and then I grew up

So this is what happened.

I was falling apart last year. Maybe you have some ideas why, maybe you don't. But throughout the year, I was gradually losing it, accumulating a whole lot of badthoughts in my head. It's a bit hard to explain.

And then.

I went on placement. Mental Health placement. In the youth ward.

My first placement with patients about my age, and they were crazy.

I don't mean crazy in the sense of prison like setting, residents rattling the bars to their cages, gabbling away, paranoid, eyes darting, mad laughing, that sort of thing. Okay, there was a bit of that, but mostly it was a combination of drugs and trauma, and it was awful. Awful because I collected stories, as I usually do, and these were tragedies. These were dark stories, depressing, scarring, heartbreaking.

I ended up loving the placement, because I was exposed to something I was so uncertain about, something that unnerved me just by me thinking about it. I'm not saying that by the end everything was hunky dory, and I could just live with these terrible things. I just came to the understanding that people who have horrible baggage attached to them do not get better when you run away. They're the ones that need you most.

But, as I said, I was not in a 'good place' myself. I could actually write my own mental health nurse notes. Isolative. Irritable. Flat affect, congruent with depressed mood. Minimal speech. Poor diet. Low self-esteem. Blah blah blah.

It was pretty bad.  It was bad enough for my mum to notice. Even though I try to keep this stuff to myself, I suppose some of it cannot go unnoticed. Or maybe it's because she's my mum. But there were nights where I just bit my fist and cried, and I can't explain why. Or I'd just lie still for a long time and not do anything. I convinced myself that I was alone, that no one liked me. Sometimes I felt like I couldn't breathe, that the world was too small, and it was closing in. I was pathetic and hopeless. 

(The other thing you need to know is that throughout the whole of last year, I dreamed about going to Sri Lanka at the end of the year. If it wasn't with family, my sister promised we'd go together. She made some elaborate plans. I was super excited.)

But come the end of placement, and despite all my talking, and all my family agreeing, no one had booked tickets to go. My sister bailed on me. And my parents kept saying "We'll go, hang on, just wait." Wait for what?! I was hysterically thought-screaming.

 So I kept wallowing, kept falling apart, and finally, my mum said, okay, kid, you can go. You need it.

We found a family friend going, and I booked myself on the same flight as them. (That's about as much connection I had with them for whole trip. I saw them just before I got on, during the transit, and when I landed.)

(My stomach aches a bit when I think about Lanka. Ow. I miss it.)

And I went. 

I found my little happy place again.

Like, really. I went on January 14th, arrived back in Melbourne on the 1st of March. And I've been genuinely happy, warm right to the core. I don't know, it's kinda scary. I can't imagine it lasting. But it is. Even though I'mback to the same routine. Even though there are more assignments than ever. Even though I'm still kinda unemployed. I'm good.

So I should probably tell y'all how it all went, but. But I've already done it.

See, one thing Star roped me into before I left was to start a blog with her. And I blogged while I was there. And I feel like I did it my best there. So I'll link ya (here and here), if you really care to know. But I'm not Laila there, so don't use that name if you want to comment. (Come to think of it, neither of us have put our names. Maybe just don't comment at all. I donno. BUT DON'T CALL ME LAILA.)

Anyway, something has really struck me since I've come back. 

I've grown up.

Duhhh, you say. You're twenty. You better have grown up.

No, listen.

There are little things. You know, I'm more than halfway through uni, I'm graduating next year. Then I'm in the workplace. My friends are getting married, one by one. Cousins close to my age as well. They all have boyfriends in a more... steady, mature way. I do things a bit more independantly. (I've had driving lessons too. I'm getting there). There's more, though.

When I got back, a few days later, I accompanied my dad to an appointment with a cardiologist. I accompanied him. And after that, I explained to him what was going on. And he told me about some tests he had done while I was away, and he told me how scared he had been, and I comforted him. Since when does this happen? I've never had that explicit role of explaining this sort of stuff to my parents, nor have I ever had the job of reassuring them, having them so dependant on me. And yet, there it was.

