Between hot dogs and kids, let us get our priorities right

There has been quite a fair share of Malaysian engineered hullabaloo over any food that contains ‘dog’ in its name. Faith is a very personal subject but I do take it as a personal offense when Muslim patrons are now deemed as incapable of making choices beyond the ‘Halal’ logo (which is also questionable at most times, if I may say it) or being utterly confused in practicing the tenets of our faith simply because we consume food like hotdogs. I’m starting to wonder how many years I’ve to spend in Hell because honestly, I’ve lost count of the many hotdogs I’ve swallowed blasphemously in the past!

On a serious note however, let us worry more on how our society has become in terms of manners. Kids are arguably extension of their parents. No doubt, some may rate the kids based on their appearance alone and have no qualms in saying their comments out loud. Like the time when I heard one old aunty commented to a young mother in a moving bus "Your baby is so fat liao!". I rolled my eyes, because the old aunty is hardly one to be described as skinny.

But how often do we hear comments based on the kids' manners? Growing up in a relatively conservative Asian society, we are constantly caught in this weird dilemma - kids are expected to be well behaved but Asian parents don't take too kindly to criticism from others of their kids' conduct. Every child is an angel while demonic cretins are merely characters in a story book. There are parents who would admonish their children behind closed doors (I was such a product) but there are also those who choose to ignore this - spare the rod and spoil the child. The latter probably believed with all their tiny hearts, that a fallen angel is still an angel. They forgot that Satan too was a fallen angel.

Whenever a kid misbehaves, it is not and never the kid's fault. Rather, it is the failure of his or her parents in bringing up the kid. That's my belief. And my belief gets strengthened every time I see young kids nowadays, whether we are related or not. When parents themselves are busy with their smartphones and iPads, and kids have their own gadgets and are literally left to their own devices, I often wonder - is this the latest family model? If yes, I am rather reluctant for an upgrade.

Whatsapps, facebook posts, selfies on Instagram and Youtube videos are not communication channels that link parents to their child. These are modern additions to what should have been a basic foundation that connects two different generations - the ability to talk to each other, face to face without a screen in between. The ability to play in open fields with their parents in the background, and not to play interactive games in their own rooms while parents are engrossed in their own online chats. The ability to become friends despite the differences in age, perspective and despite sharing the same blood group. One would think this is common sense but in today's world, what used to be ordinary is pushed aside as an abnormality.

This foundation potentially guards the parents against imposing their dreams on their child by the dastardly double-edged sword of age and experience, and understanding that every child is unique and a bearer of a soul that could be distinctly be the same as his parents or entirely different. Nevertheless, I agree that some may not subscribe to this for various reasons, one of which is that they too came from backgrounds that restricted them during childhood. So the cycle merely repeats itself. The child becomes a parent and many dreams will be left unfulfilled or filled with inner resentment.

When a kid feels a strong connection to his parents, one that is not dictated by how strong the Wi-Fi signal is, the kid is a blessed child. He would know that the world is his to conquer if he chooses to do so, but in the event the storms get too violent, he can always return to a secure and loving family. He can count on his friends for youthful frolics but he knows that familiar voices of family will always remind him whenever he steps out of line.

From yesterday's dinner experience, I saw a little girl at a table with her mother and grandparents. The grandparents kept to themselves, the mother was busy cleaning her own plate and ... the girl was watching youtube videos on her mini iPad. She didn't touch her food and the volume used was enough to entertain the whole restaurant. In what could only be a reproduction of their dining routine, the family remained oblivious to the blaring sounds despite glares from fellow diners. I moved to another table but dinner was already a spoiled moment.

But nothing is as bad as realising this - the kid will grow up thinking it is perfectly normal to watch loud youtube videos in restaurants. Or places which people pay quite a bit to enjoy a nice meal in a quiet setting, away from the toxic demands of work and life. She will either one day be ticked off by very irate diners or risk having her dinner accompanied with silent prayers of misfortune to befall her family for generations. By this time, she will probably come with her own kid in tow. So how will she explain the right thing in social decorum to her kid then?

 

Between hot dogs and kids, let us get our priorities right.

 

p/s: This post was published in themalaymailonline.com on 20 October 2016.

Scholarships - What's right, wrong and fair

Whether scholarships are a right or privilege, might it also be a mirror that reflects societal unfairness? Or could it be something more sinister, a slide by seemingly bright lights into a black hole of nothing?

 

I was never a recipient of any scholarship. It could be just my luck.

