Deconstruction of Privilege

[08] Kamila Iskandar

The 'warm' in Sunset Valley is almost freezing to Kamila - the four-season suburbs being a change from the tropical island she used to call home.

A chauffer picks the girl up at her house, a spacious classic mansion in the richest part of the neighbourhood, decorated with aged white pillars, grand doors, and tall golden gates surrounding the palace.

But the castle is not her home. A maid opens the white double doors wide, for Kamila to walk out. Her black Mary Janes tap against the cold marble floor as she walks out the door to the sedan waiting for her. The maid bows to her, her eyes on the ground.

"No more formalities, Lillian," Kamila says with a smile, her voice soft and sweet. "We're past that, ya?"

Lillian smiles, but there is sadness in the way she curves her lips and the lack of wrinkles around her eyes. Kamila does the same. She takes a deep breath. She walk into the car, a man in a black suit opens the door for her. His hair is almost nonexistent, and he looks tired more than anything.

"Thank you," she mouths to him, and he smiles at her.

This is my life now.

The thought seems more like a dream. The lush gardens, the tall ceilings, none of it feels real.

When she arrives at school, it is eerily silent. The trees are unmoving, the grass still. There was no laughter, no whispers, no sign of human life.

Until she sees Malcolm walking into the building, earphones in his ears. His backpack slings over one of his broad shoulders and he walks with large strides, confident. He looks around, spotting Kamila standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the entrance of the building, constantly putting a piece of her ebony hair behind her ear.

Malcolm approaches her. "You coming?" he asks, nodding to the entrance. Kamila's gaze is fixed on the doors, her eyes unblinking.

"Earth to Kamila?" Malcolm says, waving his hand in front of Kamila's face. All of a sudden, a hand hits Malcolm's.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," she starts apologizing profusely, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide in shock. "I'm so sorry, it was my reflex." Malcolm squints at her and shrugs off her apology, once again.

"Let's go," he invites Kamila. Her brows are still furrowed, and her lips still a frown. "Hey, you okay?" Malcolm asks.

In a blink of an eye, her somber expression turns lively. Her thick lips form a bright grin and her eyes are now wide.

"Ya, sorry, let's go," she says, waving her hand around and shaking her head.

The pair walks together, side-by-side, into the halls of the gloomy school.

"Why is it so quiet?" Kamila asks, looking around the hallway only to see a few groups of people, standing in front of lockers, their voices hushed.

"One of our teachers just died," Malcolm explains, a bit too coolly.

"Did you know the teacher?" Kamila asks.

"Yea, Mrs Nam, she was my English teacher for two years."

Silence follows.

"How did she die?" Kamila finally opens her mouth to ask. The pair stops in front of a bulletin board holding the latest news and information on the school.

'English Teacher Raped and Tortured to Death' was written the largest, in bold. It is the first thing Kamila sees.

"Raped?" she says, her voice barely audible, but still heard by Malcolm standing next to her, whose gaze travels from the board to the girl's disturbed expression.

"Yeah, you know what that means don't you?"

"Ya."

I know.