I was scrolling through Facebook when curiosity compelled me to look up my old uni classmates. I looked at her tagged photos. One thing led to another and I wound up down the (shallow) rabbit hole of my own photos dating back to university. I don’t have many surviving photos from those years, because mine were mostly on my old Nokia. The remaining photos I pulled from the archives were mostly group photos with coursemates.
This one here was with my final year group mates; we called our group Mastermind. I haven’t kept in touch with any of them, but occasionally I look at their profiles to see how their present life compares with mine. I’m the one with the long hair. What’s interesting is I’ve generally kept the same hairstyle (straight and with side bangs) until now, except that my hair is even longer now. There were times where I cut my hair to a bob when life wasn’t peachy, but I can’t remember anymore how it felt to have hair shorter than above my waistline.
It’s crazy that this was 12 years ago. I completely forgot these pictures existed until I scrolled back through the old group chats. I feel so sad thinking about how cruel I was to myself during those years. I wished I had loved myself more. I mean to say, looking in from the outside at this old picture makes me realise how she had been trying her best, and how much I bullied her back then, and for what: for not fitting the mold? I am glad I finally figured out my own path in life instead of forcing myself to follow in the same footsteps as everyone else. But I’m still trying to find ways to heal and apologize to my younger self.
*
Who was I back then, really? I was student ID # 7434545. It was satisfying to say out loud in Mandarin. Qī sì sān sì wǔ sì wǔ. I started freshman year as a lanky, quiet girl who mostly wore cutesy cartoon/graphic tees and 3/4 pants, and tied my hair in a ponytail everyday which left a permanent dent line across my hair.
I was bright-eyed and had high hopes that I would have an amazing future. I think my life is pretty cool now, but it’s a different flavour of ‘amazing’ than the structured, cookie-cutter future I had envisioned back then, and things only fell into place after another decade of struggling with one awful workplace after another after graduating.
I took Design in my first semester of Foundation year. I planned to major in Graphic Design. After that one semester, I realised I wouldn’t actually want to do it for a living. I couldn’t imagine forcing myself to come up with fresh designs for client after client just to keep myself fed. I transitioned to Business studies with the intention of majoring in Accounting (to the relief of my mother). I figured I would rather earn my keep through something that was routine and came with a set of guidelines to abide by (hi, IFRS).
I still remember my design student days well, in particular the Art History class. The tutorial room was always freezing cold, and class usually ended around 5 or 6 in the evening, when it was starting to get dark. I remember watching the rain drops run down the other side of the window as the sky turned a dusky blue. I remember the first assignment, which was to do a presentation on one of the Museum of Modern Art’s (MOMA’s) 2007 exhibitions, called “What Is Painting”. “Your voice was monotonous the entire time,” said my tutor, “but with the content you gave, I wouldn’t have minded.” …oh, well, at least there was a compliment in there somewhere. I tried not to make eye contact with my friend who was making silly faces at me from the audience. For the presentation, I was tasked to select 5 artworks from the collection to research and speak on.
This painting, Succulent Eggplants by Brazilian artist Beatriz Milhazes, was one of the artworks I chose from the exhibition and it’s the only one that I remember from the collection. Looking at this transports me back to the past, as cliche as I sound. It’s like some kind of anchor point in my memory where when I look at it, I remember other things from those days.
Occasionally after finishing my assignments/research at the uni’s open labs, I would start reading book reviews and analyses of some of my favourite highbrow literatures, like Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita. These reviews were usually peer-reviewed journals and scholarly-looking enough that nobody looking over my shoulder would realise I wasn’t actually doing coursework research or any work, haha.
While we’re on the subject of books, I discovered Sylvia Plath during my Foundation year, thanks to the ubiquity of Tumblr. I accidentally got acquainted with her works while looking for other, quite different types of literature. That same year, I went to Kuala Lumpur for the first time and found a copy of The Bell Jar at Kinokuniya. It was like my bible for a while. I read it religiously then. Now, it’s been many years since I read it. While I found solace in it as a young adult, I don’t think I could stomach it where I am in life now. I needed it to feel less alone, but now that I’ve made it out the other side, I don’t ‘need’ it anymore, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to re-read it, either.
*
I dug through my old albums and found some drawings. Since I wasn’t working then and regularly skipped classes, I had a lot of hours to spend on drawing.