I was never poor enough for relatives and strangers to tap their innermost conscience and fund my way through university. I was also not brilliant enough for the government to be ridiculed in denying me a fully-sponsored tuition and stress-free college years. And most certainly, I was not "connected" enough to think it’s my inherent privilege to lord a scholarship over others who were definitely more deserving.

Being neither poor, brilliant nor connected certainly puts me in a little square.

Looking back, that square was not really a bad deal. My parents could thankfully afford my public university’s fees, even when they were mere government servants. I had brains which were lazy out of habit but functioned rather well in distressing moments, enough for me to scrape through the Sijil Tinggi Pelajaran Malaysia and read law in University of Malaya. And for not having the right connections, I have the passport to be whatever I want without nosy Parkers having a say or stake in what I am today.

Regardless, I have much to thank my parents for. They made it a point to educate my siblings and I on the value of education, and yet to similarly impress upon us that they do not have the means for us to find that brighter future in some metropolitan capital. We grew up believing that while everything was ours to achieve, no one owed us anything. So while I may have grown up in an area which supposedly sees RM10 as having the same value of 10 sen (according to a very helpful primary school teacher of mine), I knew the path I had to chart after SPM. It was not one of those foreign matriculation programmes where students would eventually study abroad. It was also not opting for short-cuts which would cost a bomb but gets you nowhere in today’s choked world of degrees and inflated egos. It was the plain and simple STPM.

My parents also knew when to put their foot down, especially during those trying moments of peer pressure. At a time when one thinks that the world is his or hers to conquer, it was difficult to accept that conversations of distant lands and greener pastures didn’t include me. As childhood friends and familiar faces moved away to further their studies, I remained rooted. Any trekking of unknown frontiers became a daily journey along the Federal Highway, leaving behind my secondary school for my dad’s alma mater in Petaling Jaya. While my friends grew accustomed to the changing seasons, I got used to wearing turquoise knee-length skirts instead of faded pinafores.

Life went on and despite some bumpy ride along the way, I found my qualifications. But perhaps, not many parents will share what mine has taught. Perhaps youths will not consider the choices I made.

I came across a parent who was seeking funding for his children’s studies. At the start of our conversation, the father spoke on his ailments and unemployment status. He spoke little about his children’s scholastic achievements and only when questioned admitted that his children had yet to complete their diplomas at a private institution of higher learning. Given this fact, I suggested he consider financing their diplomas with a study loan as the scholarship concerned only catered for undergraduates. He must not have welcomed those words for he responded rather tersely, "No, loans have to be repaid. I want scholarship for my children!".

To strengthen his plea or argument (depending on how you’ll look at it - personally, I’m in favour of the latter), he went on to paint a dire outcome for his children. It was alleged that his children are already not having proper meals as we spoke. Without financial assistance, his children would have to drop out of their studies. In a last-minute attempt to justify his appeal, he mentioned the name of the private college at which his children are studying. And here’s the cruncher – he asked whether I knew how expensive it was to study at that private college.

He rattled on a few other "mitigating" reasons but none reached my ears. My brain was instead considering the million thoughts running amok after that particular question, each lost between notions of what’s right, wrong and fair. I could possibly understand his desperation, the act of parents wanting the best for their children. Which parent wouldn’t? However, I wonder if that noble protective mechanism was somewhat desecrated by selfish individuals or destroyed by financially unsound decisions. 

Just as I believe that it was not justified for the Federal Government to stop giving scholarships to outstanding students even when the average Malaysian tightens his belt to survive, it is also morally unsound in certain circumstances to demand scholarships (or the idea that someone else must be compelled to fund for it) as a right. Take the aforementioned father for instance. Unless his children have effectively hoodwinked him, he would have known at the point of admission, the costs involved for a diploma. We’re not even talking about degrees here. More horrifying than the thought of paying through the nose for a child’s education in a private institution is this - the unemployed man has more than one kid in that same private college!

Though private learning institutions are free to decide on their fees, no matter how exorbitant it is to swallow, the ultimate decision lies with the parent(s) and youths in question. Would they be able to fund their way for the entire course? And if they know they couldn’t or run into risks much later, are there other options or emergency measures which they can consider? Honestly, one could always choose a lesser-branded private institution if public universities stifle their style of keeping up with the Joneses.

 

Just as parents should be realistic in matching what they want for their kids against what is really left in their bank accounts, the children must also realise that their world will not end if they don’t get to enter the same college as their friends. Maturity is often an expensive lesson but having said that, why the need to unnecessarily drag your family members through the swamps of bankruptcy?

