Chapter 1: A Step Towards Adulthood... Sort Of (Darin the female hater)

August 2003. Kota Kinabalu, Sabah.

The tropical heat of August claws at the back of my neck, but inside our house, the atmosphere is even more suffocating. It’s the smell of cardboard boxes, old sneakers, and the looming realization that my life is about to be uprooted.

I am Darin Bin Mali. Eldest of six. The "Problem Child." The black sheep who treats the Malay language like a cryptic puzzle he’d rather not solve.

"Looks like someone is finally going to college! Hehehehe!"

A shadow looms over me—or rather, a very short shadow. My adoptive elder sister, Sara, stands there grinning like a mischievous gremlin. She’s twenty-eight, a literal therapist, and yet she spends her professional energy psychoanalyzing me just to find new ways to be a prick.

She’s barely 4’9”. I’m 5’4”. In the world of the Mali household, those five inches are the only victory I’ve ever truly won. I look down at her with a smug, "tall-man" smirk.

"Darin! I’m calling dibs on your bed! It’s mine now!"

That’s We, my ten-year-old brother. He’s a bundle of unexplained cheerfulness and pure, unadulterated treachery. He’s already mid-air, aiming a flying tackle at my mattress as if he’s winning a gold medal in the Bed-Stealing Olympics.

"HEY! Get off! It’s still my room for another three hours!" I bark, lunging to grab him by the collar.

"Whatever it is, Darin... you’re packed and ready to scram. Don't let the door hit you on the way out," a voice drones from the hallway.

That’s Mom. Malina Binti Tagal. A government clerk who has mastered the art of "Administrative Sarcasm." She’s currently taping up a box with the efficiency of a riot policeman.

"Dar... why is your mother doing the heavy lifting? Are you a guest here?" My Dad, Mali Bin Matli, leans against the doorframe. He’s an office director, which means he spends 90% of his life looking disappointed at my lack of "Government Standard" discipline.

The irony is thick enough to choke on. My family is a pillar of the civil service. Stable. Respected. Malay-speaking.

And then there’s me. The kid with the rowdy reputation. The kid who lived in America and came back thinking he was too cool for his own culture. My SPM results for Bahasa Melayu were so close to a "Fail" that the paper practically smelled like a funeral.

I am a changed man, I tell myself, adjusting my baggy jeans. I passed BM. I’m a scholar now. Sort of.

Suddenly, a crash echoes from my bedroom. It sounds like a shelf losing a fight with gravity.

"HEY! WHY THE HECK ARE YOU GUYS THROWING MY STUFF OUT ALREADY?!"

I sprint to the room. Sam is cackling like a supervillain, dragging my old comic books into the hallway. "FINALLY! FREEDOM! We can actually breathe in here without smelling Darin’s smelly socks! No more living like sardines with Mom!"

"Yeah, well, you only want this room because you always wet the bed!" We chirps, dodging a swipe from Sam.

"SHUT UP! You look like a dork, get away from me!" Sam yells back.

In the corner of the chaos stands Wan. My sixteen-year-old brother. He’s the "Zen Master" of the family. He watches the madness with the detached expression of a monk watching a dumpster fire.

"Darin..." Wan says, his voice a calm ripple in the ocean of screaming. "Your stuff... uh... where are you actually going? Like, mentally? Because you’ve been staring at that empty suitcase for ten minutes."

I blink, snapped back to reality.

My life in Sabah—the mountains, the bah, the familiar faces—is about to be replaced by the steel and concrete of Kuala Lumpur. I’m moving to a city where they speak too fast, drive too fast, and probably hate guys like me on sight.

I look at the whip-like belt Mom is currently using to tie a stubborn suitcase shut. She hasn't thrown it at me yet. That's a good sign.

"I'm going to the big leagues, Wan," I mutter, trying to sound cool while my stomach feels like it’s doing backflips off Mount Kinabalu. "KL won't know what hit it."

Little did I know, KL was already warming up its knuckles to hit me back. Hard.

The humid night air of Kota Kinabalu clings to my skin like a wet blanket. I’m standing by the gate, looking at the two idiots leaning against the fence under the dim yellow glow of the streetlamp.