*
One of the things I remember the most vividly about uni was the iced lemon tea from the uni cafeteria. It wasn’t some overly-saccharine concoction where lemon just tasted like a suggestion; the sweet honey and bold black tea co-existed without one overpowering the other, and it came in a nice tall cup for only RM 2. Once the last class for the day was over, I would get a cup of it to go and then get in my car and go home. I lived alone back then, so I would drive home in my little hatchback on clear roads under blue skies back to my little apartment feeling like a hundred dollars, set down my things, and begin the process of unwinding. I liked to just sit on my couch and sip my iced tea while scrolling through my phone or just staring into space while playing some music.
*
I had my appendix removed when I was 16. It was night, and I was tossing and turning in bed in the dorm room, and my roommate was on the phone. It aggravated me, so I asked if she could take her conversation outside as I wasn’t feeling well. It didn’t get any better, and the stomach pain didn’t go away. It was midnight and the clinics were closed, so I went to the ER. They paged the surgeon doctor, and when he examined me, he prodded all over my tummy and abdomen and I lied about it not hurting when he poked the right side, because I didn’t want him to diagnose me with appendicitis. He probably realised I was lying, then looked at me after his examination and said based on his clinical experience, there was a 90% chance of it being appendicitis and that it would be better to remove it. I didn’t want to, and I cried because I was scared and tired (it was past midnight already), but relented. I remember the nurse handing me the hospital gown and telling me to get changed, and being surprised when she didn’t leave to give me privacy when I took everything off. Then they wheeled me into the surgical room and hooked me up to the anaesthesia drip. All I remember was that the liquid was orange and three seconds after starting the drip, everything went black.
I woke up later on in the hospital bed and they told me the procedure was done. Luckily there was a nurse right by my bed at that moment because I asked her to get me a bag and the first thing I did was throw up. The following week, people kept asking me if I felt lighter or if it felt like something was missing inside. I stayed in the hospital for one or two more nights. My aunts and uncles came to visit and brought me food. They gave me really strong pain meds to take home and the meds always knocked me out cold. I was basically useless and helpless during the recovery period and 16-year old me wondered if this was what life would be like once I’m 90, and I sincerely hoped I would be able to arrange for a caretaker by then. I slept for most of the time during recovery and my aunt cooked for me.
*
I got my driving license when I was 17. I was assigned to a driving instructor whose moods were more fickle than the Malaysian rain forecast. He would have three or four students in the car at a time and everyone would get a turn to drive. One time, he absolutely incinerated the girl whose turn came before me, and I was so nervous during my turn that the car stalled 5 times when I got behind the wheel. After the fifth stall, he told me to get down and that my turn was over. I didn’t argue. He also placed a blade of grass upright against the back seat window and told us to use the grass as a point of reference when doing reverse parallel parking. It helped. One day, the blade of grass had fallen off somewhere. I was about to reverse when I realised it wasn’t there. I told him I couldn’t do it because the grass was gone. He said in a tone of great exasperation, to forget the grass. I probably contributed to his greying hair. The day of my driving test came and went. After I got down from the car, the instructor, who had been watching, smacked me on the shoulder and told me off for driving too fast. I passed anyway.
*
My apartment was within walking distance (but with it being within a lowkey-ghetto part of Malaysia, I preferred to drive, for safety) of many eateries and shops. There was a KFC, Pizza Hut, McD, and Secret Recipe, all less than one mile away. Thankfully, at 20, I still had an efficient metabolism and could easily undo all my binge-eating with just a little bit of jogging. I liked getting honey wings from Pizza Hut and the spicy chicken McDeluxe from McD in the evenings on the way back home. Or, if the sugar cravings struck, I would nip out at night to Secret Recipe and get some of their cakes. Sometimes I would go for a night drive further away in the city and get some snacks or iced tea. There was a weekly market in the nearby parking lots where I would go to get this most delicious curry rice (and only for 5 RM!) and sometimes fresh fruits. There were also lots of food courts to choose from. I didn’t cook very often, but I did have a small slow-cooker that I liked to use to make chicken soup with.
