Bear with me, it's been a while
There is this very maudlin thing that I do sometimes, that is as compulsive, and as half-satisfying/half-frustrating as biting your nails, or picking at a scab.
I read my archives.
I read what I wrote 2,3,4 years ago and I experience some dissonance-
Who is this girl? How does she come up with these thoughts?
And where did she go?
That's not quite right- I don't ask where she went because deep down I know she's not completely gone. She's just been diminished. Relegated to a small quiet corner and only allowed to come out when the juggling act that I've been running these past few years offers some respite. The problem is when she does come out I have some trouble recognising her. I, who used to so sure of myself (No time for existential crises- I know exactly who I am thankyouverymuch. Identity crises are for people who don't know what they want) have trouble defining me.
Oh, I know what I do. I am one of millions of women who, thanks to Germaine Greer and Betty Friedan (and yes, Oprah- thank you Oprah) attempt to carve out some semblance of a career whilst doing the good wife and mother bit. I think they call it 'not losing your identity'. The problem is, I don't think I've lost my identity so much as I keep acquiring new ones before the old ones have had time to fit properly. I juggle, I compartmentalise, I schedule. And I minimise. I minimise who I used to be in order to make space for these new roles. And I keep waiting for things to quiet down so I can catch a breath. And I'm still waiting.
And nothing still fits properly.
I used to be articulate, and yet these days I find that I am at a loss for words. I sometimes forget conversational riffs that I used to have with people I know and love. I say things that don't sound like me. I bite my tongue. People think I don't but I do. I, who used to be idealistic and believed that the truth would set you free- I keep mum. It's a survival tactic, you see. But it's killing me.
There are days where I fear that the things I do not say will one day consume me. All those stillborn thoughts and words covering me like angry bees buzzing why didn't you say something?. Or I think my 18 year-old self might come back and give me a tongue-lashing. Or these things would ball themselves up and metastasize somewhere in my heart before ripping me apart.
I can't bite my tongue anymore. I can't afford silent rage.
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I just read Mokciknab's excellent (and 'excellent' is an understatement) post today, and I finally I felt as if my new and old selves would finally converge, and I have finally found the words, instead of staring in silent rage as this country falls apart.
I want every single item on her wishlist to come true (yes, even the parts that don't have anything to do with free Ikea vouchers or ideal husband behaviour) and I'd like to add one more thing:
51. It would be mandatory for all Malaysians, but especially those working with people in power, or with any influence in how this country is run, to tell the emperor that he has no clothes. It would be perfectly legitimate to tell one's leader that he has to buck up, that it's just not working, that he is wrong. Hero-worshipping would be punishable by a lifetime stint as Mawi's PA.
Malaysia is almost as old as my parents and sometimes I see some parallels with the way I view Malaysia and how I view my parents these days, albeit with less fillial piety and love and a lot more acidity (for the country, not my parents). I think when you become a parent yourself you become closer to your own- you understand all those paranoid restrictions and worries, those injuctions to keep warm, not to talk to strangers. And sometimes, they treat you like an equal, and you get to give them some advice. All in a respectful tone, you see.
So Malaysia (and to whomever it may concern), with all due respect, this is my two sens' (or RM1.20 taking into account the rate of inflation these days) worth:
You need to buck up.
You are in for some very interesting times and you need to snap out of this ridiculous mid-life crisis you've been in. Do away with the sports car and the ridiculous wig (read: yet another overpriced and underutilised palace worthy of Vegas) and learn to age gracefully.
Some people need to read more, so we can at least pretend that this glorious democracy of ours hasn't chosen to represent itself with imbeciles. One, in particular, needs to be in this country more often since he's decidedly not the Foreign Minister. Maybe learn some economics. Or even, how to take care of one's own backyard. Perhaps study the glorious art of not falling asleep in meetings where one is expected to make important decisions.
Others perhaps simply need to be bitch-slapped into learning some manners. It's rude, for example, to flaunt your ill-gotten gains by building a mansion for yourself whilst other people in the same state are losing their homes so yet another needless mega-development project can be built. It's perhaps ruder still to demolish people's homes without at least fair warning, no matter how 'illegal' the homes may be.
And another thing- take off those ridiculous rose-tinted glasses and try looking at yourself in the mirror. Naked. Look at all your warts and think long and hard about how you might get rid of them. Ponder at the ludicrousness of touting yourself as a developed nation whilst beggar-children populate your the pavements of your swanky areas. Wonder why, with the economy supposedly being so good primary school enrolment rates have dropped and crime is on the increase. And crime is rising- just because people report them less it doesn't mean that they've been occuring with less frequency, or less seriousness. It probably just means that people are losing faith in the police's ability to take action*.
And for God's sake do something constructive about all these children of yours who are fighting based on the colour of their skin, or which God they worship. When I was in school (admittedly it was a middle-class, suburban KL school) I don't remember refusing to be friends with someone simply because they may-or-may-not eat pork. And now my sister who just left the same school claims that race-based cliques are the norm, not the exception. This, despite constant lip service about being a melting-pot? I'm sorry, but it looks like more of a powder-keg at this point.
Malaysia, I love you- I can't help it. I can't gouge you out of me despite having lived elsewhere. You're my tanah tumpah darah. And I never thought I'd leave but the other day I found myself discussing the very possibility with my husband. Because at this rate, I don't want to raise my daughter within you.
And if you don't do something. If someone, or something, doesn't take you by the collar and shake you out of this..this...insane path you're hurtling on, all your good kids might just run away from home.
*True story: The quiet leafy suburb my parents live in (like an increasingly alarming number of quiet leafy suburbs in KL/PJ) are experiencing a spate of break-ins. So a bunch of residents called the areas Chief of Police for a discussion, during which said esteemed police officer, instead of ensuring these frightened retirees that the authorities would safeguard their homes and lives turned it into a complaint session. About how he was understaffed, about how they couldn't really catch any criminals and how they couldn't be bothered with any crime unless it involved a loss of live (ok, maybe losses of limbs would merit some attention, too). If that isn't calling for classified ads for vigilantes I don't know what is.
nads went at 18:07