A Story of How I Got Betrayed by My Own Blood on New Year’s Eve. “Thanksgiving? No, Thanks… I’m Done Giving!”

Byline: Qadeem Zieman

 

I figure that if I were to write a book, not everyone would have the decency to spend money to read it. So, here’s my story, out and proud, loud and clear.

 

It takes a lot of effort and masterclasses for an amateur to be an award-winning actor, but some lucky ones are really fortunate to be born with that talent, a talent to really act out fictional characters, and an even bigger effort to commit to those roles when there’s no audience to watch, nor a camera to film.

Fortunately for some in my life are really gifted with that in mind.

 

There had been numerous turbulence between my family and me; some say that it is normal, and that I should just accept my fate of coming from a broken family. But I refuse to believe that I came from a broken family, because to come from one, you must first have a family, then lose it, but I still have my family. my family growing up was my mother, my brother and his sister. We may have come from different fathers, but we were one, and losing one to death does not make us broken; it makes us orphans.

But sharing the same blood, maternal or paternal, doesn’t always make you a family, and I learned it the hard way and realised how brutal it was the heartbroken way moments before getting it opened (open-heart surgery).

Despite shortcomings, I still wished that one, if not some of them to reflect gratitude for what I had done for them amid my very young and tender age, like how I convinced my mother to take them back after the many times they had tarnished her image and the family’s reputation by dragging her to the court under false accusation of child abuse, or the many times I made up lies to cover them up from their shady doings.

Unfortunately, it was all in vain. All the items and wisdom were taken for granted. To them, they are entitled to those, and as one gets frightened by the other one’s temper, while the other tries her best to stay relevant in everybody’s ‘good’ books, they turn the pages of the bible that is no longer of need to their greed, and decided to write a book of their own; the devil’s bible.

 

The Home, and That New Year’s Eve.

My uncle passed on November 1^st, and his family asked me to stay with them for a couple of days, which eventually turned into weeks.

Upon going home from mine to theirs, then to work, I received a mail from PERKESO addressed to my late mother stating that we owe them money for the overpaid pension post-demise. I settled the bill by deducting my ‘Pencen Penakat’, which I didn’t know I was entitled to. With the remaining backdated lump sum, I bought something for each person; turns out they were the wrong ones (the people, not the gifts).

I was appalled by the mess which has changed my home into a junkyard!

Rats and mice were growing steadily, maggots conquering the dishes on the dining table, and there was no barrier between the ‘clean’ laundry and literal junk lining along the hallway.

I had a video call with the eldest sibling later on the 28th, and she saw everything. She told me to snap some photos, videos and a recording to send to the second sibling. So, I did.

Everything else was discussed without me present.

One of those days, Nana (not a real name) was scheduled to be discharged from the hospital and was claimed to be on the psychiatric ward. It was only fair for someone who already has a house (let alone if he claims to have two houses) to make room for the ones who don’t.

The eldest one, Nora (not her real name), suggested that I should push for her idea to let Nana live in the house because she was “Now having difficulty to explain/tell him and his clan to vacate mum’s place for a few days when Nana’s there.” So, I did (again)…

 

The next thing I know, due to his decision not to leave the house, I was attacked in my bedroom the night before New Year’s Eve.

Teha (not her real name), the sly and cunning one, called me in the afternoon to tell me the ‘plan’. She asked me to take pictures of the gate to send to the RORO bin supplier because they were planning to toss some of the damaged things from the house.

Then she called me again that evening, saying that the lawyer whose nickname is ‘Ned’ was going to slow-talk to Zakry (not his real name) upon signing some legal papers appointing him as the second administrator for our mother’s estate after Nora.

Ned, being the clumsy and anxious person that she was, was startled and said that the family was worried that he wanted to conquer the house, given the fact that his family of six were living there.

Zakry furiously called Nora on the phone, and she quoted me. That’s it. I was about to be on the streets! I thought fast AND smart.

I had an iPad and a smartphone, and I used both of them to record voice notes and hid the iPad first in the closet, then I brought it under the bed.

He stormed in, barely opening the door, just slightly and pushed the steel security with rage and attacked me. If there hadn’t been a witness, I think he would’ve beaten me. Yelling, shouting, and belittling me while cornering me in my bedroom. He left the room, then re-entered the room only to do the same thing again. He told me to leave the house.

Everything was heard by Nora as she was still on the phone with Ned. She felt bad after it ended, so she called Teha.

 

Teha thought she was smart: she called me at 10:28 PM to ‘warn’ me and advise on what I should do next.

“Aku call kau ni, tiada siapa yang suruh, tahu? Aku call kau ni sebab aku sayang kat kau.”

(No one knows that I’m calling you right now. I just called because I love you.)

She said that she knows Zakry too well and that he was going to come back to the house to kill me. She told me to keep the money that she had given to me for Nana’s diapers and use it to pay for a night's stay at a hotel.

“Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve. What hotel could I possibly get?” I said to myself.

I sat down on my goose feather Da Vinci sofa that I bought for my mother’s 60^th birthday and ate a bowl of cut mangoes.

 

 

The Police Report

The next day, I had to attend my first driving class at SDC, Petaling Jaya, and I was still thinking about what Teha told me. Then, she called again… asking if I had already found a room because she wanted to meet me.

