I've been thinking a lot lately. Profound thoughts and a few guilt trips. I do that a lot, presurring myself to admit my wrongdoings by first sulking over it before finding the solution. I just think that the -sulking- is much needed to remind myself that I brought the problems to myself. It is entirely my fault. Everything that proves itself to be a burdon is my doings. And with that steamed-surpressed scoop of guilt, I punish myself by overworking myself, be it exhausting the living hell of me by constantly talking to friend(s) or working out a sweat by doing things the hard way like taking the stairs, walking through shrubs instead of the pedestrian walkway, etc.
As my habitual reflection increases throughout the year, I have become more of an observer than an actual moving, talking body when it comes to analyzing any situation presented upon me. And it is troublsome to know the whole truth, when I am no longer able to take sides because of my innate obligations. When I am no longer able to be driven for a purpose. I see that in many. People who can't accept the fact that they are naturally driven when they make excuses for their boosted efforts. It is not wrong to be driven, darling. Not at all. It is of sublime balance. You get something done here, you're leave several loopholes somewhere else.
And when those loopholes amounted a few dozens, because of my driven nature, I'd promised to make ammends, only to have it embossed in its very intention. In the word Promise. And when those loopholes became an actual hole, I will hurt myself and increase the level of distrust in many others. Sulk, reflect and run. Run. Run.
It's a regression of emotional purity and an increase of artificial spiritual discipline. To be discipline by nature of running away from problems, delusioned by the fact that facing it with an iron fist and a bare face will only result defeat. Defeat.
Defeat is not necessarily Defeat. Th US defeated the Japanese with its atomic bombs, only to boost Japanese economic warfare.
I have to do that, to admit false defeat in order to win my rapture of balance and realization. That's the only way. Defeat now, to learn, to study, and to attack with again with knowing resistance until the battle subsides. All great battles are won through clear-cut realization.
Melayu, melayu, why do you like to see me in a state of defeat? I'll play along, only to win supremely much much later.
Last night a group of Tablighs visited my room. I could instantly detect their presence with their distinctive knock-knock-knock-pause-knock-knock.
Tabligh Alert!
I'd thought of a few scare tactics when they first visited my room a year ago. One of them being inciting Sadaqallahulazeeem loudly (as if I'd just finished reading the Quran). wear a kopiah, wrap my neck with a serban and greet them with a assalamualaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh, anbabar' with extra emphasis on the 'ain. But then they would respond by "Apa kata kita bilik sebelah, bertabligh" with extra emphasis on the gha'.
I opened the door feverishly, in my shorts and tees. As soon as I grabbed the doorknob, I quickly withdrew from it and rushed to the cupboard to change my tees. The one I wore has an American flag. Yikes.
"Assalamualaikum, saudara." The Tabligh is probably Sabahan, wearing a vest over a jubah. The other has a worn off jubah and a Steve Urkel pants.
"Assalamualaikum."
They went in, squinted at the sight of the litter box and proceed to my room. They sat down. My cat hopped around their lap and bit Steve Urkel's toe, playfully. He frowned and hit my Syasya's head gently, with a kind of supressed hate looming in the corner of his eyes
I knew it was a little too late but I proceed with PLAN B:
I secretly called one of my friends and when the credit-notifier SMS rang, I picked it up and act as if a lecturer of mine called. "Yes sir, right sir. Oh my, really. I'll be right there."
"Minta maaf saudara, pensyarah UNGS saya nak saya ke office dia, dia ada masalah dengan PC dia. Emergency. Minta maaf ye brother."
Their face contorted. Steve Urkel frowned suspiciously. I took my bag and head out from the room with them and ran from their sight and headed to the nearest McDonald's drive-thru and bought myself a 6-piece nugget. McDonald's has the best nuggets, jewish-owned or not.
Have you been sexually misunderstood? I was in the middle of sms-ing my blogger friend, due to my sms friendly mood lah, about what we were doing and how stressed we were. I know; so gay but I do pleasure myself with random thoughts with random people to ease myself once in a while. Sms-ing with gay friends helps.
