Motherland

Oh Malaysiaku, how long can you keep the rakyat down and drown our voices? How long more can you claim to be a kerajaan demokratik berperlembagaan? I am reading and reading and I am angry.

I am puzzled I am angry. I thought I gave up on you long ago. Perhaps I do love you after all. Love (and dare I say, patriotism?) for a country is just not demonstrated through blind faith & followship, but through voices of descension crying for a change (for the better).

Yang Adil Disembah, Yang Zalim Disanggah.

Demokrasi!

Malaysia, oh tanahairku!



A call for free and fair elections in a street demonstration was met by riot police firing tear gas and and water cannons at protestors, followed by arrests by police, puppeteered by the government.

Definisi demokrasi:
Mahasiswa takut dengan dosen
Dosen takut dengan dekan
Dekan takut dengan rektor
Rektor takut dengan menteri
Menteri takut dengan presiden
Presiden takut dengan mahasiswa

The definition of democracy:
Students fear the professor
Dosen fears the dean
Dean fears the rector
Rector fears the ministry
Ministry fears the president
President fears the students

Hor Hor I Dunno, Hor Hor Tak Tahu

Grainy Evidence Log

My dog has a way of throwing tantrums to display her cravings for attention. Her only redemption will be how cute she looks when she apologizes (ala Sophie) to Mummy and Daddy.

Cute Face

Knowledge is Power

In a recent conversation, I was assailed with a deluge of questions, all intended to be a litmus test to determine my grasp on a particular subject. The most interesting conclusion I obtained from this conversation, was not a better comprehension of the subject, but instead, an observation of male behaviour.

When I say "I don't know X", I am not saying I know nothing about X. Sometimes, I mean that I just don't know enough about X. But men, in general, tend to claim they know something that they only have an inkling about, only to give a dismal appraisal of their knowledge when asked to elaborate upon it. Having a general idea about something, does not give you bragging rights to say you know it.

But in a world where knowledge is power, and power is authority, and authority is control, and control can be absolute, perhaps I should just claim that I know it.

Road Kill

Twilight, maybe a little after. Darkness had set after all. Another long day in the laboratory. Dinner cannot wait, my tummy says. A quick call to the pizza place, to pick up my usual order of spinach bread (they have to know my order by now, occasionally with a side of garlic knots when the glutton in me kicks in). A quick detour and I whiz back home. Quick. A flash of bunny. Maybe with a white tail? Only my memory can tell now. A barely palpable bump accompanied with a sickening crack. A quick scream escapes my mouth. Rest in peace sproinger.

Coconut

I can't believe I never noticed before.

It started with a trip to the grocery store, where I chanced upon an obscure pile of brown nuts wrapped in saran wrap between a pile of lemons and apples. I picked it up and read the label: coconut. Hmm.

A quick google image search of coconut pulled this up:




That is not really a coconut. This is a real coconut:


The former is a picture of a coconut the pakcik at the kedai runcit around the corner of the apartment blocks has a huge pile of so he can make big bags of santan by shaving of the isi kelapa so we can buy it from him to make delicious curries. It is an old coconut. The latter is a picture of a coconut which you buy (from the roadside and not a grocery store unless you're a huge sucker or an American [not necessarily the same thing! haha!]).

I can't imagine people drinking from that brown thing.

Forgiveness

The true purpose of forgiveness is not for the person who is being forgiven, but really rather for the person who is forgiving.

Apo-cocoa-lypse

Tuesday morning is my assigned Starbucks Triple Grande Soy Latte treat ($3.97 including tax). I justify this flagrant squandering of my meager earnings because I start my day teaching a 7.30am recitation/lab section. I also justify $3.97 drinks during examinations, take home tests, marking stacks of lab reports, ghastly Saturdays-turned-into-a-full-workday-by-my-boss-day, and coffee outings.

On this paticular day however, after waking up at a 6.15am, I rushed over to Starbucks to get my morning fix only to find a locked coffee joint and an apologetic barista standing by the door meekly pipping sorries for his no-show supervisor.

I should sue. Really.

Juxtaposition

jux·ta·pose [juhk-stuh-pohz, juhk-stuh-pohz]
to place close together or side by side, esp. for comparison or contrast

or

buying tampons at the drugstore for a period that came too early while the anxious young couple in front of you gets a clear blue pregnancy test kit.

Piano

I don't even remember the last time I had a chance to enjoy your company. And if I were to be perfectly honest, oft times, I forgot how lovely it was, and how me and you could just go on forever, forgetting everything and everyone around us. It was a dark corner, I sat down and played. Achingly familiar. Just me and you.

Damage, Or Rather, No Damage

After unpacking from my much-needed hiatus to the homeland, I realized that I purchased neither shoes nor handbags despite my frequent trips to the mall. I don't know if I should pride in my prudence, or be letdown by my lack of shopper's savvy.

It's nothing short of a miracle.

Reunion

I have only one memory of him.

My father's older brother, kicked out of the house, for his drug habit, and the possibility of him taking my sister and I to the Thai border to sell as child prostitutes for some easy big money. He had already pawned off my parent's wedding rings, after breaking into their bedroom to steal them. My mother was unhappy, my father was torn, my father's mother was helpless. I was only a child, unaware of the tempest that was going on.

I remember that it was a sunny day. Perhaps, on that day he was secretly stealing into the house to visit ah-mah, or maybe he had not been kicked out yet. But I do remember that it was a sunny day. I was in my jammies on the floor next to the piano. He crouched down and gave me a smile. I giggled. "Smile again!" I say in Chinese. He obliged, and I giggled some more. "He doesn't have his two front lower teeth!" I whispered to my sister. And I giggled some more. "There's an English song that is just right for you to sing," I announced. He told me to sing it. And so I sang him All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth. And he clapped his hands and smiled at me. I always wondered if that memory was a figment of my imagination.

I was probably about 4 years old then. We found him again when I was 22. I just met him a week ago. My family picked him up for dinner. He entered the car. I glanced anxiously at him. He was missing two front lower teeth.