We Are The Same Kind of People

The bus came to a groaning halt at the bus stop.Its electric-powered door swung open and I boarded it with bags of groceries in my hands. After dropping some cash into the fare box beside the driver, I edged my way through a line of standing passengers to the rear of the bus.I grinned to myself in relief when I spotted an unoccupied seat beside a red-shirted Iban man.

Having ensconced myself in the seat,I decided to close my eyes for a short rest. However, something smelly attacked my nostrils. Crinkling my nose in disgust, I looked sideways at my neighbor. He seemed to be savoring the view of buildings which whirred past the window. Ya, it couldn't be wrong. The odor came directly from him.How many days had he not taken a shower? No wonder the seat had been left vacant!

Suddenly, I found myself staring at the man eye-to-eye.My surprise quickly turned to a shock When I realized that his face was mottled with bruises, scabs and open wounds. Before I could tear my eyes away from the repulsive sight, the man cracked a smile and said, "Hi, pulang ke rumah?"

I was stunned for a moment, not knowing how to answer.But I nodded anyway.

"Does my face frighten you?" asked the man, looking penetratingly at me.

The question threw me off guard. I shook my head in the negative and said no stammeringly.

"It's okay, don't feel bad about it," the man lifted his forefinger and waved it from side to side. There was something cheerful in his demeanor.

"May I know what happened to you?" I ventured, my discomfiture had eased a little.

"Oh, muka saya?" he said calmly, pointing to his wounded face, "I fell off my motorcycle four days ago. A car knocked me from behind."

"Good grief!" I exclaimed.

"The motorcycle overturned and slid across the road before being run over by a truck," he continued with the same inscrutable countenance," it was reduced to a total wreckage."

"I am sorry to hear that," said I.
"It's okay. I'm glad that I am alive," returned the man.
"Ya, it was fortunate of you to have escaped death." I concurred.

The bus was now driving round a sharp bend. We both lurched forward in our seats. The standing passengers beside us were tightening their grip on the overhead railing to steady themselves.

"Who took you to hospital?" asked I.
"The driver who knocked me down," he answered.
"Did he recompense you?"
"Ya, not much though."

I decided not to ask how much he had received lest it sounded intrusive.

"Were you discharged from hospital not long ago?" I changed the subject.
"Ya, I was discharged yesterday."

I was baffled by his reply. He should have rested at home today!

He seemed to be able to read my thought and said, "I returned to my workplace in the morning just now."

Amazed, I asked him what had made him go back to work.

"I pleaded my boss not to give me the boot. I had been fired on the day of the accident."

"How inconsiderate of him!" I burst out incredulously.

"He insisted on firing me, saying that I had neglected my work."

"But you had no choice."

"He's a typical boss, cold and insensate. There was nothing I could do," said the man.A pall of gloom descended upon his face.

The bus pulled over beside a factory and picked up more passengers. The bus driver kept hollering at the standing passengers in the front to move to the back.When he saw that his order had been complied, he turned the ignition on and pulled the bus away from the stop.

My heart was full of commiseration towards the man.Many bosses emphasize productivity over their employees' welfare.

"After leaving that dratted workshop, I went back to hospital asking for some anti-depressants. But the doctor did not want to give me any." I saw him curling his fingers into a fist.

"You went to the psychiatric unit?" asked I.
"Yes, my mood has been unstable after the accident," he said indignantly.
"Do you go there regularly?"
"Yes, I have been a regular outpatient since I came out of jail two years ago."

I stifled my gasp by covering my mouth with my hand.

"You're shocked, aren't you?"
I did not deny.
"You look down on me?" his voice wavered as he spoke.
"No, everyone has their ups and downs," I gave him a reassuring tap on the shoulder.

The man ran his fingers through his greasy, shoulder-length matted hair. He cleared his throat and said,"That doctor, Miss Ida Mustafa, insisted that I was all right and that I needed no anti-depressants. Stubborn woman." he sighed.

Dr. Ida Mustafa? What a familiar name. The man couldn't have been lying!

"What is the color of your psychiatric outpatient card?" I tested him.
"It's out of the ordinary. It's pink in color." he replied unhesitatingly.

I opened my knapsack and drew out a card of similar color. He looked at my card with dilated eyes when I showed it to him.

"Why? You have the same card!"
I nodded.
"I never thought that we were the same kind of people!"
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"Orang Tak Siuman!"

Orang Tak Siuman?! My goodness. Mentally-imbalanced people!

"I am not mentally-imbalanced!" I remonstrated, "and neither are you."
"Normal people always perceive all psychiatric patients that way," he said.
"That is a prejudice!"
"When did you start going to the psychiatrist?" asked the man.
"last year," I answered.
"What problem?"
"Depression, what about yours?"
"I have a tendency for violence. My doctor told me that it was bi-bi..." the word was at the tip of the man's tongue but he forgot it.
"Bipolar disorder," I said flatly.
"Ya, that's the word. How do you know?"
"My doctor diagnosed me as suffering from the same disorder," In spite of myself, I divulged more and more of myself to him, a total stranger.I did not like that.
"Ha-ha, we are the same after all!" chuckled the man.

I shot him a reproachful glance but he was not aware of it.

"When my mind goes reeling round and round, I will be violent and unable to work. Is that familiar to you?"

I shook my head impatiently.But I remembered how unpredictably hot-tempered I had been years ago. At one point, I had been unable to teach at school for weeks because of too many bouts of panic attacks. My emotion is much stabler now. However, I still need to go back to hospital for a fortnightly injection.

"I think yours is not as serious as mine."
"Sort of," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Celaka!" cursed the man out of the blue, "Without anti-depressants, it's difficult for me to sleep at night. The wounds on my body give me much misery."
"How do you make yourself sleep?" I inquired.
"I booze till I am drunk," was his reply.
"That is not good for health."
"Do you think I have a choice?"

I fell quiet. I could not imagine what I would do if I were in his situation.
"Do you want to see the wounds on my body?" he asked.
Before I could say no, he rolled up his shirt and showed me the ghastly wounds on his chest and stomach.
"There are some more on my back and legs," he added.

Now I understood why he smelled bad. It was not possible to take a shower with such a wound-laden body.

"How I wish I could return to my Kampung. But I don't have enough money."
"Don't think of going back to your kampung now. Rest as much as you can," I advised.
"The hell with my boss. How I wish I could punch his nose!" He said through clenched teeth, cracking his knuckles.
"Be patient."
"He will never understand my plight. I am almost penniless," he lamented despairingly.

I drew a deep breath. What was he trying to tell? Was he hinting that I should give him some money?

Fretfully, I looked out the window and saw that the bus was approaching a church.

"Oh, the bus will be reaching my house in a minute.See you." I rose and pressed the bell.

The man did not look at me. He was holding his head with both hands in brooding silence. His face was contorted with emotion.

The bus lurched to a stop. I got off the bus soon as I could.

When I entered the gate of my house, I regretted not giving that man money.