AUNTY Faridah, Ridzuan’s mother, told us during a farewell dinner at her house that we should cherish our friendship.
We had just graduated from secondary school and would soon be leaving for college. She told us that we would part ways.
We were the best of friends. Ridzuan, Mior, Wong, Kumaran, Imran, Lee, Nurul, Charles, Nirwan, Razak, Amin, Saw, Joherman, Nawaz, Wan Falah, Hoo, Amirullah — the list goes on.
Aunty Faridah was, somehow, right. Most of us made new friends at college, some met future spouses, got married and settled down. We rarely met and when we did, the group became smaller each time.
At the gatherings, we would reminisce about our school years. There was the time when our history teacher threw the blackboard duster at one of us for not paying attention. Ridzuan avoided it, but the duster hit the guy sitting behind him. Our unfortunate friend’s face was covered with chalk powder. There was a long silence until the class ended before we broke into laughter.
We did things as a group. When we were older, our parents allowed us to have our annual bus trip to Ipoh, especially for the Hari Raya Aidilfitri shopping before Ramadan. We would take the morning bus from Kuala Kangsar and spend the day at Yik Foong and Super Kinta shopping complexes. As zohor approached, we would walk to the nearest mosque. Lee, Saw, Hoo and Wong would wait outside for us.
We would visit each other’s houses on Raya, wearing the clothes that we bought in Ipoh. We would meet at the park by Sungai Perak and compliment each other on how cool we looked. We related ourselves to members of the New Kids on the Block (NKOTB) and took group shots using Nawaz’s camera.
We would ride our bicycles following pre-planned itinerary, which usually covered about 10 to 12 houses. It was the same for Chinese New Year and Deepavali. Our friends’ parents would assure us that the food was halal.
Wong would entertain us by playing the keyboard, while Charles would prepare some silly, but fun games for us. The chicken curry at Kumaran’s place was the best we ever had.
Once, during a visit to the barber, a Chinese hairstylist asked me whether Saw was Chinese. He was a bit confused when he heard us talking in the Perak dialect. I nodded, but was tempted to tell him that he would be shocked if he listened to our friend, Lee, talking. Sometimes, Lee was so bombastic. We thought he got the words the latest edition of the Malay dictionary. He used words like motivasi, simulasi and intrepretasi.
Years later, we gathered in a WhatsApp group, which we named “Super-Friends”. We arranged two gatherings at Rasta in Kuala Lumpur. Only a few of us appeared. The group became inactive after a while. Now, we only use it to send birthday wishes.
Just recently, 27 years after our last farewell gathering, Ridzuan invited us to his house for a belated Raya lunch. We brought our families along.
Aunty Faridah was there, serving us mee rebus, rendang, ketupat, lemang and nasi Bukhara. We shared stories of our “NKOTB” days. We became kids again and Aunty Faridah became our mother for the day.
When I looked back at how
simple and fun our friendship was, I wished my kids could have the same experience.
We were innocent, and our differences in race and religion did not affect our friendship. I still remember when Wong helped me when I forgot a phrase in the translation of surah al-Fatihah. After a while, he could even recite the whole surah.
Malaysia is great and the fact that we live in harmony makes this multiracial country unique.
Let’s not permit the evil of discrimination and racism to pull us apart. I am certain that all of us have this childhood innocence within that can make us look beyond the colours of our skin and beliefs.
Dear Aunty Faridah, I am sorry to tell you that you were wrong. Our friendship, 33 years and counting, will last forever.
MEGAT ZUHAIRY MEGAT TAJUDDIN
United Nations University, Portugal