap on the face that day, metaphorically that is. Although I am an Indian, I do not know to converse in my mother tongue, but I do understand it. Every time I try, I sound very odd. That is precisely how I sounded that day. I had to direct the patients to the next destination once the eye-check up was completed. As most of them were Indians, they all expected me to converse with them in Tamil. I suffered needless to say. The worst was yet to unfold until I had to explain to an elderly illiterate lady how the symbol card mechanism worked in the most retarded Tamil sentences ever spoken. I managed to pull off some words and I am proud to say that by the end of the day, the most frequent sentence structure I had to use was mastered quite well. Prior to this, I have never been ashamed of my disability but now, I sincerely regret that I never bothered to master this intricate language that requires such complex and multidimensional tongue movement.

            Finally, after all the hard work, the volunteers were allowed to go for our first break on a rotational basis after nearly 6 hours of non-stop work since 8.30 a.m. There was specially prepared food waiting for us. The food was vegetarian, since The Satya Sai is in fact a religious movement. I heard the food of excellent. I decided to skip it by downing some sponge cake to take a look around at the other booths available in the camp. I spotted a dentist room, pharmacy, and a common area. I also heard that they were conducting pap-smear test and breast examination for the ladies. How wonderful I thought to myself as I walked back to me room. It was then that I decided to infiltrate into the “blood-sugar level test”.  As I said, I wanted some technical experience and I was sure going to go and look for it. As the volunteers manning the booth had left, I decided to help out.

            First thing first, I was brief by a fellow volunteer how to conduct the test. The steps are : 1) dab some ethanol on the tip of the patients finger with clumps of wool
                 2) insert the lancet in rectangular shaped injector
                 3) place the tip of the open injector on the tip of the patients’ finger
     4) press the button which would release the lancet for penetration of epidermis
         layer of the patients’ finger
                 5) once pricked, finger then pressed to facilitate blood flow to produce a larger
                     drop
                6) blood glucose test strip inserted in glucometer
                7) drop of blood dripped on the strip
                8) wait for the reading on the glucometer
                9) offer the patient some wool to cover the prick
Of course there were a few precautions that had to be taken to ensure the safety and the validity of the results. I must remember to change the lancet in the injector and the blood test strip each time. I find that the injector helps a lot especially for those with injection related phobia. They would be spared the trauma, as the insertion of the lancet on their finger cannot be seen. This test would yield a better result if the patient had fasted before the test was conducted. Only then would the sugar level in the bloodnot fluctuate as when it does right after a meal. For a person who had fasted, the normal sugar level in the blood ranges from 3.0-6.0, measured in mmol/l (milli moles per liter). In lay mans’ term, this would mean the concentration of sugar in the blood.

            And what did I discover? Many things actually. Although it took me some time to get used to the idea of pricking people, but I was thoroughly enjoying it. It was quite hard to get a nice drop of blood from some patients as they either had to little or watery blood. Some of the men had such rough skin, I had to injected a few times to get a puncture. I presumed that these men were labourers. If once was not enough, I had to face another slap. I could not explain to the patients their results other than delivering the reading on the glucometer to them. I had difficulty applying my classroom knowledge in the real world. I had to keep on referring them to a rather nice lady volunteer who assured or chided them gently, depending on the results on the meter.

            All good things have to come to an end. And so, my day as a medical camp volunteer ended with me being a more knowledgeable person. I went home at around 3.00 p.m. By that time, the common area was almost empty. I could safely say that at least a thousand people turned up that day and this camp was certainly a success. It proved that although impoverished, these people had a clear understanding on the importance of being healthy. They took up the opportunity to evaluate their health level. At least now I know efforts like this actually help those in need.

            Most importantly, this experience gave me a clearer picture of myself. At least I know now that I do in fact enjoy helping people. That is a step closer to being a passionate medical practitioner. Furthermore, I realized how foolishly disillusioned I was in assuming that it was a disgrace to speak my own mother tongue. Nothing beats the joy of knowing more about your very own roots and culture. I had blindly dismissed any attempts to cultivate a clear understanding in the Tamil language. Now, I have to pay the price.

            On the brighter side, I had a chance to meet and see things and sceneries previously hiding in the blind spot of my eyes. As a human being, I just got too comfortable with my surroundings that I never thought of displacing myself. Now that I did, I am proud to say I have exposed myself to the reality of the world.

            Now, wouldn’t you agree that that was a great day spent?
            
