They built walls of rules to keep him out, but forgot he carried the universe within

𝄞

Andrey’s blood flowed from two distinct directions: the tributary of Arman Shariff and the ocean of Asha Lee. Two worlds met at the estuary of his body, fusing two cultures that had taken root deep within.

His mother, Asha — a soft-spoken Eurasian woman who believed in karma and the wheel of samsara. His father, Arman, a stern Malay military officer, was born into a culture that elevated the law, yet held the philosophy of nature closer to his chest.

In the middle of these opposing currents, Andrey sailed his little boat. Battling the waves, searching for a harbour in the ocean of destiny.

The Shariff family did not build cages; instead, they created space. Space to ask. To push back. To be silent and contemplate. Space to choose God through feeling, not through force. Space to be human, not a slave.

In the wisdom of a nomadic life, every stopover was turned into a garden of growth, where the children were allowed to be whoever they wished to be.

No strict rules. No pressure to be perfect. Only the freedom to find meaning, following the compass in one’s chest.

For Tuan Arman, a Malay man cynical of binding beliefs, dogma was merely a fine chain that limited the expanse of thought.

“Life is the universe,” he said. “There are no borders.”

Together with Asha, he instilled the confidence that a relationship with God could not be built on fear; it had to be contemplated, felt, and only then would it slowly build on its own.

“Self-reflection is more important than ritual. The soul is superior to the law.” The principle Asha held, and one he admired.

And so, the children were taught to think, not just follow. To question, not just accept blindly. To share, not to force.

Andrey remembered his parents' words well.

“Life needs to be explored,” said his father.
“Truth cannot be taught, but it can be found,” said his mother.

And because of that, when Andrey was brought into the public school space, heavy with lines and boundaries, his way of thinking was considered evidence of a crime. His questions were misunderstood. His differences were viewed as the source of the problem. Whereas at home, that was freedom.

“Ideology is like a piece of clothing,” said Tuan Arman one night, as they sat discussing at a table surrounded by dim light and coffee smoke curling like a dream. “If it doesn’t fit, don’t force it to tear.”

“Later it will tear,” Asha continued quickly. The siblings shared a laugh. Asha merely smiled. The mother, who upheld Dharmic philosophy, believed that fate was not inherited—it was shaped. “We steer our own vessels,” she said softly, “through the vast ocean of existence.”

Those words did not vanish into the air. They seeped into the four hearts they had brought into the world. Breathed into a small fire that would light the way, in a world that was not always fair.

Yet the freedom at home could not protect Andrey from the snares of the world. The world outside this door is full of boundaries. The world that loves to demand. That asked for so much.

Out there, his body and soul were constantly questioned. Misaligned. Not given room to breathe.

He knew he wasn’t like Amanda, his younger sister, who loved playing with dolls and practising wearing lipstick in front of the mirror, happy in a world that was perfectly aligned with her body.

But Andrey?

Since he was small, he had realised—with feeling, not with words.

This body wasn’t him. It felt like borrowed clothes, forced upon him, even though the size and cut never fit right.

That feeling wasn’t a shadow. It was a thorn piercing slowly every time he was called adik perempuan, kakak, or anak dara. Every time his hair was braided. Every time he was made to wear a baju kurung that didn’t look like a cage in the eyes of others, but strangled him to the bone.

The feeling of being imprisoned, Andrey admitted. But he also never hated that body. He just hoped he could change it to align with his soul. Not for anyone else. Only for himself.

I am not a girl.

But he didn’t know how to explain to a world that only knew two boxes and believed that humans were created to fit inside one of them.

School was merely a stopover. Each one centred on an old mould:
Male is male. Female is female.
Anything in between? Deviance.

A world like that didn’t ask. It judged.

The life of the Arman family was like a sailor chasing the wind. Life was like a motion picture; scenes always changing before they could be understood. Time was too stingy to allow Andrey to dive into the root of the pain.

“Why do you want to be a boy?” A question thrown by a female student without any intention of actually asking. Other eyes turned away. No need to speak; a look was enough to pass the sentence. Andrey just smiled. And walked away, like always. He knew he wasn’t just seen.

He was watched. Every step became an interpretation. Every movement became gossip.

Judged. Sentenced without a trial.
Evaluated with eyes. Not ears. Let alone the heart.

With reason?
Spirituality?
Logic?
Individuality?
Those did not exist in a space that only knew one perspective.

Humans were quick to judge. They were faster to punish than to understand.

Humans love to play God. They love to decide who is worthy of being who.
They force. They punish. Punish first, then save.

That note was written in his journal after bumping into the principal in the laboratory corridor.

“Is it a sin not to cover up?” That was the zikir Cikgu Haji Idris Mahmud often repeated whenever he crossed paths with Andrey.

“Insya-Allah,” Andrey would reply. That brief answer became a shield and a trap simultaneously.
Every time he said it, it opened a space for a sermon that he never really wanted to answer, only to press. And the pressure didn’t end there.

From the headmaster to the youngest student, everyone felt entitled to admonish with sarcasm, with irony, and more painfully, with what they considered to be jokes.

“Are you a guy or a girl?” The shrill voice of a male student in the school field.
Followed by collective laughter. Andrey just looked. Silent. Not because he didn’t dare to answer, but because he himself was still searching for the answer and the meaning in that shameless question.

