RUIN ME

ZEPH

Dear Diary,
 
  I had such a rough day yesterday. Because I hadn't trimmed my hair yet, our school principal called me out in front of many students. I was walking through the school corridor when I noticed him checking each student, particularly the boys, to see if they had the proper haircut. I didn't. So I hurriedly put on my hoodie to cover my hair, and when I tried to sneak past him, he grabbed my arm and yanked off my hood to inspect me. When he saw my hair, the same old hair, he was furious. After that, he asked the crowd surrounding us for a scissor, which one of them gladly lent him. He then handed it to me and told me to shave my head in front of everyone. Of course, I didn't do it. "My hair, my rules," I told him so, which resulted in my suspension from the class. We all know that all of the lads at school are required to maintain their hair short. He did warn me a couple of times, but I ignored him. As a result, I got what I deserved. I'm not sure how long my suspension will last, but one thing is sure: I'm fine with it!
 
  Sincerely,
  Zeph Mckee
 
  [Journal Entry 168]
 
 
  ***
 
 
  It's early in the morning. The sun is rising, and birds are chirping their usual tones. I get to see a breathtaking view of nature from my window every day since these lush-green jungles make up more than 70% of the country.
 
  Honestly, I love looking out the window, especially when I'm alone. It's usually not to find out what's going on outside, but rather to look at what's going on inside me. I pay close attention to my thoughts. Some people call this meditation, but I wouldn't call it that way because the more I listen to my thoughts, the more anxious I become.
 
  Somebody knocks on the door, jolting me back to my conscious self. "Who's there?" I ask.
 
  "Breakfast is ready downstairs," says mum. "Hurry up! We'll be leaving before seven."
 
  My fingers reach for the keyboard as I shift my seat forward, closer to my desk. I save my journal's entry of the day and then turn off my laptop. "Do we have anything scheduled for today?" I ask irritably.
 
  "We're getting ready to go to school."
 
  "I'm suspended."
 
  "I am aware of that."
 
  "I'm also grounded. Remember?" I say with conviction. Mum gave me a punishment last night. I'm not allowed to leave the house until the day my suspension is over, which I have no idea when that will be. She doesn't know much about me, even my hobbies. How can you ground an introvert? It sounds more like a favour than a punishment. "I'm not allowed to leave the house, right? Go to my school all by yourself if you want to!"
 
  "Zeph! Open this door!" She raps on my door with such force that it strains my eardrums. "NOW!"
 
  As her rage flares again, I dash over to the door. I open it only for her to point a finger at me, and she looks at me as if I'm a complete failure. "You are such an embarrassment! When will you grow up?"
 
  "I'm a grown-up."
 
  "I don't know what to do with you anymore," says mum. "Aren't you threatened by your younger sisters? They're doing so well in the Philippines. It's embarrassing that I brought you here only to have you fail all your classes and be suspended." I roll my eyes in annoyance as I gaze down. "You wasted the opportunity your stepfather gave you. He foots the bill for your absurdly high education expenses. He goes out and gets you groceries and other necessities. What do you think his daughters are going to say about us? That we're merely using his generosity? Is it what you're looking for?"
 
  "Enough already, hun." Ahmed interrupts our talk and places his hand on mum's back to help her calm. He looks at me, his stern expression returning. "Go have your breakfast; we're running late."
 
  "Yes, Ahmed," I reply. I nod and proceed downstairs, passing them by.
 
  I'm currently eating my breakfast. It's such a pity that no matter how much I eat, these meals don't seem to be able to fulfil my hunger. I'm in desperate need of rice. We are accustomed to having rice for breakfast, lunch, and dinner in my homeland. People in this town do not really consume rice. However, they have my favourite French Toasted Bread. It's stuffed with a unique filling that can only be found in this country. I'm also sipping a cup of steaming tea. I'm sure I'll be fine.
 
  We're heading to school. Ahmed is driving, and next to him is my mother, who can't seem to stop reading through her phone. I'm in the rear seat, listening to music at maximum volume while admiring the beautiful scenery outside the window.
 
  ♪ So you got the looks, but have you got the touch?
  Now don't get me wrong, I think you're alright...
 
  When I want to feel nostalgic, all I have to do is listen to Shania Twain's songs. It reminds me a lot of my father. He was the one who first introduced me to her music when I was younger, and I remember being unable to stop myself from watching her live concert over and over again. My father must have felt bad about it.
 
  "Zeph!" Mum screams and glares at me.
 
  I take off my headphones and give her an irritated expression. "What?"
 
  "How many times do I have to tell you to put your headphones away when you're in the car?" Her irritability rises once more. "You never pay attention."
 
  "Sorry."
 
  Mum continues to scroll down on her phone, explaining, "I received a text message from your school guidance counsellor earlier indicating that the principal has an important thing to say to us, so he needs our presence there."
 
  "All right, is that it?"
 
