When will you wake up?

This post was originally published on The Malaysian Insider on 29 March 2012.

As soon as the digital quacking of ducks pierces the morning silence, it’s time to wake up.

It’s 7am on a Saturday and as usual, I wish for another 30 minutes in bed. While doing so, I deprecate myself for staying up late the night before.

As I drag myself into the kitchen to make a strong pot of coffee, I can’t resist asking, “Why did I sign up for this?”

This early morning scene has become a regular affair. It usually starts with a conversation with myself — mainly made up of questions that can only be answered rationally once I hit the shower.

“Surely I deserve a Saturday off?”

“Why can’t someone else do it?”

“I can always call in sick. It’s not a big deal, is it?”

Driving to the rural areas of Hulu Langat on an early morning is always a welcome change of scenery. The air is fresh, the roads are narrow and winding and the landscape green. The real pleasure though is the people; including those I carpool with. It’s a privileged time when we share conversations about ourselves and, inevitably, of politics and human rights.

It’s always difficult in the beginning when the local residents eye us suspiciously. There’s no doubt that we’re not orang tempatan. We dress, speak and behave differently but I secretly think that it’s the jerseys we wear that really ignite the curiosity in them.

With “UndiMsia!” written in bright orange across our chests, the questions we’re often asked are, “You ni dari gomen ke?”, “Apa ni UndiMalaysia?” “You Pakatankah (or replace this with the other coalition party)?”

It never ceases to amuse me that the word “elect” is always linked to political parties.

First order of the day often involves explaining at length what UndiMsia! does. It’s important to dispel any myth that we’re politically aligned. We’re neither the government, Barisan Nasional, Pakatan Rakyat nor any other political parties that are banned or otherwise. We also need to ensure that the people in Hulu Langat understand the objectives of participating in our Laporan Rakyat project.

The reaction we receive from the people invariably ranges from skepticism and fearful to indifference and encouraging. It’s certainly not an easy task to walk into a random restaurant and expect people to score their state assemblyman and member of Parliament’s performances, not especially when most people we have met have no inkling who their elected representatives are.

While some volunteers faced the disappointment of being turned away like a leper, I’ve had very positive experiences with many people. Sure, I’ve had my share of disappointment but in general the locals have been more than friendly, sympathetic and welcoming.

There are times when I receive warm invitations to share a meal or a drink with them. They always insist on paying. It gets difficult by the third cup of teh tarik that is often never kurang manis but a gracious acceptance is always the courteous thing to do.

There was an occasion when I approached two young women in a mamak restaurant during lunch time. After giving my customary greeting and explanation of the project, they turned down my invitation to conduct the survey on them. It was noon and I was desperate to achieve my quota for the day. They were hungry and couldn’t wait to dig into their lunches that were turning cold on the table.

I resorted to appeal to their sympathy. I told them that I would get into serious trouble with my employer if I didn’t achieve my quota for that day. Their tone of voice softened immediately and they invited me to sit on the table with them. “OK, we’ll answer but please, first order something to eat. It’s lunch time. You must be hungry. We eat together and you can ask us the questions.”

We had the most interesting conversation that day. It was beyond politics and governance. I learned that they have been friends since primary school and they’re renting a house together. According to one of them, they have been inseparable since they’ve known each other.

On another occasion, I had approached a table with five elderly men sharing a drink and banter together. One of them stopped me in mid-sentence, “Amoi, you boleh cakap Melayu atau Cina kah?” Having identified him as of Chinese descent, I informed him that I am able to speak Melayu and Hokkien. He then proceeded to speak in Mandarin and in a childish fashion, nudged the man sitting next to him and said in Malay, “Ahhh… ini Melayu ya. Nampak itu kulit hitam sikit.” They all burst out laughing.

Feeling encouraged, the same man pointed to

another elderly man sitting at the front and said in Mandarin, “He’s an indigenous person living far from here. Eighty-years-old already!” The man flashed me an infectious toothless grin.