*
I was very lonely most of the time. I cycled through friends and friend groups like someone trying on different sets of clothes that fit the first few months but eventually got stretched in the wash. I still remember the first close friend I made (it didn’t last long, but he was the first one). He was a guy I was paired with during my English class for a class magazine project. I didn’t take notice of him much before that, but we grew close after spending time together at the mall. I was writing an article about the mall for the magazine and he was my photographer. He picked me up, opened doors for me, and was charming and funny. We ate dinner together after finishing with the pictures. He introduced me to his church friend group and brought me along one night to their cell group session. One time he skipped design class and while sitting there in class, I got a text from him saying he was with his buddy at the movies and asked if I wanted to join them. During the evenings, we texted each other talking about life stuff. One day, he started avoiding me. The texts stopped. I cried a lot that week, in my dorm room, in the bathroom, in the car. After one week of inexplicable radio silence, I was back at the same mall again with some others at the food court, eating green-tea flavoured shaved ice. My phone lit up with a text from him. He asked if he could borrow my Math textbook, which I assumed was his way of breaking the ice since he could’ve just borrowed it from any of our other classmates. Neither of us really addressed the week-long silence, and while we were on talking terms again, he kept his distance and we drifted apart completely after I changed courses.
The first group of friends I made were from my Art/Design cohort. We hung out regularly and we often sat together in one of the empty classrooms on the 7th or 8th floor watching movies or doing work on our laptops. They celebrated my 18th birthday with me and we went to watch the 3D release of the Titanic movie. After I switched to Business, I ditched them for my new Business friend group. Yeah, I know, that was horrible of me. My new friends invited me to various birthdays and outings, but I never really fit in either or had much to contribute to the conversation and ultimately they just continued hanging out without inviting me. It stung, but I guess I deserved it. I continued seeking out other connections and made friends with a few unsavoury people, because I thought despite their sleaziness, it was better than being completely alone. Had I loved myself more, as I mentioned, I would’ve known better and avoided them completely.
In my second last semester, we had this assignment about…city cleanliness or something, where we had to present on the issues and our recommendations to officers from one of the municipal councils. We went to the beach to film a short video for the project. Part of the video involved picking up litter in a box we brought along. Then we had ice creams after everything was done. We played in the sea and kicked seawater at each other.
I don’t remember much about my other birthdays. My dad bought me an ice-cream cake for one of them. For the next one, I bought myself a birthday cake, because I didn’t want to have a cake-less birthday. It felt awkward telling the bakers to write out “Happy Birthday Charlene” in icing and then telling them “Charlene” again when they were filling out the order form and asking for my name.
Let me tell you, I was so scared of being alone. I felt like the loneliest person in the world. I was just young and under the misconception that having friends or boyfriends would ‘fix’ me and give me the happiness I was chasing. I naively thought everyone who was married was happy and fulfilled and had life all figured out. How wrong I was.
*
I was really big on hoop dancing back then. I had my first hoop shipped over from Australia. My aunt said she felt embarrassed when the delivery man sent it over, hahaha. I still think it’s fun, but I don’t have as much energy (or space) for it at the moment. I could do some pretty awesome stuff like the vortex, roll the hoop from one outstretched hand across my chest and catch it in my other outstretched hand, do the same but roll it across my back instead of my chest, keep the hoop spinning around one leg while holding my other leg with my hand, spin the hoop around my elbow and duck my head in and out of the hoop without hitting my head on the hoop… I developed some really gnarly bruises when I first started out. There was a huge hand-sized green/black bruise on my inner thigh during the first few weeks. I also developed bruises on my hipbones/around my waist area. No regrets, though.
*
I also took up running for a while. I would force myself to go running around the neighbouring apartment blocks (it was a pretty big residential area and there were lots of blocks, so there was a lot of road to run on) in the mornings or in the evenings. It was a little riskier at night where I had to be careful not to get hit by reversing cars. Since I was still in my 20s and my metabolism was still good, I managed to lose a lot of weight back then just from moderate running activity, despite eating back afterwards what felt like double what I burned. It’s harder for me to get my runs in because by the time I leave work around 5-6 pm, it’s already dark everywhere which would be less of a problem if I had a running group, but I don’t.