Geo is smirking, looking like he’s just won the lottery, while Zan is vibrating with nervous energy, his eyes darting toward my front door.

"DARIN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT THERE THIS LATE?!" Mom’s voice pierces through the wooden walls of the house like a tactical missile.

"JUST MY FRIENDS, MOM!" I roar back, my veins popping.

"IT’S ALREADY LATE! DON'T MAKE ME FETCH THE BROOM!"

"WHATEVER! IT’S NOT LIKE I’M GOING ANYWHERE PERMANENTLY YET!"

I turn back to my friends and spit on the gravel, trying to look cool despite just being yelled at by a woman in a sarong.

"Packing already, huh?" Geo asks, his smirk widening into a taunt. 😏

"More like they’re kicking your sorry butt out!" Zan chirps, his face scrunched up in a mix of fear and excitement. 😬

"Ah, shut up! 💢" I bark, shoving past them.

We drift away from the house, heading into the shadows of the alleyway—the unofficial headquarters for the neighborhood's "unwanted" youth. As we round the corner, two more shadows emerge from the darkness. Jun and Rin, the resident skinhead siblings who look like they’ve been in one too many street fights, and Randi, the guy who spends 80% of his life practicing "Toprock" on pieces of cardboard. He’s the self-proclaimed best dancer in the neighborhood, though his only audience is usually a stray cat.

"Yo! Is he homeless yet?!" Jun shouts, pointing a finger at me.

"Not quite. I haven't seen him sleeping on a bus stop bench... yet," Geo adds.

I flip them a double middle finger, my face heating up. "Fuck you! I’m not homeless! I’m a college student now, you illiterate punks!"

"Soon to be! HAHAHAHA!" The group erupts into a chorus of chaotic laughter.

The laughter dies down into a comfortable, low-frequency hum of insects and distant traffic. Geo suddenly bumps my shoulder, his voice dropping an octave into "serious" territory.

"Yo... did you try to confess to her yet?"

I freeze. "Who the heck are you talking about?"

"Man... don’t play dumb. Faza! You know, the nerdy girl? The one who looks like she’s about to win a 'Most Pious Student' award every time she walks past?" Zan leans in, his eyes wide.

My heart does a weird, painful somersault before crashing into my stomach. My expression sours instantly.

"Like I really care, bro! You know what she told me? She told me we are 'just friends.' FRIENDS! And then—get this—she told me I look like a damn Psyduck!"

The silence lasts for exactly one second before the alleyway explodes.

"HAHAHAHAHA! PSYDUCK?! NO WONDER!" Geo is clutching his stomach, gasping for air. "It’s the eyes! And the way you looked after failing that BM exam three times! A total Psyduck energy!"

"FUCK YOU ALL! GO DIE!" 💢

I lunge at Geo, and suddenly it’s a free-for-all. We’re wrestling, throwing half-hearted punches, and kicking dust into the air—the classic Sabahan way of "letting off steam." It’s intense, chaotic, and smells like cheap cologne and sweat.

"But wait, what about Lily?" Geo asks, pinned against a brick wall by my forearm. "She was a prospect, wasn't she?"

I let go of him, my shoulders sagging. "Lily? She called me a dork. Said I hang around with the 'wrong crowd' and 'bad people.'"

"Or just the wrong people! HAHAHAHA!" Geo points at himself and the others.

The humor drains from my face. I look at the dark sky, the realization of every rejection I’ve faced hitting me at once. The "Wind Grass" theory begins to take root in my mind. Women... they’re all the same. They follow the trend, they judge the cover, and they never stay.

"Fuck you all! And fuck all the girls!" I shout at the top of my lungs, my voice echoing off the zinc roofs. "I’m done! I ain't trusting anyone with a double X-chromosome ever again!"

Jun slaps me on the back so hard I nearly cough up a lung. "And that’s how you become my best friend, Darin the Gay Boy! HAHAHAHA!"

"I AM NOT GAY! I JUST HATE THEM!"