And since then, I've noticed all these other little things. How my parents always seem to ask my opinion on how to handle stuff in their lives. How we sit and talk about our day like we're on the same level. I mean, sure, I still feel the need to answer to them, to always tell them where I am, ask permission, etc. But it feels like roles are slowly reversing. They always used to say there would be a day when we'd be wiping their butts, and it really feels like that day is coming.

My parents are getting older. 

It's scary. 

I deal with patients like this all the time, but now I'm thinking: my parents fit into this group. That's the reality. No, they're not ancient. And they're pretty healthy. But they're still ageing. It's happening. It's real. And I can sense that now, even though I still need them, now they need me too. 

And what strikes me more than anything is that for the first time, I feel like I can do it. I can deal with this. I can take care of them. I'm not so scared anymore. It's a bit disconcerting, sure. But it's not incomprehensible, unmanageable. I can do this. I don't know. Is this what it means to grow up?

Peace in,
Laila

Rant of a Caged Bird

Welcome, 2015.

I feel like whoever is reading this can already sense the bitterness. Is that my imagination? Maybe it's because I'm already in a grumpy mood, I can see the grumpy in everything else too.

There were no fireworks for me in the last transition between years. It's not really that big a deal - the fireworks are pretty overrated. It's really just the atmosphere in the city, all the people, no cars, and these beautiful celebratory warmth. But again, not being allowed to go to the city for fireworks night is not that big a deal.

I've been trying to refrain from doing this rant because I'm trying not to rant in general, and I don't like to burden people with my insignificant problems that aren't even that big a deal...

But a) it's not like I have such a huge readership to burden, and b) I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.

I am not a bad kid, I think. My parents have always only been mildly strict. They have their limits, but I've never been into the crazy party life, so wherever I ask to go, they let me. And if they say no, the most I ever do is cry, and then get over it. That's all.

Everyone who knows this says I'm passive. My sister can go anywhere anytime, because when they said no, she went anyway, and then my parents just got comfortable. Like, okay, she's back in one piece, that wasn't so hard. She, too, has no interest in the wild side, mostly it's just lectures and stuff anyhow. I guess they don't like the idea of sending their girls out alone into the world, but then afterwards, they realise it's not that bad.

But anyone who tells me that I need to take a leaf out of her book, I just say that it's not me. I admire how my sister can be a powerhouse, how she gets things done. But I've always been a goody-two shoes, it hurts me to rebel against my parents over trivial things like going out one night. I don't like yelling at them, and how are you supposed to have fun somewhere, knowing your parents are mad at you?

Lately, though, lately it's been a different story.

As you know, I'm a walker/cyclist. Well, I hope you know that. I generally do a walk/bike ride a day. I don't go over an hour. Most people consider that healthy.

My mother is convinced that I walk 'too much', that walking is making me weak, that I'm going to lose too much weight and keel over and die. Mind you, besides my one hour of daily exercise, I usually spend the rest of the day dawdling around at home, reading, moping, you know? It's not like I have an otherwise active lifestyle. 

HOW CAN YOU WALK TOO MUCH, HOW IS IT SUCH A BAD THING??? YOU CAN'T EVEN LOSE THAT MUCH WEIGHT FROM WALKING. AHGHAG.

And really, that's all I ask from holidays. I don't need to go out all day everyday, I'm happy to do family trips, and I can just spend time at home. I'm usually a homebody. I just like my daily walk. Is that too much to ask for?

But now, on top of not being allowed to go walkies, I basically can't go anywhere, unless my older sister is in the mood, which is basically never. For example. The other day, my parents had to attend this nikkah that we weren't really invited to. She said that us three - my sister, my cousin, and I - could go chill in the city until they were done, and they'd pick us on the way back. My sister said she couldn't be bothered. So my mother decides that she'll leave my cousin in the city, but not me. She wanted me and my sister to go stay at our aunty's house - our aunty who was also attending the nikkah. So we were just going from our house, to another empty house. One prison to another, to what purpose?

I asked her why I couldn't just be dropped in the city too. My cousin and I used to do it quite often during the uni year. And it's not like my sister would take it personally, she just wanted a quiet place to read, maybe watch movies. But my mother just kept insisting that unless my sister was going, I couldn't go. Something about it not being safe. How can three be safe, one be safe, but not two?