So there was I, sms-ing away and inserted some suggestive statements. He responded positively and sms-ed a few gay things he would do to me. I played along until he was in a verge of sms-climax. "It's 5 o'clock, must go swimming." was my message to answer his "What are you going to do to me baby?" He replied "STUPIDDDD!" I think that made him clear that I was only trying to kill time by exploring some mental images of things I would've never thought of doing, let alone do them. It is what I call Flinging; to be in a balance of boredome and role-playing.
It might occur to them that I am an extremely curious young boy who has a chance of joining the club but really, no, not a chance. Not so because I am not in favour of their fervently 'sophicticated' and 'chic' lifestyle because I figured: It's my life, and it's my style. But because I was bored and my idea of repulsiveness is beyond a bluebottle's. Go figure. I read GQ, KLUE, Modifikasi Kereta, The Economist, Newsweek and Ujang, with supplements from Mastika and CLEO. A victim of many, a follower of none.
So it is pretty irritating to hear people label me as gay because I wear a weird looking flip-flops, or Samseng because I drive a loud car or a Bohemian because I move around a lot. It's easier to be Afiq. Not your boy-next-door-metrosexual Afiq or the-passive-aggressive-compulsive-repulsive-as-if- Afiq. But Afiq.
You know what I mean?
To ignore is to be ignorant. But to be aware is to be aware of awareness. And it is better to be aware of yourself, to keep track on which direction you'll be going in developing your personality. If you have no certain direction, you are on the right track because you are still you and aware of yourself, which is still free from the latching of labels. Yep, labels aren't just labels. They are lifestyles. Dangerously imprisoning lifestyles.
Benda apa yang ada 8 kaki, 2 tangan, 6 mata dan 2 kepak?
Jawapan: Cowboy yang naik kuda sambil bawak seekor ayam.
We had fits of laughter yesterday in the studio exchanging teka-teki.
Ali baru putus cinta, jadi dia pergi ke bumbung bangunan sebelas tingkat dan terjun. Ali tak mati. Kenapa Ali tak mati?
Jawapan: Ali seekor burung.
Those are the top two funniest teka-teki I heard yesterday. None of them could even consider any of my jokes to be funny, since it can only be appropriately laughable when using the english language. They can only 'process' malay jokes. In Scottish accent: I dun carrre!
For the whole week, all cafeterias in IIUM will be close at night so students will get their ass down to the Convo stalls and spend at least RM10 for a decent meal, prepared by the same old cafeteria workers. Ingenious, is it not? And yes, WUFI is in charge of the whole thing. We Unite For Islam. Load of crap lah them. Trust me, they are not the smartest bunch in the university, just the usual -lovin-to-be-contrary- kind of people who still (until now) had not realized that they are in charge of the students' welfare. Whiny lil bastards.
Try and visit their Blog, pathetic I tell you: Harapan
Their Ideals disgust the very core of me. Pile of carefully condensed shit, spread over butter and sprinkled with indigestives faeces.
Is it just me or buses are not 'IN' anymore? Not even the double-decker type. But still, it is still in demand. I thought by now people should already be changing their balik-kampong transportation option. But na-ah. It's too expensive for most lower-income workers in KL so what choice do they possibly have? Walk ala LOTR to visit Temah of Kampung Tok Siak? Or buy themselves a 35 ringgit joy ride to the infamous gaung. Your choice. Your destination. Your Life.
I read some comments on some newspapers about how the fatal deaths caused by bus accidents are the doings of God. Qada' and Qadar they say. The time of death is pre-determined by God but not how it takes place. Some of my alim friends told me that those who died in undignified manners are just punishments for their past sinss to ease the punishments in the hearafter.
How is that possible when in Padang Masyar, victims of unfair treatments that resulted their death will point at those who are responsible and proclaim "It is he, it is he who caused my dreadful death!"
Getting a little bit preachy there aren't you Afiq?
It's true. We Malays are very tolerant. Very nice. Very sopan.
We've heard many times how all races in Malaysia critized malays for being lazy, sluggish, bribery-prone, complacent and ignorant. Yes, Melayu Mudah Lupa. It showed how tolerant we are in accepting these criticism because we never retaliated in a defensive fashion. We nod and beg to differ.
What if, if in any event, some groups of malays rapped about how chinese cheat their way into business, treat bribery like a formal procedure and how they are entrapeneurs of many kind of piracy as well as owning memberships of underground societies, gangs and even big-scale-prostitution-import-export mafia groups, would these group of people, these malays be racists?
