Chapter 2: This Can't Be Happening

Refer to my previous post for Chapter 1 :)


I was out for two weeks. The doctor said I had fallen over on the slippery floor of my bathroom and had hit my head hard on the tiled ground. It sounded a little funny to me, to be honest. Usually in movies people fell into a coma because of car accidents and stuff, so it seemed a little embarrassing to slip over in a bathroom and lose consciousness for two whole weeks. 

  I was still curious about which hospital I was admitted in, because it was still a little weird for me to see Muslim nurses and doctors around. Even my mum had gotten a non-Muslim male doctor a few years back when she had an operation for her appendix. How come I had received special treatment? 

“Which hospital is this?” I asked her curiously. I had only been to the hospital once, which was during my mum’s operation. The room had looked a lot different compared to the one I was in now.

“Oh, you’re in KPJ Kajang, not far from your house I heard,” she said with a calm smile.

I think my heart had frozen for a millisecond. I had a puzzled look on my face, so the doctor asked me what was wrong. I closed my eyes, trying to remember what exactly I was doing right before the incident. I could not remember anything. I tried to imagine myself in the bathroom I used every day. I imagined myself dramatically slipping on the wet floor and hitting my head. Now that I think of it, the bathroom was quite small. It seemed ridiculous that there was suddenly enough space for me to hit my head on the floor, instead of on the sink or the bathtub.

I opened my eyes and stared at the doctor. I did not want to tell her what was on my mind, fearing that she will confirm something that seemed impossible to have happened to me, because it seemed unlikely that I would have lost my memories.

“What’s the date today?” I murmured.

Her eyes narrowed before she raised her right wrist to look at her watch. “It’s the 20^th of February, don’t worry your SPM results are not out yet,” she chuckled.

I froze again. No, this can’t be real. It can’t really be happening, not to me. It seemed ridiculous, but I asked her what year it was. She told me it was 2014. The last time I remembered, the year was 2008. I could not remember anything from the past five years of my life.

My head started to hurt again, but something deep inside me was screaming as well. I bent my knees to hug my legs and curled up to my right side. I wanted to sleep, to wake up from this stupid nightmare.

Nurse Marina came into the room and told the doctor that my family was here and were excited to see me. I panicked and shouted “NO!” before I could stop myself. Nurse Marina looked shocked and was lost of words. The doctor turned to look at me. She narrowed her eyes again, deep in thought.

 Without looking at her, the doctor told Nurse Marina to tell my family to wait for her outside. The nurse left, looking confused.

The doctor took a clipboard from the end of my bed, sat down again in the guest chair next to me and put on her spectacles.

“Kamalia, tell me the last thing you remember,” she said calmly.

I did.

I told her everything I remembered with full confidence, to convince her and myself that I was not losing my mind, and that I did have memories. A small part of my mind was trying to comfort me by saying that perhaps everyone else had gone mad, that I was still twelve years old and this was all just a huge prank so that I would never forget all the wonderful things I had gone through in Australia.  The more logical part of my mind told me to not be silly, that people really can have concussions and lose their memory and that I was just one of those unlucky people.

  When I was finished, the doctor jotted down some final words, took off her spectacles and smiled.

“I’m going to go and see your family now, so in the meantime I want you to rest, okay? Don’t think too much, just rest”.

I nodded, and she left. I leaned back, closed my eyes and sighed deeply. I didn’t want to see my family, not yet. If it was true that I could not remember the past five years of my life, I didn’t want to see the enormous change that would have happened in those years. I didn’t want them to see me like this, lost and confused.

My body wasn’t tired, but my mind was exhausted. I wasn’t very religious, but something in me told me to make a prayer or a du’a to Allah when I’m going through something depressing. I prayed to God to let me wake up from this terrifying nightmare, or to let me remember the last five years of my life.

P.s. Do you guys think i should post chapter by chapter or write the whole thing first THEN post? If i'm serious about writing this i was thinking of making it into an ebook file so you guys can read it on your phones and stuff heheh lemme know