Kamalia's Book She's Trying To Write /// Updated until Chapter 6

This is originally for my english homework but i thought it was interesting enough to post about. Let me know if i should continue. BTW THIS IS FICTION(i made it up)

Chapter 1

I woke up and could not remember what had  happened. Everything was such a blur that it instantly made my head dizzy from trying to figure out where I was. The last thing I could remember was saying goodbye to my teacher, Miss Meier before I left Palmerston Primary for good.

I reached up to my head to try to relieve the pain that attacked my brain like arrows being shot through it. There was a rough bandage around it, which made me even more confused about where I was. I called out for Mama, seeking for some comfort and closure.

Something started to beep and  immediately, a lady wearing a white uniform with a white scarf around her head came towards me. I realized that she was a nurse, so I guess I must be in a hospital.

“Where am i?” I asked in panic. I knew I was being a little rude with the panicky tone of my voice, but I did not care right now. Why was I suddenly in a hospital? Since when were there Muslim nurses in Australia? What had happened to me?

“Cik, bertenang ya, saya pergi panggilkan doctor,” she said calmly.
I did calm down a little, mostly because I was shocked that the nurse was not only a Muslim, but she was a Malay as well.

I looked at my body while trying to sit up as the nurse left. My skin was a few tones fairer than the last time I remembered it. I also seemed a little chubbier as well. Before I could inspect myself any further, the nurse returned with another lady who was also wearing a headscarf, but she was dressed casually so I assumed she was the doctor. The doctor was quite old, maybe in her late 40’s. Am I at an Islamic hospital or something? I did not know they had one in Canberra.

“Hi Kamalia, how are you feeling?” asked the lady with a friendly and warm tone. “Whathappenedtome? HowlongwasIoutfor? Whereismyfamily-” I could not help but burst out all of the questions that lingered in my head since I woke up. Before I could ask more, another jerk of pain jolted through my head, making the nurse and doctor panic for a second before trying to calm me down. I could see that the doctor had gotten a little worried, but was trying her best to keep calm. I assumed she did not want to scare me with whatever the answers were.

“It’s okay, you are safe. I want you to calm down first before I answer all of your questions, okay? Are you hungry? What would you like to eat? Name anything you want”.

“I just want to see my family. Where are they?”

“I’m going to go call them to come right now, don’t you worry. Meanwhile, just tell Nurse Marina what you would like to eat, and I’ll be back soon. Okay?” she said with a slightly-forced smile.

“Okay.” I wanted to know all the answers now, but I know the doctor was not going to give up, not with her tremendous talent in keeping everything calm. I was starving too, actually. I told Nurse Marina that I wanted to eat lasagna. I’ve always liked lasagna, but it was difficult to find halal lasagna in Australia so I always had to beg Mama to make us some.

When my meal came ten minutes later, I asked the nurse if the lasagna was halal before attacking it. The food was great, but I wanted my answers soon.


Chapter 2

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 20th 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.

Chapter 3

I woke up an hour later with with my eyes still closed and a faint smile on my face. I had a wonderful dream. In the dream, my dad told the family that we were not going to move back to Malaysia after all, that we will be able to live here in Australia permanently because he had accepted a job offer. My siblings and I were so excited to unpack the boxes of things we had packed over the past two weeks. I could unsay the goodbyes to my friends, and maybe i'll even get to attend my Year 6 Graduation Day and dinner.

The joy did not last long. I heard the doctor's voice explaining to somebody about something. I could not understand everything, mostly because she used scientific terms like 'retrograde amnesia' and she was also speaking in Bahasa Melayu at times. My heart sank and I felt empty again when i realised she was explaining about my condition.

Suddenly, i heard a familiar voice asking the doctor how long it would take for me to recover my memories. It took me a second until i realised that the voice belongs to Mama. Mama!
"Ma!"
I didn't mean to yell, or to sit up quickly and freak anyone out. A few people who stood a few metres away jumped back. I had nearly forgotten that everyone except the doctor and Nurse Marina had not seen me awake for nearly two weeks, so it must be a little creepy to have me scare them like that. They all thought i was sleeping, after all. I tried to make out their faces, but i could not see. Literally, my vision was a little blurry, so i could not tell who was who.

