Unimpressive Mediocrity

Had I been given the choice (or the opportunity and funds to do so), I would have preferred to study overseas for my undergraduate degree. But as a Yiddish proverb goes (and don’t ask me how I got to know a Yiddish proverb of all things), men plan and God laughs. And I did almost everything according to plan i.e. search for the right courses, hunt for respectable overseas universities, apply for admissions, thumbed the local dailies and surfed the Net with utter devotion in hopes of finding scholarships and when the relevant bodies called up for interviews, prepared myself for the possible questions that could be asked. But God must have laughed hard because despite all that, I somehow found myself as an undergraduate at a local public university for the next four years. My only consolation was that I got the course I wanted. And I only needed about 30 minutes of travelling time on the Federal highway from my house to the university. It was a sheer relief that the short distance meant no necessity for me to stay in university residences.

Anyway, I thought my undergraduate life was pretty uneventful. We did study (I think) and the close proximity to Midvalley Megamall was enough to inspire moments of distractions and active participation in non-academic related events. Most importantly, I’ve been asked on what it felt to be studying at the Law Faculty, numerous times. My response each time would be typically boring – it’s the same feeling as any undergraduate studying any course in any public university. Don’t get me wrong. I’m immensely proud that I was able to enter the Faculty and able to graduate on time (phew!) but beyond that, I did not think much about my university’s status. Although university officials would like to repeat the oft-quoted comment that our university is a premier university, I could not see it as a justification for self-inflated importance.

In fact, it is a (dismal) truth many failed to acknowledge that our local universities are nowhere up the ranks in terms of global recognition. Perhaps my university is a premier university when one compares it to the other local public universities and private universities. But in an era of rapid globalization, the yardstick should never be your own country’s universities. That’s akin of settling for the title of ‘Jaguh Kampung’ and resting on one’s laurels when other universities race towards progressive strides in achieving world-class status.

My university which was founded decades ago (some would like to believe a century ago) is now, at best, an institutional relic with unashamed reliance on past glory. Take away that history and my university would be not that far ahead or different from other local universities. It was this fact which hurt the most when a local daily reported that my former university managed to be ranked no. 167 out of 700 universities in a ranking exercise. University loyalists would be quick to point out that by being no. 167 and the highest Malaysian university on the list, it is a remarkable achievement deserving respect and the whole pomp and celebration. Don’t forget people, we have approximately 533 other universities lagging behind us!

But then again, who would bother with trying to count those that you’ve left behind? I’ve yet to see any sprinter checking to see who’s behind them in a race to the finish line. All they care is who’s ahead of them. The same principle would naturally apply to universities. What’s important is that my former university is nowhere near its sibling university, the National University of Singapore which is ranked at no. 28 or even Nanyang Technology University. Considering NUS shared the same lineage as my university, it speaks volumes of my former university’s deterioration in excellence when we think of 167 vs 28. I’m bad at Maths but even I myself could see the huge disparity.

A friend of mine had asked whether I was proud of the fact that my former university is ranked no. 167. I could only reply ‘What pride? Empty ones?’ And with no disrespect to my former university’s achievements, I told my friend this -

“Imagine yourself queuing for a buffet spread with 166 people ahead of you. By the time your turn comes, you do wonder whether you get to eat what you want or merely settling for other people’s leftovers”.

And taking a cue from a Korean drama series I have just watched, I will always remember what the mother’s character said to her daughter when the latter proudly announced that she got no. 2 in her class. The mother was proud of her daughter’s achievements but was realistic enough to point out that ‘being second is an achievement. But when you find yourself in a situation where there are only two competitors, being no. 2 is also a loser. So try harder to become No. 1 so you’ll never have to feel the pain of losing’.

At no. 167, it’s time to take a reality check. Wake up and smell the hard concrete, especially when you have other 166 universities reminding you that there’s nothing to shout about unimpressive mediocrity.

What's the big deal with Raya?