Scholarships are not ropes to pull irresponsible individuals out from follies of their making. They are ladders which deserving students may climb for access to better opportunities. While we could argue endlessly on whether scholarships are a matter of privilege or right, let’s stop and look at it from another angle. For every scholarship given and received, it is a commitment by a party to see that another gets the financial backing to pursue a brighter future. It is also undoubtedly an obligation for the latter to excel and repay the trust others had in him or her.

 

It should not be, at any time, a tool that creates individuals with a misguided sense of entitlement.

I think that is fair.       

 

 

 

 

       

 

 

   

Be Prepared!

It was by chance that I watched yet another re-run of Disney’s ‘The Lion King’ the other night. Having memorised most, if not all, scenes from the moment Rafiki introduced Simba to a savannah of animals against the awe-inspiring Circle of Life, I do believe another confession is necessary here. It’s not the fact that I would sing along with Timon and Pumbaa as they taught Simba to believe in Hakuna Matata. Neither is it the fact that Mufasa’s advice to Simba underneath a starry skyline constantly reminds me of my late dad and the brief time we had shared.

 

It is something infinitely bigger, obviously more shameful.

 

For me, the actual stars were never Mufasa or Simba. They are just plain boring, characters drawn to illustrate an unbreakable bond between father and child. Heck, even Zazu leaves me tickled. My constant source of fascination lies with that other lion - Scar, and his pack of hyenas. Unlike the regal Mufasa, the younger lion was a misunderstood creature. Having to lurk around in dark corners, he was never meant to rule. And yet, fate and possibly huge doses of self-convincing, left him disillusioned that Pride Rock was indeed his to strut upon.

 

The hyenas were his friends, often united in shrilly laughter and stupidity as they became Scar’s lieutenants to secure Pride Rock. Under their watch, Pride Rock changed from a resource-filled land that connected everyone in the great circle of life to barren desperation. Living animals became carcasses. Hunters had to work harder to find preys. And still, Scar and his hyenas believed that all is well from the stony comfort of their throne. As long as their elite group is fed and Scar’s words remain a matter of pride, what happens to Pride Rock is beyond the hyenas’ powers of retention. As Scar puts it, theirs are as wet as a warthog’s backside.    

 

Oh dear, I do find a strange unexplainable feeling overwhelming me as I write this. Why is it that Pride Rock seems to be so painfully familiar? Could it be a case of art imitating life? After all, I am not a wild animal trying to survive a savannah divided by claims of succession. But perhaps, just perhaps, I am right. Coverage from local television channels and printed news that would find its way to my work desk are daily reminders. Pride Rock is no longer somewhere in Africa. It is here.

 

I read a headline this morning. It screamed ‘Be loyal and obedient!’. Praying fervently that my mind is still functioning well, I continued reading. The more I read, the more I actually hoped my brains would fail instantaneously.  For that’s the only way I can understand how certain quarters of the society could actually (still) swallow all these nonsense, scandals and what-nots with sober minds. Mind you, I purposely refrained from using the term ‘thinking’.

        

It was also by chance that a friend reminded me of an article I had written over a year ago (accessible at this link: http://www.themalaymailonline.com/what-you-think/article/prime-minister-its-time-to-walk-the-talk-for-once-raja-syarafina-rs). While no crystal balls were utilised to write that piece, it certainly begged a follow-up question. Was there progress during the year that was? I think not. Sadly, my earlier piece remains relevant in these worsening times. The normal man on the street, and not the ones cheering wildly in some large convention halls for a show of loyalty, is suffering. In times of rising costs of living, reduction of subsidies and citizens waiting with bated breath for more bad news (the formation of the mind-beguiling National Security Council comes to mind. Whose interest is being protected as our fundamental rights gets eroded?), the pain is apparently non-existent for some. Otherwise, no one (or a right-thinking person to be precise, a dwindling commodity here) would readily accept a declaration that RM2.6 Billion is strictly the President’s affair. What’s transparency anyway, right?    

 

And so, I don’t think I’ll celebrate the arrival of 2016 with much pomp. I’ve to save for rainy days, God knows my car needs fuel just as much as I eat. I have even stopped listing out my new year’s resolutions. You can call me lazy, it doesn’t matter. I’m simply being a realist and resolutions are not meant to be followed. Just like the nicely packaged pre-election promises which would remind me of some useless Christmas presents I received (or bought) over the years. Glittery dazzles from the outside but comes to naught when the wrapping paper is torn apart.

 

There’s only one thing left to do for all the lows that will come our way. Watch ‘The Lion King’ if you have not done so. Forget Mufasa, forget Simba. Pay closer attention to Scar instead. Once he leaves you enthralled, you’ll find yourself singing along with Scar and the hyenas. Be prepared and enjoy the ride!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tonight...

