Presented below is the first chapter from almost home. This chapter is based on the story of how Almost Home started and how the stories were collected. If you enjoy this first chapter please let us know, or head on over to our store to pick up the book and read many more amazing stories!
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Chapter 1 from Almost Home
My father once said that changes are necessary. I think he forgot to tell me that they can be scary, too.
It was my first week in a new school in a new country. I didn’t really know anyone yet. Just the usual hi and bye. I was too scared to talk to people because I didn’t think my English was good enough. So, I just went to class and did the work the teachers asked us to do. If my teacher asked me to speak, I spoke, but outside of class, it was a smile here and a nod there before I dragged my feet home.
It all changed one Monday. I just got to school when I saw a girl crying in a quiet corner. Should I keep walking? Should I ask her what’s wrong? How do I ask her? My English is poor, so it would be awkward, right? Questions floated in my head.
My mind told me to keep going but my feet froze. Instead, they took me straight towards the crying girl.
“I… I…,” I stuttered. The girl didn’t even look at me. I told myself to give it another try. “I- I- I’m Ma Nu Nu. I’m from Myanmar. Be strong. Hold it together. What... is your name?” This time, the girl looked at me with teary eyes.
“I’m Haafizah. I’m from Pakistan.”
“Pakistan. What a funny-sounding name if you say it over and over again. Come to think of it, Myanmar sounds funny, too.” She laughed when I said that. She must have thought it was funny. What was funnier was how we had sat together in the same classroom for a week and never even spoke to each other. That Monday, however, Haafizah from Pakistan became my friend.
Just like me, Haafizah couldn’t speak English well either but we helped each other. She was my partner in class. Haafizah was a great speaker - she could talk about anything. I was good at writing and reading - they felt more natural to me. Together we were an unstoppable team. I found myself making more and more friends each day.
A month had passed when our teacher, Miss Chen, walked in and told us that she had exciting news. What could it possibly be? I hoped she would cancel our test. I never liked tests. The prospect of skipping the test got me excited. In fact, we were all excited. That’s one thing about not knowing. We couldn’t stop chattering and guessing what the news could be. “We are going to hold a competition. We would like you to tell us your stories.”
“What kind of stories?” The class looked at Fahmi. He loved to ask questions so much that I didn’t think he had ever made any statements. It could be quite tiring to have conversations with him but he was a pleasant guy.
“Stories about the things that are important in your life,” Miss Chen said with a smile.
“Like my family? Or my friends? Or my country?” Fahmi was on a roll that day.
“Yes, yes and yes.” The classroom laughed at her answer but Miss Chen seemed quite serious, so we continued listening, “We will then choose the best 12 stories and the winning stories will be...” She hesitated long enough to get us even
more excited. Could it be a prize? A treat?
“… published in a book!”
As soon as she said it, the chattering started again. Published? Just like those famous authors? It sounded like a dream. Haafizah was on cloud nine. Storytelling had always been her passion. All those stories she had told me could fitin a hundred books.
We asked Pho Pho San, who sat behind us, about what she would talk about.
“Ummm… I’m still not sure. Maybe the village where I grew up? Maybe?” She looked unsure. Haafizah and I scratched our heads in unison and asked Tan Tan Te, who sat next to Pho Pho San, the same question.
“I’m not 100% sure yet, but I think I might talk about my first couple of months here. We thought we had escaped the dangers of Myanmar, but we quickly realised that there was a different kind of danger here.”
I listened to her, fascinated. Tan Tan Te was so smart. I didn’t think I could ever speak like her. “What kind of danger?” I asked, interested to hear more. She gave me a mischievous smile before telling me, “If my story wins, you’ll be able to read it.”
Fascinating.
Before class ended, Miss Chen told us to prepare the stories so that we could use the computer to record our voice the next day. Everyone left the classroom talking and laughing. Haafizah couldn’t stop discussing the stories she was going to tell. All of a sudden, she stopped in her tracks.
“What story are you going to tell, Ma Nu Nu?”
My father once said that life is a mystery. What I said right after Haafizah’s question was a great example of how right my father was.
“I don’t think I’m going to tell any.” She looked genuinely surprised. I think I was surprised, too. I expected a barrage of questions from Haafizah after that but, strangely enough, she just smiled and nodded in understanding. I took that as another evidence of my father’s wisdom. So we walked back home, talking about tomorrow’s recording session instead.