As I talked to them in broken Malay and Mandarin, I learned that they’ve all grown up together in this small village.

In answering the first question I ask myself in the morning, these are the motivations that help me leave the comfort of my bed on a Saturday morning. It always ends on a high note.

A few weeks ago when news reached us that a flood had hit Hulu Langat, a team of volunteers led a small relief operation to help some of the victims. Some of the locals have expressed their disappointment at how help has been mobilised too slowly by their local leaders. Many also lamented that nothing much has been done to prevent the flood from recurring from year to year. Another common grievance we heard was how aid from a certain political party has only reached those who support the said party.

The disaster that hit Hulu Langat has reinforced the key messages that UndiMsia! is trying to impart; good governance and citizen actions on housing issues, amongst other things.

On March 31, UndiMsia! is launching a photo competition and exhibition in Hulu Langat. Photographs taken by local youths and some of our volunteers will be exhibited. It is hoped that this humble event will draw the local leaders and community together to discuss housing issues affecting the people in Hulu Langat.

Those who have volunteered for the Laporan Rakyat project will share the sentiments of UndiMsia! There’s much to be done in terms of civic education. More than half of the youths of voting age I’ve met do not know who their elected representatives are or what they’ve done for their community. Even fewer know what they can do as a citizen to improve their lives.

When do you think we, as Malaysians, will finally wake up from our deep slumber?

For more information on UndiMsia!’s Hangatkan Langat! Photo Competition and Exhibition, please click here and for other UndiMsia! projects, please click here.

Technorati Tags: Hulu Langat,UndiMsia!,Barisan Nasional,Pakatan Rakyat,Hangatkan Langat!

Public Bath 101

This article was originally published on The Malaysian Insider on 12 February 2012.

Japan was not at the top of my “must-see” list but when I found cheap tickets to Tokyo recently, my friend Sally and I put together a travel plan quickly. In addition to a long list of temples, shrines, Zen gardens, ramen restaurants and eccentric Tokyoite cultural scenes, we were told that a visit to the onsen (public bath) was essential. 

When planning our itinerary, I was happy to take charge of the places to see in Tokyo while Sally did Kyoto. I was unfazed by the idea of entering a sleazy sex shop, checking in a love hotel or slotting coins into a used-schoolgirl-panties vending machine (which by the way, has been outlawed by the local authorities) but the idea of being naked in front of a bunch of people and in particular, Sally, freaked me out completely. 

I was reminded of what Mom used to say, “I can’t understand these Japanese. They’re so polite, modest and conservative and yet they’re unashamed of taking a bath together.”  (Mom obviously didn’t know that the concept of bathing in private only began in the 16th century.) Mom’s prudishness came as no surprise as she saw to it that even the woman who gave birth to me should not see me naked past the age of puberty. 

So naturally, I had many questions to ask when Sally’s Japanese friend, Rei, wrote, “It’s definitely worth parading in your birthday suit after a long walk in chilly Kyoto” in her email from Tokyo. 

Priding myself as a curious and adventurous traveller, I vowed that I would give it a go even if I had to exhibit all the insecurities I have about my body. In order to be mentally prepared, I decided that I had to do some homework about this. I talked to a friend who had been to an onsen in Hakone and she gave the same assurance as Rei that I would get past the initial shyness once I got into the hot bath. 

Rei gave us a quick run-through on the basics of bathing etiquette when we met up in Tokyo. All she said was not to stare at the other women (and men, if it’s a mixed onsen), not to immerse our heads beneath the water and not to have any item of clothing on us. Our guidebook also said that we should be seen washing and scrubbing ourselves furiously at the communal shower area before entering the bath. This would reassure fellow bathers of our cleanliness. 

Would the whole place be fogged up by steam and hence help to blur one’s vision? No, not really it seems. 

Could I bring along a towel with me? Yes, I could but the towel must remain out of the water at all times and even then, it is usually the size of a “Good Morning” towel. 

