I Believe

I can tell this will be controversial.

I don’t believe in Malay special privileges. I believe that it was essential in the past, when the Chinese and Indians were not officially citizens of Malaysia, and no one knew what the future would hold and therefore those rights were invoked to protect the interest of the citizens. However, the past is the past, and I believe that these so-called rights are now abused and should be made redundant.

I believe that living in a multi-racial country, there will always be these undercurrents of racism, always because people are not always forgiving and tolerant, and even within races, there are stereotypes. I couldn’t care less about the colour of your skin, and I believe it is the person that counts, but I have witnessed and heard too many things to discount.

Everyone’s a racist.

The Malays talk about the Chinese, the Indians and the Malays. The Chinese talk about the Indians, the Malays and the Chinese. And the Indians talk about the Malays, the Chinese and the Indians. I like to believe that it is mostly an older generation that harbours these sentiments, but of late, I am starting to believe that these undercurrents lie deeper than I thought, or perhaps I have always been sheltered.

My friends are largely mixed, but I never thought about race. Somewhere along the line I was inspired by the stories of the American civil war, and I grew into the belief that every human is his or her own being, and should be judged as such.

Of course, once in awhile I would here demeaning comments about the Chinese, but I was always lucky that we had a wonderful Chinese neighbour, who we were closer to than a lot of people on my block. A couple of years later, another Chinese family moved into the neighbourhood, and did not make the best of impressions, even with my other Chinese neighbour, so I learnt that it really depends on the person.

Then again, being Malay in a predominantly Chinese class, sometimes I was made to felt like I wasn’t as smart as the other students. One of my teachers was very blatantly racist against the Malays, which I find a shocking quality in a teacher. It was funny to me that the top students in my year ended up being Malays, and especially funny to see that particular teacher’s reaction to the scores.

I learnt that Indians have caste systems, which I never really understood. A good friend of mine was always making jokes about his caste, and it wasn’t until I took the effort into learning about what it that made me realise that even within our particular races, we face discrimination.

I believe that there will always be misconceptions about Islam, because in Malaysia, Muslims do not portray the correct picture of Islam, and because no one dares to openly debate the topic (God forbid). I believe that society can be very heavy handed, and perhaps because we are such a secular society, that we take religion for granted and don’t properly understand it for the beautiful thing that it is. I believe that the freedom to choose is essential, and no one religion should be forced on anyone.

I believe that our government is corrupted. I believe that it is easy to be corrupt when you are in power, and perhaps, the good guys get stepped on and trampled on and it is not always an easy path to the top, when the path is twisted back unto itself. I like to believe that one day, the corruption will become less and less, as more and more individuals with strong, good ideals attempt to enter the thorny world of politics, and I like to think that one day, our government will be one that we can actually respect.

Perhaps I am an idealist. I have been accused of having no sense of humour when it comes to these topics above, but I guess I cannot help feeling that it is no joking matter that so much of the world suffers. I like to think that I can make a difference, but who knows.

The world is your oyster, they say. And it is what you make with your oyster that counts.

Bitching Against Bureaucracy

Be thankful they say.

Your scholarship, your luck at being sent overseas. A chance for a new life, for qualifications, for a new experience. Petronas is a wonderful company and they will take care of you. Be thankful. Be content.

Thankful, I am, for this opportunity. Thankful I got to leave and experience somewhere else. But content?

Should I sit down and be content with what they give me? A scholarship has no strings attached but academic excellence. This is not a scholarship. It is payment for my future time, for the next ten years of my life. Tied down, without the freedom to leave somewhere else.

Should I sit down and be content with what they give me? An allowance below the official poverty line? My student life dictated by where to live and where to go, just because they pay for accommodation? On top of that, pandering to their whims, despite their lack of judgement and research?

It is my life.

Do I settle for what is mediocre?

I will fight with every fibre of my being, I will fight against all who tell me otherwise, I will fight for equality. Equality for distribution of wealth, for an equal chance for a full allowance, similar to what other scholars have access to.

Can I not fight for equality? It is not a scholarship, no matter how many times they like to tell us that, it is a loan. And on top of that, their officers do not seem to take the time to even check on the welfare of students, and have the nerve to harp on us to be ‘oh so thankful’ for this opportunity they give us.