And that's happened umpteen times all holidays. I can only go wherever my sister wants to go.

HOW IS THAT FAIR? WHAT, SO MY VACATION DEPENDS SOLELY ON MY SISTER'S MOODS?

I don't blame my sister, for once. She doesn't have to be my babysitter. What I don't understand is why I'm being put under lockdown. All these things that I've been doing constantly, until now, are suddenly forbidden, and I don't know why. I used to think that it was because of the climate - as in, with the shooting, and the Sydney siege more recently, they were worried about my safety. But how does it make sense when I'm not going alone?

I'm just... LADJHFAKSJHDFLAE.

IT'S NOT FAIR.

And thus, I'm going insane. The only time I'm ever allowed to go out is to do shopping with my mother, or that one luncheon we attended. Oh, or when we all go to the park together.

The thing about that is... Usually, that's fine by me. But these days, since all I ever do is spend time with family, I'm just sort of sick of it. When I'm at home, I have to entertain the little ones, and when I go to the park, I have to babysit them. And my mother still sets all these limits on how far I can walk. For God's sake. I just want a bit of free time, with people my age. My cousin can easily be that person, but no, I can't even go for a walk with him. 

I know this is dramatic, but I am dying. This house is suffocating me. It's one thing to voluntarily be a homebody. It's another thing when you're forcibly kept at home. And slowly, I'm mutating into this awful human being. I'm so moody, the slightest things set me off. I am more aggressive than I have ever been in my whole entire life. I am sullen and snarky. I keep yelling at my mother. I just... Why can't she be reasonable? I am not asking much. Just let me go for one damn walk. The world is not that terrible.

I don't know. I hope the new year welcomed you a little more warmly.

Peace in,
Laila

Never grow up

I've done four placements for paramedics, and I loved them, but I gotta say that the one-week nursing placement I had last week was the one that really hit me.

Aged care. 

I've always been uncomfortable around nudity and stuff, but... now... I've seen it all. I helped with the bathing, the toileting, the changing, the moving, the feeding. It was exhausting stuff, and to be honest, I don't think I did all that much. I was, technically, just assisting. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to be the actual one-woman-show on a daily basis. Or two-woman-show. For like, 15 dependant elderly residents.

And I discovered that I'm pretty capable. I didn't cringe or giggle stupidly. I did whatever I was told, because... I donno. It had to be done. It can't be helped, and there was nothing funny about it.

[INTERMISSION:

Okay, so there are some things funny about it - i.e. my favourite resident, Barry. 

Day one, he was hitting on all the female assistants in the vicinity. My mentor went to get him up in the morning, and she was trying to pull the sheets up, but he kept clinging on. She wrestled it off him, and she tried to lift his arm, but he refused.

"I'm holding down my stomach," he insisted.

"Why?" my mentor asked, exasperated.

"So I can look slim for you," he replied.

Smooth, huh?

Day two, he was in a bad kind of mood. He started threatening my mentor because he felt they weren't respecting him.

"I'd love to be your husband for a day or two," he said to her.

"Why, Barry? You were just threatening me, why would you be my husband?" my mentor joked.

"I'd clock you  one every morning," he retorted. When my mentors try to stifle their laughter, he continued. "Women like to be noticed."

Day three, I was allocated to another sector for the night shift. However, we went over to his area because we needed to empty the linen. When we walked past his room, I couldn't help but peek in, and he was awake, and before I could escape, he called me in.

"What's going on out there?" he asked.

"Oh, we're just emptying the soiled linen," I replied.

"Why wasn't I informed?" He had that self-entitled, imperious tone.

"Oh - it's not that big a deal. Just cleaning up, you know?"

"Oh, you would think so, wouldn't you?" he said, peering down at me. I mean, he was below me on the bed, but he has that Dumbledore-peering-over-his-half-moon-spectacles thing going on, although he was more conspiratorial as opposed to wise. 

