The Bus Driver That Is

It is the little things in life that make the huge differences.

Conversations I’ve had, things I’ve done, events that have happened – and mostly it’s the simplest, most unexpected statements that stay with me.

Of recent times I’ve had to take the bus to the hospital on a regular basis. Although my times aren’t the same day by day, I’ve started to recognize some of the bus drivers.

There’s a particular driver who I always smile to and try and strike up a mini-conversation. He looks like a distinguished older man, and it seems quite incongruous that he works driving a bus, almost. I wonder about his job choice, but perhaps he enjoys it, and who am I to question otherwise?

One day as I stepped on the bus, this particular bus driver told me, “You light up my day when you step into the bus, love.”

Well, needless to say he lit up my day.

A simple comment from a stranger and it left a lingering feeling of general contentment.

As I took the buses later, I noticed him do simple things to help the passengers on his daily route. He would stop and take the effort to help lift a pram into the bus, and I’ve seen him wave people through when they realize they lack the change for tickets.

It makes me believe in human goodness, at a time when I am becoming increasingly disillusioned.

The Mould That Ate My Apartment

It started out small.

Almost like a little coffee spot on the floor. No matter what anyone did, it didn’t go away. Then out of nowhere it faded, leaving the faint brown outline.

That’s when it appeared.

A small brown spot at first, just like the first one. Then it grew bigger and bigger every day. Bigger than my hand, then bigger than my head, then bigger than me! It grew so fast it ate the entire carpet of my apartment, and it slowly spread outwards until it consumed the entire apartment. It grew and grew until it spread unto the streets of Melbourne, and before you know it, it’ll take over the world!

…

Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a little bit.

It was still big enough to warrant renovations and render me homeless and dependent on the goodwill of friends. I almost feel like a nomad.

Perhaps I am not as adaptable as I used to be.

Slander

Slander from the tongues of ignorants.

A social club, a forum for Malaysian current issues, organized by members of a students club bearing a political name is bound to draw criticism. Even more so when prominent politicians are part of the forum.

Everyone has an opinion, especially when it comes to political figures.

Mind you, I stress on the word political figures. Mostly because the actual forum was not meant to be political at all. It was originally meant as a platform for concerned Malaysians to discuss current issues.

No doubt that there would have been politics involved in there, somewhat, but I digress.

Somehow the whole issue became embroiled around the organizers, two perfectly lovely girls, one which I have the honour of calling a friend, and their personal lives. Slander from the tongue of ignorants about the character of these two women. Speculation most of it, from those who do not even know or take the effort to find out.

Personal letters, pictures and phone numbers published on a website, and circulated to committee members of divisions of the club they were part of.

It is a smear campaign by people who hide behind the anonymity of the web to two students who were just organizing another event for a club they were part of. A club which maintains a strong presence for Malaysians in the Melbourne community by organizing mostly social events, despite its’ political name.

It is in no way justified that the personal lives of people involved should have been brought into the whole issue.

The whole reaction is overrated and overblown.

Pointless and stupid.

Perhaps, thus is the nature of people.

You know who you are.

And to you, know that your friends are standing behind you, and that we know the truth.

Once I Was A Princess

Reading Jaqueline’s account in ‘Once I Was A Princess’ made me inexplicably angry for some reason.

It would have been difficult for her to go through life being a foreigner in a country, much less in a royal family, where the protocols are heavily enforced.

I felt anger at her husband’s continued emotional and physical abuse, of the countless times he raped her, at her helplessness. I felt anger towards the royal family’s lack of support, the way they turned a blind eye towards the obvious abuse and the inability of the women to do anything about it.

I was frustrated at the so-called ‘religious education’ she received. I cannot believe she was told ‘Under Islamic beliefs, women were also the gender most likely to seduce the other through sheer weakness of morals and inferior intelligence… women were inherently evil and had to be educated away from their natural inclinations to sin and corruption… to question or debate or even dare to attempt reinterpretation of the Koran to make it more relevant to the twentieth century was considered blasphemous.’ Among other things.

I shed tears for her heart wrenching loss; the loss of her identity, the loss of her children, the loss of her love for a man who was evidently cruel, manipulative, abusive and racist.

I was shocked and disgusted at some of the things she talked about, by the outbreaks of racism and personal attacks she had been subjected to by people I regard my own countrymen, even as far as in Melbourne.

Amir was unfortunate to be at the receiving end of my anger, and I’m sorry it happened.

There were so many emotional parts in the book that touched me on so many points that made me relate to this unknown faceless woman again and again, that I actually felt like my heart was ripped out and left to bleed.

Perhaps her feelings of isolation echoed my recent feelings of being alone, despite being surrounded by so many. Of feeling increasingly separated from people I call friends, of the nagging worry at the back of my mind that I may one day decide to get up and walk away from it all and start afresh once again.

Her talk of abuse brought to mind the pain and worry I feel about several friends, her description of emotional abuse too close to the mark of how I imagined my friends might have felt, and my fears that the cycle would start for one of them, and it would be beyond my grasp to help those I loved the most.

I was disturbed at the sporadic accounts of discrimination against her, of the random attack made by several Malaysian students studying in Melbourne, no less, and am angered at how ignorant and stupid some people can be.

The unfairness of having her children being ripped away, and the worry of what they may be put through, after reading her own experiences in the palace was heart wrenching. I could only imagine what may have happened, and hope that they remained unscathed. As for the mother, I could only begin to imagine the process of being separated from her own children, children where she had fought so desperately to keep and having all that taken away without even a warning.

It’s been awhile since a book made me cry like that. Perhaps only because it was all true, all real and all too close to home.

I am disillusioned, by the glimpses of human nature of my own countrymen, by the legal systems, by everything. At least for the time being.

I hope things have changed, and I fear they have not changed much. I hope attitudes have changed, and I wonder if they have. For once I wonder if I can be optimistic, if I can return to Malaysia and look past the prejudices we harbour, and wonder if I can be the same person I am here in Melbourne.