Would I be racist if I categorized all of them as Ah Longs who would lock people up in small cages, kill each other for money, 'defeat' a company by killing the boss's daughter, amah murderers, and money-hungry gang members who rides around town in loud Sedans with parang and pisau hidden in their dashboards?
Malays muslims, are beyond a doubt the best unifier in Malaysia. Let's take the government decision to change Bahasa Melayu to Bahasa Malaysia. If you go to America, a home of many race and culture and ask them what language they are using, will they answer "We use American language." In Jordan, do they have a Jordanian language. Nope, they speak Arab. Does that mean they are from Arab Emirates?
You and I know that the most racists pricks in this country are mostly chinese. Am I being racist?
I don't know, but the aftermath of this mindset is a direct result of the chinese community's indifference towards the diversity of Malaysia. In Kenduris, malays will always invite everyone, all races to attend their Kenduris but how rare is it to have chinese people to invite malays to their parties? You know what I mean? And how often do they respect our homes when their dogs litter in our gardens where our kids play? And how some of them raise pigs in a middle of Kampungs. Have we ever vandalize your Tokong or take away your offerings? Have we ever break into your Retreats and reveal how Christianity is no excuse for having pre-marital sex at these 'Christian Camps'?
We muslims malays are very nice people, yes we are, but do not expect us to be 'nice' when you start a riot and kill our kids. Am I being racist?
Yes I am, because your kids are my kids too. Because we are Malaysians. Get that frieking FACT inside your money-filled skulls and live with it. We're all human beings. We are dark-skinned, you have smaller penises, we are Malaysians.
I want to touch on many things in small proportions like nasi campur, if you don't mind, my lovely lovely readers. I recently found out that there are over 200 loyal readers who opens my blog daily. GBY. Which can either mean GodBlessYou or GamBatteYo.
I find it interesting and somewhat pathetic that most malay food industry entrapenuers are computers. They are only able to Copy and Paste. Take Sri Gombak's TomYam. There was only one TomYam shop in that area five years ago. Now there are 7. 7 TomYam restaurants. And one satay stall. And yes, they opened another Sri Gombak TomYam, another cawangan, across the street. There is also the infamous Arang Restaurant which is now surrounded by half a dozen restaurants with Kelantan/Terengganu menu.
The Namawee guy is constantly under scrutiny by the government. They are making too much fuss on that guy, which is pathetic. Force him to apply himself to be the next BTN facilitator lah, you kakaktua bigots.
MCA will be going against UMNO's subtle plan to make this country an Islamic state. They keep on quoting the Perak Sultan, repeating again and again to respect the Constitution. I feel like punching them, these MCA politicians. Don't they know that even if Malaysia is an Islamic state, people are still free to opt any religion they want. Plus, they get equal distribution of wealth. So velly velly stew-peeeed.
A 14 year old boy who 'raped' a 14 year old girl was jailed recently. Ngah? He's just a 14 year-old who just found out that cumulative pumping of blood in a penis is possible. He was horny. A girl gave herself to him. So what should he do? Shout Astaga, goes home and repent or buy her an Ice-cream, go to an empty house of an aunt and test his equipment. The girl came back home later in the morning and bila kena marah, blamed the poor guy. 14 year old girls are old enough to control their sexual urges. And yes they are much more mature and (not to mention) stronger than 14 year old guys.
Khairi J is a prick because I think he looks like one.
I like to eat fried mushroom, mushroom soup, mushroom souffle, and other food associated with mushroom. Why, when I get older and (who knows) powerful and influential, I'll officially name a day Mushroomday. Sure it's obscene but we all have mushrooms in us, or in between our legs. Astaga. Oh my god! I. Must. Repent.
I'm sorry to break your bubble but, ehhhh, the 49 cents payment is not inclusive of the airports' taxes. So in a nutshell, it'll probably cost a hundred something dollars.
Some of you may think this kind of advertisment is viable, totally acceptable but think again. Is it really? You'll see advertisments on newspapers on how AirAsia offers a ticket that costs less than a ringgit and thought to yourself "Wow, with AirAsia, now anyone can fly!" but I can guess that a part of you are thinking "Are they pulling my legs? Airport tax lagi, the other airport tax at the other country lagi, and yea, the trip to LCCT will already cost me nine ringgit."
