The Diary

Y

ou never know how your life will end!! But I know mine. I left in peace at the age of twenty-six years old. I jumped from the 17^th floor at Datin Halimah Condominium where I worked as a maid in Johor, Malaysia. My death became a hot issue in Johor, and the rest of Malaysia.

It was 10am, Monday, February 16, 2004; there was no one around in the house. It was so silent and tranquil. I could only hear the gentle hum of the refrigerator, the whooshing of the air conditioning and the soft chirping of a bird perched on the balcony. Peace. I said to myself. “I’m going to miss today. I’m going to miss my family, but I will forget all that burdens and troubles me.” I didn’t feel the tears pouring down on my slender cheeks. Goodbye mother. Goodbye father. Goodbye sister and brother. I lean over, the wind catches my hair, feels fresh on my face, inviting me to launch myself into the cool breeze and free myself. I lean further and gently and very slowly topple outwards and into the fresh air. Oh! Dear God. It was so easy. For the first time in my life, all my troubles were lifted from my shoulders. Goodbye Misery.

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There were no conversations between me, the man, and the driver. I choose to be silent rather than shriek at the man because he did not give me any answers for my questions. The man terrified by my existence. I could hear his heart pounding so hard. He was telling himself that he hates to be followed by a ghost.

“Why is this happening to me again?” he said to himself and shook his head.

I did not comment anything, just smiled. Finally, the driver stopped the ambulance in front of old red brick building. The spot light in front of the building made it a little bit creepy. It was almost the same with the house in The Conjuring movie. I had no idea what the building was. There was a security guard with complete uniform standing on his post, next to him; there was a young dead girl like me wearing kebaya and kain batik. I could hardly see her face because it was covered by her long black hair; on the right hand side of the building, another three ambulances were parked up in the line. The building was surrounded by many dead people and most of them were overseas labour. Their sharp eyes were looking at me. A banshee man, who was wearing a Punjabi suit, smiled at me. I just nodded my head. He worked and died, beaten by his lordship because he dropped a crystal wine glass, in India. Anyway, he was not the only one who had died tragically. I did too. I didn’t jump voluntarily from the balcony. My life was too complicated. I went to Johor to earn money - suggested by relatives. They said I could build a house from the money; I could buy plots of rice fields; I could buy a motorcycle; I could buy a 32 inch Sony LED TV; I could buy jewellery. Until the end of my life, I could buy none of them.




Irma Maskuroh
I have never had an idea that writing fiction could be so much fun (even though sometime struggling to find ideas by ideas). Fun things are I could be pretend to be a queen, beggar, Brad Pitt’s wife; my point is I could be in other person shoes. Writing fiction is on the list of my hobby. At the moment (9:39 PM, June 4, 2014) I am still a student in University of Indonesia, and will graduate in early 2015 (hopefully and must be). One day, I want to compete JK Rowling (Maybe) ^_^.