#29 Why So Hardcore Malaysia?

I don't know if you've heard about the whole Alvivi affair, on how they posted a picture of them wishing Muslims to break fast with Bak Kut Teh, full with the words "Wangi, Enak, Menyelerekan" and Halal logo next to it. No doubt it was probably meant as a joke. But it was perhaps a joke gone too far. Now, Alvin and Vivian are sitting in prison (having been denied bail) and awaiting trial in August. If found guilty, the face up to 15 years in jail. Can you imagine - 15 years in jail for a bad joke. Not so funny eh?

Popular sentiment seems to be that they deserve it. It's one thing for you to post sex pictures of yourself on the internet. But it's another to mock other people's beliefs.  Far from being ignorant and naive, it seems obvious that they knew exactly what they were doing. It was intentional. Do they deserve 15 years? I don't think so. But definitely, some punishment is due. The issue here isn't about freedom of speech. It is about being aware of other people's feelings. You are free to say what you want. But that also means you take responsibility of what you say, including the hurt and damage it causes to others.

But a brief note to the police and government - while you are at it preparing your charges against Alvivi, kindly also haul up and imprison those guys that stomped and threw a cow head into the Hindu temples a few years back too. Because that was no less insulting either. How come they just had to pay a fine? Oh, lets not forgot those guys who threw petrol bombs at churches too. If Alvin and Vivian deserve jail, so do they. In fact, they deserve much harsher punishments compared to Alvivi, because those were public and violent in nature. Furthermore, they were done in groups! Here you have Alvivi - lone ranger duo sitting in jail for a stupid joke they made while those organized group of extremist gets a slap on the wrist for being a naughty boy.

Here's the thing - since when did Malaysians become so hardcore? Why did Alvivi feel it was OK to make such a deliberate insult? Why did those guys feel justified throwing petrol bombs at churches. Why? Did stomping all the cow heads seem OK?

Since when did Malaysians have so little empathy for each other? Muslims the world over got angry at the Prophet Muhammad caricatures a few years ago. Surely they understood how it feels to have something holy to you be insulted. So why insult others in the same way? And Alvivi, surely they knew how sensitive these issues of Halal and Puasa are here in Malaysia. So why make such a joke? If you wanted attention, you sure got it now.

I don't remember Malaysians being this hardcore when I was growing up. It feels as if we have taken many step backwards as a society. I always felt that we were a progressive society. 'Moderate' was the term always thrown around when describing our country. But now, it seems Malaysians aren't as moderate anymore. Think of Bersih 1,2,3,4, the Lynas protest, the black parade. All those who went to the rallies wanted to make a statement. They wanted to be heard. But they felt that the ONLY way it would go through would be by doing something dramatic, something extreme before others will even start to listen them.

That's what it all boils down to doesn't it? Malaysian have forgotten how to listen. We don't know how to empathise with our neighbours any more. We don't feel like others understand us either. And so we feel compelled to make ourselves heard - in whatever way we can think of, like stomping on a cows head, throwing petrol bombs, marching in the thousands and even making inappropriate religious jokes on Facebook.

Alvin and Vivian do deserve punishment. But punishing them will not solve the problem. They aren't the problem. WE ARE. .Because we created them. They are the ugly product of our insensitivity.

In some ways, we are a mini little Arab spring in the making. People shouldn't feel the need to do something crazy just to be heard. Before that happens, we really need to start shutting our mouths a bit more and start listening to one another. How about that for a national reconciliation plan.

#28 Gone

Weeks since my last email to you, months since your last posting, even more months since I last heard from you at all.

I presume - you must be gone.

I guess we never got to say goodbye. But then again, we never got to say hello either. We remained strangers till the very end. I tried googling for you. I tried all sorts of key words, but couldn't find anything. All I have is your anonymous emails, a thumbnail picture of you, and a chat history where you told me your secrets.
Yes, that's how this all started didn't it? You read my secrets. And you invited me to read yours. And we became these two anonymous strangers who shared secrets with one another. You said you prefered the anonymity. You said it made you free to express yourself with no inhibitions. What I didn't tell you was that I couldn't do it. I couldn't get to know you more and more and still be kept at one corner like a stranger. You wanted me to be your anonymous confidant, your online lover, your boyfriend that you'd never meet. For many reasons, I couldn't do it. While it is true at the beginning that all I wanted was a scandal or fling, like I told you later, all I really wanted was to be your friend.