I cannot be thankful when an inept officer decides a new standard without proper research. I cannot be silent when friends of mine live in accommodation which leak, or which are so small that they are forced to have prayers in their kitchen. I cannot be still when our complaints are unheard of, complaints for a standard of living that is comparable to the national average.

No more. No less.

My mother was a crusader for what she believed in, and is my sister. And perhaps this is my crusade, for equal student rights.

Despite the red tape and the lack of support and despite the probability of having my name smeared, I cannot be silent.

Not when they tell us to be thankful, for the restlessness they have subjected us to, for the worry and stress, and for the inefficiency of a system with an idiot in charge.

Be thankful my ass.

Two Sides

He sits there in silence. He needs not say a word, for his feelings are written all over his face. Disapproval.

The silence stretches between them. Dead silence. Neither speaks, each thinking their own thoughts.

She watches him, almost expecting him to say something.

It is always the same issue. It is always the same argument and she is sick and tired of it.

No matter what she says, no matter what they agree on, it seems the next time around he still reacts the same way again. It is a repetitive cycle, a difference of opinions so different that it seems they can never reconcile, and she feels sick of making him try to understand. Her explanations always fall on empty ears, until the tears come and he softens, and listens, and then they both fall asleep in silence.

And the next time she waits in anticipation, hoping her words made a difference, hoping his attitude will soften but it is always the same.

Always the quiet disapproval, the pointed coldness throughout the day, the extra roughness around the edges.

And always every time, she feels like she is the one at fault and that no matter what she says, it makes no difference.

She needs her freedom, but her heart breaks a little more every single time it happens and she can feel the chinks in her armour weaken. She can feel herself pushing him away mentally every single time, and each time, the anger and hurt grow a little more, and she wonders if a day will come when she will push him away and will never come back.

It is always the same.

He watches her, feeling his heart break a little more every time she leaves.

It is the always the same issue. It is always the same argument but he cannot help it.

No matter what she says, no matter what the agree on, it seems the next time he cannot help feeling the resentment, the anger, and he cannot look her in the eye. It is a repetitive cycle, a difference of opinions so different it seems that they can never reconcile, and he feels the pain of trying to make her understand that he cannot help his feelings. His explanations are always met with resistance, until her tears come and he softens and listens, and then they both fall asleep in silence.

And the next time he steels himself, but the familiar feelings bubble to the surface, and he wishes that she does not have to do the things she does.

Always the need for her freedom, her seemingly unsatiable desire to cling to past times, her reluctance to move on.

He needs her understanding, and for her to grow, but his heart breaks a little more everytime she leaves, and he can feel the walls in his heart grow a little taller. He can feel himself growing colder every single time, and each time, the anger and hurt grow a little more and he wonders if a day will come when he will push her away and never come back.

It is always the same.

Politics

Yesterday I attended a talk by the Malaysian Prime Minister.

We were all representatives of various student clubs, and we lined up beside the door to usher him in. As I stood there, shoulder to shoulder with the other students, I was struck at how my heart was thumping.

I have never been a fan of politics. I usually live in my own world.

I wasn’t immune to the fact that I was meeting the Prime Minister of Malaysia. It was exciting, for some unknown reason, to think that I was meeting a man who was the leader of a country.

Everyone stood as he entered, and he walked past us, shaking our hands as he passed. His hands were surprisingly soft, the hands of an old man.

He stood at the podium and I thought to myself, “He’s just a man.”

A man who is the leader of a country, no doubt. A man who holds a lot of political power, definitely. A man who seemed to genuinely believe that Malaysia had what it took to progress.

But just a man.

My sister once remarked that he is a great man, with great ideas, but he has come to power at the wrong time.

I wonder too, if this is the case. He was not afraid to address our issues, but he seemed very tired. I wonder what goes on behind closed doors. I too, have followed the political discrepancies, I too, know that the democratic government of Malaysia isn’t really as democratic as it seems, and as I sat behind a line of datuks and datins, I wondered how many of them were caught up in this dirty world of politics. As they smiled and nodded, I wondered if they actually agreed with what he said or if they were just trapped in the world they chose to live in.

I cannot think that politics is easy, and perhaps I am idealistic, but I believe in human nature.

I believe that people had ideas and hoped to make a difference.

I believe that the man that stood in front of me, at some point in his life, believed that he could do wonderful things for the country, and I wished him well.