Northbridge Memory
Thursday, December 28th, 2006So many things have unfolded in my life and yet my life could still be in an infant stage. In about 2 months and some few days in the future, I would have lived in this world for 28 years. It’s 1.19 am in the morning, and I’m unfolding in my mind the events that had happened in the last few years. Names of people I’ve met, the scenarios of things that had happened, lesson learned, and feelings of being ashamed of the idiotic self left in the past, all resurfaced back and I’m amazed that all those things were my reality and that they did occur.
Last Monday was Christmas. As usual, nothing eventful happened. It is Malaysia anyway. I remembered walking past a Mall in Hyde Park in Sydney to get to work. The same Christmas song being sang by the recorded children’s voices and moving robotic puppets at the shopping windows. At that time I was so pissed off as the song kept playing in my mind that I thought that I was going insane. Hearing the same song on a daily basis would do that to you. In Australia, Christmas is in the summer time and it is bloody hot believe me. The temperature there is much higher than in Malaysia.
Every morning I joined a crowd of people to get into the bus in Randwick. Randwick is synonymous for the race course – horse race event every month. Drunken Caucasians, smartly dressed in business suits probably won or loss their fortune and the only way to celebrate or to forget is by drinking booze. I wonder where the morality in drinking alcohol is. I got off at Hyde Park and walked through the shopping district and arrived somewhere near the Queen Victoria Building. This building is quite magnificent, an old European style building which holds some famous branded shops inside. The walks to Wynyard station would always be quicker at the start of the day but later in late evening; it would be a slow and tired walk. Everyday, the same thing would welcome me during the walks. The ever dull sound of recorded children singing Christmas song, one smelly homeless guy sleeping at the sidewalk and with him a cardboard telling the story of his life (if he can write and read, why can’t he find work????), a uniformed doorman opening the door to cheerful shoppers, birds chirping away at the bus stop, and so on. A rather eventful walk to Wynyard, I would say. While waiting for a bus, I’d always write up something, scrapping something at my little old black notebook. The bus would then take me to Northbridge. Quite far away from Randwick but there lies my only source of income.
I worked in Woolworths in Northbridge. Just the location but I’m not actually employed by Woolworths. My colleague at work, my good mate from Sudan named Pel. We’re the minority non-Arabs working there as most of the others are all Iraqis. Pel is a thin African man but really tall that you could easily mistaken him as an NBA basketball player. A morally good Christian and holds dual nationality of Sudan and Ethiopia, Pel is so strong that you wonder if added some flesh to that skinny body of his, he’d be more frightening than any WWF wrestler.
What kind of work did you do?”, I figured you would ask. A back-breaking one I would answer back. I work for 13-14 hours a day pushing 15-18 trolleys at one time using a machine which you always cannot always count on its reliability. The bloody machine always can’t climb the hilly road while pushing the train of trolleys - it once fell downhill and hit a car, and sometimes you can’t make it stop, with the train of trolleys hitting the glass door would be common and getting yelled at by the Woolly’s (Woolworths) staff. The pay is way too low from the market price. AUD 9 per hour. Please don’t start converting to RM as things aren’t priced in RM there. It’s cheap labour and the big boss who is a Korean guy is making heaps of money not paying our taxes. I remembered the homeless guy I stumbled upon every day. He’s bloody fatter than me. Not working and getting free meals on a daily basis, while I’m here trying to earn a living doing a back-breaking job is thin as a drug addict. Now, welcome to the real world Nazri. Why the hell would I want to do this job? I have a Masters degree and I used to work in an air-conditioned office as an engineer at a consultant firm. Now that does sound prestigious, doesn’t it? Actually it isn’t. You’re just in the end a “kuli” no matter what the job scope is and how you’d dressed. There, I am as good as garbage. By just looking the colour of my skin, it resembled poor, un-educated, un-cultured, and probably an Indonesian terrorist. The truth is I do not want to get home to Malaysia just yet. I have no money left and I’m as poor as the next homeless guy. I didn’t want to trouble my parents back home. I had lived there for a year on my own money and do not intend to trouble them asking for money. I had no scholarships, no loans whatsoever. I originally wanted to gamble going there and later asking for government loans. My plan backfired so badly. I had to work even though it is as a general labour. Now I know how those Bangladeshis and Indonesian people in Malaysia felt like. The tendency of the local community to look down on you, and who can blame them when hanging on your body are a dirty shirt, worn out jeans and old sports shoes, and while taking the bus back home reeking of foul stench. If you miss this 9pm bus, you would be waiting for 2 hours for the next bus from Northbridge to Sydney and that is pretty awful. It happened to me a few times.
Those Iraqis are lazy lot, preferring to laze around doing nothing and chatting away instead of working. I gained my physical strength by working this hard labour work. I got into a fight with one of the Iraqis. His name was Salman if I’m not mistaken. Just can’t remember why the guy grabbed my shirt at the neck and wants a fist fights. I guess I annoyed him. To get respect, we must first respect others and this is a universal rule. He never respected me, didn’t even flicker a smile, and always wears an arrogant look on his face. In turn, he didn’t get my respect and I always didn’t hear his instructions. What the heck. There’s one guy called Akil, the supervisor, Iraqis as well. He’s a nice man, hardworking and considerate towards others.
Lunch time is a favourite of mine. Thirty minutes of rest and peace and quiet at the basement parking. Eating homemade rice and lauk packed in a Tupperware. I would finish every single beads of rice without a doubt. The work made me hungry and yet I didn’t gain a single kilo from the heavy lunch.
Looking back, I can’t believe it happened. Now, I’m all smartly dressed to work with a pretty good pay check. It is all the opposite of what I had in Sydney. I guess at that time knowing that I will not work as a labourer for eternity does indeed made me thankful. Looking back, what an experience!
Short Conversation
Wynyard 22nd January 2005
You looked so relaxed and casual
The hurricane blazes through my soul
Trying to be composed
The wind is still blowing inside of me
Strongly
I apologize for being choosy
I only wanted to prolong this conversation
Those sweet Australian accent
Less feminine, but made me smile inside
So, you’re a Christian, aren’t you?
A golden cross as necklace
Yeah, I noticed that.
I saw your nametag: KELLY
Too common a name for such a beautiful angel as this
You’ll go home with no effect of this
Me? Nothingness filling me