The 101 tutorial didn’t answer the rest of the burning questions I had. For example, I wanted to find out whether we would have our own individual changing room. If yes, how far would the changing room be from the locker and how far would the locker be from the actual bath? I needed to know how much of walking in the nude I would be doing. 

Right, so I knew more about how to behave in an onsen and frankly not so much about what to expect since one onsen apparently differs from another, there was still the issue of getting past being naked in front of Sally. I knew we had to hatch a plan quickly. 

Sally generally indulged my paranoia (borderline obsession) but any saint would have lost it when I gently suggested that she should not wear her contact lens. She screamed and accused me of being crazy. She claimed that without them, she could potentially trip and fall flat on the floor. She said the idea was for us to keep a low profile, not to draw attention. I guess she had a point there. 

We finally agreed that I would enter the onsen 10 minutes ahead of her. This would allow me time to hide away from her. 

Just when I thought I had everything covered, we had to abandon our plan because the actual event went like this: 

When the automatic sliding door opened at the entrance of the women’s onsen, the first thing we saw was a group of women changing in front of two rows of back-to-back lockers situated right in the middle of the entrance. It took a split second for me to realise that there was not going to be any changing room, and that there was a whole lot of nakedness in one small space. 

Sally and I were forced to undress next to each other since our lockers were side by side. While I was still strategising on what to do next, Sally unilaterally decided that she would be the first to go. While she stripped, I pretended as if I had never seen a locker in my entire life. It suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. I stared and fiddled with it until I heard Sally’s voice signalling her departure. 

I think it probably took me about 10 minutes to take off the layers and layers of winter clothing on me. I prayed that I would never end up in jail because this must be how the inmates wash and change every day. 

What went through my mind as I walked to the bathing area, while clinging onto my rented Good Morning-sized towel for the price of 260 yen (about RM10) was, “Just follow what she’s doing.” And so, I followed whoever was in front of me and mirrored every action she took. 

Not staring became a non-option as I had to look in order to follow. When the woman finally walked towards one of the tubs, I stepped quickly into the closest one. I felt an instant relief when my body sunk into the bubbling water; all private parts finally concealed. 

The woman sitting next to me was watching a programme in Japanese on a flat-screen TV by the tub with one knee up. Those who came in with a towel had them folded neatly and placed on top of their heads. 

I followed like a good student and in the course of doing so, I discovered to my horror that Sally was soaking in the same tub just a few feet away. I caught her turning her head away as soon as I looked at her. We pretended as if we didn’t know each other for the rest of our remaining time at the onsen. 

I spent about an hour just surreptitiously watching the women around me. Honestly, there was really nothing else to do but watch and I swore that the other women reciprocated as well. 

It felt like being in a crowded train where fully-clothed people are forced to sit or stand close to each other. There is eye contact and some sort of tacit acknowledgment of each other’s existence but yet you don’t speak to each other. 

Of course, those who came together bar Sally and I, were seen interacting comfortably. Mothers were scrubbing their young daughters and friends or possibly sisters, chatting as if it was just a regular spa day together. 

After an hour, I felt dizzy. The digital thermometer on the wall showed 43 degrees Celsius. By then, Sally had already left. I was ready to check out the al fresco bath. 

It was at the outdoor area when I finally enjoyed the bath. There was nothing more wonderful and soothing than feeling the fresh cold air on my face and being delightfully warm throughout the rest of my body. I could easily live in the bath for the rest of my life. 

I watched an old woman lying flat on the stone floor just a couple of feet away. She poured the highly therapeutic hot spring water all over her body with a plastic scoop over and over again. 

There were girls and women from different ages, shapes and sizes (but only one skin tone) entering and leaving the outdoor bath area. By then, I was comfortable enough to sit up and let the cold air caress my upper body. The show was over. It was time to kick back and enjoy. 

I left Japan with the onsen as my second most favourite highlight. For just 1000 yen (RM40), it was the best spa experience I have ever had and would never hesitate to try it again. And if anyone asks, a Brazilian wax is not needed at all.

