Will anyone read my narrative & give me their opinion?

Ten Weeks Forever





Malaysia. The country I was born in and the country I’m ignorant about. I’m returning to my birthplace on a twenty -four hour plane flight, my brother sitting to my right and a tired old man on my left. The excitement in me is boiling up uncontrollably. Counting down the hours, emotions are fluctuating in me. I am pondering about my highly anticipated independence. Doing the math in my head, ten weeks in Malaysia plus zero parents equals the ultimate freedom. I’ve never gone so long without seeing mommy and daddy’s faces. Yet, I have lingering fears. Fears for having lived in America for the past fourteen years, I have broken Malay and mediocre knowledge of the culture. I blame myself for this. For the prior reasons, I had already convinced myself that I am incapable of ever living in this country and any dreams of it are erased. My nine year old flashback of the teasing by my cousins due to my poor Malay contributes to my oath: not to utter a single word of Malay to spare myself embarrassment and humiliation. And I’m aware that I will be staying with my extended family. Extended family. My first thought is awkwardness. My following thought is my distant relationship with my family doesn’t ease the fact that I will be staying with them for the next ten weeks.





I feel my ears plug. I peek out the window and I see the Petronas Twin Towers welcoming me back as the plane continues to descend. My brother and I pick up our luggage and continue on in our journey. We wait at the familiar spot as we always do, scanning the faces for our uncle. I see him. The same speckled faced man with the rimless square glasses. My brother and I give him a hug and we follow him to the car. I step into the outdoor parking lot and the overwhelming whiff of heat and humidity reassures me that I have arrived. We drive to my second uncle’s house where I am to stay for the upcoming weeks. It is an old, windowless, small house. It’s only source of ventilation comes from the front sliding doors. There is no air conditioning. Finding the climate to be unbearable, I lie down with all the fans positioned towards me and stare at the geckos crawling on the ceiling. A countless number of relatives have come to see me, “grown-up Zulaikha”. To my surprise, they remember small details of me: my favorite food, my habits, my hobbies. I am truly flattered.





Everyday my brother goes to his internship leaving me with my uncle, Pakcek. Because I have no other choice than to entertain myself by talking to him, I walk over and sit next to my Pakcek. He glances a puzzled look, probably wondering why I chose to sit right beside him rather than the spacious seats available. I quickly find out my uncle is a very interesting person and one of the funniest men I have ever met. Over the weeks, I cultivate a great relationship with my uncle and many of my other family members.





My cousin, Nakib, is doing a marketing project for his internship and he asks me to come with him to Malacca and help him hand out surveys at a university. As I walk around with the surveys, I realize that I will have to speak Malay. My palms are sweating. My nerves are jumbling into a knot. My heart races. It’s skipping beats. I’m at a university. College kids. They will laugh at me. Why didn’t I think this through? Why did Nakib ask me when he knows my Malay is horrible? I’m shaking. I should say it like this. Rehearse it. Repeat it. Rehearse it. Repeat it. I stumble towards my victim. He appears nice. I slowly explain to him the survey. His face isn’t distorted yet. I’ll keep going. The words are spilling out effortlessly. I’m gaining confidence. When finished with the surveys, Nakib tells me he’s impressed with my Malay. Hearing the cousin that tantalized me about my speech do the exact opposite gives me closure. His mere comment directed me to acknowledge my capabilities.





After ten weeks in Malaysia, I am downhearted to return to America. I came to Malaysia with the intention to have carefree fun and take advantage of my independence.





I am leaving with family, knowledge, euphoria. My new relationship with my family provides a sense of belonging; they are my own little army of moral support standing by me and giving me the gentle nudge of confidence I need. Nobody else can do that but family. I have learned to never underestimate myself. Instead of deciding what I cannot do, I’ll decide what I will do. I will preserve the values of this summer over the months, over the years, over the decades, over my lifetime.

Will anyone read my narrative %26amp; give me their opinion?
Very good. I liked the use of your 5 senses, the only thing I would change is the reference to Mommy and Daddy. Just change it to Mom and Dad. When you are speaking to them and it is dialect it is fine, but not when you are talking to about them. Your a strong writer with a clear and easy style to follow.
Reply:Sorry, ur story is very good t6o read, but what is ur question?
Reply:you are an amazing writer. your narrative is excellent.