My mum walked to my bed. As she sat next to me, I held my arms out, to ask for a hug while i tightened my throat and held back the tears that started to form. She did not say anything, only forced a sad smile and put her arms around me. I hugged her tight, and did not want to let go.

 It was rare for me to hug my mum before this, but i did not care if it was awkward or unusual. She was my mother, and no matter how many years of memory i lost, i would always feel at home in her arms. I started to cry quietly while holding on to her. I felt someone patting my head very gently, and i knew without looking at him that it was my dad. Only Abah would pat my head like that, it was how he showed his love to his kids.
My dad turned to the doctor. "This is not permanent, right? She will be able to remember soon?" he asked, his voice a little shaky. I knew my dad was trying to be strong and sound positive.

"It's hard to say. Some patients can recover after a month or so, while some never remember at all."

Hearing me sob a little louder after hearing her say that, she continued, " I guess the best thing to do is help her regain her memories. Bring her to meet her friends, or go to memorable places."

I was not sure if i was ready to jump into a whole new life so soon, even though technically i have been living it for the past five years. It felt terrible enough that i felt like i had only recently said goodbye to my life in Australia. After five years, a lot of things must have changed. Who was i still in contact with? Is Miss Meier still teaching at Palmerston Primary? Which school did i go to for high school?

More questions started to buzz around my mind, but i was too scared to know the answers to most of it. "When can i go home?" I asked the doctor through those crying hiccups you get for crying uncontrollably, even though i did not exactly have a tantrum or anything.

"I'm going to let a specialist check up on you, to know more about your condition and find out what you do and don't know. After that, your family can take you home. InsyaAllah, everything will be okay," she said, with a reassuring tone that made me feel a little better.

After the doctor and nurse left the room to leave me with my family, the two people who were standing near the wall in front of me, the faces whom i could not see clearly before started to walk towards my bed.

"Hey Kakak," said the boy in a deep voice.

He was so tall from the last time i remembered him, and his skin was a few tones darker too. He wore black-framed spectacles, which makes him look a little geeky. What happened to my cute, baby-faced, 8-year-old brother?

"Why are you so tall...and dark?" I asked, surveying him from top to bottom with narrow eyes. Everyone just laughed, especially the girl in the headscarf who was standing right next to Hariz. I laughed too, then turned to my sister.

No way. My sister looks all grown up too! She also wears glasses, but unlike my brother, Shahirah was still fair like she always was. Even after laughing at my brother, I think she was trying her best to not cry after my emotional episode, so she just smiled. She looks so...mature. That was a bit weird, not in a bad way.

 Being the eldest,I was always the mature one out of the three of us. It felt awkward that my sister is probably more mature now, at least mentally.

It was a funny thing to notice, but everyone wore spectacles. "Do i wear specs too?" I chuckled while wiping away the nearly-dried tears.

"Yep," my siblings said simultaneously.

I have always wanted to wear glasses. "Awesomeeee," i said. I felt much better with my family around, even though it was strange that they looked so much older than what seemed like yesterday. I guess I had to get used to it soon.

"Siapa nak makannn?" asked my dad in a sudden, familiar and cheerful tone.

I smiled and believed in that particular moment that everything was going to be okay, as long as i still had my family with me.

I was going to be okay.

Chapter 4

I was not going to see the specialist until the next morning, so my mum laid down on the hospital bed with me that night and updated me with some things from the last five years of my life.

A lot of what she said really surprised me, such as the fact that i had a few boyfriends in my early teen life. It was a little awkward and i have to admit that i got a little nervous when she talked about that part of my teenagehood, mostly because my mum and I never talk about boys. I asked her why she had let me be involved in relationships, but she just let out a sarcastic chuckle and said that she hadn't. Wow, i guess i eventually grew out of my "Little-Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes" phase.

It felt oddly exciting to hear stories about myself in my teenage years. I was going to ask Ma more about Kamalia's Love Life but a sudden slight aching feeling started to form at the pit of my stomach. I was too astonished and curious about my current life that i had nearly forgotten about my life in Australia.

It truly felt like i had just said goodbye to all my friends yesterday. I remember the last moments very clearly; i gave all my classmates a last hug. I remember the girls crying and laughing and crying again, and i remember the surprise farewell party my classmates had planned out for me a few days before my final day at school.

