***I wrote this story in 8th grade for my Health class. I haven’t “matured” it yet, making the diary entries more believable and realistic of a teenager’s frame of mind. (Was tender thirteen in 8th grade) Really be grateful for CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISMS, too!***

“Ma’am! You said that we were doing something special today! Can’t you tell us what it is?” an outspoken girl asked.

            “Yes, I will tell you. I want to read this story to you. Being ten years old, I suppose you might be wondering what happens to you when you get older and start changing physically and emotionally. This story will help you understand that as you get older, you will have to make decisions that are harder than deciding what clothes to wear. I hope you are all comfortable.” The teacher smiled at her class in the all girls’ school, cleared her throat and began reading the story.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Khairin Fadzil, fourteen years old, sniffed and blew her nose. Shakila, her older sister by sixteen years, had been killed on the way to work in a random car crash nine days ago. She had left Khairin her computer and old diaries. Khairin wasn’t enthusiastic about reading anything, but she felt she owe it to Shakila to at least read her diaries. Shakila had a lot of diaries, but one caught Khairin’s eye and held it. Shakila was an only child for sixteen years and therefore a lot of her diaries were actually notebooks. There was only one diary with a lock. Khairin unlocked it with a key she found in an envelope and skimmed the first few entries. Shakila had only written about school and how she felt about her parents, (quite a few entries were about how frustrated she felt about her parents’ behavior in public and with her), and her boyfriend Rick. Khairin read those that seemed most interesting.

December 10, 1985

Dear Diary,

            I remember when I was eleven I wonder what a period was. Some of my friends got it and they were acting like they were so important. Mom said when you get your period you’re able to give birth when I asked her. I knew the process of reproduction then. Then I learnt that it was thick layer of tissue with rich blood lining my uterus and the fertilized egg attaches itself to it. And if the egg is not fertilized, everything just leaves the body.

            This happens usually every twenty-eight days. If it doesn’t happen, it could mean you’re under deep emotional stress or you’re underweight or your hormone levels are unstable. Another reason could be that you’re pregnant. Pregnant!

            I haven’t menstruated for 36 days since the last time. My weight is okay and I’m fine emotionally. My hormones might be acting crazy, but the fact that pregnancy could be a reason…! Of course that’s ridiculous! Rick and I haven’t slept together at all. If we had, I’m sure I’ll remember! It’s all ridiculous. It must my hormones.

December 23, 1985

Dear Diary,

            Christmas is in two days. I don’t celebrate it, but Rick invited me to his party anyway. Now I have to find him a gift to show my appreciation. I wish he didn’t leave it till the last moment to invite me! I’ve been feeling tired a lot and I hate the malls when so many people are shoving and all. I used to look at the Christmas shopper and wonder to myself “Why do they leave the shopping until two days before Christmas?”. Now I’m going to be in that crowd, shoving and wandering around, trying to find something suitable.

            Suitable. Suit. Gosh! Something is nagging at my mind about that word! I just closed my eyes and I saw all these guys wearing black suits, smiling and drinking something and then I remember nothing! I wish my memory wasn’t so bad.

            Rick said he had a surprise for me. He didn’t say when, but I don’t think he means to give it or show it to me during Christmas. He knows that I’m uncomfortable with all the carols and the families showing how Jesus Christ was born. I’m not so religious that I think Hinduism or Buddhism or Christianity or other religions are worse than Islam, but I think everybody feels that way sometimes – awkward when you’re smack dab in a middle of a festival/celebration to do with another religion other than yours.

            Khairin locked up the diary. This was a less than a year before she was born. She wondered if Shakila mentioned her in the diary. Maybe Shakila was a bit jealous that she was going to have to share the house with a sister who would be nosy and interested in her diaries. Of course, by the time Khairin could read English fluently – at the age of eight – Shakila was twenty-four years old and was living in her own apartment.

            Khairin’s mother knocked on the door of her room and poked her head in. “Lunch in ready.”

            “Fine.”

            Aminah Ahmad cleared her throat and looked at Khairin intensely. “Are Shakila’s diaries so fascinating you might not eat lunch at all?”

            “Maybe. What did our cook make?”

            “Your father’s favorite foods.”

            “Oh. Well, then, I won’t eat lunch. He and I don’t have the same taste,” Khairin informed Aminah coolly. Khairin and Aminah had never bonded as most mothers and daughters did. Aminah and her husband had adopted Khairin and Khairin knew that it wouldn’t have made a difference in she had Aminah’s blood in her. They were nothing alike.

            Aminah paused. “I think you should eat lunch, Khairin. You haven’t been eating much.”

            “Of course not!” Khairin snapped. “My sister’s dead! Look, Mom. Could you just leave?”

*          *          *

January 7, 1986

Dear Diary,

            Rick still hasn’t revealed what his surprise is. I’ve been feeling sick and throwing up. I must have the flu. School starts on Monday and I don’t feel ready to go. I feel so sick and tired and ill and depressed. I don’t know why I’m feeling depressed. There’s nothing to be depressed about. I’m not that concerned about what Rick’s surprise is! I just want to be left alone in my room with no parents or a boyfriend trying to talk to me. Life is too tiring.

