Ready to be Heartbroken

I was in the Auditorium attending the Skill Group 16's Accelerated Capability Development Program briefing when I received the text message:

Along, I admire someone in my school. She has all the criteria. She's good-looking, educated, polite and a very nice person. She's single and looking. She is a graduate teacher from Tanjung Karang. She comes from a good family. I would be so blessed and grateful if you would consider meeting her and get to know her. Sayang, Mak.

This is the third person she has tried to hook me up with.

Mak, arrange for the meet and we'll see from there. Along.

I switched off the phone and threw it into my zipped pouch.

All throughout the briefing, my heart felt like it had sank to the bottom of my stomach.




Beginning in June 15, 2009, Petronas will no longer allow its newly reporting staff to marry another staff and serve the company as a couple. The more junior staff will be asked to resign, failing which he or she will then be terminated. This also applies to those under the educational scholarship programs. The new policy is yet to be enforced on the existing staff population.

There have been great debates in the forums. Strings of emails with strong opposing views have been bouncing back and forth and forwarded all over. Both the Koran and the Petronas Executive Handbook were quoted, but no clear lines of argument were drawn. Only tragic love stories and cryptic holy text.

One says the company has no right to intervene in God's work - in jodoh, ajal and pertemuan.

Another says he empathizes with those new single staff working in isolated Petronas towns like Bintulu and Kerteh - pusing-pusing jumpa orang kita juga, dalam ofis pun dia, di pekan pun dia. Orang bujang lah katakan. Tiap-tiap hari kerja, mula-mula jeling-jeling, main-main mata, lama-lama jatuh lah ke hati.

These talks about marriage made me think things over, despite being crushed by the workload.




One morning, out of the ordinary, I decided to go to work early. By early, I mean on-time, which means clocking in at 7:30 like everybody else.

But that would also mean having to beat the traffic.

And the traffic was horrible that morning. Mere inches, and bumper to bumper. I remember the regret getting up so early just to get stuck on the road, and I remember why I always prefer coming to work so late, even if it means having to go home after six.

I remember singing along half-heartedly to The Smiths' "This Charming Man" on the car stereo, trying to stay awake, trying not to get riled up by rude and reckless drivers cutting queue -

"Why pamper Life's complexity
When the leather runs smooth
On the passenger seat?"

- when I saw the image of Marriage.

Inside the car behind me, there was a married couple on their way to work. The husband was on the wheels, while the wife was sitting beside him. They have two beautiful children, and they have been married close to five years now. They both met here, in Bintulu, and both are working for Petronas.

In the rearview mirror, they looked bored and lifeless.

The wife was looking out and onto the vast emptiness of space that was stretching farther and farther away. There was no sign of Life in her eyes. Just a drab outlook of routines and responsibilities, of going through the motions, back and forth, days in and days out.

There will be two meetings today, with very important people, on very important subjects, with very stringent deadline. They would need detailed preparations. Have I prepared everything? How would they affect this and that? Remember to pick up the kids at noon-ish. Remember to pay up the amah.

The husband was looking away. His one hand on the steering wheel; the other, holding up his head. There was nothing to talk about - except work, or kids, or stories of people from work, or their kids.

Remember to talk to the Senior Manager on the new initiative. I would need his support to get all the resources. Negotiate a reasonable Stretch One for the KPI. Remember to sort out those kinks in the proposed Implementation Plan. Consider lack of competent manpower. Consider the appraisal cycle.

The wife turned to the husband to tell him she will be away in Labuan for two days next week.

The husband nodded, without looking, and replied with a one-word approval, like Yeap or Uhmkay.

They both then returned to their own little bubble of being.

The cold rumble of the car engines never sounded so loud.




The night before I returned to Bintulu after a short stay in KL to attend technical training, Mak told me that the girl whom she had introduced to me last month, the eldest daughter of her very close friend, had already found a suitor.

A car salesman, Mak said, her tone deriding the man's profession.

I recalled how this young tahfiz ustazah from Egypt, barely 23 years old, hid under a fruit tree in her family's garden when Mak and I came over to see her and her family. It was not a good first impression.

The girl's whole family was there, brothers, sisters - it was a long school break. The father and mother were nice people, friendly, and did not seem too formal about things. We were properly entertained as guests, even though Mak and Ayah always visited them. My parents and hers are good masjid friends and good pensioner friends. They think alike, too, especially on current social mores and political Islam.

We chatted like long lost cousins. They were eager to get to know this young man from Sarawak whom they had heard so many wonderful things about.

But all throughout the visit, the girl who I wanted to get to know, remained outside, under the tree. I had a good look at her, we made eye contact a few times, but she still remained outside. I had come all the way to see you, out of respect for our family's friendship and out of respect for you, and yet there you are under that tree, pretending that all this will go away soon.

I understood that perhaps she was a bit shy, moreover for a young learned woman close to God. But it's the 21st century that we are living in now, darling, and being shy and coy will get you no husband.

I ended up flirting with her youngest sister instead, who was still studying and had less inhibitions about talking to boys. She was thrilled to know that I studied in the United States. She wanted to know how snow feels like, and I told her that when snow first touched the skin of my face, it felt like a thousand ticklish kisses running down my neck.

