Vent. I saw the man that stole my future away from me just now.
At a fast food restaurant.
Now, I do not know him personally. The only thing I know is that he is a politician, of the same state as I was born, and he was the director of the company that sponsored me. And he is the one most responsible in swindling the funds during his term. The tale of the last government as we say.
He stole my future away from me.
Caused me a distress so great I’m had to reevaluate my whole life. Such great pressure that I forgot who I am anymore. That I cannot function as I was anymore. The golden child, the bright student, the perfectly sculpted model our society worshipped as this hope for the future. Cast aside as a burden. A collateral damage. A disposable weight in the sinking reality.
An ill, pitiful child who is a victim of the system now.
He bought assets in London.
I cannot study there now.
My grandparents have their allowance deducted by RM500+.
The entire village. The entire settlements. Everyone.
The 22 students under the company’s name.
My batchmate who wanted to be the breadwinner for her siblings and recently disabled father.
My junior who allowed RM2k sacrificed in his first uni in earnest that this choice is better for him.
My seniors, who may be recalled back to this country one by one.
I looked at him. And he saw me.
His face is stuck on the back of my eyelids now. The old man. So frail looking. So much like my own grandfather.
He does not know who I am. He does not personally know me. Does not know the extent of his actions had affected so much my life.
If I was my father, I would have walked up to him and slapped him. Shouted. Screamed. You did this to me, you bastard. My life was under control. You made me a burden when I was supposed to be uplifting this society. You took everything from me. I’m sick now. I’m ill now. I’m a pitiful child now crying at the world.
But it’s not the world. It’s you. YOU
I did not walk up to him though. The stare ended there. I could be a coward, and I am not my father. But soothing myself, perhaps, maybe, I have my mother’s blood in me as well.
He sat there amongst his family members. Close to 20 of them. They were celebrating a birthday of one of the many children there, a little girl, dressed in a Snow White costume. I take it that it is his grandchild, perhaps.
She ran around playing tag with her cousins. Passed beside my table. Adorable kid to be honest. Of sawo matang complexion and thick hair that mirrors mine when I too was a child.
Where will she go when she grow up? What will she be studying? Will she be high-achieving as I was? Will she receive scholarships and a sweet offer to a bright future? What kind of country will it be when she is older? What sort of future lies in the many birthdays she would celebrate?
Do you know the sins of your grandfather, child?