I remember walking by my P.E. teacher, Mr. Bond at the school hallway on the saddest day of my twelve-year-old life.
 "Kamalia, is this your last day?", he had asked. "Yep, my final hour yes," i had replied, checking my watch.
"Oh, well good luck!" he had said, while reaching his hand out to shake mine. I shook his gigantic hand firmly, gave a final smile and thanked him for everything he had done for me. He was a nice and funny teacher, i remember i was going to miss him.

Hearing the school bell ring to indicate the end of another school day was probably the worst sound i could ever have wanted to hear during my four years in Australia. I hadn't planned on it, but i hugged every single one of my classmates, because i was too afraid we would all move on with our lives and forget each other when we get older.
 I distinctively remember hugging one of my best friends, Sammy twice, and i remember before letting go of him that i had clutched him slightly tighter for a second before releasing him. Little did i know that that was the last connection i had with the boy who was my best friend.

Ma told me when i asked about Sammy that we never contacted each other again after i left, not even once.

I asked her if i was in contact with anyone, anyone at all from my childhood in Australia. She told me i still emailed Rhiannon and sometimes Matt, and that sometimes i 'tweet' some others. And what was worse, i had lost contact with Miss Meier as well. I think i felt my heart sink to my tummy and a lump catch at my throat. Tears started to form again, even though i tried telling my brain that i was too tired to cry once again. I was too crestfallen to bother asking what the heck 'tweet-ing' was, so i sunk back and pretended to sleep.

 I know my mum was not fooled, since my body betrayed me and i started to hiccup uncontrollably. She tried to comfort me by telling me that the same thing had happened to her as well, that it was normal to lose contact with your childhood friends.

I felt worse because i don't think she understood me well enough to know that right now, my childhood friends are my only friends in the world. Whoever i had grown to know in the past five years currently do not exist in my memories. I don't know them, and i was not sure that i really wanted to replace my childhood friends. My friends in my current life are all strangers to me.

Why could she not understand how upset and lonely i felt, because now my childhood friends and I are also strangers to one another, that most of them probably don't even remember me?

It seemed horrible that one would have to lose everything they loved very much all in a day, or what seemed like it.

It was all a little too much for me, so i told Ma i wanted some time to myself. I spent the rest of the night crying quietly, replaying fresh memories in my mind, then sobbing, then falling asleep for a few minutes and doing the same thing over and over again until even my body could not take it anymore and eventually my breathing was even and my mind was at peace, and i had fallen into a dreamless, deep sleep.

Chapter 5

Before it was time for my appointment with the specialist the following day, a bunch of my relatives came to visit me in the morning right after breakfast. Before they arrived, my mum had made me put on a simple, black headscarf around my head. It took me a few minutes to actually agree to wear it, because i had never worn a headscarf since i left Sekolah Agama in Standard Two. I decided to just wear it, partly because i wanted to hid the bandage around my head, partly because i was a little ashamed that my sister, Shahirah was wearing one and i wasn't, and partly because i was too exhausted from crying last night to argue with Ma.

I asked her if the new me wore it frequently, and she said that i was quite disciplined in covering myself the way a Muslim woman was supposed to. It made me feel strange because i could not really figure out why on Earth i would do that. I mean, i know Muslim girls were supposed to cover their hair and all, but wasn't it a choice? I see Muslims wearing their hair out all the time and plus, my parents had never pushed me to wear it while we were in Australia. I never thought i would really end up choosing to wear it. I guess i had a lot of discovering to do soon.

My uncles and aunts looked pretty much the same as the last time i had seen them, but my cousins looked a lot older. Wow, puberty did them good, i thought.

"Hi Kakak!" said one of my favourite aunts cheerfully, with a warm and welcoming smile. I got a little jumpy because it had been two years(well, two weeks in reality) since i had last seen them. I held out my hand to greet them with the traditional handshake as sign of respect. I debated with myself whether or not to hold my hand out to my male cousins to shake theirs because they were older, but i decided against it. It was way too awkward because they had suddenly gotten twice as attractive since i last saw them, so i just gave them a quick smile and turned away.

Apart from my relatives asking me questions about the last things i could remember and what my last memory of them was, i was quite comfortable with them. It felt good to feel like i belong somewhere again, since i have known my relatives since forever. My uncles were always the master of jokes in our family, and i could not help but giggle along with everyone else. They were all just being themselves, and i love that about them.

