It’s not often for one to see a tanned, dark-haired Malay speaking in an Australian parlor, intermittently interspersed with an American accent, whilst wearing a baju kurung,and managing to look comfortable in it. That was the scenario once upon a Raya. One might presume her as a baffled product of globalization, but she would tell you otherwise. She’s Maryam, best living individual in the world.
For a person who would pass off as a Caucasian – on the phone at least – Maryam’s height is a great example of sexual dimorphism in nature. In other words, she is short. Her beady eyes has become a distinctive feature, for the fact that all of her sisters share the same trait. Adorable as that might sound; she is not in any way ‘vulnerable’. Despite the petite impression she gives, Maryam’s confidence can scare the heavens out of you. With all of that in the picture, Maryam has still managed to keep her poise and charm decent enough in any given situation.
To describe her as boyish would be lazy journalism. In fact, Maryam’s sense of style surpasses most seventeen-year-old girls. A self-proclaimed connoisseur of the arts, the range of Converse and Gucci she has on the list, has become to the object of envy and admiration amongst both genders. She is a girl of principles. In this case, its feminism. Trivial matters like playing hockey with her male peers, turns into a global debate of discrimination. But at the end of the day, her distaste for disputes and her awkwardly alluring sense of humor overwhelms the gravity of it all. “How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb? None, because they can’t change anything!,” she jokes with the world.
It’s the myriad of characteristics in her personality that has driven me to write this essay. The reality of her being female has often made people mistake it for post-menstrual syndrome. But her ire and assertion is not without substance. A tornado on the run; as when it all recedes, the sun would shine like it has never shined before.
The truth of the matter is that Maryam, since she moved Down Under two years ago, I haven’t even seen the outline of her countenance. I was disappointed to discover that the Razak family came to my house when I was too busy socializing in the outside world. Disbelieving the notion that I had a childhood friend (because I remembered being antisocial as a child), I sent her a letter. It was a torturous attempt to avoid awkward statements, like implying that I’ve known her before, would make me sound like a desperate stalker.
But Maryam’s unorthodox way of behavior has proven me wrong once again. She answered it, remembering the address and the name given to me, so nonchalantly. She was the same old Maryam, surprisingly so, despite the maturity. I laughed my head off when she arrived at the airport not too long ago. “Hello, 6-year-old soul mate!,” she cried. Memories of how she spoke Australian attempting to imitate Harry Potter came rushing back.
She was a parable to conclude. Teaching how friendship is not a matter of material expressions, but the warmth when two friends would fall silent in the middle of a conversation, as though communicating through telepathic means. Maryam Abdul Razak, if you’re not nominated on the list of Person of the Year, then there’s always a reason for that. But seriously, you would always be the ‘Person of My 17 Years of Living’. Salutations, Maryam!
