You know that person. The one who is always alone. You never see them hanging out or eating with someone. Even on their birthday. People feel sad when they look at them. But the saddest part is that I am talking about myself…

Actually, I did have one friend. She was more than a friend; she was like family. I was 11 when she died. It was 2019. Cancer took the kindest person I would ever know, and my only friend. I did not even know kids could die. I kept waiting to see her again. It did not feel real. She did not tell me she was sick. For years, I was confused. Why? Maybe I was not a good enough friend. Maybe she did not trust me. After she left, I stopped trying. I did not want to hurt anyone else, or be hurt. I had people around me — classmates, neighbours — but no one I could call. Just acquaintances.

Six years went by like that.

Then I moved to Malaysia for university. XMUM. I thought I would be alone again. I was okay with it. Or at least I thought I was.

First semester. IAE lecture. I was sitting in the second row, minding my own business, when one girl next to me asked if I wanted to join her group. Just like that. That was Adema. She plays the piano. She draws beautifully. She is very pretty, like an angel. I mean, she is beautiful inside and out.

The next day, in another class, I met Zhanke. She looked like she did not care about others at first, but I was wrong. When I talked to her, I found her to be a kind and good person. She is smiling, cool, and mentally strong.

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We were not friends right away. Just classmates. Group project teammates. But slowly, we started talking after class about stupid things and serious things. We often ate lunch together. Then we were just… together. They taught me how to cook and how to do my makeup properly, because I was never interested in it. We even celebrated New Year together, just us, in Malaysia, far away from our home country.

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For most of my life, people told me I was weird. My clothes. My music. The way I talked. The way I cried too easily. But with them, it was different. They never made me feel like I was too much. They listened to my stories like they mattered. And slowly, I started believing that maybe I was not the problem. Maybe I just had not met my people yet.

I still cry a lot. But they do not call me a crybaby. They do not roll their eyes and tell me to calm down. They just listen to me. They somehow know when something is wrong, even if I try to hide it. They just look at my face and already start asking, “What happened?”

At Xiamen University Malaysia, there are many group assignments, which most people hate. I was no exception. Group projects used to terrify me. Talking to people, coordinating, and speaking up all felt impossible. But they carried me through it. Not by doing my part for me, but by making me feel safe enough to try. I realised that group assignments are actually important for us, as students who will work and communicate with others in the future.

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I have grown so much since I came here. My physical height stayed the same, though. Some things just do not change. I hope you get the joke.

The strangest part? We are all from the same country. We could have met back home. But we did not. We had to travel thousands of kilometres to Malaysia, to this university, to this exact lecture hall, to find each other. If I had not come here, I think I would still be alone, still waiting and believing that something was wrong with me.

So thank you, XMUM. Not only for the education or the degree, but for sitting me in that second row. For putting those two girls next to me and giving me back something I thought I had lost forever.

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For Adema and Zhanke

By Kudaibergen Niara
2025/08
Foundation in Arts