            

The Present

 
I received my present with open arms. I was drenched with happiness. My mom’s absence left me wondering aimlessly. Like a dear little puppy in a dark, dirty, wet back lane of a city centre. It could go forward or just back track into nothingness. Both the ends looked exactly the same. I was like that. Of course there was papa. Dearest papa who made me feel like I am the real princess behind every other wondrous but amazingly dreamy characters in fairy tales. He tried to replace mom when she left for a few months to pursue her studies.
                                                                                                   
She came home a new person. Much slimmer, radiant, prettier and she didn’t have the irritated look every mother has after a long days work. They come home, all tired, drained of all their precious energy, wasting their true potential on some menial job they are demanded of. Just for a few dollars for the family of course. I could see papa at the corner of my eyes. He had a very stupid grin on his face. Was he surprised to see his wife all new, groomed, and splendid after a leave of absence? Maybe he felt happy for his dearest princess, who finally saw her mother again.

A hug. A warm envelope of arms stamped with love and felicity wrapped itself around my frail body. I love mommy and mommy loves me. Simple and yet the term itself is able to crumble an iron wall and what not, a country. That was all I thought about that very moment. It’s been sometime since I felt her body against mine. Her scent reminded me of newborn babies. Strangely, during this bear hug, images from the television formed in my head. Like long forgotten memory, I recollected one episode in National Geographic when a mother panda grabbed a branch of bamboo, a young one at that and gave it to her cub who sat smugly between it’s mother’s out stretched legs.

Reality hit back when someone threw a question at me. It was my mother, I later found out. She kept talking or rather I would call it jabbering and searching earnestly for something in a bundle of bags. Frantically, her eyebrows arched, her nose wrinkled, lines formed on her fair, smooth forehead, grim lines stretched and contracted around the periphery of her lips. Suddenly, I saw a smile broke put. I watched it stretch, literally from ear to ear. Wow, I never thought it was possible. Maybe I was dreaming again like the mother panda episode that vividly passed through my mind.

Then, I saw it, a green box. It must be something special. After such a long time she must have gotten me something that I would really adore. Where could her common sense be if she didn’t get what her daughter wants. I don’t recall telling her what I wanted specifically. I could do with an assorted, branded, high in quality colour pencils from States or maybe some article of clothing that could only be found in the northern hemisphere. I got to show it to my friends just like how that vixen of a neighbour I had. Her mom got her some sort of collectors edition on Barbie in a prom gown. God, she couldn’t help herself. Drooling right in front of teacher, telling everyone how much she loves it. Can you imagine?? This girl went nuts about dolls!

Anyway, it was a green box, covered on the sides and also the base but the top was transparent. The thing could be seen then, without me having to rip of some fancy wrapping paper. I cursed myself for being half the height of my mother and why was she holding it above my head. Just hand it down to me mother, it’s very simple, slowly now, hand it down, down to me. Would she stop bragging, a hodgepodge of news can be told later. Papa can wait. Give me the present mommy. Should I jump for it? Wouldn’t dearest elder brother find me a trifle too desperate and give me that popular smirk of his?

Finally, she bended over, pecked me on my cheek for the hundredth time and handed me the box. The floor underneath my feet rumbled, it moved discreetly at first, gaining momentum and speed by the second. Ferociously the ground began cracking up. My whole house quivered, cringed like a scared little child. The rumble under my feet spread like the attack of a thousand crickets in a cornfield. Fast, greedy, unyielding and horribly deadly. I saw my brother, he was shouting, screaming, pleading for his life. He asked me to save him. I sneered. I chuckled for now I had my redemption. He was the first and foremost person that made life dreadful, scary and totally unattractive. Who but him should be suffering now? A thunderous laugh burst out of my lungs.

Steam rose, clouding the sky in hot, muggy, wet vapours. The smell, pungent and miasma tic. Anyone has a facemask? I looked down, in my attempt to search for the source for all this special effects. I noticed the red, languid, lurid colour. So that what teacher meant when she talked about the corona of the earth. Semi-liquid. Hotter than any human being could ever live to feel. Lava sprang forth upwards like hot geysers. Waves soon developed, pouring, washing everything on sight. A great earthquake must have happened underneath, I said to myself. A tsunami of ponderous magnitude took place or is  taking place in there. Wow! Why go through all the trouble to epitomise my anger. All done in my honour….

A watch? A WATCH? Why mom, don’t you remember, only on my previous birthday you gave me the most beautiful watch I have ever seen. Why go all the way, across the ocean, leaping over all those countries to get me, your only daughter, to get a watch? I was in for an even better surprise. Before I could say a word on what I thought about her gift, she commanded me, in her sweet, melodious voice….
“Common now, run along, give it to your brother,”

I am betrayed beyond belief. How could she do this to me? Why doesn’t she have compassion, or even pity for me? Had I not come from the very same womb as him?  Am I not a being that grew from seeds contributed by both you and papa? Why treat me differently? Why go through all they trouble buying that rascal of a son ten gift? That’s right, ten, I counted meticulously.

