The Unfamiliar Ground of Male-male Bonding (Part III)
by YBLalat

As soon as mom and dad and my kid brother got into the family Alfa Romeo, I was already making my way towards my new home: a third-floor, bed-and-locker common room. The stairs spiraling upward were littered with every little bits of garbage thinkable. The dust was as high as the ankle and the sun was getting ready to burn. The hostel was awfully quiet for a first day at school – not that I had any other prior hostel experience to compare that to, but, well, even before tasting it with the tip of the tongue you’d get the idea of how revolting sour milk is from the ugly look of it.

Looking from the balcony and onto the lower floors below, seniors and juniors alike mingled under the watchful eyes of parents and hostel wardens. That day was a big a day for everyone. The seniors were thrilled to be assigned an innocent fresh meat to impose their version of the cruel world upon. The juniors were anxious and nervous at the sight of everything and everyone new – “This is a whole new universe from the luxury and security of my mom’s armpit”, their faces say. The wardens’ eyes were gleaming with hope and faith that this year’s batch of juniors won’t be much of a hassle and the seniors that year won’t be much of a pain either. Parents were especially proud and relieved – now my son is on path towards a better future and out of my sight for good. Everybody had a reason to not be themselves.

By the time I reached the door to my hostel room, the sound of awkwardness was already getting loud. Inside and from the far end of the room, a small group of people were flocking in front of an opened locker. An old lady with the biggest handbag was squatting near an edgy teenage boy and in front of the locker’s door. As she passes the contents of a green-and-white duffel bag into his hands, the skinny middle-aged man standing behind the both of them would shout and mumble unfamiliar one-liners like a drunken army general to a sleepy sentry. Not far, two smaller individuals in a casually-dressed fashion just stood and watched and secretly giggled and smiled to one another at every passing of an item. The sight was a peculiar one: naive parents advising their indolent 13-year-old son the ideals of cleanliness in front of the dorm prefects.

I walked by, unnoticed by the group, to the other far end of the same room and sat near the head of the bed where my bags were on. Watching from a safer distance, I began to smile as the drama continued. For a moment there, I forgot about my new surroundings.

“Hoi, suka ah senyumkan orang?” yelled a scruffy voice from my left.
“Takdelah”, I replied immediately, preserving my innocent voyeurism.
“Ngam poster yang kau tampal tu – lawak”, the voice continued on.
“Hm?”
“Poster kau…lawak”, he said, with two lips sharpened and pointed to my locker.
“Thanks – aku dapat dari Gila-Gila”, I answered him with an awkward smile.
“Nama kau sapa?”

**********

Zaidi, or ‘Carble’ as he was called by our seniors, is the first person in my life that I made friends with. This is not to say that I did not have any friends before coming to Muzaffar Syah. In fact, I had a few before then and some, and from that case, some are still in contact with me to this day. But they are not those who I made friends with – we were already friends when we realized it. As soon as my brain was fully developed to catch and retain any specific snapshot of a memory, at my sides were already a bunch of peers my age going out and about and doing things together that in that time the adults around would call them ‘my friends’. By today’s standard of one’s own maturity, we may have called ourselves a group of childhood friends then, but at the time, we were too young to even realize that we were in a group. We were just too young to know anything.

With Zaidi, however, the case is different. I made him my friend and he knew it.