 

Technorati Tags: Tokyo,Japan,onsen,public bath,hot spring

How to kill a guilinggao?

During lunch one day, my French husband, V, and I dined at one of his favourite duck restaurants in Bangsar. After finishing our meals, I requested to have dessert. He politely declined after scanning through the dessert menu, which is often rare for his sweet tooth.

Despite living in Malaysia for a considerable amount of time, V is still unable to get past the idea of eating local desserts. To his unaccustomed French palate, the ais kacang, red bean soup, cendol, sago gula melaka, etc. are not what he would categorise as dessert.

As French, he has a whole list of rules about dessert. Shaved ice is what children eat out of natural snow during the winter. Legumes of any sorts are meant for savoury stew or soup. Don’t even get him started on cheese cake, which is not typically Malaysian but nevertheless very popular here. According to him, cheese is meant to be smelly and dessert in essence, should never ever be made out of something that could potentially smell like athlete’s foot.

So when I ordered the guilinggao, V was naturally curious.

I described to him that guilinggao is a dessert made out of black jelly and is eaten cold. It has a bitter taste and that’s why it’s accompanied with honey and longan. I explained that the combination of bitterness and sweetness is rather interesting and tasty.

He looked at me with a confused and bewildered look.

To further convince him, I went on to explain the nutritious properties of the guilinggao and how it benefits the skin and health. I thought when I said it also serves as a natural cooling system for the body, it would win him over since he complains about the heat all the time.

He gave me a sheepish smile and a mocking “hmmmm” when I finished explaining.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

"No, it’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” I asked again.

“Well, it’s interesting because in France, a dessert is usually sinful. You know, sugary, rich, creamy, sweet, fattening and if I may also add, appealing to the eyes. The colour, texture, shape, smell. They are all designed to entice you,” he said.

He paused and declared, “What you’ve just described to me is not dessert. It’s medicine. Black? Bitter?” *Snort*

When my “dessert” finally arrived, it didn’t look as appetising anymore.

Technorati Tags: Guilinggao,ais kacang,cendol,red bean soup,cheese cake,sago gula melaka

Talking ‘bout evolution

This article was first published on The Malaysian Insider on 12 December 2011.

As a child, it was mandatory to obtain Mom and Dad’s permission before I could leave the house. It was also mandatory to inform them of my whereabouts at all time. Thankfully, I was mature enough to understand that the rules were imposed in my best interest. Hence, I followed them without much resistance.

Dad was however, particularly unreasonably strict. He would go to the extent of forbidding me from participating in optional school trips and innocent outings with my cousins. There were times when I would spend days prior to the actual trip obsessing about how I would ask Dad’s permission, only to know that the answer would be a strict no. I would resort to political tactics by using Mom as an ally. Sometimes it worked, but most of the time it ended up in failed negotiations and days of cold war that followed.

You see, Dad is a reclusive and introvert person. He believes in traditional values based on hard work and sacrifices. He believes that one must sacrifice frivolous pursuits and individualistic wants in order to maintain harmony and achieve academic and professional success. He also believes that if you release a horse’s rein, the horse will go wild and never return once it has tasted freedom.

So I grew up feeling in awe and at the same time resentful of Dad. I respect and admire him for his integrity and honourable pursuits and yet I can never agree with this particular principle of his that restriction is necessary to keep a person from straying. Perhaps, that is one of the reasons why I’ve become fiercely independent and suffocate under authoritative environment.

A couple of months ago, I had the opportunity of accompanying a group of young American fellows on a private tour of Malacca. The tour guide was an elderly man who takes great pride in his origin as a bona fide Malaccan. He was the perfect person for the job as he was knowledgeable, passionate and eloquent in his narrations.