"Well, I'll have you know..." he started, and went on to describe the various weaponry he apparently had around his room. Apparently he had a pistol under the covers, and the table legs weren't really as they seemed. He asserted that he was prepared to leave the room and shoot everyone in the shins, as necessary... something something... Then he started talking about the girl he loved, Phyllis, who apparently didn't love him back, and his father always said that 'you should never make a woman uncomfortable - if she doesn't want you, that's it'... something something... He was always a 'man of the land, not the administration', because the administration was always trying to change the world according to their beliefs and religion and political ideas, but men of the land just lived... and so  on, so forth.

These are just snippets, really - Barry and I had many conversations, most of them not really making sense, but I donno; I felt like there was some kind of wisdom in there. He's a cool guy. I love him.]

But most of it wasn't funny because... because. Because it's hard to see people who have a great number of years behind them, who must have grand stories, who should appear regal, who ought to be treated with a kind of a reverence... It's hard to see these people so diminished, mentally. 

That was really what confronted me - I can't see people losing their minds.

It scares me and it makes me sick, and it's... so hard to deal with. I don't even know how to explain it. I used to hate aging primarily because I like being a kid. Now I'm just scared of aging because I don't want to end up like that.

My mentor implied that one of the ladies could hold a conversation, so I seized an opportunity to feed her. So I started chatting, asking her some questions - do you have children, grandchildren, are you from around here?

We got to the point where she said she was born in England, but married an Aussie bloke, and she considered herself Aussie. I said, awesome, so when did this happen? As in, when did she come out here?

And then she got teary.

"I don't know, I can't remember! It's too long!" she cried out. And my heart broke a little. Ow.

She's not the only one. I mean, they're all (mostly) sweet, but it's just so hard because theoretically you should speak to them with deference, right? But you end up having to be patronising, and you can't help it. It's so hard. 

So no aged care for me. And I'm definitely not growing up.

Also, I had my first personal encounter with a corpse. On my last night, this guy had just been moved back from hospital into palliative care. They thought he had a couple of days at least. The nurse in charge went on break for 10 minutes, and when she came back, he was gone. I had to help wash him.

They go downhill so fast.

When I left, one of my other favourite residents was in the midst of a fever. She was stripped down, sweating and shuddering, and she kept calling out to God. It was awful. And I had to leave right there. I still don't know what happened to her.

Aged care is not for me. I was told that in order to deal, I shouldn't take things personally, but I can't not take it personally. I joined this profession because I like things personal. It feels so cold being detached. I can't do it.

Yep. 

Paramedic placements, on the other hand, have been a lot less overwhelming. I've had four one day shifts across the semester. Nothing particularly dramatic, so no good stories to share, but I do love 'em. I can't be bothered walking down memory lane for that stuff, so maybe I'll just write about my next one :)

Ramadan mubarak to all my Muslims out there ♥

Peace in,

Laila

Where I respond to an Anon

C'est ma vacance. Or the NIPS: Non-Instructional Period of Study.

I felt like I ought to write something while I can, but I didn't know what, exactly. It's the halfway point of the year. I was thinking of maybe summing up the highlights/happenings of the year so far:

1. Well, there was the formal.

2. Before that, I got my senior jumper, you know, the one where you put on a nickname? I really really wanted to have my surname on it, like a soccer player or something, but then, that's what my sister did when she was in year 12, and she kept alternating between: 'D'aw, look at you, trying to be like me' and 'Don't copy me, stupid'. Both of them hurt my ego. Why do we have to have the same surname? WHY? (That was rhetorical.) So yeah, I ended up with 'Nemo', which is what my little sister used to call me when she was still learning to talk. Hm.

3. My grades. My grades. I've had 100%s all year in English and Legal. In History, I've had A+s, one a perfect score, one off by one mark. In French.... hahaha. Haha. French. Well, I haven't failed it. It's been a mix of Bs and As. Haha. French.

4. Oh, two weeks ago, I went with three of my friends to Melbourne's Amnesty International/Welcome to Australia 'Walk Together' event, in support of refugees and asylum seekers. It was fun. I felt proactive. Some guy came up and said he was a journalist and asked for a photo. We were all like, yokay, sure thing dude. We did not ask what paper, we did not ask for a name. Only later it occurred to us that he could have been a creeper. I like to think not. Eh. C'est la vie.