With their wholesome, mighty white and red advertisement, who would've thought anyone would be boringly waiting for their flight, sleeping in the surau, sleeping on their trolleys, on the floor... At this rate, one would think that AirAsia could use some public beds in LCCT. Sure, this will arouse some inquiries from some Islamic organizations, but hell yea, we need beds in 'ere! After 5 hours and 25 minutes of delay, the plane will arrive, all the red-black shirt wearing indian workers will stand by the gates. And voila. We're getting in the plane! 5 hours and 55 minutes later, TakeOff. Smart timing, considering that delaying any flight exceeding 6 hours will cause the airline company to compensate our tickets.
In the plane, while a gum-chewing crew invades the entire lane with her gigantic lower body(unlike the cabin crew as seen on ads), I'll ensure myself that all is well. I deserve a 5 hours and 55 minutes delay because I paid less. Wonderful. Everything is wonderful. After 5 hours of waiting, I was hungry like the fury of hell. I looked at the airline menu and quickly shoved it in the chair pocket. Nasi Lemak = RM9. Bloody hell.
"Now anyone can eat?"
There is an art of consumerism. To deceive people with the truth, by hiding the product's weaknesses. Talking about eating, take McDonald's for example:
A quarter pounder is a thing of beauty on the drive-thru ad. The only problem is it doesn't stay that way after purchasing it.
We can't blame McDonald's though. In their advertisements all over the world, they'd already put on a disclaimer. That smaller-than-flea disclaimer on their ads. Anyone with supervision could've spotted it.
And remember the OR burger incident? Someone had sued KFC for being deceitful when describing the size of the relatively small OR burger. KFC admitted but, but they exegerated the size of the OR burger not by making it bigger but using a small man to eat it inside a small car. Surely, the OR burger's size will appear similar to a quarter-pounder once shoved inside a small mouth.
The art of packaging is not only used by big companies but also applied in simple businesse; k lah, let's make an example out of local fruits:
In Pasar Malams, you could easily spot fruits in perfect condition on baskets with a price tag; RM5 sekilo. When you ask the pakcik for a kilo, he will shove his hands deep into the basket and fill half of the plastic bag with rotting fruits, the other half with the good ones lah.
Prophet Muhammad walked by a market and stopped at a stall that sells wheat. The wheat seems to be in good condition and so the Prophet shoved his hand into the mound of wheat and took it out, only to see wet rotten wheat in his hands. He then said: "He who cheats us, doesn't belong to us."
As widespread as it is, cheating, no matter how you do it is wrong. It's just is. It'll cause multiple problems to consumers and....... let me put it simply, in a term anyone of all religion could understand:
Fayetteville, Arkansas - A certain Middle Eastern religion is much maligned in this country. Full of veils and mystery, it is widely seen as sexist. Often violent, sometimes manipulated by demagogues, it yet has sweetness at the core, and many people are turning to it in their search for meaning.
I’m talking about Christianity.
This Muslim squirms whenever secular friends – tolerant toward believers in Buddhism, Judaism, Hinduism, Islam and Native American spirituality – dismiss Christians with snorts of contempt. “It’s because the Christian right wants to take over this country,” they protest. That may be, but it doesn’t justify trashing the religion and its spectrum of believers. Christianity has inspired Americans to the politics of abolition and civil rights, as well as to heinous acts. Christian values have motivated the Ku Klux Klan to burn houses, and Jimmy Carter to build them. You can’t say that when Christianity informs politics, only bad things happen.
This may strike you as odd coming from a Muslim. But it’s true: people of faith do not signify the apocalypse for democracy. And that goes for believing Muslims as much as for other religious folk. Muslims, in a very specific way, are not strangers in your midst. We are kin. Not just kin in the lovely way that all humans are. We carry pieces of your family story.
I got a phone call one evening from a friend who is a lovable gossip in my home town. “Have you read today’s paper?” she wanted to know. A letter-writing curmudgeon had mouthed off about how U.S. Muslims ought to be expelled, as worthless, dangerous and un-American. “What are we going to do?” she said. We’d worked together on non-pork lunch options for our kids in school – we share that dietary law, as she’s Jewish.
