The room was tiny. Ain stepped inside and saw the whole width of the corners without even moving her head. A single bed with shiny steel headrest stood on the right side with a small, round stool sandwiched between it and a dressing table. A wastepaper basket, blue in color with matching garbage bag, rest underneath the table.
Ain placed her backpack on a corner cabinet inside the windowless room, the air-conditioning vents breaking the monotony of a flat, white wall. Plonked herself on bed and was surprised at its springy comfort, a neatly folded duvet laid on top of its two pillows. She noted the carpet was fortunately clean and covered the whole floor.
Now I know why she didn't insist joining me in checking in.
Suraiya had called ahead and made the booking during a practice session. Left her to look after the students so Ain took the chance to calm them down, injecting into their thoughts the key information Suraiya made during the first half an hour of their session.
Ain was delighted by the heightened levels of understanding amongst especially the girls. She had consciously switched off all the inane and crass chats and even nudged a male student away from his lecherous thoughts towards the girls to concentrate on the training instead. She spied a bewildered look on his face followed by a sheepish grin, and then he was typing the codes written on the whiteboard onto his laptop's notepad application. Suraiya came back in minutes later to find her students surprisingly adept at the new item she had presented and eager for new inputs.
Ain spotted the expectant look on Suraiya when the latter was about to leave for home and promised she'd be careful around town.
"I'm old enough to look after myself, Suraiya. Quit worrying."
"Yeah, I know. Still, better safe than sorry. It might not be cosmopolitan, but we've heard the tenants here talking about vagrants, wild dogs. Sometimes even fights amongst migrant workers. Are you staying for the night classes?"
"No. I'm thinking dinner and then spending the rest of the evening preparing myself for tomorrow."
"Awesome. The café beside the rest-house serves some pretty good western dishes. Prices are reasonable, too. You should give the lamb chop a try."
"Thanks, Suraiya. I'll see you tomorrow morning, and you be careful yourself, okay…"
She watched Suraiya head towards the corner where a row of taxis parked, the queue of people waiting to get a ride growing, their thoughts mostly on rest, dinner, housework, stateful rest. Her new friend? On how she was going to miss Ain and wanting to buy take-away for dinner and thus giving her mom rest time from cooking.
Ain herself later had a delightful shepherd's pie for dinner, accompanied by local coffee, the owner including a custard jelly with the dish since she was a friend of Suraiya. Read her gratitude on how the IT girl continued to introduce new customers to her place.
As evening falls, so too did the diverse chatter of the neighborhood, scanned thoughts dwindling from thousands to a few hundred for Ain. She was finally alone. In bed with the door locked and the television showing a repeat screening of a Hindi movie she vaguely remembered having watched as a growing teen.
Who am I? Are these really my memories?
Ain recalled the exhilaration whilst in Arman's mind fighting John Doe's intrusion as she prepared to perform a deep journey of her own mind. To see if she could unlock memories of who she was, and how she ended up being at the hospital.
She concentrated and a blink later, found herself at the epicenter of a void, a circular translucent wall displaying images of memories familiar. Ain felt a myriad of emotions as the reel replayed her life from moments of her childhood. The succinct warmth of her mother's smooth hands. Dad's strength and masculinity, lifting her onto his broad shoulders.
Then the awe and curiosity she had when strangers hugged her, patted her head, their voices low and inaudible, and her parents no longer in the frames of her memories.
A roll of faces came on, some attached with names, and others merely passing through; both children and adults at a place she and others called home.
A foster home? Was I an orphan?
She saw herself honing life skills, being involved in fights against kids much older, much bigger than her, diving into books to pass time and finding the wonderment inside them opening new vistas, new experience to her exploring curiosity.
Her schooling years were no different as she grew older. The challenges kept rolling. She saw herself at ease and calm while slugging away at punching bags in an open-air martial arts training center, where the men are all trim, sweaty, and shunning her aggressiveness. She saw an attempted molest, and her turning the tables on her attackers, dislocating one man's shoulder, and fracturing the leg of another. Her leaving the dojo in disgust, the men pointing their fingers at her as she walked off.
Her journey continued with her getting a scholarship to continue her studies. And then she was standing in front of a glass door looking at herself as the reel stops, reloading again her childhood days.