5. On Saturday, I went to Monkey Pina's house. We made pizzas, like, with the outside oven and everything. 'Twas fun. And for some bizarre reason, she had this Gossip Girl card game-y thing, so we decided to play it. Um. Lesson of the Day: We're not Gossip Girls. Well, it was funny, anyhow x)

6. Huh, did I mention I turned 18? In May, of course. Fun, fun, fun.

7. My sister and I are not completely made up yet, but we're sort've talking. I gave her one of my Ferrero Rochers. 

8. MY COUSINS' BABIES ARE DUE THIS MONTH. SQUEE.

Okay, now I'm going to get to the part where I respond to l'Anon's request....

"...can you make a post about your aims for year 12 in terms of your atar, blah blah, and also about the top 5 things you want to do in the future, accompanied by the top 5 uni courses and uni as well?"

Ohwait, hold up guys. I'm going to do something uber creepy and maybe disturbing, but um, bear with me.

OhmyGod. OhmyGod. I just did the most awkward thing. OhmyGod.

I just... I just...

OhmyGod.

I... just watched a video on birth. I mean, not on birth, but of birth. A woman giving birth. OhmyGod.

*inhales, exhales*

Okay, to answer one of your questions, dear Anon, the uni course I planned to take was Midwifery. I wanted to do it at Monash. But, despite my many fluffy reasons behind why I want to be a midwife, recently it occurred to me that - well, to put it frankly - birth is not a fluffy thing. It can be bloody, from what I've heard, excruciating, and, well, pretty darn ugly. And I thought to myself, can I handle this?

In order to figure out how I would know, I asked a family friend who's taking the course. She told me the key to this answer is in Youtube. 'Type in birth videos'. I'd been meaning to do it, but I either forgot, or procrastinated, because, really, giving birth - actual birth, not a movie thing - seems like such a personal thing. Furby told me that if they're putting it on Youtube, clearly they don't mind people seeing. But honestly, it just feels invasive. And, of course, I was scared. I was scared that I couldn't handle it, and where would that leave me? I have, really, no other career path in mind, besides writing, but that's not something I can depend on, and I don't even know if I want to make it a career.

But I just did it, people. Right now. I watched a video. Just the one, for now, but apparently I have to watch multiple ones. However, the fact of the matter is, I watched it, and I didn't puke. So there. Midwifery (at Monash, hopefully) is still on. If not Monash, then Deakin. If not there, well, I donno.

Okay, so let me back track. Aims of year 12. My ATAR. For those of you who don't know, it's the Big Final Score, or, technically, ranking. I may or may not have mentioned it before, but generally speaking, 80+ is pretty darn excellent, 60 to 70 is a bit average, and below that... well, on the Asian scale, it's pretty bad. Though, I guess, on the Asian scale, anything below 80 is bad.

My aim? I want a 90+.  The highest possible score you can ever get is 99.95, which is obviously what my mother expects of me (NOT. She expects 99.99. She doesn't believe me when I say that rank does not exist), but I don't think so. But a 90+ in general? Yes please.  If you want me to get specific in terms of scores for my individual grades, well. I finished Methods last year and got a 30 (scales up to 36). I finished Literature last year and got a 41 (scales up to 42). For English and Legal, I'm aiming for above 40 as well, as high as possible. For History, I'm not entirely sure, but I can settle for 35+. For French, I really want a 30+ as well, but I donno. I can't quite grasp how good I am at it, and what my competition is like. So yeah :/

My other goals for year 12 include: make friends. Okay, not like that. More like, ensure that the friendships I have are strong enough to survive post-high school. I love my friends dearly, and I'm also co-dependant, and I donno how I'm going to survive the real world, and I NEED THESE PEOPLE. AND I LOVE THEM AND CAN'T SEE MY LIFE AHEAD WITHOUT THEM. Also, this may sound odd, but I'd like to 'take back' my Muslim friends. Sad fact (for me): I don't have any close Muslim school friends. Mainly because my original class in high school had no Muslims, and the ones from primary school kind of slipped away. But as much as I love my non-Muslim friends, there are things about me that they just wouldn't understand, and I have a feeling the differences are going to become more apparent when we're out of high school. It's not that I think they'll stop being my friends, but I feel like I need people that I can relate to more, who'll understand aspects of my life more. So I'm working on getting my old Muslim friends back. It's not hard, 'cause we're all still on good terms. Just not... close terms. Hm.