Anyhow, I invited the letter-writer to coffee. Walter declined, but we started writing to each other, his letters bearing a Purple Heart address label; he had been wounded in World War II. Walter was the crotchety, racist American great-uncle I never had. I sent him family photos, as you do to even an ornery relative; he replied that he guessed I was Syria’s loss, America’s gain.
“Huh?” I said.
“Why, you’re a Syrian beauty queen,” the old charmer said.
A year later, I get a knock at my door. It’s Walter. “La ilaha illa allah!” he says, before “hello.” “You and I worship the same God. I know that now.” He limps into my living room, and we finally sit down to coffee.
Muslims are the youngest sibling in the Semitic family of religions, and we typically get no respect from the older kids – Judaism and Christianity. That our older sisters didn’t stick our pictures in the family scrapbook doesn’t make us less related, sweetheart. And our stories are no less legit just because we have a different angle on family history. Want to know what happened to Hagar after she fades from the Bible story of Abraham and Sarah? Sit, have coffee, we’ll talk.
The Muslim spectrum contains many complex identities, from lapsed to ultra-orthodox. There’s this wisdom going around that only the liberal sort are worthy of existence. No, my dears. Conservative Muslims have a right to breathe as well. Being devout, even if it means prostration prayer at airports, is not a criminal offense.
I grew up Islamist. That’s right, not only conservative Muslim, but full-blown, caliphate-loving Islamist, among folk who take core Islamic values and put them to work in education and politics, much like evangelical Christians. One of the things about the United States that delighted my parents, and many Islamist immigrants, is that here, through patient daily jihad, they could actually teach their children Islam – as opposed to motley customs that pass for Islam in the Old Countries.
Christianity and Islam have the genetic structure of siblings. “Allah” is in the Bible. “Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani?” the New Testament has Jesus (peace be upon him) asking on the cross. “Eloi,” “Elohim” of the Hebrew Bible and “Allah” are all derived from the same root word for “God”. When I discovered that fixed-time prayer was an early Christian rite, that Christians and Jews once practiced prostration, like Muslim prostration in our five daily salat, it was like recognising my nose on someone’s face in a photograph, then learning that the picture was of my great-grandmother. Joy!
Doctrinal differences abound, and each faith has its sacraments. Exploring these distinctions should be a source of delight, not of one-upmanship. In difference lie blessing and abundance. The Gospels detail many moments in Christ’s life, but for Mary’s own feelings in labour, you’ll want a glimpse of the Koran – and of Muslim hearts where the scene lives.
Pious Christian and Jewish values are not inherently in conflict with American civic life, as secular folk tend to forget. Devout immigrant Muslims don’t belong? That ship has sailed. Myles Muhammad Standish and Harriet Halima Tubman are here. Not as strangers out of place, either. This is a letter to your beautiful heart: We are your blood.
I love my country, only when you have a country youhave a home. Only with a home then there will be me, standing herewith youLoudly singing, don’t be afraid. Even though I curse all the time. My song, is just like the durian. Tough and spiky, only. To see if you dare to open it, to look at the truth inside. It can be very stinky, it can be very fragrant. It only depends on what kind of nostrils you have.
Our police is called Mata. Because they have very shiny eyes. Once it’s New Year, they will be very hard working. Holding pens but they will rarely write you a receipt. Because they are thirsty, they need to drink tea. Also kopi-O, want to add sugar? If they add sugar, their mouths will sweetly smile at you. When you are leaving. They will even go “Tata.”
Negaraku Tanah tumpahnya darahku Rakyat hidup bersatu dan maju. This phenomenon, doesn’t need any improvements. Neither does it need strengthening, the police and the people work together. A cup of coffee keeps our relationship temperate. I so very suka. At least I won’t go home and receive a saman (fine orticket). My dad would sure be pissed. I would also kiong kan (swear word in Cantonese for“get raped”), with no car to drive. What to do, this time so very kao lat (an expression,something like aiyo)With no car, how do I go out and play? With no car, how do I wage “wild war”? (I don’t knowwhat it means but I assume it has something to do witha girl) With no car, how do I go and watch ah kua?(transvestites)This country, I like it very much.