I had initially hoped that it would be a festive entry, regaling my readers (I wished it was millions but well, I’ve to admit only a countable few actually knew my blog address) with the many exciting and fun-filled episodes of Raya 2011. And as cream to the cake, putting up photos to the extent that you’ll probably think I’m either an avid photographer or a camwhore. Well, there’s a reason why I started this entry the way I did and typing the operative word in bold just in case the joke is missed.


With considerable restraint on my part from using colourful vocabulary, I can only say this. Raya 2011 was a dampening mixture of pre-Charles Dicken’s Christmas Carol and ER (minus the good looking actors, of course). Perhaps it’s a sign of me getting older but that argument should necessarily fail because Mama and her siblings are still very much taken with the whole merry-making. Despite meeting each other almost on a weekly basis, my maternal relatives are still able chat away the hours during Raya and in my father’s oft-quoted words, reheating that old cauldron of soup yet again. Unfortunately, I do not share the same camaraderie with my cousins to withstand hours of chitchatting. This I have to admit as a personal failing given my less-than-likeable character (you’ve got to call a spade a spade. There is no other way). Either that or I’m unable to appreciate our common traits or to tolerate the many differences we have despite sharing the same lineage.


Talking about the same lineage, the case should probably be somewhat different with my paternal cousins. I’ve yet to meet any of my cousins which undoubtedly is pathetic. Unlike my maternal cousins who I do meet up with regularly, paternal cousins are best described as ‘once in a blue moon’ kind of existence. Out of my father’s numerous siblings, I can say confidently that I will only meet up with children of my dad’s one sister and another brother during Raya. For the rest, ‘perfect strangers’ come to mind. So perfect are we in refusing/failing to acknowledge our blood ties that strangers would share a better connection upon meeting each other. I should know. A friend I know is close to my cousin and imagine her surprise to discover we’re related.


By now, you would probably think I’ve some sort of dysfunctional extended family to enjoy any festivities at all. But that hasn’t been the case all along. I used to enjoy Raya very much, even after my sisters left for their studies abroad. This year’s festivities however, were overwhelmed by stories of deaths, infections and medical complications. Just three days before Eid came knocking, the angel of death visited my grand-aunty. Honestly, she was not my favourite relative to warrant cascading streams of tears. But respect and decorum required us to make the long journey into the remote area of Sungai Ayam, somewhere in Batu Pahat, Johore. By the time we arrived at 11 plus in the morning, the deceased was already neatly wrapped in the burial cloth. Unlike the deaths of other family members, I did not feel any grief. In fact, the feeling was one of indifference as I watched others walked in and out of the house. A death has taken place but the emotions that followed did not seem to jive. Could it be that a living heart has turned cold? No pun intended though.

To make things worst, it was a day trip on a Friday. And just as we thought that the trip into Sg. Ayam was arduous, the return trip was frighteningly painful. As a general rule, we can always assure ourselves that driving back would be faster. Yet, despite raking in the kilometers, it was as if we will never leave Pagoh. The drive was excruciating and I had to stop for a couple of times to knock off those sleepy yawns, something I’ve not done before. That trip knocked us out for the next two days, reducing a what would have been the last Ramadhan weekend into extended sessions of nap time.

Then, Raya finally came. With new clothes, a more ernest attempt at applying make-up and the ever familiar favourites of ketupat and Aunty Yah's sambal kacang, it should have been a Raya worth remembering. Well, I discounted the fact that the epidemic flu bug that has been going around town (to which the epicentre is somehow my relative's house) is sufficient to kill any celebratory mood as we hear people wheezing, sniffing and best of all, inconsiderate individuals letting it all out in huge bursts of sneezes to the quiet chagrin of others. Seriously, there are medications designed to keep the flu bug under control, and those affected individuals do not know of such existence.

It has only been 3 days of Raya but enough for me to think what's the big deal with Raya itself. I'm blogging in office now as Friday comes to an end and weekend beckons. But wait, a weekend in Raya is never mine to begin with. A weekend that comes only means more houses to visit and more of those neverending 'smile, kiss, how are you? when are you settling down?' cycles. Well, I just have to bear with it for another 27 days or so. Till my next entry or until my sanity wears out,

'Selamat Hari Raya Aidil Fitri. Maaf Zahir & Batin'.