The next day, we sat down in front of the computer and for 20 minutes, I listened to her story. It was about where she had come from. Pakistan sounded like a faraway country that was so different from my own. Still, I felt like I had shared the same experiences as her. It was at that point when it struck me that I had never asked her how or why she had ended up in this country. I never knew how hard it would
be. Could it be the same reason she cried that day when we became friends?
By the time she finished, I wanted to ask so many questions. I wanted to know more but the recording had left her a little upset. I decided to ask her about it another time and we went to get something to eat. A steaming plate of fried rice never
failed to make us happy.
Two weeks had passed since the recording day. I was going through the previous day’s homework when Miss Chen came in with an announcement.
“Class, we have the list of winners.”
Goodness, I had completely forgotten about the competition! I quickly wished Haafizah luck.
We could all see Miss Chen holding a piece of paper which had the winners’ names on it. I tilted my head to see if I could see my name through the other side of the paper. I squinted and tried to focus as hard as I could. Nothing.
“Here are the winners,” said Miss Chen. “The first name is…”
She hesitated. She had to be loving this because she could see the stirring of excitement among us. Even I was caught up in the flurry of anticipation.
“Dinesh.”
The classroom clapped loudly and gave him hearty slaps on his back. He was beaming.
“The next winner is…” Miss Chen didn’t hesitate as much this time as she saw how we were on the edge of our seats. “Aminah.”
One by one, our teacher called out the names.
“Zulkifli.”
“Te Su Mo.”
“Pa Pa Lin.”
“Ali.”
“Haafizah.”
When the seventh name was mentioned, my heart almost dropped. Wait, did I hear correctly? I looked at Haafizah and her mouth was open in shock.
“Was that your name?” I asked her. “Yes, yes, I think it was.”
I laughed. I was so happy that her story had been chosen. I was there when she told it. That was a story that was clearly important and needed to be told.
More names came.
“Fahmi.”
“Indra.”
“Moe Moe Kai.”
“Pho Pho San.”
“How many names do we have now?” I asked Haafizah.
“Umm… I think 11.” She was grinning when she said that. I could see all her white teeth. She had never looked so happy.
“Tan Tan Te.”
That was the last one.
I went back to my homework. It was an essay and I loved writing essays. Haafizah’s strength was in speaking. Mine was in writing and reading. People were congratulating those whose names were selected.
“There is one more name…” There was a halt in activity. One more name? Everyone quickly went back to their own seats. Miss Chen surely knew how to create suspense. Her eyes quietly observed the classroom and, for a moment, I could have sworn she lingered longer on me.
“After discussing with the other teachers, we have decided to have one more student from this class to help us go through the stories. That student has to be someone who loves to read and write. Someone who has shown great improvement in class.”
Everyone was clinging to each word that dropped from Miss Chen’s lips.
“That student is…”
I looked down and tried to compose myself. I loved to read and write. I thought I had done quite well in class. I honestly thought she would say my name.
I was engrossed in my own thoughts when I realised Haafizah was talking to me.
“Hey, why so blue? I thought you loved to read and write!” she said.
“What?” I looked at her and saw Haafizah smiling even wider than before.
“Miss Chen just called your name!”
I almost jumped out of my chair. My eyes found Miss Chen again. “Miss Chen, is it true?” I asked breathlessly. She smiled and showed me the piece of paper. And there it was, the 13th name -
Ma Nu Nu
So that was how I got here. A week ago when I told my parents about Miss Chen choosing me to help read and edit the essays, they were so proud of me. Father gave me more words of wisdom although I couldn’t remember them now if you asked me. You see, Miss Chen said that I would be the leader of the storytellers. How cool is that?
All I had to do was to attend an interview with 12 friends, as a group of students from Taylor’s University would interview us about our stories. Miss Chen told us earlier that these students would listen to our stories and ask us questions. She said it would help them to understand our situation and that they would also help us make our book. Everyone was nervous about the interview. Even I was nervous.
But five minutes into the interview session, I could see that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. I could see smiling faces from where I was sitting, which was next to my close friend, Haafizah. She was waiting for her interviewer, Adam, to get his notebook and phone ready. I looked around at my friends. There was Ali and Pho Pho San speaking animatedly as they always did. Even the usually quiet Fahmi appeared entertained by the attention of the Taylor’s University students.
“Should I start now?” Haafizah asked Adam. “Just give me one second,” Adam said as he gently pressed a button on his phone. “Okay, tell us your story.”