When you told me you were dying, I immediately asked to meet you. You said no. Instead you sent me a picture of you, with your real name. Maybe you thought it would just complicate your life even more. I respected that. But I hope you know, all I really wanted to do was to meet you and talk to you, even if just for a little while in person. I needed to see you in the flesh, so that this virtual friendship, short as it may be, could translate to reality.

Did you worry that I might try to make you fall for me? I wasn't going to. Did you worry that you'd fall for me anyway? You wouldn't have. I could tell that you were still in love with your ex lover. It was one of the things we shared in common after all.

Whatever it was, its over now. Thank you for what you shared with me, for telling me a bit of your life's story - your illness, your father, your lover. It is tragic that kind souls like you lived such short lives. You baffled me with you attachment to you ex, but you amazed me with you bravery in death.

I promised you back then that I'd remember you. Even if it's just a name and a thumbnail picture, I still intend to.

The silent sufferer,
selfless soul,
worry no more,
about the troubles of this world.

#27 Bad Dreams

Maybe I've been too engrossed with work. I had my first 'professional' nightmare last night. I dreamt that business was bad. That competitors came and scooped up orders from under our noses. I dreamt that former colleagues colluded with competitors and sold confidential information. Only these weren't really dreams. They were real life events from office. They were invading me even in my sleep.

I tossed and turned the rest of the night and by the time I woke up, I felt more tired than before I went to sleep.

I remember listening to people talking about how here in Asia, people's whole lives get consumed by their work. I never really thought much about it then. But without even realizing it, I have become the epitome of just that.

#26 Daddy To Be

It was the first time I had ever felt my hands trembling in such a way. I couldn’t be sure if it was out of fear, excitement or anxiety. But I held her hand to mind, leaned my head forward so that our foreheads touched, and we prayed.

“Thank you Lord. Thank you for answering our prayers. Thank you for showing us that you are a God that listens to his people. Thank you for this blessing. Thank you for this child that you have given us…”

I’m about to become a father.

Ever since the day we found out, my other hand has surely but steadily been showing stronger symptoms of pregnancy. We haven’t gone to the doctors for a first consultation yet. Hopefully all we go well. All this uncertainty has been quite nerve wrecking. We went to the bookshop to buy a few books on pregnancy. She picked one book – What To Expect When You are Expecting. It’s comprehensive, detailed and really something all first time mothers should read. Truly a good book. Me? In typical fashion I picked an equally good one – Pregnancy For Dummies. It’s simple, easily digestible, and really something all first time all dummies fathers need to read.

“How do you feel now?” my wife asked me the other day.

“Normal I guess… “ I replied.

“Maybe you’ll feell more anxious when the bump starts to show?” she asked.

As if I wasn’t anxious enough as it is.

I have been anxious lately. Not just about the pregnancy. But also about parenthood. Now that the initial excitement is over, I find myself having to plan for a the arrival of a tiny little human being that will depend on me for the next 18 (or so) years for food, shelter, education and nappy changes.

My thoughts turn to my own parents for guidance. But my father has moved to the Philippines to live his own life, and my mother is sitting in the psychiatric ward.  It does feel like my wife and I are going to have to just wing it.

Will we be good parents? Will I be a good father? Am I ready for this? Will we be able to manage? Will there be enough? Do we know how to teach our children? Will they be sick? Will they inherit any medical problems? I guess I’ll just have to find out over time.

We went to the doctors office a few days after we found out. After a few minutes of chatting, we proceeded to do the ultrasound.

Looking at the monitor, the doctor was describing to us what this little dot and that little dot was. The baby had a heart now, and it was beating. He turned up the volume on the scanner, and for the first time in my life I heard the heartbeat of my own flesh and blood. It was then that reality hit me with all its might.

I’m about to be a father. 

#25 An Admission

I admitted my mother into hospital today.

It broke my heart looking into her eyes - sensing the sense of fear, disappointment and betrayal as she looked silently at me. Maybe she knew it was inevitable. Maybe she hoped we wouldn’t do it. Maybe she trusted that we wouldn’t. But we did. We walked her down the long corridor, up the stairs and into the psychiatric ward – a place she vowed she never ever wanted to come to again.

It can be very hard caring for a mother with schizophrenia. Mental illness is not something most people readily understand like diabetes, cancer or heart diseases. It is an invisible illness that shadows the sufferer and their family at all times. Even when medication is taken and all is normal, the effects of the illness is ever present. The sufferer and their family are acutely aware of it at all times. Side effects from the medication manifest – twitching, restlessness, involuntary movements, inability to concentrate, dullness, inattentiveness – all oddities of behavior to the untrained eyed. But to the sufferer and their families, it is an ever reminder that psychiatric drugs are at work.

