you want me to what?

Recently I was recruited as a mentor at AMP and it tore me up when the executive manager introduced me and two others as models of success. Coupled with his rehearsed voice, I was very convinced that every child in the room had an epiphany of this program being a complete joke. Success…yes… gray, like prison walls and I looked around the room examining the morning faces of these kids for traces of diminished hope.

Like every other clichéd team building exercise, we were made to introduce ourselves. I was a nervous wreck spouting rubbish about being a platoon commander and all I could do was flex that meagre meat on my chest to reel them into believing that I was some fucking hero. I may have fooled everyone in the room but anyone who had been a part of my organization would know that I was no more than a face for ex-offenders and potential convicts.

I did not have a good piece unlike Mahathir. This man was born to inspire. Yes, pardon the crooked tooth and you could see angels sitting, swinging, pole dancing, on the tendrils of his beard. Mahathir was a martyr in his own right. Having been incarcerated for drug abuse at an early age, he was thrown into rehab and there he had learned of Islam and embraced the religion. That killed me. How many people could go around and say,” drugs brought me closer to god”.

As the morning progressed I was indubitably turning hysterical in my head. As it turned out, unsurprisingly, in light of the world cup and the impending youth Olympics, our class discussions and activities would centre on the theme a healthy lifestyle. My thought bubble exploded, “you want me to what?! hahaha. alfian, tell me you’re fuckin kiddin.” But he wasn’t. If it wasn’t for the abundant amount of self control that I’ve attained under the tutelage of that fat ugly fuck called subra and admiring his bald black head, I would have burst uncontrollably in laughter and got myself fired.

What baffled me was that it never occurred to him to ask me if I smoke or eat healthy or live a healthy lifestyle during the interview. I would have laid down the entire truth. The future that I envisioned is one where I’d be able to go to starbucks and order an apple strudel cheesecake with a sprinkle of tobacco or celebrate my 25th birthday with 25 chocolate scented cigarettes on my birthday cake. Yes, I do go to gym on a regular basis but I do not thrive on tofu, gargle green tea and break my fucking back doing yoga. I looked across the room; the other two mentors didn’t look like sportsmen either. She was a beautifully wrapped up moth and he, suffering from the virtue of his charm and size was a gentle giant. And I was on the brink of being a bad influence.

Being the optimist I’ve learned to acknowledge myself as the right person for the job. Yes, I may not be a profoundly healthy boy. But I grew up in a household of fat cousins and I know more about the irresistible diet than anyone else. With the amount of laxatives in the cupboard my mom could have easily been the queen of Africa and with my life story as a stricken fat caterpillar that metamorphosed into a smoking athlete, no one else is more qualified of an opinion on the subject than I was. I have a few chubs in my class and I certainly know what to say to give them a head start in life. All you need is a square chest, a good set of brains and every god damn person whom you will encounter in life will think you’re a healthy stud and if that doesn’t work don’t fret, because as a fat kid you always have the thickest middle finger to rely on.

-nadzim