Model : Narrative Essay Ever since he could remember things, thirteen-year-old Salman had always felt
odd about himself. Pa, Ma, Aziz and Deena had coffee-coloured skin, black hair and brown eyes. Salman, however, was fair with blonde hair and striking blue eyes. After he had been abandoned as an infant, the Yusoffs had adopted and loved him as their own child. The Yusoff family used to live in metropolitan New York where all races and religions coexisted harmoniously: that is until that fateful day on September 11. Eleven terrorists from the radical Al Qaeda Organisation had hijacked four Boeing jets and rammed into the two World Trade Centre Towers and the Pentagon, killing at least 5000 victims from 66 countries. Salman would always remember the horrific television footage of the planes crashing into the skyscrapers. It looked just like a horrific scene from a Hollywood movie, only this time it was for real. Such acts of terrorism had from that day forth threatened to tear asunder the fragile fabric of religious detente between Muslim and Christian countries worldwide. Etched in his mind would also be the American people's subsequent reactions of shock and horror, followed by a mounting thirst for vengeance against the Muslim terrorists. Fearing for their lives, the Yusoffs had to flee to their ancestral homeland in Pakistan, buy they could not bring thirteen-year-old Salman along. Mr Yusoff had to send him to an uncle in Singapore. Uncle Yacob was a confirmed bachelor whose long work hours only allowed a casual relationship between uncle and nephew. Salman was enrolled in the American School to continue his high school. Thus began a heartbreaking separation from the life and people he knew in America, to try to adapt to an Asian country whose locals spoke a sing-song brand of broken English he found confusing. Soon, he was engulfed by an anguishing period of loneliness and identity crisis. He was to say to Aziz later, "I felt like the loneliest person in the whole world. I didn't belong to any group. I hated the Whites for their unreasonable hatred for us Muslims. They Malays and Indonesians hated me for being a white. How I long to walk into a mosque and pray together with my fellow Muslims. How I wished I weren't born a white! The only this that keeps me sane is our phone calls and e-mails." "Ma, I've scored four A's and two B's." Salman told his mother over the phone one year later. "Congrats, Son, you've made it. You can do as well if not better next year," enthused Mrs. Yusoff. "Then you can carry on with your college education here." "How long do I have to stay in Singapore, Ma?" "We'll see how things go." "How I wish we can all return to America!" sighed Salman. "I miss you all very much!" he cried, suddenly breaking down. "Ma, will there ever be a happy resolution to all this conflict? The real tragedy is, all this war is tearing families apart!" Mrs. Yusoff began sobbing, too overwhelmed to reply him for some time.
Salman turned on the television set to keep his mind off his misery. "Pah! Trying to change your true colours. "Papa. Days later a tanned dashing Arab-looking youth with black curly hair and black eyes was seated in an aeroplane. he watched the familiar commercial of the svelte Asian model tossing her luscious black hair about. Aziz. Mama. He felt sickened by the vanity of the modern women she represented. then dyeing it a chestnut brown. why didn't I think of it before?" he chided himself. gazing out at the clouds. Then he left the apartment and visited the hairdresser and optician. here I come!"
. PAKISTAN. "Hey.At length after hanging up the phone." Suddenly. a brainwave hit him like a bolt from the blue. Though still teary-eyes. Deena. The serious face soon broke into an elated grin.