I was particularly amused by his footnotes, some of which were not entirely relevant to the purpose of that tour. You see, he avidly shared his strong condemnation of the government’s destructions of historical monuments and treatment of indigenous people. He was a sympathiser when it came to the topic of corruption and he even claimed that he works closely with indigenous tribes to protect their lands. You could see that he abhors some of the government’s policies and was not ashamed to express it, even before a group of foreigners.

After the tour, a few of us, including the elderly gentleman, stopped at on old-fashioned coffee shop on Jonker Street to have coffee. I brought up the subject of the Bersih 2.0 rally in the most innocent of manner and asked what he thought about it.

Indeed, he got pretty heated up but to my surprise, he was extremely critical of the demonstrators. He said that he did not condone the rally at all. He agreed that dissent is necessary but definitely not Bersih 2.0’s method of choice. He argued fervently that assembly of any kind in protest of the government is not the Malaysian way. National harmony must not be compromised at all cost.

When asked what else could be done if all diplomatic negotiations have failed, he was unable to produce a convincing answer. When asked how a peaceful assembly can be harmful, he struggled to articulate his thoughts. His point of argument was solely from a cultural perspective. It’s simply not the Malaysian way of doing things.

I found the juxtaposition of his contrasting views intriguing and could only conclude that he belongs to an older generation of Malaysians who still hold on to certain traditional values that are simply too strong to let go.

There are lessons to be learned from these two stories. I grew up in a generation that places greater value and appreciation for human rights and liberty as result of economic progress and globalisation. We are no longer isolated from the rest of the world and hence, are able to evaluate, compare and conclude for ourselves that respect for human rights and true democracy is fundamental towards progress and human evolution. Some would say that this is solely a Western concept but seriously so what? Isn’t it naïve to say that we want to be as progressive as Sweden but only insofar as its economy is concerned but not its form of democracy? Isn’t the very piece of garment worn by most Malaysians on a daily basis influenced by Western fashion? Besides, honestly what is the Malaysian way? Is the Malaysian culture based on corruption and abuse of power?

Democracy and respect for human rights is synonymous to progress. Brutal killing as a form of entertainment in a gladiator arena is a thing in the past. Child abuse and gender discrimination are now prohibited by our laws and they were not plucked out of thin air. It would be extremely foolish of the government to believe that all Malaysians of my generation would be content with just economic progress and half assed implementation of selected rights according to their whims and fancies.

Nature would dictate that human beings will continuously fight for their own survival. Once they’ve succeeded in that, they will move on to fight for freedom and progress. It’s called evolution and has been historically proven by the fall of great dictatorial empires.

Some would argue that there are those who genuinely reject progress and it’s only a selected few who impose on them the notion of progress. As true as it may be, the key word here is choice.

Dad’s method of discipline was wrong. If I had in any way betrayed his trust, he would have the right to punish me, but not to restrict me from the very start. The same applies to those who want to go on a peaceful street protest. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea but that choice must be presented to those who have the desire to do so. Punish those who abuse that right but not those who want to exercise that right responsibly.

Evolution is part of nature and it will happen whether we want it or not. There comes a time when every child will want to grow up to become a free adult. The question is when and how. This is something the government must think about.

Technorati Tags: Malacca,Bersih 2.0,peaceful assembly,democracy,gladiator,evolution,Peaceful Assembly Bill 2011

Say No to the Peaceful Assembly Bill 2011!

An example of video posted by someone on the bus

Technorati Tags: Peaceful Assembly Bill 2011,PAB2011,PA2011

Souvenirs from France

This article was first posted on The Malaysian Insider on 12 November 2011. The original version is reproduced here.

They live a lifestyle where clichés appears original.

Even with an armload, a baguette is conspicuously seen tucked under an armpit. It is almost as if that part of the body, often scorned as an object of odour despair, is made to cater for that precise purpose. I find this curious observation simply marvellous for who would’ve thought that the dreaded armpit can serve as a tool to hold food?

