K i t a j aga K i t a M o h d F a r e z b i n M u s t a p h a
I felt a slight burn in my lungs after taking in the fresh morning air outside the prison gates. “Over here!” called out my sister, waiting outside her driverless rickshaw. After fifteen years and two kids, she hasn’t changed much apart from her greying hair. “It’s so good to see you, Along.” I bowed gently. “I’m just glad it’s finally over, Adik. Come on, I know you can’t wait to see Mak,” she said while keying in our next destination on her foldable tablet. As we stepped into the rickshaw I nodded with a smile, acknowledging her usual ability to read my mind. Back when Mak was juggling jobs to make ends meet, Along tried her best to keep her little teenage brother out of trouble. To me she was such a nosy nuisance; always one step ahead of whatever mischievous plans I had. In hindsight, perhaps my time in prison was for the best. She got her chance to live her own life, and being in solitude helped me to find peace within my rebellious self. The electric rickshaw wasn’t the quickest mode of transport, so it was safe to stick my neck outside for a better look. Not much had changed about Kuala Lumpur, though it now looked a bit deserted. Since the Uprising, people moved away to places that
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