  I'm about to put my headphones back in my ears, but not until Mum says something else. "And if you don't want me to toss that away, don't use your headphones."
 
  "Fine."
 
  To be honest, I'm concerned about what's going to happen to me. I can't help but be exhausted, to the point where I'm forcing myself to stop feeling anything. I can tell Ahmed is worried. He's still my stepfather, and he's the one who insists on paying my bills. We'd never ask him to do anything like that. Mum is currently too preoccupied with her own troubles to be concerned about mine. But I'm confident she will be; after hearing what the principal has to say.
 
  I take a deep breath as I read the words carved into the massive mahogany door in front of me.
 
  'PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE'
 
  I'm not sure how I'm going to hide the fact that I'm worried. Why am I sweating from nervousness when I thought I was used to getting in trouble at school?
 
  Ahmed knocks gently on the door before letting himself in. "Assalamualaikum."
 
  "Assalamualaikum! Please, have a seat!" Principal Aqib invites us to take a seat in front of his opulent desk. He has a really luxurious office with a wall-to-wall red carpet and a slew of golden furniture accents. It doesn't resemble an office in the least. "Shall we get down to business?"
 
  Mum and Ahmed exchange nods and a brief glance at each other.
 
  Aqib clears his throat. "Your son has been a student at this school for about a year. He's presumably new to the country as well, so it's normal that he's struggling to adapt to his new surroundings and cope with the lessons." He raises an eyebrow as he looks at me. "Do I have this right?"
 
  As a reaction, I nod.
 
  "Tell me honestly, were you actually having difficulty? Were the lessons that challenging for you to flunk everything?" Aqib ponders, his voice doubtful. "If that's the case, why did you quickly get to the top of your class during your first few months here? Your math professor, Kiaan, even approached me to ask if he could transfer you to class A because he believes you don't belong in the class you're currently in. I said yes! As I was delighted for you." He then leans in to have a closer look at me, slightly slamming his gorgeous gold-plated table. "However, you declined the offer. You've had an excellent performance at the beginning of the school year. What happened?"
 
  "What exactly do you mean?" Ahmed asks, his brows wrinkled once again.
 
  Aqib reclines in his chair and makes an alarming grimace at my stepfather. "It's evident that you're completely unaware of what's been going on with your son lately. First and foremost, your son no longer attends Monday assemblies. I questioned as to why he no longer participates in assemblies. What was his response? 'I hate public gatherings. It's hot, crowded, and I'm afraid I'll pass out because of my weak heart.'"
 
  Mum defends me by saying, "Well, he really does collapse easily."
 
  "And I considered it even without asking him for a medical certificate." Aqib exhales deeply, now more frustrated. "Secondly, his absenteeism and tardiness are both chronic. When he's not absent, he fakes his sickness so he can sleep in the clinic—"
 
  "Why would you think I was faking it?" I ask, but he proceeds to the next on the list.
 
  "Furthermore, you have no idea how many times I've warned him about his improper haircut. As far as I recall, I've warned him ten times! But he never listened. What was his response to me? 'My hair, my rules!'" he exclaims, perfectly mirroring my tone. "He never respected me as the principal of this school."
 
  "I asked you about your hair last time, right?" asks Ahmed, aggressively looking at me. "You said it was fine." Need I remind him that he's just my stepfather!
 
  Aqib continues to talk, "Finally, we are all aware that he failed all of his classes. He doesn't do his homework, and according to the teachers, he even left some of his examination essays blank."
 
  "What?!" Ahmed is being hysterical.
 
  "So what grade are we going to give him now?" asks Aqib. "Do you think any school from Brunei will be glad to have him despite his bad records from this school?"
 
  There is a brief moment of tension. Three of them look really worried for me. "I'm sorry to say this, but we have decided that starting from today, your son is no longer allowed to attend any classes from this school."
 
  "I'm expelled?" I ask. "But I thought I'm only suspended for how many weeks?"
 
  "You have serious behavioral problems that we do not condone in this school."
 
  "Is there really no other way?" asks mum, gripping Ahmed's arm tightly. "Maybe he could retake all the exams that were left unanswered if you give him another chance? He'll do well this time; I can promise you that." Is she crazy? I left them all blank literally cos I have no idea what the topics were.
 
  "As much as I would love to give him another chance, our decision has been made. Chance is zero, Ms. Elise," announces Aqib. "I personally think it's best to send him back to his country and pursue his studies there. Don't worry about the grades; we'll make sure that he can still proceed to the next level since we believe your son is a very bright kid."
 
  "Besides, I don't think he likes it here," he states. "He doesn't even socialize! Many girls have waited for him outside his classroom, yet he has not entertained any one of them. Humans are sociable creatures! If we don't have somebody to talk to, we'll go insane!"
 
  "Actually, I do have one friend," I say.
 
  But, alas, I'm going to have to leave him for good.