Voids Fill Up Differently by Students of IACT (books for students to read txt) 📕

fingers that paused peeling the dough into smaller pieces first before my mind noticed how six pairs of eyes were fixated on me. My friends and I have always been close since Form 4 in secondary school when we all ended up in the Science stream, though we collectively agreed that we would not touch Biology, Physics and Chemistry once we graduated. In the two years leading up to our big final exam that would determine how the next phase of our lives would turn out (or at least that was what we were brainwashed to believe), we became each other’s teachers, especially when anyone of us dozed off in class and missed the lessons. 

 

“I broke up with that jerk and left the house,” I reported nonchalantly to the table of half surprised expressions with the other half beaming as if they were the ones who fled a destructive relationship. It was a déjà vu. I told them everything like what I had told my father, except this time I was more relaxed about it and my tears were too shy to come out.

 

By the time we finished our meals, our cheeks had become sore from smiling, laughing, discussing the latest shampoo brands and even complaining about how other people seemed to be giving us strange glances for occupying the seats for too long. To be fair, it wasn’t like a buffet where we could only stay for limited hours but we soon learnt that the popularity of the Mamak stall came with an unspoken time condition.

 

We dispersed our own ways after we divided the bill which took a hefty long time and annoyed even more people but with the help of the sweet rose syrup water I drank earlier, I could feel my guts overflowing with gratefulness and nothing but bliss. I didn’t think I’d missed being myself in front of my friends this much but even when our conversations dwindled down to debating over whether nasi lemak or nasi kandar was better, the realisation that I could take refuge in my friends and count on them to brighten the bleakest of days stung me in the gentlest way possible.

 

Time flew fast and before I knew it, it had already been a month since I lost contact with the man I used to think that I couldn’t live without. I pursued a new life and meeting my friends reminded me of how happy I can be when I’m not controlled by anyone. I decided to join different classes to learn new things and it was an ordinary Monday until I experienced a yoga class that I might or might not have regretted registering for.

 

“I can’t do this anymore!” an exasperated scream bolted out of my lips as a stubborn force pressed against my shoulder, pushing my spine to further lean backwards from my original comfortable position of lying face down on the yoga mat. My yoga teacher Ms Kelsey, who was also known as my most terrifying nightmare on Monday nights, ignored my awful groan and mercilessly decided to add more force. It felt like she was folding my body in half like how she folded my registration paper when I first came.

 

“I didn’t sign up for this!” I sighed inside my mind. No matter how excruciating the physical part of yoga was on my stiff body, I knew it was good for me and after two hours of lonely suffering, my favourite moment of the class finally dawned upon me like a reward.

 

I had heard how meditation was supposed to be calming and therapeutic but that statement never really absorbed into my thoughts until I did it myself. My relaxed body seemed to agree with me, as my slim fingers rested snugly on my knees. With my back as straight as a ruler, for a second in my meditation, I had forgotten about the torturing process of stretching my inflexible body to come to this point.

 

“It’s all about training your mind and finding your inner balance-”

 

“and that’s when you can channel out the peace within you,” I mannerly finished Ms Kelsey’s sentence, only to find her looking back at me with a content smile on her face, like a teacher when a student aces her exam.

 

“I’ll see you next Monday unless my friends call me out again. They always need to talk when their bosses scold them or when their colleagues talk bad about them,” I informed Ms Kelsey with a thin ribbon of humour lacing my words. She seemed to understand what I was trying to say and nodded while beads of sweat from teaching yoga trickled down her flushed face.

 

It had been a long time since I tried to explore doing different things and liking what I was doing was even rarer. It would take a couple more classes for me to actually love yoga but a spark of likeness was already there- and a burn had never felt so good before.

 

The next two days drained the productivity out of me as I found myself in a rock climbing gym that’d been advertised to me through a flyer. I had initially given up the thought of attending any extreme physical classes but the flyer and the big, bold words “FREE TRIAL CLASS” were catapulted into my face and I thought to give it a try.

 

“You know what? I really can’t-,” a deep heave concluded my incomplete sentence. Hanging like a broken doll on the rock climbing wall, my hands gripped tightly onto the screwed-in plastic rocks and I instantly knew that I had to let go and rely on the safety straps wrapped around my shoulders and waist. My unconsciously trembling limbs and joints would be unable to take another step my body eventually lost its balance and gave in.