5 in the morning There’s even a morning call to wake me up Sometimes a few of them will sing together When you listen to it, it’s like a love duet The voice ululates like an R&B song Even though sometimes they sing until it’s out of tune Even though sometimes they even sing until theirvoices break Some sound like cockerels, but they wake up earlier than them This way we can know the time to get ready for class and for work Don’t blame, the government only takes cares of the natives Don’t blame, we don’t receive equal care Only this way we can prove that we
Chinese are not afraid of hard work Only this way we can train ourselves to find asolution during hard times Don’t feel weird about their standards Because this only shows that we are smart (or capable)Children who are not spoilt will not be dependant Because you see some children are still not weaned off breast-feeding.
Rahmat bahagiaTuhan kurniakan Raja kitaSelamat bertakhta.
People who hide in government departments are even better (even more capable) They can do everything so slowly Even when people are queuing, are cursing stinky lelai(what’s that?) They’re chill and unfazed Sometimes they even bring out their kuih They eat their nyonya kuih More people will continue queuing up Even when you curse stinky lelai it doesn’t matter Because the guard at the side is dreaming And he won’t scold you one lah.
They wrap up their heads; walk slowly and cross theroad slowly When you pass in the car you even have to let them pass first The most important thing is to live happily; the most important thing is to live comfortably Don’t be like the Chinese Busy the whole day, very tough We really cannot NOT admire this spirit” Because this is their attitude in life.
(Attitude, attitude)
I’ve been saying good things in this song I believe those of you who are pissed at me will like this now The world is peaceful, and full of hope No one is hurt, there aren’t any riots You’re so classy, you’re so elegant Your kicapkicapkicapkicap is fragrant, and you don’t curse You guys are the most high class, every day it’s just romancing
Listening to Guang Liang Pin Guan (this local Chineseartiste) But he already ran to Taiwan Private school students graduate It’s so very tough to get admitted into local universities Actually we don’t have to get pissed about this issue Actually this is the a very noble plan by the government They want us to explore the world, to find new opportunities for ourselves To learn things and come back and repay the country This is plan is so great, I can’t quibble about it All over the world you can see Malaysia’s children They’re like refugees, so very shiok (expression fororgasm or high)
2007, Malaysia’s having Visit Malaysia Year The Chinese culture is brought out and paraded The government doesn’t even care about private school students The certificate is thrown into the longkang (ditch),just like me
Graduated and went to Taiwan Learned about things, and got ready to come back to repay my country I stood on the streets of Taipei with my guitar But my mouth still sings.
Rahmat BahagiaTuhan kurniakan Raja kita Selamat bertakhta.
Cheh, that's the video kah?
Insulting meh? The fact that he used the Negaraku song for his parody could be perceived by the Malaysian public as offensive but really, do we need to go over the horizon for this? The Negaraku song is originally an english song with an Hawaiian feel, Mamula Moon or most commonly known as the Terang Bulan. It was adopted by the state of Perak because it was the last song sang by a Malaya warrior before he was exiled to the Seychelles. He could've sang Itik Gembo-gembo but he liked Mamula Moon better for its mellow vibe is vibrant and exotic. Like Malaysia.
No, I'm not at all offended by this video. It is somewhat the truth, potrayed in a pretty -in-your-face- manner. Does that make me any less Malaysian to see the logic in the video?
The focal point of the video is the corrupted police force, lazy government workers and the unjust government. The rapper, Namewee must have experienced a taste of giving out duit kopi to policemen. This is not strange at all. I'd seen many taukeh belanja policemen in their kedai and sometimes see how policemen turned a blind eye with a cheap bribe. But with their increase of salary recently, I'm expecting them to stop this indignity. I was arrested once when I was at Melawati because they suspected me of being a chinese secret society member. They weren't the nicest bunch, that I've to admit. But, they're doing the job, and they didn't ask for any bribe. Salutelah.
Government workers, well some or most of them are lazy. They have a pretty static salary, a static lifestyle, a not so static mid-life crisis and a extremely static savings. Who could blame them for being static with their work? They face no extreme challenges and hardships like most businessmen and workers of private sectors. They buy their kuih, go to Carrefour to buy their weekly domestic necessities and head straight back home to deal with their kids. Same-old. Same-old.
