QCE52B NIE Lit 2018

I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges, I see my father strolling out under the ochre sandstone arch, the    red tiles glinting like bent plates of blood behind his head, I see my mother with a few light books at her hip standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks, the wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its sword-tips aglow in the May air, they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,    they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are    innocent, they would never hurt anybody.    I want to go up to them and say Stop,    don’t do it—she’s the wrong woman,    he’s the wrong man, you are going to do things you cannot imagine you would ever do,    you are going to do bad things to children, you are going to suffer in ways you have not heard of, you are going to want to die. I want to go up to them there ...

During Hari Raya she knocks on my conscience, I knock on her door and I give her cakes. She says she likes them and gives me Sweets with gelatine inside. I throw them away. Poor woman, doesn’t know how to make cakes. Her children eat Maggi after school every day. That's why the elder one is in Normal stream And the younger one can't spell her name. If I was her age I wouldn't be wearing shorts at home. No shame, she doesn't know how to hide her womanhood. When the children are naughty and I beat them I close the door: I hear she's a gossip. But she beats her children harder than I do What to do her children are like that. I once hear her scream she wanted to kill herself. These people never value their own lives. Other times I see her I smile and she smiles back And her children smile and call me auntie. But in our hands we hold with fists clenched tight The keys to our homes, each night we slam the bolt shut.