My mother was admitted today because she went into a relapse. She had not bathed herself for days. She had not been sleeping well, eating properly or talking normally. She couldn’t hold a proper conversation, had unexplained and erratic mood swings and had severe flight of thoughts. We tried giving her the medication in the doses the doctor recommended, but she started fighting it. At our wits end, we brought her to the doctors. Admission was the most expected outcome.

Driving from the hospital, I said a prayer to God. I prayed that God would protect her, heal her and soften her heart. I understood my mother. I understood why she had been secretly skipping on the medication. She wanted to be well. She believed that she was well. Taking medication and having to deal with the side effects is hard for her, both personally and publicly. Gazes from strangers – even those from church  - can be surprisingly harsh. She believes that she doesn’t really need the doses that the doctor prescribes. If she could only see the state she was in at this moment.

I hope she will forgive me and my brother for what we did today. Though we know and believe what we did was right, and ultimately for her own good, she will probably not feel the same. She would probably be very hurt by what we did, thinking this was our way of just trying to ‘get rid of the problem’ and doing what was most convenient to us. Hopefully one day she would know just how difficult it was for us, or how much it hurt us too. No child enjoys the thought of their mother sitting alone in a hospital bed, surrounded by even more mentally ill patients.

Come home soon ma. Please believe me when I say – we love you. 

#24 Dear PM

Dear Prime Minister,

I'd like to tell you - I voted for you.

No, not for you personally in your constituency. But your constituency candidate where I was part of in GE13.  I did this despite the fact that the Opposition candidate actually seemed more appealing to me. I did this despite the fact that almost every single person I spoke to (including my family) were telling me to do otherwise - saying it was time for change, it was time to show the government that they can't just do what they like without suffering the wrath of the people. I did this despite being confronted with countless examples of corruption and poor governance by the government. Yes, at the risk of being called a fool, I voted for you.

See, unlike everyone else in the demographic group that I belong to, I wanted to give you a chance to make good of all the 'janji ditepati' posters you've been slapping all over town. Most people I know are cynical of your ability or even intention of keeping those promises. They tell me that even if you wanted to make progressive reforms, your party people will never allow it - not with the millions of dollars at stake for them. They say you curry favor and support by splashing money and opportunity at them.

Honestly, I'm sick and tired of all the political coffee shop talk that's been going on the past few months. I'm sick and tired of hearing about phantom Bangladeshi voters, I'm sick of hearing about corruption charges. I'm sick of countless mass rallies calling for 'ubah', touting 'ini kalilah' when in fact, 'kali in sudah lepas'. It seemed like many people my age were supporting opposition simply because all their friends were doing so. To do otherwise would risk being shunned and ridiculed.

It was my feeling that many people were calling for change just for the sake of change. Ubah can.. but ubah to what? Where is your roadmap? Where is you policy and plan? How is it better than the government's? Who is your proposed cabinet line up? It was my deep suspicion that the top leader(s) of the opposition were charismatic smooth talkers more than anything else. Abolish toll? Free education? Great! But they conveniently left out how this was going to be achieved without driving up deficit, how toll companies will have to be compensated to break the contract, how income tax would probably go up if education is fully government funded. I was not given any solid, well grounded, level headed reason for why I should vote opposition. All I got was a lot of rhetoric and hot heads make sweeping statements that basically go "Bloody government corrupt. Steal the people's money for themselves and screwing the country." It felt more like people just wanted to vote against the government, rather than vote for opposition. I understand why people are angry. Public office should be about serving the people, not about money and power. But Malaysian politics have become all about money and power. And you, the BN who have been in power since independence must take responsibility for that.

You must reform the government to be more accountable - no awarding of jobs to your own people, no inside deal on government contracts. You must strengthen public institutions - Election Commission (EC), Malaysian Anti-Corruption Commission (MACC), Courts and the Media must be given full and genuine autonomy to carry out their roles. You must stop drawing racial lines among the peoples of Malaysia - as peaceful and prosperous as we are, we are still being polarized by race. Why is Utusan putting racial headlines and getting away with it?  My constituency was majority Malay, but the candidate you chose (a Malay) still lost to the opposition candidate, (a Chinese) What Chinese Tsunami? Why not middle class Tsunami? There can be no place for racist policies or practices in government and public office. Long lasting social change comes from top down, not bottom up. If even the government condones racism, then surely the man on the street will never change.