Finally, I want to do something Big as an Art Vice-Captain for the school. I was given a responsibility, I want to make sure it's fulfilled in the best way possible. I don't want to be the one that leaves everyone with the complaint of 'they never do anything, those captains'. I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to do yet, but I'm working on it.

So that's high school :)

Okay, onwards, life goals and blah blah. Erm. Well, truthfully, I don't really have any specific goals for the future. I'm afraid of expectations. I hate it when you plan something or want something and expect it to happen and then it doesn't... it's just.... slap. Ouch. Burn.

I don't have a 'top five uni courses' list, for that matter, either. As I mentioned, I only have Midwifery, because it's the only career path I want. If it was just to study for the fun of it, I'd probably go down the artsy path, Literature maybe, or Criminology. But it's not career stuff, you know? Just learning for the sake of learning. 

For life in general... well. Ehm. There are sort-of plans I like to entertain in my mind, but nothing really solid, you know? Some depend on chance, others depend on the money I have. Like, I always thought that as soon as I finished high school, I could go back to Sri Lanka and spend time there. Heck, maybe even to Dubai, and stay with my cousin for a while. I also wanted to go to the FIFA World Cup next year, in Brazil, but I mean, pshhh. Yeah right. Those dreams were in the time when the Financial Crisis was still open to the possibility of getting our money back in the immediate future. That's no longer the case. So I don't think travelling is in the immediate future...

... although... *blushes* I also liked the idea of getting married soonish too, and I have my reasons for this that I don't feel like explaining now but if you really want to know I might find it in me to explain that in another post ANYWAY, the point is, in theory, I could get married soon, and *blushes* for the honeymoon, I'd love to go on Hajj. Ohwow. What a dream. But, erm, I haven't the slightest idea how I'm supposed to get myself a guy, and as much as I understand semi-arranged marriages, I don't think it'll work for me. I feel like I was brought up too differently to be able to adjust to that, but again, I'm too awkward (and not very attractive) to land myself a guy, so marriage in the immediate future? Not likely.

AND I WANT TO GO ON A ROAD TRIP. How much fun would that be? Just me and my friends, in a jeep, backpacking around Australia, sleeping under the stars or in tents or in caravan parks, living simply, minimum money and technology, maximum adventure. Donno if that would ever happen, but gosh, it would be awesome, would it not?

Okay, lemme just get down to it and be realistic. Um, these are not grand goals or anything, but here is the List of 5 Plausible Things I'm Going to Try and Do When School is Over:

1. Start a book club. With my friends. Wouldn't that be fun? But everyone's all like we'reinVCEnotimetodoit now. But afterwards: no excuses.

2. Get a proper, steady job as a tutor. Not the sort of casual thing I'm doing now. Make money to make some of the dreamy stuff come true, or at least, ease the burden of the Financial Crisis.

3. Work on my stories. The novel ones. Not because I want it published or anything, just because I want to.

4. Oh, volunteer/join the St John's Ambulance thing? I forgot what it's called, exactly, but I want to get trained in all that emergency first aid stuff.

5. Attend more Islamic classes. I attend one, now, but I think I need more.  

Hey, bonus one: 6. Learn how to make fancy pretty cakes, like my sister. I love cake ♥

Okay. That's it. Questions answered. For the record, Anon, you didn't word anything badly, nor are you really creepy, I'm just paranoid. It feels weird to have someone who's been there from the start that I haven't known about o.O 

Anyhow, also, you guys, if you have any other suggestions as to what I should write about, feel free to say so. I can't say for sure I'll answer immediately in the future, but I'll keep it in mind ^_^ Cheers. 

