Recess 1992

I remember driving you guys to school on one Monday morning. We reached the main gate at around 7.30am, and I watched Muadz, Miqdad and Qhayra walked passed the running track towards the main building of Nanmei Elementary.

I couldn’t help wondering what could be the topic of conversation between the three of you. You guys are the only Malay speaking children in that school. The distance from where you got off the car to the main gate is just a few feet away, but I would always wait for you to disappear into the distance before I start driving home. None of you are in the same classroom, so at one point you guys would have to part ways, say goodbye, and meet again during recess.

Ah, recess…

Everyone loves recess period. As an adult, I still remember the joy of hearing the bell signaling recess. The same kind of joy I have as an adult when I finish packing my bag to fly home after a whole week away from you guys. The same kind of joy when the car is loaded and everyone is strapped in their seat and I switch the ignition on to start a road trip. That is how much excitement recess had brought me. Recess period was as long as 45 minutes when I was an 8 year old boy studying at -take a deep breath, it’s gonna be a long name- Sekolah Rendah Kebangsaan Sultan Ismail 1.

What a long name compared to Nanmei Elementary School.

Adults do enjoy taking the fun out of kids. Recess period became shorter and shorter as I grow up. I think we only had 10 minutes in the final year of senior high school. You don’t even have time for a single game of Police and Thief. Not that we want to, at that age. But now at 37, come to think of it, I do miss that game. I’d play it right now with any of you.

Anyway, one of the most memorable recess period I had was one back in 1992, when I was the class monitor of Darjah Dua Merah at Sekolah Ren... let’s simply call it SRKSI1. Our classroom was the envy of all the other students in second grade. I was the proud 5 star General of a classroom which was situated closest to the playground. So whenever the recess period bell rang, my army would be the first one to reach the playground. Most of the time, the army under my command would be the first to touch the swing, or the seesaw, or the slide. Of course, being the first to touch any of those meant owning the play equipment and other kids would have to sulk while waiting for their turn.

There were so many kids and it was just impossible for everyone to have a go. In fact the majority of the students would simply play Police and Thief, because for that game, you know, the more the merrier. And I remember how we used to swing back and forth while grasping iron poles. It’s funny because the iron poles were not one of the play equipment. Kids have this quirky imagination where they can look at a mundane items and turn it into an extraordinary toy.

Back to the iron poles. If I remember correctly, the purpose of the poles were to support the roof over the walkway outside our classrooms. And the poles were not vertically planted into the ground. Instead, they were positioned at an angle, so, if you can imagine, four poles would form a giant “W”. 

A giant W. Four iron poles. Ah, now the brains of 8 year old children started to scrutinize the view in front of them. I believe this really happen to a group of boys who first started to use the poles as swings. But how could a giant W be used as a swing?

Let me explain. To begin with, there was no seat tied to chains hanging from the poles. No. We simply used our hands to grasp the two inner poles of the letter W, and our body would swing between the two slanting poles. So instead of chains, our arms were used to swing our body and let me tell you this, the fun we had while swinging was ten times more than on a normal playground swing. More energy was used, and after a while you had to stop as your arms would be aching from supporting your body. It was a good thing too as those who were queuing would have their chance to play. Again, unlike normal playground swing.

Out of all the my classmates, I clearly remember this particular boy who goes by the name Ahmad Faiz. Not because his name is similar to mine (just minus the letter R in the middle of my name). But perhaps because of his fondness of swinging below the giant poles. He had curly hairs and his skin is quite fair for an average Malay boy. I don’t know where you are today, Ahmad Faiz, but I am sorry to be describing you as having protruding teeth. I’m sure those were milk teeth and by now you’re a strapping man with a handsome set of teeth.

Luckily enough, Ahmad Faiz sat by the door of the classroom. So when the bell rang signaling recess, Ahmad Faiz would be the first one to reach the playground. And of course, his favorite iron poles. He would be the first to get to the iron poles four out of five times. And the day he wasn’t the first, he would still queue for his turn. As an 8 year old boy, I believe he took 15 minutes each time he was swinging on the iron poles. But if you ask me today, I’d say he would swing for as long as 5 minutes. After dropping his feet onto the ground he would ran to the back end of the queue for another go. Twice a day meant he was on the swing for 10 minutes. That’s 50 minutes a week.

Naturally he got pretty good at it. I do believe he developed some muscle on his arm for supporting his body that long. And the way he swing, oh my, he was simply the best at it. While other boys started slowly, Ahmad Faiz would accelerate to maximum speed almost immediately. Us spectators had our mouth gaping wide while we admire his skill.