Yes, the government has a pretty lopsided ruling on education. Because of their race-induced selection of university students, MCA, Gerakan, and DAP has to adapt to the government education flaws and introduce semi-government chinese schools to prepare students to do their A-levels and study overseas. This had made chinese students to minimize interactions with other Malaysians and caused them to be unfamiliar with the diversity of Malaysia. Namewee is a perfect example, being taught in a chinese school and sent to Taiwan to study.
Siapa salah? Kitalah salah.
It is not uncommon for this to happen. When a minority are forced to face extreme challenges, they will learn to adapt to the harsh environment, causing them to be ahead in many fields. Take the American Jews for example. Once critisized and publicly mistreated by hillbillies American, now they are the frontier in business and management in the whole of US. Japan is another product of pressing international criticism. You bomb me des, I'll make bigger bomb des. You now buy bomb from me des. Who win now deska?
Malay senstivity huh? I thought this is an Islamic state? As an Islamic state, tribalism and racism should be abolished. During the time of Prophet Muhammad, Jews, Arabs and Africans enjoyed equal amount of national pleasantaries. Fact. So shouldn't we do the same, if let say, we're a Muslim country. Non-muslim organizations and political parties should realize this FACT. That they will be given equal treatment if this country is an Islamic country.
I am not so worried about the future malays prospects. Most Malaysian chinese are beginning to become contented with their economical prominence and now(more than ever) began to see the light. The light. Lights coming from LEDs and screen monitors and flickering Samsung phones. More Malaysian malays are working under big chinese companies and later, much later when the older generation resides, the only people capable of continuing business will not be Cosplay enthusiasts, computer nerds, full time gamers, or trendsetters with wacky hairstyles. It will be the plain-looking Malays who uses the LRT to go to work, only to be ketuk by their chinese employers because of this and that. This and that.
C'mon man, we're not so different, Namewee. I know you know that the whole Malaysia knows that we all have to eat rice everyday. Strip your skin and you'll find that your flesh colour is the same as any indians or malays. Well, in the ehem-ehem department Indian might be a bit over-endowed and chinese under-endowed,,.... but that's not the point here! The point is... (what was the point again?)..
Men has always been connected with their cars, emotionally and spiritually.
Take menopause for example. Women who had them will experience biological, emotional and physical changes that triggers a series of unpredictable moodswings. They will cook more, read more and see the world as a beautiful place they'd helped build. Men will hunt for new aviator shades, buy a french cap and leather gloves and go shopping for porche.
When I first saw my car a month ago, I froze. My lips exceeding its normal smile track and my eyes glimmered with tears of happiness. My first thought of it was "This is the best fucking thing that ever happened to me" but I could only mutter out "Nice colour" It's a 14 thousand Satria with a roaring engine and a sensitive power-steering. It's no porche but still, it looked porchy than ever. It is a thing of beauty. It is my car.
Every morning, I would start the engine and play the radio for 10 minutes for the engine to be readily heated for a 3km journey, which only take 2 minutes. A few days after washing the car with its shampoo (that cost more than my shampoo) and waxed it with its wax (that cost more than my hairwax) , I stumbled upon a truck that was parked at the exit of the parking lot. I told the tauke to gostan (go astern) but he told me that it is unnecessary. He could easily guide my car out through the gap (between the truck and parked car.) I did everything he told and when my car was sandwiched between the two vehicles, it stopped. It hit something. It couldn't get out. I pun gostan and tekan minyak kuat-kuat to minimize the damage.
I quickly went out from the car and examined the damage lah. What disaster. A catastrophe I tell you. A scratch on both side of the car, measuring about 3 cm. And a dent.
I called bapak.
"Bapak, I accidentally scratched the car. Tauke lori bodo tu kater boleh masuk, pastu Afiq masuk la, tetiba keta berhenti. Dah dah ada scratch dah kat dua belah kereta, ada dent lagi. Berape ek harga nak baiki?"
"Biasala tu Abang. Kan bapak dah cakap, 70 percent je Abang punyer, 30 percent lagi orang lain punya. Cube Abang pusing-pusing tengok kereta lain, tengok kalau ada flaws atau dent. Cuba try." He ended the phonecall with a hearty laugh.