**********

“Nama aku Faizal. Nama kau?”
“Nama kau ‘Faizal’? Kau ‘Faizal’ yang keempat aku jumpa hari ni, kau tahu?”
“Keempat?”
“Aku rasa setiap rumah dorm batch kita ni ada satu Faizal. Laksamana ada satu, Temenggung ada satu, Bendahara ada satu, Syahbandar pun ada satu.”
“Semua nama Faizal?”
“Faizal, Faezal, Faisal, Faizal lagi. Kau Faizal apa?”
“Faizal Sharin, Mohamad Faizal Sharin. Yang Faizal lagi satu tu?”
“Dia Faizal Abdul Latif, dia kat dorm Syahbandar.”
“Yang lain?”
“Faezal Ramly kat Bendahara, Faisal bin apa entah tu kat Temenggung.”
“Bagus jugak ada ramai Faizal. Tak lah aku rasa popular nanti.”
“Kenapa pulak?”
“At least kalau kena buli dengan senior, diaorang ada banyak choice.”
“Jangan takut ah, senior tak buli sangat kat sini.”
“Mana kau tahu?”
“Abang aku sekolah sini dulu. Dia cakap Mozac okay, kurang buli.”
“’Mozac’?”
“Nama manja sekolah ni ah. ‘Muzaffar Syah’ jadi ‘Mozac’.”
“’Mozac’? Macam mozek lantai tu ke?”
“Bukan! M-O-Z-A-C.”
“Oh.”
“Kau sekolah mana dulu?”
“Aku datang dari sekolah kampung je.”
“Ye ah, kat mana? Aku pun bukannya datang dari sekolah bandar. Mana?”
“Tak payah ah, kalau aku cakap kau bukan tahu pun. Ulu sikit tempatnya.”
“Ye ah, kat mana? Kalau pendalaman gila pun, aku nak tahu gak nama dia.”
“Er…Pengerang, Johor. Sekolah Kebangsaan Pengerang, Johor.”
“Alah, tahu ah aku Pengerang kat mana. Aku duduk kat Pontian.”
“Kau tahu?”
“Kakak ipar aku asal dari Teluk Ramunia, dekat-dekat je dengan Pengerang.”
“Pernah sampai?”
“Mana – Pengerang? Belum, tapi pernah dengar ah. Tahu ah kat mana kat peta.”
“Aku tak pernah sampai Pontian.”
“Kau bukan orang Johor ke?”
“Bukan.”
“Patut ah plate kereta apak kau start dengan ‘B’. ‘B’ negeri apa?”
“Selangor.”
“Habis, macam mana boleh sampai ke Pengerang pulak?”
“Bapak aku kerja dengan kerajaan, selalu pindah-pindah.”
“Apa kerja dia buat?”
“Dia komandan pusat serenti kat Pengerang.”
“Komando? Apak kau? Tak nampak macam askar pun – boroi je.”
“Komandan. Bukan askar. Pegawai kerajaan. Tangga gaji A5.”
“Sorry ah, apak aku pesara je. Dulu dia cikgu sekolah menengah.”
“Ajar apa?”
“Sastera kot, apa entah.”
“Oh.”
“Kau dah makan?”
“Kat dewan makan?”
“Ye ah, mana lagi. Takkan kat kantin pulak. Senior mana kasi makan situ.”
“Apasal tak boleh?”
“Kantin tu isteri Kongkang yang dapat tender. Kroni sekolah ah.”
“So, apa salahnya? Mahal?”
“Mahal pun ya gak, boikot pun ye gak. Senior tak puas hati dengan Kongkang kot.”
“Oh. Tak puas hati apa?”
“Kongkang suka buat spotcheck. Malam tadi dia rampas semua walkman kat asrama.”
“Walkman tak boleh bawak eh?”
“Tak.”
“Apasal?”
“Tak tahu, memang undang-undang asrama aku rasa.”
“Aku tak nampak apa logiknya tak boleh.”
“Mana aku tahu. Tu ah senior tak puas hati dengan Kongkang.”
“Oh.”
“Kau tahu tak Kongkang sapa?”
“Sapa?”
“Hak elah, dari tadi main angguk je. Tak tahu rupanya. Sial.”
“Aku teka warden mana-mana yang dalam dewan tadi.”
“Kongkang tu Ustaz tu yang duduk kat tingkat satu. Yang anak ramai tu.”
“Oh. Yang putih-putih pakai jubah tu?”
“Haah. Tapi jangan confuse dengan ustaz yang lagi satu tu.”
“Yang mana?”
“Yang macam bapuk sikit tu, tonggek-tonggek kalau jalan.”
“Oh, ada, ada, ada nampak. Yang tu siapa?”
“Yang tu Ishak. Dia pun warden jugak, tapi duduk luar.”
“Oh.”
“So, kau dah makan belum?”
“Dah, tapi kalau nak makan kat dewan makan, aku nak gi.”
“Kenapa?”
“Nak try makan dewan makan ah.”
“Jangan takut ah, abang aku cakap tak sedap.”
“Macam makan kat kem tentera ah?”
“Tak – macam makan kat kem pelarian.”
“Haha. Takpe ah, aku nak try gak.”
“Jom ah.”
“Kejap – aku nak kunci locker aku.”
“Hm, cepat.”
“Kau tak kunci locker kau ke?”
“Tak yah. Takde barang apa pun.”

**********

“Ayah rasa okay ke Along kat sekolah tadi?” asked the small boy sitting in the middle of the back seat to his father who was driving the car. He glanced at the rearview mirror to his left and saw the young boy’s curious face. With a quick grin slapped onto his face, he replied, “Okay, okay, Angah jangan takut – Along boleh buat ramai kawan kat situ”.

“Tapi masa kat rumah, kawan yang Along ada cuma Angah je sorang. Along mana ada kawan lain pun. Mana dia nak buat kawan, ‘yah?” asked the boy again, this time his voice had a slight sense of worry echoing alongside it. The father, being so easily annoyed when harassed with such questions when he is at the wheel, jabbed his quick fingers into his sleeping wife’s right ribcage, forcing her to satisfy the boy’s endless worrying for him. The father’s calm disposition began to erode gradually with each unsuccessful jab he planted into his wife’s abdomen. Only soon that she began to slowly come around to his angry jabbing.