Peace in,
Laila

Holiday in the Sun 1.0

My holiday, continued ^_^ These are my favourite moments...

A Scary Night

Creepy Z is addicted to Wi-Fi, and her phone. She can’t be without it. She can use her phone anywhere, but coverage and Wi-Fi is only in the reception lounge (along with that blessed air conditioner.)

My mother has forbidden us to leave our cottage after dinner, but my father shows up and gives us permission, for ‘last night’s sake’, as long as three of us go together. Although there’s some friction, because my sister wants us to play Monopoly and do stuff together, Creepy Z, Aisha and I head to the reception lounge. 

Creepy Z takes a lot of selfies. I find it weird that someone can take that many photos of themself, but whatever. Aisha and I play the Icon Pop Quiz, Googling some of the answers that we have an inkling about. Creepy Z does her creepy thing, makes us laugh so hard we have tears in our eyes and our stomaches hurts. 

I can’t really explain it. It’s sort of you-have-to-be-there-to-appreciate-it.

It’s 10:55pm, and we decide to go back. Outside it’s pitch black – really, like the black is a solid substance. Aisha waves a glow stick about, and Creepy Z has that blinding light coming out of her phone.

“Do you realise we’re moving targets right now?” I say, just because. “We can’t see beyond the light, but someone somewhere, in the dark, with their eyes adjusted, could spot us miles away. They could follow us, and we wouldn’t know.”

“I never thought of that,” Aisha whispers.

“Turn off the light,” Creepy Z hisses. The glow stick and her phone light are extinguished. There’s a confusing moment that I can’t really explain. Creepy Z pulls up her shawl to hide her face, like a niqab. She grabs my hand and Aisha’s, and pulls us close. She whisper-yells at me to stop walking too fast. We slow down so our feet don’t crunch on the gravel, but she’s still hurrying. No one’s around. There are few lights.

“Which way?”

“This one,” I say, because it’s quicker, and it doesn’t go past the mothers’ cabin. We didn’t want to capture the notice of my mother, the sleeping dragon. But the way I pick is also very twisted, with sharp turns where you can’t see what’s around the corner. We break into a run, hysterical giggles. I’m not sure if any of us were really scared or not, but it was exhilarating.

(this path was so much more sinister in the dark)

 When we get to our cabin, we grew quieter, and hid around the side. We hear Sasha, MJ and Sam talking inside. Creepy Z tiptoes forward and scratches on the window, before running back to us. I shove my shawl in my mouth to stifle my laughter, but they haven’t heard the scratching. Creepy Z does it again. This time it goes quiet. She picks up some gravel and throws it at the window.

But now they talk louder, and they say something about it being Creepy Z, and so we know the game’s up and go in.

We ready ourselves for bed, and lay about chatting, eating and playing on the iPad. No one is sleeping on the floor tonight – my sister claims to have seen a snake outside and was paranoid that it would somehow find its way in and eat her up at night. I wasn’t too concerned, but everyone wants to be all cuddled up together. Sasha dishes up on her own little love story, sitting on the chair she was going to sleep on. Apparently she actually likes it, but we were still weirded out (she promises to stare at MJ all night. No wonder she and Creepy Z are related.)

 Sam wants to start up a fiery debate on the niqab, but for one, no one disagrees to start with, and two, no one is really in the mood to think. We mock each other.

Then Sam’s phone rings. It says ‘PRIVATE’, and she answers it, but no one replies. Shrugging, she tries again, in vain, to spark an argument.

The phone rings again. PRIVATE. Cuts off when she answers it.

Feeling a little spooked, she gets into bed, while Sasha and I make sure the door and the windows are locked.  Then I crawl onto the bed next to Creepy Z and Aisha. We’re sleeping sideways so my feet dangle off.

“Don’t you ever feel like something’s going to grab your feet when you do that?” she asks me.

I immediately curl up. 

 
Yes, Creepy Z. Yes I do.

The phone rings again. PRIVATE. No one speaks when it’s answered. Cuts off again.

Call after call comes in quick succession, and Sasha answers each one, making funny voices. We ponder who it is.