My roar echoes through the night, a declaration of war against a gender I don’t understand, just days before I head to a city where I’ll be surrounded by them.

The alleyway is thick with the smell of drain water and cheap cigarettes. Geo leans in, his eyes gleaming with the kind of malice only a best friend can possess.

"Bro, don’t forget about Silvia! She’s the one you spent three hours ranting about last week while we were eating Maggi Goreng!"

I look at the cracked pavement, my jaw tightening. "Sorry bro... I’m done. I can’t even think about girls anymore. My brain feels like it’s been fried in a wok."

"Wise choice," Jun chimes in, crossing his arms over his Fred Perry knock-off shirt. "I heard from my cousin that KL girls are different, man. It’s all about the RM. Money, bro. You’ve got the dough? You’ve got the babes. You’re broke? You’re invisible."

"Yeah! They’ll suck you dry like a parasite!" Rin adds, miming a vacuum with his hands.

I let out a harsh, cynical laugh. "Whatever. The girls here aren't any better! Don't you remember when I dated Mina? The only reason she sat at my table was because her actual boyfriend couldn't afford to buy her lunch that day. I was just a human ATM with a face!"

"And you were the idiot who let it happen!" Zan cackles, doubling over. "You’re not a hustler, Darin! You bought her that large Supreme Chicken Pizza, watched her eat every slice, and then she skipped off back to her boyfriend like you were just the delivery boy! HAHAHAHAHA!"

The reminder of the 'Pizza Betrayal' sends a surge of heat to my face. 💢

"Yeah? Well, guess what’s next? My mom!" I shout, waving my arms at the dark sky. "She’s already talking about an arranged marriage! Like she’s trying to sell me off to the highest bidder just to get me out of her hair! She wants to settle me quickly so I can be someone else's problem!"

Geo steps forward, his expression suddenly dropping the humor. He places a heavy hand on my shoulder. It’s the most "big brother" moment he’s ever had, until he opens his mouth.

"Believe it, bro... you’re not playboy material. Look at your face. You’re built for loyalty, or misery. You better stick with one girl for life—at least that way you won’t wither away like the lonely asshole you are! HAHAHA!"

"THAT’S IT! YOU’RE DEAD!"

I lunge. We descend into a whirlwind of playful headlocks and frantic shoving. It’s our ritual—sarcasm is the only love language we know. If we aren't insulting each other's future, are we even friends?

Finally, the adrenaline fades. I turn to walk back to the house that won’t be mine much longer.

"Bro..." Geo calls out.

I stop. The silence of the neighborhood finally feels heavy. Geo holds out a fist.

"Don't forget about us. Don't become one of those 'KL elites' who forgets how to speak Sabahan."

I bump my fist against his. Hard. "Yeah. Never."

The Homecoming Horror

I slip through the front door, expecting the quiet hum of the refrigerator. Instead, I walk into a crime scene.

In the middle of the living room, stripped of all dignity, lies a single mattress. No bedsheet. No frame. It looks like it was dragged out of a flooded basement. On top of it sits a pillow so yellow and moldy it looks like a giant piece of fermented tempeh.

"What the... what is this?!" I yell, staring at the pathetic setup.

Mom and Dad appear from the shadows of the kitchen like two Final Bosses in a low-budget RPG.

"A good start, son," Dad says, crossing his arms with a terrifyingly calm smile. "Better get used to it. The dorms in KL won't be five-star hotels."

"We already moved your bed into your brothers' room," Mom adds, her voice devoid of mercy. "Consider this your training. Independence starts tonight."

I stare at the moldy pillow. It’s 2003, I’m supposed to be heading into a bright future, and my parents have already downgraded me to "Unwanted Guest" status in my own house.

"Great," I mutter, poking the mattress with my toe. A puff of dust explodes. "I bet this is your way of telling me I’m not getting any pocket money either, right?"

"Spot on, son!" Dad chirps. "You’re a man now. Sort of."

I collapse onto the hard, itchy mattress. The smell of dust and ancient foam fills my nostrils.

Fine. If this is how adulthood starts—on a moldy mat in the middle of a living room—then I’m ready. Bring it on, KL. Just me, my spite, and my hatred for everything that wears perfume.