She fell back into the sofa, her arms clasped to her chest, and she went, Aww best nya!

Mak was looking at me all wrong, but the girl's mother simply smiled and chuckled politely.




The young ustazah and the car salesman were friends in high school. They were not very close in the first place, but through Friendster, they rediscovered themselves. After several innocent exchanges in emails and private messages, they, along with a few school friends, decided to have a get-together.

They met several times in Tanjung Karang, and got to know each other better. All this was taking place without her mother knowing, of course. She only confided the affair to her younger sisters, like a good loving sister would. Confident that the girl likes him, and indeed she likes him, the young man arranged for a party to visit her family and state his most sincere intentions.

The mother was shocked. She could not bring herself to accept this young man and his parents to her home, even though they were nice people with good social standing. She received the entourage as if they were coming over to sell her water filter. She did not smile, and did not say beyond a few words.

Immediately after she had given them the cold shoulder, she got on the phone and called my Mak.

Our mothers, the very best of friends, had really wanted to be in-laws so badly it seems.

I told Mak - I did not promise you anything after that visit. I just said, I will think about it.

Mak said - Along, you should be firm and clear on such important things in the first place.




The first one was an ustazah about my age. The second one was the young tahfiz ustazah who hid under a tree. Both of these were Mak's choices. She said, Along, dunia semua Along dah ada, kerja yang baik, gaji yang baik, you are intelligent, hardworking, an engineer - you have a bright future.

Mak cadangkan biarlah your wife tu seseorang yang dapat memberikan Along akhirat.

The third one, the odd one out, was a beautiful and lively young secretary working in one of the public offices in Kuala Selangor. She was absolutely fabulous - charming, smart, dazzling, a dresser, full of energy, witty. She had charisma and confidence. She carried herself elegantly in the public eye.

Ayah's choice, obviously.

Mak disagreed outright at Ayah's candidate. The secretary is out of the question, she said. No.

I sat in front of the TV, watching car bombs exploding in Kabul, listening to them arguing in the kitchen, thinking to myself - When Mak and Ayah wanted to get married to each other, they themselves were not the preferred candidates by their parents.

Takkan dah lupa dah?




I dropped the girl off at her house in Taman Jason, bade her goodnight and drove off. About three blocks down the road, I stopped the car by the side and deleted her phone number from my cell.

As I drove home, I said to myself, I should not be doing this, playing with fire, breaking hearts.

This was the third girl that I have went out on a date with in Bintulu. The first one was a student in UPM in Bintulu campus, a girl from Perak. The second one, a primary school teacher, from Semenanjung, but I forgot which part of it. Both of them I met while buying groceries in MDS Mart in Medan Jaya.

The third one was a sales girl working in a ParkCity shop. I was buying something and she was the one attending to me. I don't recall exactly how I did it, but she said she would love to have dinner.

I never called back any of them. I went out with them having no set agenda.

They were all random, spur of the moment. I found myself miserable, instead of happy, in their company.

But I realized one thing about myself from all this dating thing. It does not feel right to start out immediately as lovers.

I would have to be friends with her first, in the truest sense of the word - and not some 'cunning friends with agenda for marriage'. Best friends. Honest friends. Someone you are comfortable with and whom you could trust. Someone you truly respect for who she is and what she is passionate about. Someone you could just hangout and talk and honestly appreciate her for her opinions. Someone you care about.

It has to start with that, and built upon that foundation - mutual respect and admiration.

And not because she is a teacher, so she would have time to jaga anak during cuti sekolah. Or easier for her to follow the husband if he is transferred or promoted off. Or she would have time to cook you lunch and dinner and iron your shirt and keep the house tidy.

And not because she is an ustazah, so she could give you obedient children who would look cute in baby kopiah and baby jubah, or that she comes highly recommended and fully blessed by Mak or Ayah.

And not because I met her in a shopping mall wearing tight jeans and a hugging blouse, or because she has an attractive smile that pleases lonesome single customer, or that she flirted with you first.

When I arrived home, my housemate had fallen asleep on the floor from watching a Manchester United match. I walked past him and sat on the couch, looking at him sleeping so sound and peacefully, the TV remote sitting on his stomach. Shazrizal is marrying his high school sweetheart later in the year. They have been together for a decade. They are the best of friends, first and foremost, and then lovers.

You're a lucky man, Ijai. I hope you realize that.




On the way back to Bintulu, while waiting at the airport, I came to a decision. I do not want my silence and vague indecision to stand in the way of a good thing, especially one that involves the fate of so many other people. I need to be firm and clear. Even if it means being disobedient.

Mak, let the young ustazah go. Along.

I sent the SMS, switched off the phone and threw it into my luggage. God, pls, help me.

Author's notes - 15 September 2009 - This is just one of maybe two or three parts of the whole story, a long one. It was written in sections over several months beginning in June 2009 after my visit to Kerteh. I wrote a few drafts, did not like how some sections sounded, and then deleted them. Again and again like this for months. Those that survived, for the most part, are not that coherent. So, in short, this is still just a Final Draft. I need to clean this up and re-publish it proper.


Author's notes - Updated 2 October 2009 - After much consideration and re-reading, I ended up not modifying much of the original post. Hm. I guess the story was good enough the first time around.