Life story of a Partay

My name is Par Tay. I have a insignificant memory of my relatives referring to me in a different name… I reckon it’s the name my parents decided to entitle me on my tenth day of survival on this planet. Actually I’m pretty sure of the fact, although I have been trying to forget that era.

I believe I am living a happy life. I have the best friends I could ask for. They do anything to me; respect me, looks up to me…and I respect them the same way. I have never felt alone for a second since I met my friends in school. We were a tough squad and we protected each other from the little immature rascals in school. That’s when I understood the point of going to school. Finding yourself and becoming a part of something.

Well, we kicked ass in school for three years. No one would dare mess with any of us.. We became a part of the respected society. Surprisingly, we had something to do in school.. Something that kept the school from kicking us out.

After school I started working as an artist. I was good in art though I didn’t study it in school. My parents never appreciated my talent. I didn’t mind cause I did it for myself.

After some days, The results of the so-called crossroads examination’s results came.Got 1 A grade and 7 C grades.. I believed I did pretty well considering the fact that I studied what my father wanted to and I was trying to live his dream..

My beliefs and my parents didn’t quite match up. They decided that I was a absolute disappointment, shame, failure.. I didn’t mind cause what they think was the least of my problems. Its my life and I was doing it for myself. Well, My friends actually thought I was friggin’ awesome. That’s one important factor which motivated me to be someone great. Someone my friends could all be proud of. I could still remember.. their broad smiles and the pride.. This is actually the part where you people mention your parents but not me..

Well life went on... I continued my art work and earned enough money to live independent from parent’s funds. One of my friend’s dad helped me get a fine job in the advertisement department of his dad’s company. I was happy and satisfied with my life. I worked with one of my best friends… I had authority over most of the company’s employees. I was respected and my work was appreciated. I was doing what I was good at. What I loved. I earned more money that I could ask for…

Despite how successful I became, my parents never came to accept that. Their decision was final. I was a failure and that’s that. Their plan for me was a copy of the “standard plan for Maldivian’s children”… All A’s in ordinary level. All A’s in advanced level. Then fly off to the states with the government’s aid for Psycho Geniuses.

So… as I didn’t work out quite according to the plan, I was unloved. Hated. Loathed.

Finally I moved to my own apartment near the busy main road of male’. Good air and space…Life was good. I went to work in the mornings… I enjoyed out with my friends in the evenings and nights. I cooked my own meals and invited my family and best friends over. I would like to mention that almost everyone in my family accepted my invitations except my parents.

After sometime, the tittle-tattle, the gossips reached my ears. It seems that getting rid of me didn’t give my parents full satisfaction. They wanted to kill me!

It was their lil tittle-tattle. Heres what it says.

My son is a partey. He failed us… all our dreams are shattered. I am ashamed of him. Those parteys drug addicts.. he met in school. they spoiled him… Now he left us… because he choose his friends.
Who knows maybe he’s dealing drugs.. No wonder he gets so much money.
The clothes he wear… he doesn’t even cut his hair!
I don’t want him using my name as his last name! He’s not our son. This is not how our son should behave.

The rumors spread all over my office in no time. My friend’s dad came to think I was an addict. Well they almost ruined my life.. I am their toy. I guess they would be satisfied…

My hair and my apparel. Does it decide who I am? Does it make me a drug addict? And I DO cut my hair! My taste in clothing and hair style doesn’t make me a gangster or some goon. I am hygienic and my savor in fashion and style doesn’t give the Maldivian society any right to entitle me a drug addict.

Well so, that’s the last I heard from my parents. I guess it was worth it. After a year or so my “family” moved to Malaysia. I went to say goodbye to my little sister. I always loved her and she’s the closest I came to describe as a family. I miss her.. My baby sister

So, I lived in Male’ with no relatives or family. All I had were my closest buddies. All my family friends, ex-neighbors and well most of the people were scared of me. Cause I was a “drug addict”. Sometimes I do stumble on the benefits, due to this theory of theirs.

I lived five years stable, confident and succeeding. It was all happy until I started to realize that I was getting older. I was 24 and still a bachelor.. My buddies got married with pretty girls and started a new life. All I did in their wedding celebrations was curse myself and put on my plastic smile. I couldn’t find the girl… Not someone that special… Someone I could spend my life with… Someone I could laugh with. Someone I could be happy with even after my worst day at work..

I was cursing myself at one of my friend’s wedding when he started dragging me into the toilet. He told me that Shana was there and he was gonna introduce us.. Shana…. She was the girl I had a crush on when I was in 1^st grade…a family friend’s daughter. Sadly she left abroad in 3^rd grade and that was the end of it…

But I guess the story is yet to be written. Well I quickly re-did my hair and washed my face.. Freshened up. I took a deep breath and started at the door with my friend.

There she was… she looked so beautiful. I felt the love that was vanished building up inside me again... The broken pieces started to fit in again. I started to fall in love again…

I was scared… I was the “drug addict”. Would she hate me? Before I could think again my friend pulled me in front of her and introduced us. She looked surprised… to my relief.. she looked happy to see me…

You’re the drug addict guy right?
I felt nervous and scratched my head with a smile. Well, in no time I was telling her how innocent I am!!. And before I knew it I told her about my whole life… She sat there listening like she would always be there for me. I felt sheltered… for the first time in my life… I felt completely happy…

Naturally, we became good friends. She came over to my place and everything was good. She got along with my friends… She was someone I could really talk to. I thought to myself… I wasn’t so bad in detecting good girls even in 1^st grade! Predictably, she was my girlfriend. After 2 happy years.. she became my wife…

Finally, it was my own wedding… I was smiling… Because I was happy…. All my family members in Malaysia [except my parents] and all my friends who were always there for me in the dark times… They were all there… Everyone I loved… and the one I love the most.

So the “drug addict’s” life is pretty darn good... Well Id like to point out that I am a partay in the eyes of the Maldivian public.. And Id like to say if you think having friends, getting your dream job, clothing the way you like, and enjoying the independence we Maldivians are blessed with is being a partey, I think becoming a “partey” is the best thing that ever happened to me!

Source : Flikr