Everyone except my parents and my sister left half an hour later to accompany me during my appointment with the specialist. My parents went out to ask the nurses when i could check out of the hospital, so i was left with Shahirah. Before the specialist came into my room, i noticed my sister who now sat on the visitors' chair next to my bed hold a rectangular-ish, frame-like item. She was so focused on the screen and tapped it repeatedly until i got too irritated and asked, "What the heck is that?!" in quite an impatient tone.

"This? It's a Note," she replied, holding the 'note' up casually, as if i would magically understand that it was absolutely normal to tap on something that looked like a huge, well-cut piece of rock.

"What note?"

"It's a Galaxy Note. Kind of like a tab. I mean, a tablet. It's uhh, a gadget, basically a really big handphone, see? You can play games and shizz and use it for social networking and chat and stuff," she explained, struggling to find the right words to help me understand as my face looked more blurred the more that she tried.

Fortunately for her, my mum came into the room and told me that my friends wanted to come and visit me again. Apparently, a lot of people had come to visit me while i was in a coma. Ma said that some of them were my juniors from school, while others were my high school teachers and my ex-classmates. Four of them had visited me quite frequently while i was out for the two weeks.

"They're your best friends since you were in Form 1," muttered Shahirah while continuing whatever she was doing on the 'note'.

"They and your other friends wanted to come and see you after hearing that you've woken up, but i told them it's not the best time, given your condition," said Ma.

"You told everyone i was awake?"

"Not exactly. Adik accidentally tweeted about it yesterday and everyone's been trying to get updates about you. Knowing these social networking sites, word spreads really easily. You're a bit famous on it right now, a lot of people are telling others to pray for you, " she said with a slight chuckle.

Once again, i did not bother to ask what a 'tweet' was because i suddenly got very nervous and anxious about people whom i did not know wanting to meet me. I always had a hidden phobia of meeting new people. That, and talking on the phone to people. Oh, and of spiders too.

 But of course, these people weren't 'new' people, not really. I just could not remember who they were.

"I don't want to see them. At least not yet. Do they know i don't umm, remember them?" i asked, trying to hide the panic away from my voice.

"I only told your teachers and your close friends. I told them to not spread it around in public, but just to the people who really know you," she said, suddenly looking a little bit concerned.

I definitely was not ready to meet anyone yet. The only person i would be glad to talk to right now was the specialist, so that they could tell me how to fix this damn amnesia that is currently ruining my life. Or maybe they could give me a time machine to go back to when i was actually twelve-years-old, back with my friends and my amazing life. Yes, that would be pretty useful too.

I was starting to take my headscarf off because it had suddenly gotten a little warm(or maybe it was just me), when my mum stopped me and informed me that the specialist was a man. I hoped i did not have to get used to wearing the headscarf all the time, because it's quite uncomfortable at times and sometimes i feel like tearing it off of my head when i start to sweat.

The specialist came in a few minutes later, dressed in one of those cool doctor coats and holding an old, green clipboard in his left hand. He was a Malay and rather old, probably in his early fifties but friendly enough to let me be comfortable to answer his questions. A lot of his questions were tough because i simply did not know how to answer them. He showed me some diagrams of the systems in the human body, and also some worksheets with mathematical questions which had a lot of letters in them.

Ma had told him of the subjects i had learned when i was in school, and he was trying to find out whether i could still remember what i had learned. The diagrams about the respiratory system and the structure of an animal cell looked oddly familiar to me, even though nothing popped into my head when he asked me to label the parts because i simply could not remember where i had seen them before. When he told me the answers, i was a little surprised to realise that a part of me had known it, only i could not remember it on my own.

I told the doctor this, and he tried testing me with more diagrams. The same thing had happened to most of them; i somehow have heard of the answers but could not pluck the terms out from my mind. It was like trying to answer a tough quiz question. You know that you have read or learnt it before, but your mind gets blocked and you can't seem to get your finger on it. Then when they show you the correct answer, you get that 'OHHHHHH' feeling.

It was the same for the mathematical questions, only after the specialist had shown me how to answer an algebraic equation only twice, i could immediately do the other questions without getting a single one incorrect.

So it was proven that i could not remember academic stuff i had learnt, but i was a super-quick learner, as if i only needed to be told something i had remembered only once again for me to be able to remember it for good. Everyone would have called me a genius if it really was my first time learning all this, only it wasn't. I was re-learning, and apparently, i'm a very quick re-learner. Maybe all amnesiacs were like that.

