[My Kid Brother the Family Romantic]
By Mohamad Mohamad-Sharin

Yesterday morning, I met my kid brother, Fairuz, online via MSN Messenger and every time we meet like that, we would spend hours having an exhaustive chat, talking about almost everything, from family matters to the what's hot and what's not of Kuala Selangor. Most of the time he would babble about the latest updates on his Japanese comic book collection and how far up had he advanced in the PC games he was playing, the two things of interest that bind us together as very close siblings. He studies in the same high school where my Mom is teaching. The recent chat we had, however, was very different from previous ones. His online nick is Dark Heart, a character taken from an old English poem he read in class about preparing for death. He's preparing for his impending big exam nowadays.

Dark Heart: Hey, howdy bro!
YBLalat: Hey, waddup dawg!
DH: Everything is cool yet? Aren't you supposed to be in class or something?
YB: Class starts tomorrow and I'm cool, not sick or anything. Is Mom around?
DH: Yeah, she's downstairs, taking care of the kids. Cleaning up dinner.
YB: Them kids are still awake? It's like near 10:30 PM in Malaysia, right?
DH: Dad is watching wrestling tapes; so, you know how they like that stuff.
YB: Oh. The old man is still with his old habit, huh?
DH: Beats me, man. I thought that he had outgrown that wrestling stuff long ago.
YB: How are Aan and Aiq doing? Mom said on the phone that you guys were having your middle year examinations last week.
DH: Yeah, mine sucks. Aan got 4th in his batch, with a 95.30% average percentage!
YB: Hot dang. When I was his age, I was still burning frogs with matchsticks.
DH: Liar! You got first place when you were his age!
YB: But not with that percentage. I guess the blood runs well in our family.
DH: Huh? What's that supposed to mean?
YB: Never mind. How about Aiq?
DH: He's in standard one, what do you expect? Let the kid play out his childhood years.
YB: Okay, okay, big brother. And you?
DH: Like I said, mine sucks. I got 65% for my Add Math, man.
YB: That's not likely of you, you piece of crap. What happened?
DH: Well, it was my fault really. I took the test without a calculator. I thought that, you know, maybe if I could do the calculations in my head, I would be better off in my SPM.
YB: You did what? Are you nuts, man? That is your middle year exam as a Form 5! I got the school's and the sponsor's attentions from my middle year exam when I was in Form 4. Do you know how important a middle year exam is? It's like a forecast report of a yearlong performance! Idiot!
DH: Okay, okay, I screwed up. Big deal. But my Mod Math cruised smoothly.
YB: Mod Math is for the blind. Once I scored a hat trick of 100% for Mod Math, Add Math and Accounting and I was the only one who got A1 in Physics in an exam. That pissed off my classmates, big time.
DH: Talking about classmates, do you still remember those town area Chinese kids I told you about? The ones I call my 'academic rivals'? Shit, you should see them smirking at my face when they heard that I got 65. They laughed at me, man. They even beat me in my English and Physics. Damn!
YB: Good for you! Now you need to work harder to kick their asses back.
DH: Dad told me to study in a group. Did you do that when you were in high school?
YB: Study group is a waste of time. You end up carrying heavy books to a chat session, because everybody wants to say something about everything, you know, trying to impress each other with their knowledge. I despise the concept of it, even till today.
DH: But Dad said he used it well when he was in college.
YB: Oh, yeah right. Dad took social and political courses back then, of course his study group worked well. That is what you do in a socio-politic study group, everybody talks and talks and nobody listens. Just like politicians. You, however, are taking math and science courses. Can't you distinguish between the two?
DH: Oh, I see. But I already established a study group in school. Maybe if I were to control the discussion, things might work out well, huh?
YB: No. Disband the group.
DH: Huh?
YB: Listen. How many members are in this group? And who are they?
DH: I named the group 'The Dark Legion Club'! You know, from the Dipper comic book. The motorcycle club that kills townspeople in search of the immortality water.
YB: Yeah, whatever.
DH: Just two people: Mat and me. He lives nearby.
YB: Hah! Just you and some kid? Sounds gay to me this club.
DH: Oh, shut up. Actually we just hang around and play chess and one-on-one basketball. We have this club objective of beating those town area Chinese kids in academics and becoming the hip dudes, the in-thing group at school. The jock-nerds.
YB: Yeah, whatever. Just don't do pranks on teachers.
DH: Hey, Mom asks, "Have you done your new spectacles yet?" She's sitting next to me now and the kids are jumping on your bed.
YB: Say 'Assalamualaikum' for me to Mom and Aan and Aiq. No, not yet. I am still thinking of whether or not to do contact lenses or just plain new spectacles. Probably I will decide after my first summer class starts.
DH: Contact lenses? Seriously? What is up with that? Mom said "Wouldn't it be more expensive than regular spectacles?" Yeah, man?
YB: The thing is, wearing spectacles in a Minnesota winter is burdensome. Once I was late for a class and I ran in the middle of a snow shower and when I arrived at the door, my glasses were fogged badly that the professor and other students laughed at me. I looked like a creep from outer space. It took me like five minutes or so for the fog to clear up before I could use the glasses. The frame gets so cold that it bites the sides of my eyes. After that incident, I vowed to use contact lenses instead when the power of this spectacle lessened.
DH: Yeah, right. Nice fairy tale there. You just want chicks to dig you, say it. "Oh, look at him. Who is that handsome hunk?" Hah!
YB: Hey! It's about time anyway!
DH: Oh, Romeo, I long for your eyes to caress my soul, to pamper my heart.
YB: Cut the poetry, you shriveled-assed fart.
DH: Snot-eating buffoon.
YB: Armpit-gnawing nincompoop.