My mother? No, she’s not that weird.

My cousin? I doubt it. He’s a prankster, yes, but he wouldn’t sacrifice his sleep to do that. Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t possibly know we’d be up.

MJ’s boyfriend? He’s the only other guy that has my sister’s number. But MJ texts him, and being the lovesick puppy he is, he’s quick to reply at 1am. Well, actually, apparently he and his friend have decided to block a road with their cars for fun. They like watching drivers unquestioningly pull U-turns.

MJ launches into a tirade about her useless, co-dependant boyfriend.

The phone rings again.

Again and again and again.

We can’t sleep. It won’t stop ringing, and my sister can’t turn it off because my parents have insisted she keep her phone on. It’s on silent, but it keeps lighting up

And truthfully, we’re dying of curiosity.

Sometimes Sasha thinks she hears children’s voices. Other times, it’s an adult. A man. Then it’s just silence again.

Aisha plays on her iPad, Creepy Z on her phone, and the rest of the girls talk.

I’m thinking about being a target. Okay, we’re not out in the open. But you know how at night, when the lights are on in the house, you can’t see outside unless you stick your face up close to the window? Once again, though, anyone out there, in the dark, could see you easily. They could be watching. And you wouldn’t know. Of course you could press your face against the window and take a peek, but do you really want to see a face out there? Do you really want to know?

I sometimes enjoy giving myself the skeevies. Don’t know why.

The phone rings and rings. And rings.

And rings.

And rings and rings and rings.

Over 20 calls.

Past 1am, 2am, leaning on 3am.

Creepy Z is addicted to her phone. Of course no one would think twice about her being on it, because she always is. And no one wonders what she’s doing on it – naturally, they assume it’s something to do with taking or editing a photo, sending a text. It’s what she always does. No one would think, for a moment, that she would set her number to private and constantly call someone in the same room.

When it rings for the umpteenth time, I bury my grin in my pillow, feigning fatigue.

Only a few days ago did my sister pull it out of Aisha :P

An embarrassing video you will never see

It is a tradition, in my family, that when we go on holiday, the men cook. It’s a tradition that we like to impose on the other families too. So on the trip, the men had their own cabin with the kitchen, to cook away to their hearts’ content, while the women chilled.

On the way back home, we’re at a reservoir, and we’ve taken a massive hike up in the searing heat to look over the top of the wall at a dam. On the way down, we stop half way to rest in some shade, and that’s when my little sister comes running – somewhat hysterically – screaming:

“THEY WERE SINGING. THE MEN WERE SINGING!!!”

It’s understandably traumatic.

One of the uncles – one that is not the father to any of us girls – hands over his iPad. We play the video.

First, Aisha’s dad looks intently into the camera, crooning the words to some exceptionally ancient, sad Curry song. Watching over our shoulders, she looks mortified.

And they’re off!

A cringe-worthy a cappella performance starts. An uncle – another who is not the father to any of us – dances across the screen, carrying some vegetables. My dad, who was cutting the meat in the background, sings into a knife microphone. Creepy Z’s father sings low key. And Aisha’s father continues to look deeply into the lens.

When the men see us watching the video, there is much face palming.

“You sing well, father,” I say.

“Really?” He doesn’t know whether I’m being sarcastic or not. I decide to let it remain a mystery.

Creepy Z and I joke about uploading it on Youtube. 7 million views over night, we think.

The video’s just the inspiration, though. While we’re sitting in the grounds, in the shade of palm trees, three circles are formed. The men, some distance away. The women, closer to us but still separate.

And us girls.

The kids run around.

My little sister comes running, a little hysterically again.

“THEY’RE STARTING TO SING AGAIN!”

And heaven forbid, the men are belting out another cringe-worthy old Curry song.

To our utmost mortification, the women beside us start singing another cringe-worthy old Curry song, soft and slow. We can’t really hear them too well, because the wind carries their voices away, but just knowing is enough.

Creepy Z looks at me. “I think we should start rapping. Just to add to the mix.”

“Good idea,” I agree. But of course we don’t.

Some birdies welcomed us home.

Peace in,

Laila