I tried. And I felt much better after the damage stroll. Most cars has even more severe damage than mine. Except for Dr.Asiah's Mercedes which till today, remains untouchable, a car equivalent to the Perempuan Melayu Terakhir. I went to a garage, the tauke opened the seat cushion and punched the exterior from within. The paintjob cracked and he told me that the previous owner had an accident in which he wrecked that part of the car and cemented it. For punching my car and cracking it, he charged me RM20.
I pujuk the car by buying it some sporty looking stickers. And a Malaysia Flag.
I've got to admit, I do feel a little bit annoyed when I speak english to my english-speaking malay friends. Not so because I have to switch off my BM and switch on my BI, which inevitably send flickers of the Klang Valley slang into the Queen's language. It is because I've always been in the state of confusion where patrotism, liberalism, universalism and englishwannabeism resides in a same pot of boiling asparagus soup.
I am quite a social-chameleon, that I have to admit but it doesn't bare the fact that I am still knocking on a door of a seemingly empty room, repeating the same question "Why do I need to speak this bloody language, why do I think in this language, why do I write in this language?" The door could easily whammed me in and roar "Because it is the most understood language in the World dumbass!" but it simply decided not to, leaving this poor baldy knocking for eternity.My annoyance came into existence when I first arrived in KL about 4 years ago. The language, english in here is a distinct way to show how rich and knowledgeable and connected you are in this mud-filled complexity we all come to love. It had become an identity. And very few of us Malaysian who speaks this language on a daily basis are able to retain their dignity as Malaysians. Very few.
It's not hard to see how Globalization had taken a roundabout toll in the youth of today. And I don't blame them. I blame their parents. Some Malaysian parents, being a typical Anglophile, had planted anglophile seeds in their children so they could become more english, or more american than the parents could ever be, with the hope of reaching a Anglophilia Nirvana. They don't only speak the language daily but act and live life as seen on TV. Why, most of them have never been to America or the UK but is set to think that living their life the english way will boost their value of living.
Which made me thinking for a long time, is English only a language?
It had all rooted of from a single stem, the occupation of Britain in Malaya. Since then, Malaysians with weak race or religion belonging began to adopt the culture and language and became disposable coffee, tea and horlicks susu trash by the British. We, of course didn't realize this. We had always thought, if you can't beat them, join them. A very weak and futile ideology.
And there on, another culture came into life. A culture easily distinguished by a simple converstion.
I called Arif the other day.. Oh no you didn't.... Like yeah, yes I did! So like what did he say? Nothing that I couldn't figure out, with a hot bod, who gives a damn. He's like the guy in Falcon Beach Well your ex that looks like the guy in OC is like, fine.. too Goddamn... yea I know.. Goddamn....
Muthu, could you give me a hand with this roast beef? I've been dying to show Letchmi my fine culinary skills. Have you bought the wine? Oh how delightful of them to join us for dinner, and make sure the children behaved as we'd rehearsed. Alright, all is set. Let us all wait at the family hall and admire the content of the telly-vision.
Mom, I'm home Make sure you clean bed and do homework, ok? Yeah mom, I've been doing that like, 12 years already And make sure brother get teach by you after out Do you speak like that, like, all the time mom? Make sure you don't when Steph and Steve Chui come and pick me up afterward.
The door finally opened (refer to second paragraph) when I entered the diverse world of IIUM. Everybody speaks english here, except for most malays lah. English here is just a language. And everybody accepts the long-time bare fact. It is a mode of communication. It is a link we all have to make a circle of Ummah work. I'd also met some english speaking malays who refused to compromise their identity even though they're using the language as their personal lingua franca and some are just like me, switching back and forth from BM to BI, only to end up tongue-tied and grammatically questionable at times.
Yep. English is just a language when there is a culture greater than it, forcing the language not to be subset to the culture but an alien connecter that connects other culture within a bigger scope: Universalism, equality, tolerance; Islam.
We can't blame McDonald's though. In their advertisements all over the world, they'd already put on a disclaimer. That smaller-than-flea disclaimer on their ads. Anyone with supervision could've spotted it.