One day as usual, Ahmad Faiz got to the iron poles ahead of us. Myself and a few other boys had a bag of chips that we share between us as we watched the prestigious sport called iron poles swinging. It was a sunny day, the sky was clear and Ahmad Faiz was in his prime. Once in a while, he would demonstrate the “kick” in iron pole swinging. The kick is when the athlete’s body swing backwards so high up that his feet touches the roof that covered the walkway. I myself, had never been able to perform the kick. The highest position my body achieved while swinging was about 5 feet high. But Ahmad Faiz managed to touch the roof of the walkway with his feet. If you can imagine, he swing backwards so far, so high, that his body was parallel to the ground below. 

But the sunny day was not to last long. As the Malay saying goes, no matter how clever the squirrel jumps, it would still fall to the ground. As I munched the potato chips I suddenly saw Ahmad Faiz loses his grip on the poles. Ahmad Faiz was swinging backwards when he lost his grips. He did the kick twice consecutively prior to that, so understandably he pushed back too hard to go for the hat trick. 

He had a huge momentum when his hands slip off the poles. And that was when I experienced the first slow motion moment in my life. I vividly remember his face was expressionless, as if trying to make sense of the zero gravity that his body was experiencing. Some kid on the seesaw said in a very deep-slow-motion voice, 

“ohhhhh.....loooookkk.....heeeee......iiiiiss........flyyyyyy........iiiiinngggg”.

It took forever for his body to hit the ground. It landed with a thud, and the thud was accompanied by a crunch. The thud came from his body hitting the ground, the area covered by grass alongside the walkway. But the crunch came from somewhere above his chin. To this day I’m trying to figure out what made the crunching sound, and all I can think of was his protruding teeth. Those teeth, unguarded by lips, did not hit the same soft ground that his body landed on. Those teeth, you better stop reading if you cannot stomach this, had slammed on the walkway which was covered by cheap cement. I looked away, but I am positive that bits of white bones spilled across the walkway.

Time stopped slowing down. All motions, resumed back to normal.

At first it was quiet. Nobody said anything, we were all staring at the wretched boy on the walkway. The once mighty athlete that everyone looked up to, had failed while demonstrating his prowess. 

It was a good 10 seconds after the thud and crunch that another sound broke out from the playground.  The sound came from Ahmad Faiz himself, initially sobbing, before letting out a huge wailing scream. 

The term “all hell broke loose” is an understatement. I remember every one of 8 year old boys started to run. Some ran to the office, responsibly to inform the teachers. Some just ran from the horror unfolding right before their eyes to some place away where they can stop hearing the scream from Ahmad Faiz. Some simply ran in circles because they do not know where to run to but they must run because everyone was running. 

But as the General of the army, I stood still. I was not being irresponsible, no. I had common sense even though I was just an 8 year old boy. I clearly saw someone running to the office, so one of the teachers would arrive soon. Should I approach Ahmad Faiz, lying bloodied on the walkway? Perhaps try to calm him down? That was the least a class monitor could do. What I did not know back then was that I’m a person who could not stand the sight of blood. And I was about to learn it the hard way. As I neared Ahmad Faiz, I saw the extend of his injuries. It wasn’t a pretty sight at all. 

Ahmad Faiz was still screaming his lungs out. And that did not help to slow down the bleeding. He was rolling and kicking his legs and by then he was on the soft grass beside the walkway. I thought it is better he is on the grass, now that his blood stop dripping onto the pavement. Less color of red being viewed by my poor eyes. I continued to approach the poor kid. When I was about a few feet away from him, I started to see drops of blood that was still dripping on the soft ground. There were grass that grew in patches on the ground, and white sand covered the area between the patches of grass. Some of the blood dripped onto the white sand. I remember the droplet quickly formed into tiny spheres of dark red liquid when it touches the white sand.

Suddenly I wished Ahmad Faiz had splattered blood on the walkway instead.

The sight of droplets of blood in tiny spheres almost rendered me unconscious. There was a tremendous flow of warnings received by my brain.

“Abort mission, abort abort abort!”, screamed the big signboard in brain department.

“Back off, sea of red is too much for our knees to support body weight!”, yelled the chief engineer controlling my movement.

It may sound absurd, because, why would all those redness viewed by my eyes have anything to do with the strength of my knees? As an 8 year old boy I shouldn’t have questioned the logic though, as suddenly my knees began to buckle. I turned away from Ahmad Faiz, and at the same time one of the teachers arrived at the scene.

The next thing I remember was waking up in the middle of the playground. Yes guys, your father fainted at the sight of blood. Its embarassing, if you consider that the teacher then had two kids in trouble. One with a bloodied mouth, and the other one fainted because of he saw too much blood.

Well, at least now you know why its always Ummi who takes care of you when you come home with cuts and scratches on your skins.