Tonight...
I prayed that rain will wash away the heart's pain,
But the wind came and caressed my skin instead,
It told me the sad fate is not mine to fight,

Tonight...
I saw how beautiful a shining moon could be,
A circle of hope that reappears even with the darkest skies,
It whispered and I heard, never to lose faith or might,

Tonight...
I wish, I wish, that it'll not just be a dream,
To hope and find yesterday's happy memories of us,
With you by our side against the dying light.


Al-Fatihah, Abah.

Prime Minister, it’s time. Walk the talk, for once.

Clarion calls and abundant prints of ‘1Malaysia’ are BN’s version of a Disney fairy tale, where everyone lives happily as one regardless of race, religion and gender. Perhaps this is the ‘ever-after’ that our Federal Government leaders sleep to, just so they convince themselves that under their watch, Malaysia forges ahead in multi-racial relations. And that is why dreams are pleasant. For the reality that Malaysians wake up to every morning, or end their day with, is a stark and bitter contrast. The country may have survived colonialism but our flag now flies amidst growing extremism.



Right-thinking and peace-loving Malaysians have heard enough (but more will come our way) about lies only meant to actuate religious and racial intolerance between those from one race and religion against the others. It is against this backdrop of surging non-acceptance of others’ beliefs, increasing restrictions on rights otherwise guaranteed by our Federal Constitution and deafening ‘holier than thou’ battle cries by religion-based entities to demean the majority’s intention for a peaceful existence as this country’s citizens that Malaysia struggles to find that few moderate voices of reason.


As a Malaysian (and at the risk of receiving brickbats, a moderate Muslim), I strongly welcome the call made by 25 prominent Malays, each one of them having contributed to the Malaysian society in one way or the other, for a rational dialogue on position of Islam in the Malaysian context of constitutional democracy. The oft-quoted Article 11 of the Federal Constitution has been rehashed various times over but in light of the recent developments jeopardising the country’s racial relations and stability, the effect is certainly far from what our Constitution framers had envisioned. Now is the time, and there is no other better time for Malaysia to stand up against calculated acts of undermining our shared history and be part of finding ways (intellectual discourses and debates come to mind, certainly not threats and displays of violence) to better understand where Islam stands in our increasingly multi-racial society, and how that interplays with a person’s right to profess and practice his or her religion.


I for one, would be interested to be part of this dialogue. Coming from a family of mixed ancestries, I personally recognise how this issue craves for crucial understanding just as much as it attracts confusion. I may also be seen as hanging on to those rose-tinted shades but something must have gone awfully wrong along the way. My forefathers have had their fair share of gin & tonic and no party was complete without the waltz or cha-cha-cha but ...  there was never a bad word thrown against a person of another race. Now, some relatives are decidedly more pious in appearance but that modesty unfortunately isn't enough to stop the mouths from spewing venom against another, just because we don't share the same religion or race. 



Prime Minister, you’ve promised Malaysians on your path of moderation. And yet, your silence when confronted with inflammatory statement(s) from your Federal Minister(s) on issues concerning race and/or religion or your inaction in not punishing your fellow party leaders for seditious statements (notwithstanding calls to abolish the Sedition Act given that the Act merely operates as a political weapon against opposition leaders, academics and dissenters) or even your acts of ‘recognising’ these bad apples, begs us Malaysians one burning question. When can we expect hints of leadership from you in these times of need? Moderate Malaysians aspire for a better country for our future generations and a country is but a ship which can’t sail over choppy seas without a strong and capable leader flanked by capable crewmen.



Prime Minister, it’s time. Walk the talk, for once. Lead us from the front and prove that Malaysia will not be this time, the new stage for an adaptation of Martin Niemöller’s ‘First they came’ –




First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a Socialist.


Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a Trade Unionist.


Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a Jew.


Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.


I am me, a moderate Muslim. My personal sins may delay Heaven's welcome in the hereafter, I know. But I also trust that God will not condemn me to an eternity of Hell just because I speak for another of a different religion.  

The sweetness of a honey ponkan

During my days in KL, only two things reminded me that the Chinese New Year was around the corner. The first has to be McDonald's Prosperity burgers where a year's wait is forgotten the moment I sink my teeth into those black-peppered beef patties . The second was getting golden coloured ang-pows every time I had a meal at an Old Town outlet. There was nothing special to differentiate that one festive day from other days.