The glass door vibrated as she placed her fingers on its surface and felt an icy coldness, one she recognized to be the same as her first encounter of John Doe.
Are we really related?
She lingered on in her own mindscape for a while, immersing herself in the memories she knew was hers, before refocusing herself back to reality. Almost an hour had since passed. Ain stretched out the slight numbness developing in her legs from sitting cross legged on the bed as she scanned the neighborhood, reveling in the relative calmness she encountered.
The woman…
Ain began searching for her, extending her scan further away, encountering and ignoring a mass of minds, mostly subdued and restful but a few with abhorrent thoughts which she veered away for want of solace from the need to take any direct action on her part.
Not tonight, not until I know more of myself and why I am in this mess. And there she is…
She found the woman reading, analyzing the contents of an article on using stem cells technology to clone damaged internal organs of ailing patients.
A doctor? Are we colleagues?
The woman thoughts then veered to thinking of her son, of how he would cope with moving away. To Australia. Ain detected a restlessness gnawing in the woman's thoughts, pondering on taking on the burden of being a solo parent. A mental image of a clean-shaven, good-looking man in his late thirties appeared, shattering into pieces as she heard a soundless angst in the woman's mind.
Are they separated? Why? Was I….?
Calming herself, Ain reminded herself if it was indeed true, she would have figured more prominently in the woman's minds and thoughts. Right now, she didn't even appear in the periphery edge of her memories.
And yet, the nagging thoughts persisted and lingered in her mind as Ain slowly withdrew herself from the woman and slipped into the mind of the boy sitting next to her watching a rerun of the day's Cartoon Network programming. His mother wore a light pink t-shirt and dark blue palazzo, an open magazine at her side placed atop the sofa's hand-rest.
Ain could see the sadness in her eyes as she returned his look. Heard voices in another part of the tastefully furnished home - the furniture sets classical, with colorful flowers the dominant motif everywhere.
Her curiosity piqued, Ain then nudged the young boy into asking his mom the name of the place, the pliability of a child's thoughts – unaffected by adult's concerns and unfettered by endless memories and experiences – making it a simple process.
His mother looked at him, bewildered in hearing the question, her eyebrows arching slightly.
"I thought you knew this already, Ashraf? We've been here like a hundred time already. Why, are you missing home?"
"No reason. Just a thought in my mind asking. Where are we again, mom?"
"Hmmph. Kampung Permatang… Your Tok Cik's house is in Kampung Permatang, Kuala Selangor. Happy now?"
Inside the boy's mind, Ain had to literally stop herself from laughing uncontrollably at the manifestation of innocence.
Ashraf, that's his name. Let's try to get his mother's now.
"How do you spell your name, Mom?"
In Jawi.
"In Jawi."
"Why in Jawi?"
"Tok Nan reads and writes in Jawi. I bet he knows how to spell your name."
Ashraf mother laughed, hand slapping her forehead.
"Pak Nan! Ashraf's asking how to spell my name in Jawi. Unfortunately, mine is beyond rusty. Can you help?"
An elderly man, his hairline receding, peered from what could be the kitchen, and ambled into the room where mother and child sat.
"Jawi? At least we have someone who wants to follow in my footsteps. Come, Ashraf, let's write it out calligraphy styled, shall we?" he said, sitting next to the boy after taking a piece of paper from a drawer beneath the television.
Do I even know Jawi? What was I thinking?
Looking through Ashraf's eyes, she watched in wonderment as the old man's steady hand created beautiful strokes with a pencil, its black lead wider and thicker than usual.
"There you go. Why don't you try it?"
Apparently, I don't read any Jawi. Now what?
Ashraf followed the strokes, his writing uneven, slow.
"Yani Asna. Mom's name," he uttered upon finishing, then looking towards the old man, "I wish I could write like you."
The man laughed and patted the young boy on his head.
Ring any bell, Ain? Nope. Nothing.
Feeling warm over the show of affection between the trio, Ain lingered in the young boy's mind, delighting in eavesdropping to the banter as Yani and her uncle (her side of the family?) spoke of nothing and everything, about the price of produce, how Ashraf is going to attend Tae Kwon Do lessons.
And yet, she's thinking of migrating to Australia… Why?
Wary of the hidden tension simmering in the woman's mind, Ain decided it was enough prying on the family and pulled herself back to the cramped room that was her humble home for the time being.