DH: Freak show manatee mascot.
YB: Flabby-butt pubic hare.
DH: Damn that's a good one.
YB: Yes, I beat you once more in this ridiculous name-calling game.
DH: Mom said 'Good night'. She's taking the kids to bed now.
YB: Alright, good night to you too, Mom.
DH: Hey, bro, I think I have this problem but I don't know if I could tell you about it.
YB: Okay. Then don't tell me about it. Tell Mom or Dad or that Mat dude.
DH: No, they wouldn't understand. This is private stuff, you know.
YB: No, I do not know. You wouldn't tell me.
DH: I don't know, actually I am very shy to tell you this. Very awkward.
YB: Okay. Then don't tell me.
DH: Sigh. You see, I have this really strange problem.
YB: Yes, I noticed that.
DH: Recently, I have been having these temptations, you know, that I could not fight its tantalizing seductions and most of the time, I don't know why, I would feel really weird because of it. I just can't figure out why I succumb to it at the first place, you know.
YB: How many times have I told you, not to buy those crappy VCD games from the night market, man? They are filled with computer germs and the sound system sucks! They may be cheap but they are worth zilch! Nothing! Naught! Nil! Kaput!
DH: Not that, man! Listen to me, I am not done here, okay?
YB: Oh, is this about your weight concern again? Mom told me that you play basketball everyday and take martial arts classes and do push-ups like a madman. Still not enough, huh? The gut around your belly is hurting your pride or something?
DH: No, not that either. I think some girl likes me!
YB: Whoa?
DH: Yeah, and I kind of feel that I like her back, you know.
YB: This is one tough shit, alright. When did this happen? I mean, you know, the first contact, the initiating move, the meaningful glances. That stuff.
DH: About more than a month ago. We were studying together, in a group.
YB: And you are telling me this now? And this happened in public, in front of people? No wonder you got that 65, you are floating above the heavens, you are a floating imbecile. Bad timing, bad timing.
DH: Ah, come on. Like you have never done this before?
YB: Actually, no, you jackass. I have never done that or anything near that, but I survived a similar experience when I was in high school. Listen to me, this thing will drag you down. Being that it happens so near to your SPM, I would advice you to stop and turn around. No matter what happens after, do not look back. You won't regret dumping her.
DH: Wait a minute, slow down there, oh wise one. We are not couples yet, or anything like that. At least that is how I see it now. I don't know what she thinks, but, well, lets just say that the 'dumping' thing is not yet an option, okay?
YB: Good, that means you two are not that close. God, I thought you are a strong son of gun, man. You said you are the epitome of cruelty and the paragon of agony and all that psychopathic stuff from the comic books. It turns out you're the family romantic all along. The world is nuts, you are nuts. My kid brother is a romantic fool so helplessly in love. Sigh.
DH: Oh, shut up. I am not the family romantic. If you are the family freak and neo-geek, then it should be me who would become the family romantic? No. I think it'll be you, you contact-wearing nutcase. "Look at me, I jog across the Mississippi everyday. I am fit and healthy and look at my muscles. I am your macho Prince Charming".
YB: Hey, hey, don't start the name-callings again. You already lost, okay? Now, listen. If it will make you feel better about it, let's just say that, hypothetically, remember, just hypothetically, I am the family romantic, okay? I repeat, hypothetically, and for the sake of argument, I am the bloody romantic. So what? Big deal, right? Probably, I will tie the knot first, or I will die first because you kill me, because you want my cool T-shirts. Then, you will get married first, probably with that fat cousin from Sabak Bernam.
DH: Yeah right, like she's hot for me. She's into you, dude.
YB: Yeah whatever. So, let's just forget about this family romantic and family geek and stuff. The concept is ridiculous anyway.
DH: It was you who applied the concept first, after you read it in some weird sociology book Dad stored in the garage. Some concept it turned out to be.
YB: Okay, okay. I was wrong. You were right.
DH: Hey, you changed the subject!
YB: No, I did not. You were the one who kept babbling about the family romantic stuff.
DH: Okay, I got carried away. Still, what should I do, man? This girl is killing me. She follows me around, hangs out with Mat and me, asking about homework and playing chess with me. She just keeps coming back. I can't run away, man. SPM is near; the trial exams are near. My middle year exam got screwed. I am scared, dude.
YB: Sigh. Frankly kid, I don't know.
DH: Oh, thanks for the advice. One heck of it.
YB: Girls hated me and I hated girls. It wasn't a problem to me.
DH: You are so lucky. Born a classic girl hater.
YB: Yeah. Like Dennis of Dennis the Menace.
DH: Or Nelson of The Simpsons.
YB: And Charlie of Snoopy and the Gang.
DH: Yeah. I wish I were you.
YB: Sigh. You are way too deep in this shit. One month.
DH: Like I don't know that.
YB: You will be distracted, I say.
DH: God, I am so scared at that.
YB: She'll haunt you at school, in class, in your sleep, while studying, reading.
DH: True, true. I admit.
YB: She's cute, huh? Busty?
DH: You got that right. Like that princess of yours.
YB: Charlotte of Monaco?
DH: Even more. Eyes that petrify. Smiles that soothe.
YB: You could never escape her.
DH: Impossible.
YB: You couldn't, could you?
DH: Out of this world.
YB: She's in the same classroom as you?
DH: No.
YB: Oh, is she doing okay preparing for SPM?
DH: Not yet. She's in Form 4.
YB: What? What! You asshole! You are banging a minor? You got SPM to take care of, and you are banging a minor? She's one year younger, you idiot! Jackass!
DH: Oh, man. But she's one hot chick.
YB: Idiot! Stupid buffoon! That's it, I am logging off MSN.