 

Having moved to Penang, it is evidently clear that when it comes to celebrating CNY, the Penangites are heads above their KL counterparts. Although Penang is a predominantly Chinese state, that fact didn't spare me from a constant state of awe at the magnitude of their revelry. For a person who's only used to seeing few houses with (tiny & inconspicuous) red lanterns, I am now literally seeing red everywhere! This morning, I was greeted by a giant red cloth hanging on my neighbour's door. I drove to office and the normal roads I regularly take are dotted with humongous lanterns. Even the temples found a sense of renewed joy, if that can be concluded from the brightly coloured lighting decorations adorning every parameter of the hallowed grounds.   

 

Judging from the amount of honey ponkans I've received so far, I'm now stuck in a very difficult dilemma. There was no way I could reject the mandarin oranges from well-meaning friends and colleagues. So, when I fly home tomorrow night, I may just have to utilise my hand carry and transport these ponkans to Subamg. At the very least, I know my mum and sisters will devour these sweet oranges (but a source of hell for coughs and phlegm) over the long weekend. The only problem is to consider how I'll manage my luggage, the ponkans and whatnots on the public bus to the airport!

 

While some may be eating their kangkungs in the new year, I wish on each honey ponkan that we eat that this year brings new beginnings, prosperity and a prayer that our Government stop themselves from making the average Malaysians suffer. The sweetness of a honey ponkan, no matter how good, is no match for a bitter aftertaste of subsidy cuts, increased rates and growing unemployment statistic.

 

Wishing everyone a very happy and prosperous Chinese New Year!

 

 

Annus Mirabilis 2014

I was a Primary 3 pupil when the Queen of England admitted year 1992 as Her Majesty's annus horribilis. To the 9 year old me, it seemed very strange that the lady who breathes epitome of Queen's English, had somehow peppered her speech with a foreign sounding term.  Although I eventually learnt it was Latin for 'a horrible year', it took 21 years before I myself  proclaimed 2013 as my annus horribilis.

 

2013 was expected to be a year like any other. Where 12 months of routine and insignificance will pass before first of January re-appears like a fine-tuned clockwork. What I didn't expect was for 2013 to be a year of tremendous change for me. The years of pent-up frustration and work-related stress, calculated suppression of emotional outbursts, constant grappling with what I see as personal failures and a steady inward spiral into depression were bent on throwing a huge party. To which I was the host but not invited.

 

Despite the smiles I could muster as a front, it did nothing to calm my inner being. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Writing and speaking out are my strongholds but yet, words can't be found to describe the hell I was going through. Even with family members and friends, part of it was my pride that I will always be there for them and their troubles. The idea that I need their help was to me, a point of personal weakness. I have to always, always, always be in control. The fact that I knew I was losing control materialised in many ways. Some were more visible to the world, some were only mine to see. My pillow was inevitably dampened by silent tears. Sleep was only a brief respite as the eyes became trained to stare into darkness. Dreams were fleeting, too far and few in between. And yet, the alarm clock would faithfully ring its head to usher in a new morning. I would get up from the bed and trudged into the world thinking 'Today's just another day'. 

 

I knew I was hitting rock-bottom and dropping further. It doesn't help when I needed some space, and I got those 'you're spiritually lacking' poison to the ears instead. For the sages out there, you wouldn't know how close one is to his or her God or the extent of an individual's battle with their personal demons. In moments like these, one needs comforting words to clear their thoughts. Don't preach to those who are already eyeing that strand of rope and wonder whether it's strong enough to hang. Your words may just be the final push for them to jump from some rooftop, if only to escape from your well-meaning intentions.  

 

From those thoughts, I felt I have to make a change. That was how I took a considerable period of unpaid leave and embarked on a month-long European trip. My first solo trip, the first tick on my bucket list. The trip had its moments of fright but deliriously liberating all the same. I've written on this before (check out Recollections from a crazy journey) but clearly, you wouldn't know earlier how it was really fuelled by desperation. I returned home (in one piece, thank God) and changed jobs soon after. The decision meant uprooting myself from Kuala Lumpur to Penang but I took it in my stride. And it's here in Penang that I'm spending the last few hours of 2013 before we usher in 2014.

 

I don't know about you but tonight, I'll be having dinner with a few good friends in some restaurant in Straits Quay. Others may wish for far greater dreams in the year to come. I just want to enjoy the present and silently hoping (and praying) that 2014 be my annus mirabilis! With the Leessang first showcase in Malaysia in January and the My Fair Lady musical in February, it's starting to look like a wonderful year ahead (and possibly the start of many more exciting years to come!).

 

Have a blessed Happy New Year! Don't drink and drive. Just dance the night away :)