Dear Prime Minister,

I dislike all these street protest and mass rallies going on. I doubt the intentions of the leaders going up on stage preaching to the crowd, telling everybody exactly what they want to hear, all in the name of gaining political mileage. They are like wolf in sheep's clothing to me. But I do not doubt the hundred of thousands of ordinary Malaysians who decide to go to such rallies. I do not doubt the 5.486 million Malaysians who voted opposition. They have a right to exercise their opinion. And they certainly have a right to demand a clean government. You see, I want change just as much as they do. I want justice, transparency and integrity in government just as much as they do. It is what all Malaysians want. The only difference is, they don't think it can come from you. I still hope it can. That is why I voted for you. People tell me I am wrong. People tell me I am naive.

But you now have four years to prove me right.

Please make good use of it.

#23 A Brave Death

Thursday afternoon, I got a call from a friend. My old college mate, Mario was dying. He complained of a headache just a day earlier on Wednesday morning. Made his way to hospital but by afternoon, he was in a coma. Doctors said something about his cancer spreading to his head causing internal brain damage. Chances are, he will not recover. It was just a matter of days.

“ What cancer?” I asked.

“The cancer he’s been battling since early last year.” came the answer.

I was embarrassed. I had not kept abreast with the ongoings of many people I used to know.

“Can you come?” asked my friend.

“Not now. I’m overseas. I will see him as soon as I’m back.”

“Hurry..”

Over the next two days, I thought about just what I could possibly say to Mario, literally on his death bed. It has been at least 4 years since I last saw or spoke to him. I had no idea he went through countless facial reconstruction surgeries last year to remove the cancer on his cheek, or that he couldn’t talk for three months. All I know was that he was one of those cheerful ones. The kind that seemed to carry jokes with him everywhere, spreading laughter as he went. It seemed a cruel twist of fate to mute such a person.

The plan was to visit him on Saturday. But by Friday night, I still had no idea what I was going to say to him. But it didn’t really matter in the end. Mario died on a Friday afternoon before I ever had the chance to see him.

On his Facebook wall, the endless post of encouragement and support gradually turned into words of condolences.  An hour later as I was driving home, a text message came in.

“Mario passed away.” said my friend.

“I know.”

“His funeral is tomorrow night. Shall we go together?” said my friend.

“OK… See you then.”

Over the next two days, as I went through the details of the last years of his life and death, I realize that there was so much more to this man than I ever know from college.

I learned of his great courage in facing this rare but fierce cancer that hand literally consumed his life overnight. Even as he was going through chemotherapy, he refused to give in to sadness, insisting that having cancer doesn’t mean you stop laughing. His mother told him to pray to the Goddess Guan Yin to heal him, but he refused. He said that if he prayed and Guan Yin healed him, it would not be fair to others who deserved it more. He would not ask for intervention from God if this was his fate.

“He is no longer in pain. My son is in a better place now.” said Mario’s mother with a smile on her face at the funeral . I had never seen a mother grieving for her son with so much peace and acceptance in her eyes.  I guess Mario inherited his courage from his mother.

He was my age, born just 2 weeks before me. And yet here he was, lying in a wooden coffin. It felt surreal staring down on him through the coffin glass. The embalmers did such a good job that if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was just in some deep sleep. I stared at his face, half expecting him to suddenly open his eyes to give me one of his trademark grins I often saw in college. But he was most assuredly gone. It was the reason we were all there in the first place. Silly me.

We sat around and watched as the priest burned paper money, paper houses, paper cars and a myriad of appliances, as offering to Mario in his afterlife. A friend joked that we should burn a few mobile phones too. He was always a gadget geek. Mario would have appreciated it. I nodded with a smile. On the day he died, Mario left behind his parents, his two younger sisters and dozens of friends who would forever miss his jokes and banter.

It amazed me to listen to what people had to say about him after his passing. I was reminded again that ultimately at the point of your death, you will be loved and missed not for your abilities or achievements, but for the love and joy you impart to those you come in contact with in your life. In death, I also found new respect for him. He had faced death with a kind of dignity and courage that I can only hope I will have when my day comes.

The service ended around half past ten. We said our goodbyes to each other and one last goodbye to Mario. I headed home and hugged my wife, just a little tighter, just a litter longer that night.

May God’s grace and mercy descend upon you. Rest in peace Mario.