Siti Isah Ithnin

Short Story 35: The Sacrifice of a Pair of Lab Gloves . My name is a pair of lab gloves. Made from nitrile rubber, I’m designed to resist chemicals and protect human hands during experiments. Unlike ordinary gloves, I can withstand acids and dangerous liquids. I was first unboxed in the Science Lab of Tunas Ilmu Secondary School. I’ve witnessed all sorts of experiments like volcano models, pH testing, even dissections. But the day I remember most was when Auni, a passionate Form Two student, carefully slipped me on. Her hands were small, but her spirit was mighty. Auni loved science. She arrived early to clean equipment, label bottles, and record data in her lab notebook. She didn’t just do experiments, but she lived in them. And safety always came first. Every time she handled chemicals, she wore me without fail. One day, during the final-year project, a small spill of sulfuric acid occurred. Panic spread. Without hesitation, Auni grabbed a cloth and moved the bottle, her hands were ...

Cerpen 35: Pengorbanan Sepasang Sarung Tangan Makmal . Namaku sepasang sarung tangan makmal. Diperbuat daripada getah nitril yang tahan bahan kimia, aku dicipta untuk melindungi tangan manusia semasa menjalankan eksperimen. Tidak seperti sarung tangan biasa, aku mampu menahan asid dan cecair berbahaya. Sejak dibuka dari kotak, aku ditempatkan di Makmal Sains Sekolah Menengah Tunas Ilmu. Aku telah menyaksikan pelbagai eksperimen, dari membina model gunung berapi hinggalah menguji pH air hujan. Tapi hari paling aku ingat ialah sewaktu Auni, seorang pelajar tingkatan dua yang sangat gemar sains, memakanku dengan penuh cermat. Tangannya kecil, tapi semangatnya besar. Auni sering datang awal ke makmal, membersihkan alatan, menyusun botol bahan kimia dan mencatat pemerhatian di buku log. Dia tidak sekadar buat eksperimen, dia umpama hidup dalam dunia sains. Dia juga sangat teliti menjaga keselamatan. Sebelum sentuh sebarang cecair, dia pasti memakai aku. Namun suatu hari, ketika projek ekspe...

Short Story 34: I Am a Certificate of Appreciation . My name is Certificate of Appreciation. I’m printed on fine cream-colored paper, framed in gold, with the school’s crest proudly displayed at the top. In bold letters, I read: “Outstanding Achievement Award – Presented to Adeep for exceptional perseverance in academics and character.” I was created for the school’s annual awards ceremony, eagerly waiting to be presented to someone truly deserving. On that special day, amid cheers in the school hall, I was handed to a thin boy with glasses—Adeep. Adeep wasn’t the most popular student, but he was always kind and helpful. Even though his family struggled, he arrived early to school, revised in the library, and often shared his food with others. Once, he even fixed a broken classroom fan with just a screwdriver and determination. As he stepped onto the stage, gripping me tightly, his eyes welled up with emotion. But just a few weeks later, the teacher shared heartbreaking news: Adeep had...

Cerpen 34: Aku Sehelai Sijil Penghargaan . Namaku sehelai sijil penghargaan. Aku dicetak pada kertas berkualiti tinggi, berwarna krim dengan bingkai keemasan. Di bahagian atas tertera lambang sekolah, dan di tengahnya tercatat: “Penghargaan Cemerlang - Diberikan kepada Adeep atas semangat juang luar biasa dalam pelajaran dan sahsiah.” Aku disediakan khas sempena majlis anugerah tahunan sekolah. Aku tak sabar menanti saat disampaikan, menjadi kebanggaan kepada seseorang yang benar-benar layak. Hari itu, dalam dewan yang penuh dengan sorakan, aku disampaikan kepada seorang pelajar kurus berkaca mata iaitu Adeep. Adeep bukan pelajar popular. Dia tidak banyak bercakap, tapi sentiasa rajin membantu guru dan rakan-rakan. Walaupun keluarganya susah, dia tetap datang awal ke sekolah, ulang kaji di perpustakaan, dan sering berkongsi makanan dengan mereka yang lapar. Pernah suatu hari, dia membaiki kipas kelas yang rosak dengan hanya menggunakan pemutar skru dan sedikit keberanian. Sewaktu dia n...

Short Story 33: The Journey of a Fountain Pen . My name is fountain pen. I'm no ordinary pen, crafted from polished metal, with ink that flows smoothly across the page. I’m often used for careful handwriting, elegant letters, and even artful calligraphy. My journey began when a girl named Umaira bought me from a stationery shop near her boarding school. She chose me carefully, saying, “A fountain pen makes words feel peaceful and beautiful.” From that day on, I became her loyal companion. Each night in the dorm, Umaira would write in her journal, pen poems, or letters to her family. Sometimes, my ink would splatter slightly, matching the speed of her emotions. I could feel when she was joyful, sad, or homesick. Every swirl and stroke told a story. One day, I noticed Umaira becoming weaker. She didn’t write for days. I remained tucked inside her pencil case, silent and forgotten. Her roommate whispered, “Umaira was taken home… the doctor said she needs a long rest.” Weeks turned int...

Cerpen 33: Perjalanan Sebatang Pen Dakwat Basah . Namaku sebatang pen dakwat basah. Aku tidak seperti pen biasa. Tubuhku diperbuat daripada logam kemas, dan dakwatku mengalir lembut di atas kertas. Aku dicipta untuk penulisan yang kemas, dan sering digunakan dalam seni khat dan surat rasmi. Aku mula ‘hidup’ apabila dibeli oleh seorang gadis bernama Umaira di sebuah kedai alat tulis berdekatan sekolah berasrama penuh. Dia memilihku dengan teliti kerana katanya, “Pen dakwat basah buat tulisan jadi lebih indah dan tenang.” Sejak hari itu, aku menjadi teman setianya. Setiap malam di asrama, Umaira akan menulis jurnal, puisi, dan surat kepada keluarganya dengan menggunakan aku. Ada kalanya, dakwatku menitis kerana terlalu laju,selari dengan emosinya. Aku tahu bila dia gembira, kecewa, atau rindu, semuanya diluahkan melalui gerakan tangannya. Namun, pada suatu hari, Umaira kelihatan lemah. Dia tidak menulis selama beberapa hari. Aku tertinggal dalam kotak penselnya, sepi. Akhirnya, rakan seb...

Short Story 32: The Memory of a Wooden Chair . My name is Wooden Chair. I’m not as flashy as the colorful plastic ones. I’m made from strong, aged cengal wood—heavy, sturdy, and carved with care. I was brought to school over 30 years ago by a village carpenter. Since then, I’ve quietly witnessed the lives of countless students. I was placed in Class 4 Bestari. Many children sat on me, but one stands out the most—Aiman. A quiet boy who always carried a small notebook, often sketching in the corner of his desk. During breaks, instead of running around, he’d sit on me reading or lose in thought. He was different—not many spoke to him, but he never complained. One day, the teacher assigned a task: draw your favorite object in school. Aiman chose me. He drew every wood grain, every scratch, each one a silent mark from the past. He titled it “My Quiet Friend.” Not long after, Aiman stopped coming. The teacher said he had fallen ill and needed a long rest. I stayed in my corner, empty, quiet,...