Sorry, Awin

"Hello Awin! So, apa pengalaman Awin rasa di tipu orang? Teruk ke, biasa ke, serik ke?"

"Ade sekali ni, Awin tunggu kat Pudu, katanya nak beli tiket bas balik kampung sama-sama. Lepas dah 3 jam tunggu, dia tak datang gak. Awin call, dia kata dia malas. Tak larat. Pastu Awin pergi rumah dia, dia buat bodoh je. Sakit hati ni tau."

"La, sampai 3 jam? Takpelah Awin, kita ni.........."



Yeah, I had that. More than once. Well, it happens to everyone of us ain't it? But I recall the one back in 2001 being the most vividly remembered. I was on the 4th floor of MPSJ's Hypermedia Library where two days prior, I've made arrangements with Nadia and Sharifah to have a study group for the upcoming test. It ended with me walking back home in awkward bitterness after waiting like a log for a full 4 hours. The decency to inform me came as I was leaving the
premises. Huh.


Actually, it's about something else.


The above dialogue is an excerpt of a telephone conversation between the the caller -Awin- and Burn -a DJ for XFresh FM. Something struck me very sharply when the name Awin came to mind. It was a period of distress, a bad twist of a moment and some might even say; the perfect timing for imperfection.



It was 2004. The year I was an enthusiastic sophomore. Life was smoother than a baby's bottom, even sweeter than a Kelantanese kuih. Mid-semester breaks are normally spent in Sunway Pyramid, hunting for CDs at Fantasy and a few doses of nasi lemak at Stars Archery. Bumping into familiar faces is a given. Mostly juniors and up-and-coming jamming studio stalwarts walking in groups brimming with confidence that they might just be the next best thing. Word on the streets has it that Khazim hooked up with someone 2 years older (my age) than him and everyone was making a huge deal about it since he's the first to have a somewhat Moore-Kutcher relationship. Even a handful of my batch were excitingly involved in the whole deal namely Rahman. From what I heard, things are going very well with the couple. I couldn't be happier as a friend.

One CD-hunting day, I bumped into the lovebirds on their way to McDonald's. I was introduced to her. She is Awin -the only girl I've ever met that made me wanted her to be mine so instantly if not, badly. But that thought rushed out of my mind as soon as it creeped in. She's happily with him.

Not too long after that, I heard talks from the boys at Berkat half-jokingly making fun of how Khazim's avoiding Awin. What was intriguing is that his expression was not one of a good laugh. He was uneasy. Very uneasy. Again, I let it pass under my radar thinking that his ego might be threatened by his friends.

Then one night, I got a call from someone unexpected. It was Awin. She was crying. I was; befuddled. Cutting the chase, she plead for me to talk some sense into him. Apparently, she was badmouthed by Rahman -notoriously famous for doing so apart from his other devillish ways- that led Khazim to a grinding halt with her. Ever so abruptly. Rahman was a damn good pied piper. No matter how many tales have been told of his wretched doings, he always have a legion of kids behind him as his support system. Sadly, Khazim was one of them. As to ease her suffering, I gave her my word that I'll talk to him about it. Honestly, from the day that I know that they we're both an item, and 'till this very day, I've never even whispered her name to him.

Things were laying low quietly for a forthnight. Then she called again. She was in such a mess. The divorce of her parents drove her dad to violently harass her mother and her even to the point that coming out of the house was a petrified thought. Khazim was her chimney of relief. The window to which she smiled throwing a long gaze at life's wonderful offerings. When that was taken away from her, she lost hope. Even confesses to me of suicide attempts. I was helpless. Nothing could've prepared me for that. I ended the conversation by saying that she could call and we would talk about it anytime as she found it surprisingly relieving talking to me about it. By this time, I realized I was myself, a wretched being.

She made strings of calls and dozens of SMSes to which I didn't respond to. I was so afraid of the burden that I placed upon myself. Yes, I was a lowly coward. The last SMS she sent me was asking about my well-being, and informing that her dad died of reasons that I couldn't remember.

Perhaps that was the end of her suffering. Perhaps it was a new beginning for her.

But none of that thought could diminish the guilt I have all this while. Breaking promises are a lifelong dread.



And my life haven't even begun yet.