 

By the time I reached the cushion mat on the ground, my energy had depleted from a low before climbing to a negative after tackling the rocky wall and as I envisioned how my muscles would unbearably ache for the next few days, my legs dragged themselves out of the gym after bidding goodbye to the hopeful faces that wished for me to return soon. I knew for sure though, that I would not be coming back.

 

I spent the next few days almost bedridden, with every tiny movement sending a jolt of electrocuting pain through my tissue fibres. It was the longest three days ever, though not as long as a day living with Scott before. I was recovering with the help of my father’s Chinese pain relief medicated oil which he claimed would leave me with a painless body after a few days and sure enough, I could feel my tense muscles slowly unwind and mend themselves.

 

It would be wise to stop at two classes. After all, yoga class in itself was fulfilling enough.

 

“Stop lying to yourself. I know you want to learn flower arrangement too, after seeing the bouquet your father bought for your mother,” an imperative voice drummed in my ears. My conscience was telling me this yet I did not understand it. It didn’t go away though and after a bloody battle with my own true desires, I decided to go for flower arrangement classes.

 

Indeed, the flowers exude elegance and beauty even though my poor skills snatched them of their description. Looking at my poorly put together bouquet, I was starting to doubt myself and my history of self-degradation suddenly hit me faster than a vehicle travelling at 80 kilometres per hour. It wasn’t helping that other people in the same class worked wonders with their hands, as they proudly took photos of their gorgeously arranged bouquets. The class was held in the flower shop itself and the large transparent window that sheltered us from the outside allowed passersby to peek into what we were doing as if an enclosed space wouldn’t have been pressuring enough. Amidst all the dispiriting thoughts, I enjoyed touching, smelling, picking and arranging the brightly coloured, freshly scented stems of Baby’s Breath and magenta roses. It wasn’t the prettiest of presentations but the delicacy I had dealt with each petal deserved at least a bloom of praise in my opinion. Of course, no one would compliment my bouquet considering I was the thorn among the roses- or so I thought.

 

“Can I buy that bouquet?” I overheard a sweet lady’s voice speak over the counter to my teacher who was also the owner of the shop. My hands immediately stopped fumbling over the damp green leaves I was working with when my head shot up to see who the voice belonged to.

 

Pointing right at my bouquet was a total stranger and my mind blanked out like a deer caught in the headlights.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. That is not for sale. She is one of my students and we’re actually having a flower arrangement class right now,” my teacher quickly responded when she saw how eagerly the lady wanted to buy “my” bouquet.

 

I wasn’t absolutely sure if her fingers landed on my creation because she could have been referring to the person beside me who had an outstandingly impressive array of crimson asters, white orchids and pink dahlias perfectly aligned next to each other. The realisation that that could have been the case made my cheeks swell with embarrassment and my head could only hang low as my face turned redder than the flowers.

 

"My name's Evelyn. Can you uhhh...take down my name in case you decide to sell it? My dad really likes roses and her bouquet is really beautiful," the lady mentioned before she strutted out of the shop.

 

“Nina? The woman that just left really seemed to like yours. You chose such simple yet powerful flowers, did you know that? Magenta roses symbolise love and he wanted to buy them for his fiancée. You may not be in a relationship right now but the fact that you chose this flower...I’m sure that someone or something is loving you the way you are loving them,” my teacher reassured me before she left to attend to other customers. I was starstruck at her remark because I had never mentioned to her about my past relationship yet she spoke as if she was with me the whole time...and that’s when I understood everything.

 

All this while, I had been busy trying to find someone to love me up to the point I lost myself in trying to please that love. However, letting go of that love enabled me to build myself up and discovered my potential to do so much more than what a destructive relationship told me I could do. I was capable and at the end of the day,

 

I can give myself roses too.

 

3.3 Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Reneece Chia, Liew Wei Zhe, Woon Irsen, Shonnia

 

 

“All you care is about yourself.”

 

The words escaped my mouth before I could even think about the repercussions of what I said. The My fists trembled on my lap, the clamminess making my palms sweat uncomfortably. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. My tongue felt like it was too big, dry and stuck to the roof of my mouth. I tried not to let it get to me, but it