Unfortunately, we found out that i could not recall any memory between the end of my last day at school in Australia and the moment i woke up from the coma. So it seemed that the damage in my brain was worse than the doctor had hoped. I started to wonder how exactly i had hit my head so hard for my brain to lose all five years. It seemed unlikely, but here I was.

He said that the only way to recover one's memories is by reliving through them, or by going to places that can stimulate my memories again. Having such an enormous gap of memory, the chances of me remembering everything again wasn't very promising. It was not impossible, but he said i should not put my hopes on it too much.

I was to see the specialist once a week, and a psychologist once a fortnight. My parents were told to help me regain my memories again, but at the same time i should allow them to do it at my own pace. I may get shocked if i knew too much at once, so i was to learn and re-learn my life slowly.

Being the normally-polite person that i was, i thanked the doctor as he left. We checked out of the hospital an hour later. I was going home.

I hoped home had not changed too much, because honestly, i was not sure where home really was anymore.


Chapter 6


The journey home was extraordinary. First, I was really impressed with my mum’s car, which was a major upgrade from our small, second handed blue car in Australia. Not only was it a seven-seater, but it has those DVD installations as well. My jaw dropped because I’ve always thought that only super rich people could afford those things.

“Are we rich now?!” I asked excitedly.

“Biasa-biasa je, takda lah kaya mana,” my mum replied, saying that we were not that rich but we can still afford some nice luxuries. After four years of always living off a tight budget, that’s quite a relief for my family.

I was quite exhilarated when they agreed to put on a movie, even though the ride home was only for fifteen minutes. Since I was the only one who has not seen the movies we kept in the car(well, technically I probably have, but just can’t remember), they let me pick which DVD I would like to watch. I went with Diary of a Wimpy Kid, because the title seemed familiar.

I was so absorbed into the movie that I did not realise that my dad did not drive us to our old house, the small terrace we lived in before he furthered his studies overseas. Instead, he stopped at a bigger, newer and more sophisticated housing area, one with a club house and security guards and security dogs. Whoah.

“WE LIVE HERE?” I whispered loudly with excitement, not believing my eyes. My jaw dropped as my dad drove to our house, and I must have looked pretty ridiculous until my brother had to tell me to close my mouth. He told me that we moved out of our old house two years ago, which to me meant nothing since I couldn’t remember any of it.

My mum clicked on a button on a small remote to open the automatic gates, and I was already getting used to being impressed with everything that my siblings were getting tired(although amused) by my “Oh My God”s. Shahirah explained that these things were quite normal now, and that you didn’t have to be filthy rich to have them. Whatever, I was still impressed.

As I got out of the car, simultaneously excited and nervous all at once, I heard the hungry meows of cats approaching from the front door. Turning to the source of the sound, I saw two cats stretching and sleepily walking towards their empty food bowls. One was dark brown and creamy, most probably a Siamese breed. The other one was fluffy and white with some dark grey patches. They were both really fat.

“Are those ours??” I asked in a high-pitched voice. I’m not sure why, but my voice tends to go a little higher when I’m talking about cute things. It was quite surprising that we finally had cats, because my mum wasn’t a big fan of furry pets.

“Yep, the Siamese one is Bubba, and the white one is Uddin,” my sister replied in Malay. Huh, Uddin. Such a Malay name for a cat.

“Bubbaya!” she called to Bubba, who just yawned in response.

“Why do you call it Bubbaya?” I asked as I approached the cat to scratch its head. I’ve always liked cats.

“I don’t know, it sounds Korean. I like K-pop and Korean dramas now”

“What’s K-pop?”

“I’ll show you later,” she said, realising it was going to be hard to explain that one.

My family, including my parents, gave me a tour around the “new” house. I stopped being so impressed at everything because I was getting used to everything being so unexpected. They showed me my room last, and that was the scariest part of the house.

I felt like I was walking into a stranger’s room without their permission. My room was exceptionally big, or at least bigger than my old room. There was a large, portable whiteboard placed on one side, which seemed a bit out of place. Apparently, I had used the whiteboard frequently to study for my SPM exams “last year”. There was a long table on the other side, with a lot of books and novels arranged neatly leaning against the wall.