The sun hasn't even fully cleared the horizon. The air is still cool, but the atmosphere inside the house is freezing. I’ve just finished my Fajr prayers, my forehead still cold from the wudu water, when I walk into the kitchen.

The younger siblings are already gone—sent off to school like soldiers to the front lines. It’s just me, the "Prisoner of War," and my two wardens.

I look down at the dining table. My "last meal" is waiting.

A single, dry Cream Cracker. A cup of Milo so pale it looks like it was made with a single grain of cocoa and a gallon of disappointment. And a row of pills.

"Do I look like a prisoner to you guys?!" I gesture wildly at the sad spread. "What is this? The Great Famine of 2003?"

Mom leans against the counter, wearing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes—the "Merciless Mother" smile. "Get used to it, Darin. This is the aesthetic of a KL college student. It’s called 'Minimalism.'"

"Are you telling me... I'm going to be malnourished?"

She ignores the question and slides a small, crinkly plastic bag toward me. I peer inside. It contains one strip of Vitamin C, two more crackers, and a single 3-in-1 Milo sachet.

"Enough for you to survive the first twenty-four hours," she says firmly.

"Anyway," Dad interrupts, clearing his throat as he pulls something from his wallet. It glints under the kitchen light like a legendary item in an RPG. "Since you’re so 'independent,' here’s your lifeline."

He flicks it across the table. It’s a bank card.

"Hey! This is my old card!" I exclaim, grabbing it. "The one you confiscated after the 'Great Pizza Betrayal'!"

"Yep," Mom chirps. "The one you used to spend like a madman."

"Son," Dad says, his face turning dead serious. "There is exactly RM600 in that account. That’s your life force. Your mana pool. Use it wisely. Don't die on us... we still haven't finished using you for chores during the semester breaks."

"Is that sarcasm, or are you actually threatening me?" I mutter, tucking the card into my pocket like it’s a ticking time bomb.

"Moving on," Dad continues, ignoring my pain. "Once you land at KLIA, Mom has arranged for a friend to pick you up. He’ll take you to the campus."

I scoff, crossing my arms. "Huh? Why? I don't need a babysitter. I can handle KL on my own. I’m a man of the world!"

Dad gives me the 'The Look'. 😒 The look that says he knows I once got lost in a grocery store for twenty minutes. "Really? Can you even read a map, Darin?"

"I have a brain, Dad!"

"A college... a college... get it?" Mom chimes in, tapping her temple aggressively. "Point that map at your stupid brain and try to absorb it via osmosis. If you get lost in KL, the city will eat you alive."

She’s being a total prick. I can feel a vein pulsing in my forehead. 💢

"Oh, and one more thing," Mom adds, as if dropping a final grenade. "We only paid for your accommodation for the first semester. After that? Good luck. May the odds be ever in your favor."

"WHAT?! Is that why you packed a CAMPING SET in my luggage?!" I point at the tent poles sticking out of my bag. "Are you expecting me to live in the library?!"

Dad actually starts howling with laughter, slapping his knee.

Mom looks at me with mock tenderness. "Look, son... you were a Boy Scout, weren't you? Might as well put those skills to use. If you can’t find a room, find a nice tree near the faculty."

"MOM! We are supposed to be going to a CONCRETE JUNGLE, not a REAL JUNGLE! There are no trees to pitch a tent on in the middle of KL!"

"Better start practicing your 'Urban Survival' then, Psyduck," she says, grabbing her car keys. "Now move! The flight won't wait for your tantrum!"

I grab my bags, feeling less like a college student and more like an exile being banished to a wasteland.

The Kota Kinabalu International Airport is a chaotic symphony of rolling suitcases, crying toddlers, and the smell of overpriced coffee. After checking in, I stand before the two people who have spent the last eighteen years systematically dismantling my ego.

I reach out, taking their hands and pressing them to my forehead in a final salam.

"And remember, son..." Mom says, her voice dropping into a low, menacing vibrato. "Don’t be an idiot. Your fist isn’t going to solve anything in KL. If you end up in a metal cage, don’t call us."