You, who taught me not to look at differences between men. You, who made me, see the world in a pair of unbiased eyes. You made me treat my friends equally. You told me to divide those delicious cakes you made for my friends proportionately. You denied me the right to invite my best friend for my birthday party because I said I only wanted to spend it with her and none other. You are the one who told me justice was blind. She could ‘see no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil’. She gave out verdicts, punishments to those bad people without any leniency. Not looking at looking at skin, creed, beliefs and even a person’s preference for colours, ice-cream flavour, fruit and game.

What’s the point of teaching me to be a monk that does nothing but pray and seek purification of thoughts, body and soul to reach Nirvana when you are allowed to commit those blasphemous conducts? Mommy, I’m ashamed of you. Why do you have to break my heart? Oh no, not you mother.

I walked smugly to my brother, shoved the present to him. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t dare look at his face that would have imprinted that sneer that would make my cry. I don’t want to be called a crybaby by him again. Mom and dad never noticed anything. They couldn’t read what was on my mind. They were chattering happily, telling each other what they missed out on. Catching up with time. Rekindling the fire of their marriage. Lovemaking politely, obediently, they wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of brother and I.

Dinner was horrid. I had to wear a clown’s face throughout dinner as to not offend the heart of my family members. Had anyone thought about mine? I had to eat granny’s cooking today. Which was a blessing. It got things out of my mind. It consoled me. I loved her cooking. Rice, fish and vegetables. Unlike many kids, I loved vegetables. I can eat raw carrots, celery, salads, cabbage, asparagus, tomatoes and the list goes on. The fish was cooked expertly that I had a hard time trying to figure out whether it was fried and shimmered in curry or simply just sprinkled with curry spices. There could be a thousand different opinions.

Before I knew it, it was bedtime. I climbed the stairs like a worn out peasant. I never knew that climbing up 24 steps was such an arduous task. My energy just evaporated, that was the only explanation I could come up with. Life was meaningless to me, again. I hate it when only my life turns topsy-turvy and my brother has got plenty of luck to go smooth sailing through out his damned life. Step upon step, I literally carried my legs up. It reminded me of my evening chore with papa when I had to carry pots around to suit his taste. The man couldn’t make up his mind.
“Put it here, no wait. Perhaps, it’s better if it stays put”.
“Hey, don’t run away, I think you should help me to put it somewhere around here. Mom would like it here…….”
I have to add, his taste his horrible. No sense of direction or space. He was creating a complicated maze out of our lawn. The gardener did a better job. God, his life must be boring.

I made it to my room. My head pounded. My eyes moistened. My breath was constricted. I couldn’t breath anymore. My ribs were tightening its grips, making breathing a troublesome and impossible task. Air couldn’t be supplemented for my cells. I was choking, crying, sobbing. Why did a person I love so much betray and crush my tender heart? I felt like running to my bed, covering myself with the blanket. Enclosing myself in the warm, comforting shelter just like a cocoon to a butterfly. I don’t want that pest of a brother to see me like this. That would be the downfall of the century.

My room was dark. I have got to use my remaining energy to switch on the lights and fan. It was painful. I felt my life draining out of my body as I stretched my hands to turn the light on. I realised how granny must be suffering. Her skin that no longer has the power of elasticity and bones that are robbed of calcium giving her osteoporosis. How could she have the energy she has, helping papa take care of brother and I? I felt my pity for her overwhelming me. But she need no longer be alone. I’m a demented child with a throat that is parched dry and direly needs replenishment from the Fountain of Love and Care.

There, the lights are on, I get to crawl into bed now. My God! Bless the Virgin Mary. Am I dreaming? Is this my room? Is that my bed? I can’t believe this. I shall pinch myself for assurance. Are my feet on the floor? I got to thank mommy…

Of Spiderman and Nighties and Change

Of Spiderman and Nighties

Approximately 2 weeks ago, on Friday, my nose couldn't stop running. Not walking away literally, but simply leaking, and uncontrobaly at that! My sinus was at its peak, I had finished my daily ration of tissue paper,my nose was red (thanks to the constant rub and friction between numerous tissue papers and the epidermis, my head throbbed, and my shoulders were aching. I could sense a huge headache forming, from my temples and slowly but painfully slithering towards my forehead. It didn't help that I had to endure 2 hours of biology practical with a very very strict lecturer ( sssshhhhh!! ) and self-obligatory/self-induced study in the library for another 3 hours before going to my little space of the off the ground (my condominium unit).

OKAY! I was about to be sick and I needed a break.
"I want to go and see Spiderman", I exclamed loudly.
"I heard that", answered my bio lecturer.

After that, I minimised my sighing, and decided to brave through all those hours, there's no other way out.Once I got home, nearly 15 minutes later, the phone rang!!

My initial thought was that my mother was on the other side of the line, just wanting to give me some instructions on some menial task.
"ALAMAK", it's Kamala, my very very plutonic friend was the one in actual fact.