*
I was pretty well-rounded academically in my first year. I topped my class, often by a considerable margin, in assignments and written exams regardless of whether it was Statistics or Art History (I’m particularly proud of my paper on Van Gogh, which the convenor loved and gushed over. Unfortunately, I can’t find the paper anymore). My nickname was HD ninja because I constantly skipped lectures and people only knew what I looked like when I made an appearance during finals week, but still got the highest marks somehow. I had a perfect 4.0 CGPA that year. Once I started on my Degree, though, my grades slipped. I was finding it hard to keep my grades up because I felt blue and demotivated all the time. Everything felt pointless and my inner demons won most of the time. I’m happy to report that I managed to get back on my feet academically, because after graduating, I pursued my ACCA (Association of Chartered Certified Accountants) studies and successfully passed all my professional exams (including one beast of a paper that had a brutal global pass rate of 28%). Say what you will about me, but I’m no quitter, haha.
*
In the last legs of my uni term, I befriended someone from my Taxation class who would become the defining main character of the school term. He was fascinated with my cursive writing, he kept one of my writing samples. He pursued me, and I got to meet his friend group. He would pick me up most nights when it was late, and we would go for a night cruise in his car, or sit in the open-air spaces at the McDonald’s around the corner from where I lived, eating fries and burgers and drinking our cokes. It was fun while it lasted. I thought I was so cool, with one hand out the window, cigarette in between my fingers and the wind tousling my hair, as if I were a mysterious lead in a cinematic still from a Wong Kar Wai movie. People stared, probably because the smoking thing ruined my 斯文/good-girl aesthetic. (On a side note, I’ve given up smoking a few years ago, cold turkey. I just never felt the urge to pick it up again.)
Occasionally we would go to bars with his friends. We would go to The Drunken Monkey near the Kuching Waterfront or this place called the Library. We’d order a bucket of Heinekens and get buzzed until it was after midnight and my friend would send me home and I would shower and hop sleepily into bed. I returned to Brunei to spend the semester break after term ended, and when I returned to Kuching to start the next term, he started being distant and refused to meet up anymore, but wouldn’t explain why. I was hurt and confused, especially because this felt like a repeat of my first friend in uni who had abandoned me without explanation. I was the type of person who needed answers, and closure: he gave neither. I played Sudoku on my phone to take my mind off things whenever I felt sad about him, strange as it sounds. I lay in bed alone in the dark on the night of Chinese New Year, crying myself to sleep and feeling angry at him. He was my only friend, and we had been very close in the few months we had known each other. I cried as I re-read the letter he had handwritten to me in Mandarin, with the little house and the tree and sun he had drawn at the bottom corner; I continued crying as I threw it away. He was a creep, though; even as he went to the bathroom during one of our night hangouts, his friend told me to be careful of him because he was predatory. I let it slide because I was so lonely. Then, six months later, he texted at 1am saying it was time for him to explain why he had pulled back. I told him to kick rocks. How funny to think back on all this and feel nothing at all. I don’t know if that was one of the defining events in my youth that led me to becoming so hyper-independent today, but it must have been.
*
Speaking of the end of uni…I actually set back my own graduation by one term. How? Well, there was this final exam for one of my finance modules. I actually overslept on the day itself. For some reason, my trusty phone alarm failed me that morning and didn’t go off. I woke up on my own, wondering why there was so much sunlight streaming through my window at 6am in the morning (when my alarm was due to go off). Realisation dawned on me and I picked up my phone on the bedside dresser with a mounting panic. The time it showed was past 9 (the exam started at 8). I knew the chances of getting admitted to the exam were slim, but decided to try my luck anyway and got dressed and drove the 7kms or so to uni. They refused to let me in. I was so mad. I drove back, ordered a box of KFC on the way home, and sat there at home eating it moodily and chain smoking. I may have laughed about it, I can’t remember.
*
I didn’t actually want to go to Graduation Day. I wanted to skip it, but my mom made me go, so I did. I wasn’t very happy that day, but I’m glad I went and got a picture out of it: something to show for my years of work.
I don’t know why I look back on all these things with so much nostalgia, when I knew how much I struggled with myself every day back then. Am I grateful for those years? I still don’t know. If I could choose to have lived through them differently, would I? Do I wish I had made better use of my time instead of wallowing in my own thoughts? For sure. Am I writing all this because I want to convince myself that those years I spent looking for myself were not in vain? Maybe. I guess I just did the best I could at the time to just survive, though. And, maybe in a way, the way I persevered through everything in the past laid the foundation for the person I am today. I’m just happy I made it through to the other side.