"Yeah," Dad adds, leaning in with a smirk. "Lawyer fees are on you. We’ve officially closed the 'Darin Legal Defense' fund."

"More like I’ll use that measly RM600 to sue you guys for emotional distress!" I bark back.

We all laugh, a sharp, jagged sound that masks the sudden lump in my throat. They’re actually sending me off. The black sheep is finally being put out to pasture.

Then, there’s Sara. She’s standing there with her arms crossed, performing a 'clinical' scan of my entire existence.

"Let’s see..." she mutters, circling me. "Sanity levels? Barely holding. Face? Ugly as hell, clear. Pants? Clear. Shirt? Suitably oversized and hideous. Excellent."

"Wait..." I look down at myself. My shirt is so baggy it looks like a sail for a small boat. I realize now that Mom curated this outfit specifically to make me look like a homeless person. Tactical Ugly.

Sara suddenly bursts into laughter, literally doubling over and nearly rolling on the airport floor. "OH MY GOD! You look like a potato in a garbage bag! Good luck getting a date in the city!"

"Yeah, keep laughing! You’re just overjoying because you finally get my room!" I snap.

"I’m serious, okay..." Sara stops laughing, her eyes softening into something dangerously close to affection. "Be well, okay? Don't let the city change that stubborn Sabahan heart of yours."

The airport speakers chime—a mechanical voice summoning me to my fate. I wave one last time, turn my back, and march toward the boarding gate.

The 3310 Oracle

As I settle into the cabin, I pull out the "gift" Dad handed me at the gate: a Nokia 3310. It’s heavy, indestructible, and could probably be used as a blunt-force weapon.

Bzzzt-Bzzzt.

A message icon flashes on the monochrome screen. It’s from Sara.

"REMEMBER: DON'T BLOW UP LIKE A VOLCANO! BE A COOL PSYDUCK! HAHAHA!! - SARA"

"Prick," I mutter, shoving the brick-phone into my pocket.

The First Conflict: The Seat War

I find my seat—a glorious window view. I’m just about to get comfortable when a shadow falls over me. I look up. A girl is standing there, pouting as if the world has personally insulted her.

"Ummm, excuse me..." she says, her voice dripping with that high-pitched, 'entitled' tone. "Could you move to that chair over there? I don't like this one."

I take a deep breath, the "Wind-Grass" theory screaming in my mind. "Umm... maybe you should just take your assigned seat like everyone else?"

"But that’s my best friend sitting over there!" she whines, pointing to a girl three rows back. "Surely you wouldn't be so heartless as to separate us?"

Women. Typical. They think the laws of aviation and logic should bend just because they have a "best friend." I’m about to unleash a Sabahan lecture on her when a voice smooths over the tension like silk.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Darin?"

I look up. An Air Stewardess is standing there. She’s... stunning. Perfect hair, a smile that looks like it belongs in a shampoo commercial, and a uniform that is definitely doing her favors.

"Okay, let me check a seat for you," she says, her eyes twinkling. "Is it okay for you to move to the back? It’s much quieter there."

"Fine," I grumble, grabbing my bag. "I’m going."

As I pass her, she leans in and whispers, "Don’t worry... I’ll give you something special for being so cooperative."

Something special? My brain immediately goes into overdrive. Wait. Is this happening? Is this like one of those 'adult' stories Geo used to hide under his mattress? The beautiful stewardess and the mysterious traveler? "Come on, Darin," I slap my own cheeks. "Don't be a creep. This isn't a porn plot. She probably just means an extra packet of peanuts."

Takeoff

The engines roar to life, a vibrating force that shakes my very bones. As the plane tilts upward, leaving the soil of Sabah behind, I lean back in my new, isolated seat.

It’s actually comfortable. Way better than the moldy 'death-mat' my parents gave me last night. I close my eyes as the G-force presses me into the cushion.

August 2003. I’m 30,000 feet in the air. I have RM600, a Nokia 3310, and a heart full of spite.

Hoping that, at least for today, I can successfully pretend to be an adult... sort of.