Here, dogs are men’s best friends, even for the destitute and homeless. The odds of encountering a homeless man begging for a stick of cigarette are higher than a stray dog begging for food. A man can be homeless but a dog is usually never without a master. I suppose it makes perfect sense to have someone who loves you unconditionally as your best friend. Dogs certainly make great candidates.

Old and young couples take lingering strolls with their palms locked together, almost always interrupted by long pauses of embrace and kisses. Evidently, their air is not only filled with the scent of expensive perfume but also of love and desire. It is a home where love is often made, not babies.

They live a lifestyle of intricate contradictions that can easily inspire a voluminous collection of great ideas for dinner party conversations.

For example, some women (of any age) may feel completely at ease lying naked on a public beach, but would never be caught dead strutting along the promenade in a g-string bikini, as you would have seen on American television. They make nudity seems natural and unintentional. Nobody blinks or gapes and it’s just another summer of sun and fun.

Foie gras isn’t just a piece of politically incorrect food but one that provokes the question of how well the rest of world are treating their own animals before turning them into American quarter pounders and fried chickens. The cows I’d seen on the Pyrenees are probably one of the healthiest and happiest in the world and needless to say, pets are not meant to be chained and confined to the porch. Neither are they to be subjected to the ridicule of dressing up like human beings.

Prostitution is tolerated more than pretty women who prey on wealthy men (and vice versa). Should sexual morality be held more sacred than deceit, dishonesty and greed?

Among the three virtues upheld by their national motto, liberty is perhaps the one that is most treasured and practised by them. It is often linked to a philosophical way of life, rather than just a literal translation of the word.

Restrictions and obstacles are to be limited and overcome as much as possible so that one can experience joie de vivre to the fullest. Being obedient to the notion that “I-shouldn’t-be-doing-this-because-society-says-so” does not make you decorous, but a body that’s absent mind, spirit and soul.

They talk about politics, religion and sex more openly than Malaysians talk about food. There are no sensitivities surrounding these issues because one of their greatest thinkers once said that he might disagree with what another person said, but he would defend to his death the right of that person’s speech. Plus, it would be completely delusional to believe that if you don’t talk about sex, it means you don’t think about it at all. The same applies to the rest of the other issues. Besides, isn’t it true that dissenting views are the ones that make far more interesting and intelligent conversations? A winning view is one that withstands the test of challenge, not one that is won by default.

I went for a walk on the promenade overlooking the Atlantic Ocean in Biarritz on an early Sunday morning. It was quiet and calm as the whole sea resort was still recuperating from the night’s partying. I stopped at one point to breathe in the cold morning air and when I looked down, there was a small group of men and women getting undressed together.

From afar, one wouldn’t take a second look to conclude that they were just a bunch of crazy kids attempting to conquer the cold sea water but for their silvery white hair. Stripped down to their bathing suits, only then were their age revealed. They could easily be at least seventy years old judging from the loose and heavily wrinkled skin all over their tanned body.

They ran towards the sea and dived into the freezing water with the courage and capriciousness of teenage adrenaline. Their total abandonment sent a strange shiver down my spine and it wasn’t until later when I understood that feeling as freedom and happiness.

According to French revolutionists, "Liberty consists of being able to do anything that does not harm others: thus, the exercise of the natural rights of every man or woman has no bounds other than those that guarantee other members of society the enjoyment of these same rights.”

I learned from them that freedom applies to all; whether you’re a grandfather, a mother of three, blind or a homosexual, as long as you’ve not done anything to have caused that right to be taken away from you. You’re free to live the life you choose and not what society expects of you. Passing judgments should be left in a court of law; not at school, workplace, supermarket, park or even the street.

Perhaps that is why women sunbathe naked but not strut around in mini bikinis. It’s not about parading their bodies for the whole world to see. It’s about feeling free in your own skin.

Maybe that’s what liberty really means.

Technorati Tags: France,joie de vivre,baguette,liberty,French revolutionist,g-string bikini,Biarritz,Pyrennes,foie gras,quarter pounder,Atlantic Ocean,homosexuality