Our conversion : brief. Why? I was to go with her for Spiderman! YEAH! I was sick, and I didn't care for I wanted to spend sometime with her. National Service on her part, college on my part and then Form 6 on her part, seperated us all this while.

By 8.15p.m, we were already at a nearby shopping mall, standing in line,hoping we could get a proper seat in the cinema. Unfortunately, Friday was the day everybody wanted to catch a nerd in a blue-red tight suit. We settled for a fourth row from the screen seat which only aggravated my slowly worsening back pain. While the advertisement ran, we kept each other up-to-date with all the 'world news'.

The movie : horrenduous. And we both agreed on that (FINALLY)! The tension-of-opposites in the movie was strained far too much to be entertaining. We complained about everything about Ms. Dunst and mesmerized by our mutual thought of how manly Spiderman's friend looked instead of Spiderman himself.

As the movie reached its conclusion, we were bought laughing like hyenas on how stupidly Dunst, wearing a very pretty wedding dress, runs with bright sunlight on the back and white dove flying around, to Maguire's dilapidated appartment, after ditching the alter.

So, much for a stupid movie, we left the cinema at around 11.00p.m to get to the entrace were our pick-up was. It was then we passed the famous lingerie shop-BLUSH. Just giving a pasing glance, I spotted an innocent white, cotton nightie, and exclaimed loudly,

"Hey, wait, look, it's so nice"
Suprising, she giggled, far more notoriously than could be imagined to come out of her.
"Yah, IF Huge Jackman peels it of you..."

I burst out laughing. I knew she wasn't the Kamala I knew back in school. A few months ago, things like that would only come out of me, not her. I guess NS changed her...too much. She learned how to climb up fences to run to the mall although her camp was situated in Sabah, near the fringes of the jungle. She even accounted to me how she and her fellow mates hid under the bed when the trainers came knocking on the door in the morning just to skip the days events. The dust underneath didn't matter at that instant.

Change she underwent certainly made my day, I was pleased that, finally I got a friend with the same level of filth in the head!

p.s- my sinus proved to be quite a formidable enemy. It made me sick for the weekend, rendering any attempts on my part to prepare for the term test hopeless!!

The Case of the "MAU SHI SHI"

The Case of the "MAU SHI SHI"

Yesterday, as I was just ruminating to myself how ordinary things were, things took a sharp turn, 360 degrees you might say.

It was a daily routine, (more like alternate days, with current circumstances) to utilise fully the gym at my new condominium(yah right, mostly, I would be lucky if i were to get I drop of sweat on my pimpled forehead!). Besides I was getting pretty touchy about how people saw my habit of successfully eating at every class in college, regardless of subject and lecturer.
"Selamba je", as my friend put it.
Added to that my lecture had improvised the quoth "I think, therefore I am, to "I EAT, therefore I am"(referring to me,of course) THAT'S IT, I'm dragging  myself to the gym!

Back to the story,
I was working on this huge equipment (no idea what it's called), then came a boy, approximately 3 years old, wearing his red and yellow pre-school uniform. What was remarkably was his head.  Yes, his head! Like a round football, almost flattened face, with cute humps and bumps where the nose and cheeks was and hollow at the eyes. He had almost bald haircut and he had the look of a shy child in front of an adult. And his transport? The cutest little tricyle while a little pink-white basket.

This little boy tickled my heart, I continously stared at him although I was working on a rather dangerous piece of equipment. I wanted him to at least respond to my friendly gesture. I smiled, but like with any child in front of a stranger, he just continued staring blankly at me, like I was a monster from out of space...
Just when I was losing interest, he shrill cry came out of the tiny orifice on this flattened face..
"KAKAK, KAKAK!! ".
I thought he was calling me, so I looked and expected more to come out from the mouth which was lined with such tiny, healthy, red lips.
NOTHING.
Then this guy ran out. After a few moments I heard the same voice resonating the same words. Surely, he was calling someone else. So, I continued with whatever I was doing.

This boy then came again, and he looked forlornly at me, "KAKAK! KAKAK!", ke kept saying.
Quite unexpectedly, he grabbed his pants. Where? Where his genitals were suppose to be. I stood, shocked, then forgave him, almost instantly,for his age.
"KAKAK, kakak, mau mua, mua",
WHAT? Okay, first the grabbing, now the mumbling, GOSH!

"KAKAK!! MAU SHI SHI!"...

hahahahhahhahaha, so much for all the hype, after a few moments, the mysterious 'kakak' turned up. She held his hand and took him back door, that's where the toilets were, I think.

I walked back to my little piece of place on the third floor, very much enthusiastic, after meeting such a cutie, in the form of the perfectly white, moon face.

So much for orndinary!