Jan. 16, 1986

Rick is such a liar and a pig! What he told me! What he did to me! That stupid bloody pig! I HATE HIM! Apparently, after two months, his conscience finally made him tell me what happened! Through a letter! He is such a coward! Last year his friends were teasing him about being a virgin and so he decided to lose his virginity. To me! Me, Shakila binti Fadzil. I may not be religious, but I set standards for myself! I believe you should lose your virginity after you married! And Rick knew that. Moronic jerk! He is so conniving. He’s the Syaitan in disguise. How can he be human? He raped me after the party we attended with the other kids involved in making the school play! I remember the black suits now. We were doing our own version of “Men in Black” and most boys had worn the suits to the party. He raped me after forcing me to drink cups of orange juice. Orange juice with vodka mixed into it! And he kept forcing me to drink it – there was no difference between plain orange juice and o. juice mixed with vodka when I drank it! That. Is. A. Sin. Drinking alcohol. Ahhhhhhhh. I can’t tell anyone, anybody. Muslims aren’t suppose to lose their virginity before marriage. Mother and Father are a bit religious. I can’t tell them! What can I do? I’m pregnant! I know it. Even without those stupid pregnancy tests. That why I’ve been vomiting, feeling sick. My period hadn’t come twice. My God! I’m pregnant! I’ve been raped! I was too drunk to tell him “No”. I don’t even remember! I don’t know how he got me home and how I got home clean without blood all over me. I don’t know. I don’t want to talk to him. That cretin! I was raped in November and now I’m pregnant. Pregnant. My parents will be ashamed. The only way I can avoid having anyone know is to either have an ABORTION or LEAVE. Run away. Oh. My. God.

            Khairin let out a breath. “Oh, wow,” she murmured. “Oh my God! I never knew Shakila was pregnant! Why would she keep such a thing from me? I’m part of the family also!” She glanced at the clock. It was seven and she had slept more than three hours. “I can’t believe this! I can’t believe Shakila, Mom or Dad never told me!” She gripped the diary tightly and grimaced. “This is horrible! My own family keeping a secret this big from me!” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Should I ask Mom and Dad about this now?” Khairin paused for a second before opening her sister’s diary again. Her curiosity to find out what happened was greater than her anger.

January 19, 1986

Dear Diary,

            I did it. I bought a pregnancy home-test kit, (whatever it’s called), and tested myself. I am definitely pregnant. Pregnant! Pregnant with something – someone – growing inside me. And it’s Rick’s child! I can’t think about this anymore!

            School is just a trap for me. Rick avoids me; I can’t blame him after I ran into him yesterday and yelled at him. I wonder how’s he going to explain the scratches on his arms! Of course I didn’t yell at him at school. Gossip there travels faster than light!

            I don’t know whether to tell my parents or not. I know I should. I know they’ll find out somehow. How can I hide from the world that I’m pregnant? I’ve been sick and snapped and pretty soon I’ll…get bigger. I get morning sickness and I suppose my teachers are getting a bit worried. Any my classmates may be freaked out by now.

            It was so relaxing earlier in my teens. I had argued with my parents like I do now, but I was just learning what was happening to me. I didn’t have hard decisions to make. I would imagine how it’d feel like being pregnant. To know, you have to EXPERIENCE it.

January 29, 1986

Dear Diary,

            I told Mother and Father. They were shocked and one of them said Rick was a gay so that was why he was a virgin and cowardly enough to rape anybody just because he was teased. They know I’ve been pregnant since November 13, 1985. Since that stupid cast and crew party.

            Mother and Father are shallow people. I don’t care if they’re my parents – I see how they really are. I’m sure they’re concerned about our family’s reputation because they’re filthy rich and their friends have high standards of how rich people should act. They care only for the family’s reputation. Nothing about me.

            We talked about abortion even though it’s not allowed in Islam unless the mother’s life is so fragile she could die or get seriously injured while giving birth. Too bad I’m not fragile. Like I said, we aren’t so religious that Mother and I go around wearing tundungs, but we have lived by most of the Islamic rules. I wonder if Mother and Father care so much about the family’s reputation that they might break this rule. If they don’t, everybody will know I’m pregnant and soiled. Dirty. They’ll think I’m a slut, a whore, an easy lay. And of course they’ll wonder who had gotten me pregnant.

            They haven’t spoken about what to do with Rick. Sue him and let everybody know or let him live on with this idea that raped victims wouldn’t tell anyone while our reputation lays untarnished?

            I don’t know the answers. I don’t think I want to know the answers. I want to be able to control time and go all the way back to November to that party and somehow change things.

            I always wanted to be in charge of myself, to be able to make my own decisions when I was younger. When I was a care-free fourteen years old. I wanted decisions more serious than picking which subjects to take, which clothes to buy; I wanted something that showed I was responsible. That has changed. I’m still a teenager, not an adult. I don’t need to prove my responsibility! I don’t need this problem! I don’t want to be me anymore!