I instinctively went to the books as soon as I realised that they were all mine, and was enlivened to start reading them all. My eyes darted across the titles and one particular book caught my attention. It was Oblivion by Anthony Horowitz, the final book in the Power of Five series!

“YES!” I shrieked, taking the book out excitedly.

“I think that was your exact reaction when you found that book at the booksale,” my sister laughed.

“When did this come out?!”

“How should I know? I don’t read like you do.”

I opened the book to the page that showed the year it was published, and felt guiltily relieved. It was published in 2012, and I had read the previous book in 2008, which feels very recent. If there was one thing good from this goddamn amnesia, it would have to be that I didn’t have to suffer through four years to wait for Anthony Horowitz to publish his last book in the series.

I clutched the book to my chest, smiling to myself as I explored the rest of my room. I finally got my own laptop and my own bathroom. My closet seemed pretty nice too. There were a lot of trophies and medals arranged on the headboard of my bed, which made me raise an eyebrow. Not bad, Kamalia. I'll have to take a closer look at those later because wow. What the heck did i do to get so many trophies? I hope they were related to sports.

I was suddenly feeling exhausted from so many new rediscoveries and started to get a headache. Mama told me I should rest, and so my family left as I went to sit on my bed. Setting the book aside, I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, trying to sink it all in.

As cool as it all seems, I still don’t feel like I’m at home yet. I’m thinking of her, of how she used to live in this house and sleep on this very bed, having no idea her life was going to change this drastically. In an odd way, I hate her. I hate that I don’t know who she was, that i don't know who I was. It seems like she’s an entirely different person who lived a completely new life.

I opened my eyes, telling myself to not think about it too much. Looking ahead, I saw that there was a series of photographs arranged on the wall behind my opened door. Being a little short-sighted, I couldn’t make out the faces very well so I got up and walked towards the wall of captured moments and closed my door so that I could see the pictures properly. My heart sank.

I was in almost all of the photos. I looked genuinely happy in all of them, smiling a lot with my teeth showing. That isn’t the reason why my heart felt like bursting, the reason was mostly because there were all these strangers with me in the pictures. People I don’t remember knowing. People whose names don’t ring a single bell in my damaged head, whose relationship with me is left unknown to me. People I don’t know if I even want to remember.

No. I was not ready to think about these new faces, these new individuals who somehow played a role in my life during the last five years.

I started tearing up again, confusion and anxiety and terrible longing for my old friends gripping my fragile heart. I went back to my bed, lay down and grabbed a pillow as the sobbing came. I buried my face into the pillow, hugging it tight as i felt sorry for myself for being a stranger in this new life. I was wrong, this all seemed to be too much for me to handle.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Are you okay?” asked Shahirah with obvious sympathy in her voice as she peeked into my room.

“Just leave me alone,” I said harshly, not caring about sounding mean. I was angry at her too, for knowing everything and making me feel like I was the little sister. She left without saying another word.

I continued sobbing, feeling guilty and worse. I replayed the memories of my childhood in my head again many times, until I was sleepy from the tears and fell into a dreamless sleep.



 To be continued...

12 comments:

ish said...

please continue..i am curious of what happens then...please continue....

Anis Shahira said...

me too. please...

Nurul Firzanah said...

Aha, finally. Been waiting for ukhti to update this novel. Jazakallah :)

Nurul Firzanah said...

Oh wait, forgot about my last reply. I thought that chapter 2 was the continuous but I already read it. Sorry.

Azure Lilac said...

Really awesome, I can't stop reading this, do continue... :)

Hidayah Norezam said...

Please please continue this story to the end. I really love this. You'll be a great writer :D

Anonymous said...

Everytime I read the chapters, I always wonder what happens next? Do please continue! And if can... FAST! ASAP!

Anonymous said...

This is real story or not??

Kamalia Hasni said...

uhm no its fiction

Anonymous said...

Please continue writing asap!!

Anonymous said...

I know you're probably busy rn, but if you have the time and passion to write this, please continue writing! I love this piece so much, even if it's only just 6 chapters. Great job Malie! Keep it up kay!

Anonymous said...

not bad... I like it!

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if a house is made from a thousand bricks, then let me be one of those bricks, to help keep the house together, to make a significant difference.

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Kamalia has read 25 books toward her goal of 40 books.
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