Copyright, Centre for Languages, Taylor's University (2014). All rights reserved.
If you liked this chapter and you'd like to read more, head on over to our store and pick up a copy, it's on sale now!
Click here for the store
It was my first week in a new school in a new country. I didn’t really know anyone yet. Just the usual hi and bye. I was too scared to talk to people because I didn’t think my English was good enough. So, I just went to class and did the work the teachers asked us to do. If my teacher asked me to speak, I spoke, but outside of class, it was a smile here and a nod there before I dragged my feet home.
It all changed one Monday. I just got to school when I saw a girl crying in a quiet corner. Should I keep walking? Should I ask her what’s wrong? How do I ask her? My English is poor, so it would be awkward, right? Questions floated in my head.
My mind told me to keep going but my feet froze. Instead, they took me straight towards the crying girl.
“I… I…,” I stuttered. The girl didn’t even look at me. I told myself to give it another try. “I- I- I’m Ma Nu Nu. I’m from Myanmar. Be strong. Hold it together. What... is your name?” This time, the girl looked at me with teary eyes.
“I’m Haafizah. I’m from Pakistan.”
“Pakistan. What a funny-sounding name if you say it over and over again. Come to think of it, Myanmar sounds funny, too.” She laughed when I said that. She must have thought it was funny. What was funnier was how we had sat together in the same classroom for a week and never even spoke to each other. That Monday, however, Haafizah from Pakistan became my friend.
Just like me, Haafizah couldn’t speak English well either but we helped each other. She was my partner in class. Haafizah was a great speaker - she could talk about anything. I was good at writing and reading - they felt more natural to me. Together we were an unstoppable team. I found myself making more and more friends each day.
A month had passed when our teacher, Miss Chen, walked in and told us that she had exciting news. What could it possibly be? I hoped she would cancel our test. I never liked tests. The prospect of skipping the test got me excited. In fact, we were all excited. That’s one thing about not knowing. We couldn’t stop chattering and guessing what the news could be. “We are going to hold a competition. We would like you to tell us your stories.”
“What kind of stories?” The class looked at Fahmi. He loved to ask questions so much that I didn’t think he had ever made any statements. It could be quite tiring to have conversations with him but he was a pleasant guy.
“Stories about the things that are important in your life,” Miss Chen said with a smile.
“Like my family? Or my friends? Or my country?” Fahmi was on a roll that day.
“Yes, yes and yes.” The classroom laughed at her answer but Miss Chen seemed quite serious, so we continued listening, “We will then choose the best 12 stories and the winning stories will be...” She hesitated long enough to get us even
more excited. Could it be a prize? A treat?
“… published in a book!”
As soon as she said it, the chattering started again. Published? Just like those famous authors? It sounded like a dream. Haafizah was on cloud nine. Storytelling had always been her passion. All those stories she had told me could fitin a hundred books.
We asked Pho Pho San, who sat behind us, about what she would talk about.
“Ummm… I’m still not sure. Maybe the village where I grew up? Maybe?” She looked unsure. Haafizah and I scratched our heads in unison and asked Tan Tan Te, who sat next to Pho Pho San, the same question.
“I’m not 100% sure yet, but I think I might talk about my first couple of months here. We thought we had escaped the dangers of Myanmar, but we quickly realised that there was a different kind of danger here.”
I listened to her, fascinated. Tan Tan Te was so smart. I didn’t think I could ever speak like her. “What kind of danger?” I asked, interested to hear more. She gave me a mischievous smile before telling me, “If my story wins, you’ll be able to read it.”
Fascinating.
Before class ended, Miss Chen told us to prepare the stories so that we could use the computer to record our voice the next day. Everyone left the classroom talking and laughing. Haafizah couldn’t stop discussing the stories she was going to tell. All of a sudden, she stopped in her tracks.
“What story are you going to tell, Ma Nu Nu?”
My father once said that life is a mystery. What I said right after Haafizah’s question was a great example of how right my father was.
“I don’t think I’m going to tell any.” She looked genuinely surprised. I think I was surprised, too. I expected a barrage of questions from Haafizah after that but, strangely enough, she just smiled and nodded in understanding. I took that as another evidence of my father’s wisdom. So we walked back home, talking about tomorrow’s recording session instead.
The next day, we sat down in front of the computer and for 20 minutes, I listened to her story. It was about where she had come from. Pakistan sounded like a faraway country that was so different from my own. Still, I felt like I had shared the same experiences as her. It was at that point when it struck me that I had never asked her how or why she had ended up in this country. I never knew how hard it would
be. Could it be the same reason she cried that day when we became friends?