Somehow, it just sounded too good to be true. True enough, it was a trick. I booked a room at a luxury hotel, the Sheraton Petaling Jaya. Apparently, it was a decision too bold for a stupid boy who had just gotten kicked out of his home. Nora wanted to help me, but Teha wanted the attention despite having a growing daughter and having just gotten married for the second time.

My mistake, I sent a message to Nora saying that they both can meet me at the Sheraton.

I thought Nora knew of this situation, but Nora, being a Law graduate, was unfortunately too dumb to read the scripts.

 

After the class, I went to the police station with an iPad to play the voice recording and a phone to present the photos to the officer on duty.

Some recognised the house address and were shocked to see what my mother’s house had turned into. The home that was once owned by a glamorous journalist had turned into a broken ship.

I gave my statement, but I refused to let in any more details about Zakry other than his full birth name, not even his phone number. I was not scared; if I were, I wouldn’t have gone to the station. Instead, I pitied him and his family of four children. A father with a severe case of gout who works as an e-Hailing driver. I had all the information, but I chose to let it slide.

Then, I got home for a short while to pack what I needed and what I could’ve fit into my luggage before heading to the hotel.

 

 

The Audacity

Nora got out of the car looking sour, and Teha, being shameless, acted like an angel whilst forcing her hand to be kissed.

We got to my room, and I gifted Nora a pair of jade and diamond earrings to congratulate her on her wedding. I realised that Teha was looking, so I gave her daughter a pair of pearl earrings that I had originally bought for my god-sister.

She proceeded to ask me in front of Nora, “Why are you staying at a hotel?”

She thought of silencing me by giving RM100, and she thought that I didn’t have any proof to say anything. Wrong. She called me via WhatsApp, and I showed her that she had called me at night for three minutes.

Teha was pissed and tried to say that she had only asked me to put up at a hotel for the night before, and I said, “Then, what would’ve happened to the nights after?”

She begged to change the topic, and Nora offered to treat us to dinner at House of Pakeeza.

Teha tried to say something about me to her new Kelantanese husband, but before he heard anything more, he tried to come up to me and said, “What you do my wife?” in his horrible articulation. My man, fix your wording, and no one sane would ever be doing anything to her. It takes too much effort.

 

We went to the restaurant, and I was put on a pedestal. No one spoke to me. They tried to ostracise me, but it was in vain. The veteran juice maker recognised me and praised how well I’ve grown, and soon, so did the owner.

But halfway through my Chapati, I left the place. I called myself a Grab and texted my friend to call me, saying that I have to study as an excuse. I was stupid to think that I even needed an excuse. They didn’t even bother to see my face or hear me finish my sentence.

Jeevanath, the driver, started a conversation asking me how I was celebrating New Year’s Eve. I said that it was not so well.

“Not so good… You are living at Sheraton, yet it’s not so well…” he said.

I told him just snippets of the story, and he thanked me. “Bro, thank you. I was right here thinking how bad my life is, but after hearing your story, I guess my life really isn’t that bad!”

He said I should write a book, and I guess I owe this write-up to him.

 

 

The Tears and The Reconciliation

Later that night, I cried in my grand bedroom, wrapping myself in my mother’s blue shawl. I cried, and I wrote a poem (Rintihan Yatim Piatu) to my parents, those whom I no longer have and one that I never had – my mother and my biological father.

My phone, placed on the table, suddenly rang as I was typing on my laptop next to the window. It was the IO. She tried to get more information on the phone, as I was unable to meet her at the station, but I only said to put it on hold.

Until today, I still have the recordings, the report, and the scenes vividly playing in my eyes from time to time.

 

Recently, after hearing the doctor’s advice to let my situation be known to my family members, I contacted some of them: my father, father figures, family friends, and my brother, including Nora. After multiple attempts, she finally called me back.

I told her of my condition, and she sounded as though she couldn’t care less and said that Teha had already told her. Frankly, I don’t know what I was expecting.

Teha was always stalking me with countless accounts.

She (Teha) tried to turn the tables and switch our seats in a WhatsApp group after my surgery. Long unorganised texts trying to play a victim and get Zakry on her side. I couldn’t and still can’t be bothered.

“You had your heart operated on, not your brains!” That was amongst the many things she said.

 

Dear ‘sis’, you have a daughter, and have just given birth to a baby boy, whatever you did to my mother, I hope you are prepared for what your daughter has got in store for you…

And for all the things you did to me, I hope your son gets the same, too.

Time may be your friend now, but fate isn’t.

And to Nora and Zakry, you had your chance to use your brains, but you chose to solely use your ears instead.

 

“In a world full of 'Alpha' wannabes, be like Alain Delon instead: Smart, intellectual, and natural. And you’ll be the greatest actor to be known as the King of Cinemas.

A man with no integrity is a man with no destiny.

No need for hands to fan you around, because when you are cool, you bring the breeze in with every step you take, and when you are smart, you'll be in the know of whatever script there is to follow without the constant need of being backed up.

Never surround yourself with empty-headed apes who try to be humans - if they can't accept who they truly are, what makes you think you can rely on them?” – Qadeem Zieman