“Sarah, kau jawabkan budak tu. Aku tengah mandu ni.”
“Apa, ‘yah?”
“Budak tu, soal-soal aku pasal abangnya. Jawabkan!”
“Apa dia, ‘ngah?”
“Angah tanya ayah tadi, Along mana ada kawan masa kat Pengerang, macam mana dia nak ada kawan nanti kat sekolah?”
“Along kan pandai, dia UPSR dapat 4A. Mestilah senang nanti nak buat kawan, ‘ngah.”
“Ye ke mak?”
“Iye, iye. Along kan masa dia sekolah kan selalu keluar pergi camping kat hutan. Dia kan selalu keluar buat aktiviti pengakap semua masa hujung-hujung minggu tu. Takkan Angah tak tahu, tak nampak. Kalau kat hutan pun, Along boleh hidup, boleh makan, boleh buat khemah, kat Melaka ni lagilah dia boleh.”
“Apa lagi setakat nak buat kawan, ye, ‘ngah?” jumped the father into the conversation.
“Okay.”
“Nanti bila masa Angah nak ambik UPSR, belajar rajin-rajin, boleh jadi macam Along.”
“Okay, ‘yah.”
“Dah, duduk kat belakang, jangan kacau ayah mandu kereta. Baca majalah apa tadi yang mak kau belikan tadi”
“Takde majalah lagi, ‘yah. Gila-Gila tu Along ambik baca kat asrama.”
“Hah?”

**********

Among guys, we don’t state, at least explicitly, to one another that we are friends, if we are indeed friends. We just know we are. We can feel it. The bond is there and we know it. And to add further complication to an already complicated matter, there are several different degrees of friendship among guys but we don’t actually know them – we could only feel those layers. Are we close? Sure we are, pal. Are we buddies? Of course, what else are we? Are we for life? I wouldn’t say that out loud but damn right you know it. Are we best friends? Not yet, but I can see that we are heading that way soon. These are what our subconscious mind tells us all the time, but our bodies never react in coherence to such answers. To be exact, it is not our body’s decision not to react so, but our ego. The ego is the ugly stump that tramples all the good horses.

Oftentimes, the establishment of the bond is seen as the hardest part of it all, but it’s not. Managing it to work is. Friendship begins with a meeting but it doesn’t always ends with one. With guys, you can’t actually pinpoint a certain timeframe that initiates the bond, like the day that we first met and learned each other’s names, or like how it happened. With girlfriends and lovers, it is an essential. You don’t forget how it happened and why. The details of such haunt you. With guys, you don’t realize how it started or in what form it took place. Friendship among guys is coincidental; it is not planned. It just happened.

That is why lovers always change, but buddies stay for life: the bond is purer than love.

**********

“Hoi!”
“Apa?”
“Kau still tak bagi tahu aku apa nama kau.”
“Eh?”
“Belum.”
“Zaidi Taha.”
“Zaidi? Okay, thanks.”
“Tapi jangan panggil aku Zaidi.”
“Habis?”
“Carble.”
“Carble? Kenapa? Nickname kau?”
“Bukan – nama yang senior kasi.”
“Apa maksud dia?”
“Tak tahu. Diaorang cakap diaorang punya senior dulu muka macam aku.”
“Senior diaorang?”
“Form 5 Batch 1980-an kot.”
“Nama dia Carble?”
“Hm.”
“Tak melawan pulak kau. Kau suka nama tu?”
“Tak, tapi diaorang suruh aku accept jugak.”
“Oh.”
“Jangan takut, kau pun akan dapat nickname dari senior jugak nanti.”
“Eh? Haha…apalah agaknya aku punya nickname nanti?”

**********

As it is with everything else in this world, my friendship with Zaidi was only short-lived fun. He was my first and the shortest friend that I had: 5 months. On a dare by the seniors, we, a team of three, broke into the girls’ hostel in the middle of the night to steal a pair of underwear – bras and panties – and the deal for Zaidi was, since he was the team leader and main infiltrator, to try to make it out uncaught as close as he could to the subuh call to prayer, and if he managed that, we are off the seniors’ bully list for good. I was the rear security, my task was to watch the main gate door, Niza, another good friend of mine then, was the 'light-killer' (having the task of switching off the corridor lights) and Zaidi was the infiltrator. Unfortunate for him, he was not caught by the night guard or the girls’ hostel wardens but by the sleeping girl whom he tried to fondle her breasts. The girl yelled and woke up the whole building block and he was then immediately pinned down to the cement floor. Niza and I ran towards the triple-canopy forest behind the hostel and hid until the hostel was cleared out for class before going back in.

Even to the end of our brief camaraderie, he was a true friend to me. He did not rat away his teammates to the school authority even at the expense of his academic future. The deal the seniors made with us was broken off in order to kill the link between the night mission and them, and Niza and I were back to square one. I saw Zaidi last that day being escorted to his father’s car and led away from the hostel with his luggage. The next day, after a quick disciplinary hearing, Zaidi was out of the school and I never saw him again.