March 2, 1986

Dear Diary,

            It’s been a long time since I wrote. We decided not to abort the baby. Why? Because 1) it’s against the Muslim law, 2) I now know I would have protested because I would be interested to see how my own baby would turn out to be and 3) Rick knows I’m pregnant. I want to see how he handles it. It just seemed wrong despite the fact that the baby was the child of a Muslim and a rapist. Mother pulled me from school at the end of last month. I am now in Canada, instead of Ohio, USA, living with some friends of Father’s. I’m going to live here until I give birth to the baby. I’ve been getting personal tutoring here and I’ve been so buys I don’t think I can’t write any longer. I am so tired. And the baby’s kicking.

            I’ve been calling Rick. He doesn’t like it. I just tell him every now and then how the baby seems to be doing and things like that. I never call my child his. He raped me and maybe that seems like a good reason to get an abortion, (if I was allowed), but I’ve become protective of this kicking kid. I want to hear the first scream and see her taking in the air.

April 8, 1986

Dear Diary,

            I’ve been pregnant since November 13, So, forty weeks from then would be August 20… Well, I know to expect my baby a few weeks earlier or later than that date.

            I’ve been eating carefully like the doctors say I should. I want my little girl to be healthy when she’s born in this world. I’ve been acting like we’re going to keep this child. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What do Mother and Father think about that? I’m glad they didn’t force me to abort the baby. Mother and Father would definitely think that’s it beneficial. Get rid of one more mouth to feed and make it seem like our daughter was just sick from extreme, extreme flu. Nobody needs to know. Those are the consequences of that choice, I think it’s shallow and I’m absolutely sure Mother and Father knows I think they are superficial.

            Khairin yawned and shifted her position. Jeez! This diary was taking so long to read! She flipped forward until she reached the month July. Someday she would go back and read the entries between.

July 3, 1986

Dear Diary,

            I still haven’t come up with a name for the baby. Mother and Father don’t know that I greatly disagree with giving up the baby for adoption. I won’t tell them and return home with a baby and force them to co-operate! I definitely feel pain and now I can’t wait until the baby is born. Then I go back to the US. I can go back home.

September 17, 1986

Dear Diary,

            I haven’t written in my diary for over a month. I’m back in the US with a beautiful female girl. There were disagreements, very heated disagreements between Mother and I when she realized that I had disobeyed her. I don’t care.

September 22, 1986

Dear Diary,

            Mother and Father have agreed to “adopt” this baby. I don’t really care about the small, fine details like how long it’s going to take to “adopt” the baby. They are really going to do that in real life. I suppose because they still don’t want people to know I was pregnant and so my child doesn’t think it’s odd that she looks mixed in a family of pure Malaysians.

            I have become a woman. I have given birth, one of the most rewarding parts in a woman’s life. I have gone form a skinny nine-years-old to a blossoming fourteen-years-old to being sixteen-years-old physically while emotionally, I’m older. I’m not wiser, but now I have learnt something about how far to trust people and that hard decisions are often the decisions whose consequences are joyful if you choose what you think is best. Don’t let everybody walk all over you.

            My daughter will become my sister. Aminah Ahmad and Fadzil Hassan will be the parents of both of us. And she must never meet Rick. EVER. We will only tell her that we adopted her. And if she can, she will put together the pieces of her birth. We will never tell her the truth. As her sister, I can be a better mother than Mother ever could be. The years will be tortuous for me. I have to pretend my own daughter is my sister! I have to listen to her call my parents Mom and Dad and myself only as Sis. Still, it would be horrifying to realize that you’re in the world because a boy had raped the girl, not because of love and trust and passion.

            I hope Khairin will figure it out herself.

            “No!” Khairin let go of the diary and shoved it to the floor. She had suspected she was the baby because Shakila mentioned that Aminah and Fadzil would adopt the baby. She had suspected, but she would never be sure until she saw her own name. And she did.

            “No!” Khairin screamed, jumping up from her bed and throwing around books and pillows. “No! I am not the child of a rapist! A child of a coward! No! Shakila is my sister, not my mother! No!” She spun in a circle and threw herself facedown on the bed. Sobs of disbelief and anger shook her body before she fell asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            The teacher closed the book and glanced at her class.

            “Is that all?” a girl complained. “What about Khairin? What will she say to her, uh, grandparents?”

            “In a week from now,” the teacher spoke, “I expect on my desk an ending to this story. What do you think Khairin should do? Should she keep quiet and not let her grandparents know that she knows? Should she yell at them? There are other aspects to write about, of course.”

            “Is there more in the story?”

            “No.” The teacher smiled briefly and asked the class, “What is the moral of this story? What is the lesson being taught here?”

            The same outspoken girl who had asked the teacher a question before the story was read laughed loudly and shouted out, “Don’t drink orange juice!”

            Immediately the class broke out in laughter while the teacher frowned at the girl. “Stay after school for an hour and write about what you think the moral is. And I don’t want any jokes this time.” A bell rang outside the room.

            “Class dismissed.”