The Discipline Teacher, Cikgu Roslan — a close ally of the principal — his day wasn’t complete without one remark:
“When are you going to wear a tudung? A baju kurung? That pinafore is for non-Muslims. You are a girl. Malay. Respect our culture. Respect our religion.”

Andrey nodded. As usual. A sign of disagreement, actually. But fighting back wouldn’t change anything. And so, in his private world, a conclusion slowly formed—

To keep surviving in this school, I have to sink. Like a diamond. A diamond will only be dug up by someone who knows its value.

Another line filled the silent space in his loyal journal.
From that depth, Andrey began to see. The faces around him weren't ordinary. One by one, they showed their masks. Some wore masks because they were forced. Some because of fear. Some didn’t even realise they had put one on.

But he knew, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t mask himself just to look the same, in a world that was supposed to be diverse, not uniform.

His heart rebelled. His mind rejected. Both agreed on one summarisation; oppressive punishments do not fall from the sky, instead, they are born from human fear of their own shadows; a fear that arises every time difference is viewed as a sin.

𝄢

“If you don’t like it, don’t do it.” Adrian leaned against the wall. His voice was calm but firm. “Doing something you hate because you’re forced to... where’s the sincerity in that?” That was the first response Andrey received when he opened his mouth about the conflict disturbing his soul.

“I want to change schools,” Andrey said slowly. “But where to? You have it easy, staying in the city hostel. Me? I can’t go anywhere.”

“Exactly. Last time you got an offer to a boarding school, you rejected it. Have to wake up early, strict discipline... And now what? Just treat all this as a challenge.”

Andrey was silent for a moment. “Even boarding school won’t let me dress freely. Even more rules.”

Adrian straightened up. “What?! Crazy or what? What’s the reason?”

“What else... because I’m unique...” He sighed before continuing, “Wearing a pinafore is even a problem. If I followed my heart, I wouldn’t even be able to force myself to wear that. I have to.”

“Dress code, bro.”
“They want to educate the brain, not the clothes.”

Adrian shook his head, his eyes sharp with disagreement. “Extreme. Nonsense... This is discrimination. Where did they get laws like this?”

“Laws of the desert,” Andrey replied, half-whispering. “It’s not that I don’t understand rules. But why question my identity every single day? To the point of humiliation. Trying to force me to wear baju kurung, tudung... all of it.”

“Even though the pinafore is an official uniform,” Adrian added.

“That’s the last choice. The others... don’t even dream about it.”

Adrian looked at his younger sibling. “You’re right... Principles must be defended; otherwise, they aren’t principles. But making people understand isn’t easy. Especially when it involves the law.” He sighed. “This is called a prison, but not made of brick. No fences. No cells. But you know what?”

Andrey looked at his brother, excited to hear the answer.

“The key is in the prisoner’s hand.” Adrian patted his brother’s shoulder.

Andrey nodded, sipping his tea, which was growing colder. “I agree with Mum and Dad. Race is not religion. And religion shouldn’t determine who we are, let alone control us.”

The voice of the heart and the mind echoed each other. That still-raw mind never tired of asking and seeking answers; why do humans act this way?
What exactly do they consider reasonable, and what do they defend as sane?

Is it all born from fear? Or habits inherited without question?
Is it because they are still bound to tradition, or because they have cultivated religion until they forget its purpose?

Andrey tried to understand without interpreting someone just based on their place or background. That wasn’t fair. Just like equating belief with truth.

Belief, in the end, is an individual right. And choice remains personal.

He kept those question marks to himself. Just like Adrian, who could only be a listener even though his heart never agreed with the pressure imposed on his sibling. But what could he do? The law remained the law. Even when it made no sense.

“Public schools... that’s just how they are,” he said. “I look at the mentality of your school... that’s as far as it goes,” Adrian commented, honest and slightly cynical. “Do they teach thinking, or do they teach fear? Why do you think?” He hoped for a transparent answer.

Andrey shook his head. “No. I don’t even know what to say to them. I haven’t told them, but I already know what the answer will be. Not many choices anyway...” he continued. “Where is there another school here?”

“It’s all about personal choice, right?” Andrey looked at his brother’s face, searching for certainty and confidence.

“Of course,” Adrian replied. “No one has the right to intrude on our thoughts. I know this is heavy... But the problem is, the more you run, the faster it chases. It only stops when you dare to face it. That’s what makes us human, not victims.”

“I’m not running,” Andrey countered. “But when every day you are chased, pressed, preached about sin, about law... I feel like I’ve already bought a house in hell...” Andrey took a breath and released it calmly. “They must be very clean. Sinless.”

Adrian patted Andrey’s shoulder gently. “Be patient. This is just a phase; one chapter you have to read and interpret yourself. I believe this isn't for nothing.”

The experience Andrey collected at Sekolah Menengah Seri Mutiara was stored neatly in his memory. Trauma is worthy of being material for contemplation.

His mouth might have been lazy to speak, but his mind was diligent in seeking answers.
About the truth tucked between sin and virtue.
About heaven and hell.
About the meaning of existence that was wider than what the eyes could bear to see.

And in the end, Pekan Mutiara was merely one scene in a life that kept moving. It would remain as a memory.

The dry drains by the road,
The dust sticking to his shoes,
The nausea slowly faded.

However, the comprehension would never cease. It would continue to flow, akin to an underground river, enriching the soil of the spirit that was prepared to transform into a farm.