By the time she finished, I wanted to ask so many questions. I wanted to know more but the recording had left her a little upset. I decided to ask her about it another time and we went to get something to eat. A steaming plate of fried rice never
failed to make us happy.
Two weeks had passed since the recording day. I was going through the previous day’s homework when Miss Chen came in with an announcement.
“Class, we have the list of winners.”
Goodness, I had completely forgotten about the competition! I quickly wished Haafizah luck.
We could all see Miss Chen holding a piece of paper which had the winners’ names on it. I tilted my head to see if I could see my name through the other side of the paper. I squinted and tried to focus as hard as I could. Nothing.
“Here are the winners,” said Miss Chen. “The first name is…”
She hesitated. She had to be loving this because she could see the stirring of excitement among us. Even I was caught up in the flurry of anticipation.
“Dinesh.”
The classroom clapped loudly and gave him hearty slaps on his back. He was beaming.
“The next winner is…” Miss Chen didn’t hesitate as much this time as she saw how we were on the edge of our seats. “Aminah.”
One by one, our teacher called out the names.
“Zulkifli.”
“Te Su Mo.”
“Pa Pa Lin.”
“Ali.”
“Haafizah.”
When the seventh name was mentioned, my heart almost dropped. Wait, did I hear correctly? I looked at Haafizah and her mouth was open in shock.
“Was that your name?” I asked her. “Yes, yes, I think it was.”
I laughed. I was so happy that her story had been chosen. I was there when she told it. That was a story that was clearly important and needed to be told.
More names came.
“Fahmi.”
“Indra.”
“Moe Moe Kai.”
“Pho Pho San.”
“How many names do we have now?” I asked Haafizah.
“Umm… I think 11.” She was grinning when she said that. I could see all her white teeth. She had never looked so happy.
“Tan Tan Te.”
That was the last one.
I went back to my homework. It was an essay and I loved writing essays. Haafizah’s strength was in speaking. Mine was in writing and reading. People were congratulating those whose names were selected.
“There is one more name…” There was a halt in activity. One more name? Everyone quickly went back to their own seats. Miss Chen surely knew how to create suspense. Her eyes quietly observed the classroom and, for a moment, I could have sworn she lingered longer on me.
“After discussing with the other teachers, we have decided to have one more student from this class to help us go through the stories. That student has to be someone who loves to read and write. Someone who has shown great improvement in class.”
Everyone was clinging to each word that dropped from Miss Chen’s lips.
“That student is…”
I looked down and tried to compose myself. I loved to read and write. I thought I had done quite well in class. I honestly thought she would say my name.
I was engrossed in my own thoughts when I realised Haafizah was talking to me.
“Hey, why so blue? I thought you loved to read and write!” she said.
“What?” I looked at her and saw Haafizah smiling even wider than before.
“Miss Chen just called your name!”
I almost jumped out of my chair. My eyes found Miss Chen again. “Miss Chen, is it true?” I asked breathlessly. She smiled and showed me the piece of paper. And there it was, the 13th name -
Ma Nu Nu
So that was how I got here. A week ago when I told my parents about Miss Chen choosing me to help read and edit the essays, they were so proud of me. Father gave me more words of wisdom although I couldn’t remember them now if you asked me. You see, Miss Chen said that I would be the leader of the storytellers. How cool is that?
All I had to do was to attend an interview with 12 friends, as a group of students from Taylor’s University would interview us about our stories. Miss Chen told us earlier that these students would listen to our stories and ask us questions. She said it would help them to understand our situation and that they would also help us make our book. Everyone was nervous about the interview. Even I was nervous.
But five minutes into the interview session, I could see that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. I could see smiling faces from where I was sitting, which was next to my close friend, Haafizah. She was waiting for her interviewer, Adam, to get his notebook and phone ready. I looked around at my friends. There was Ali and Pho Pho San speaking animatedly as they always did. Even the usually quiet Fahmi appeared entertained by the attention of the Taylor’s University students.
“Should I start now?” Haafizah asked Adam. “Just give me one second,” Adam said as he gently pressed a button on his phone. “Okay, tell us your story.”
Copyright, Centre for Languages, Taylor's University (2014). All rights reserved.
If you liked this chapter and you'd like to read more, head on over to our store and pick up a copy, it's on sale now!
Click here for the store