Theory of Proximity

I fancy myself as an amateur ethnologist, I really do. The amount of time I spend "researching" people's profiles, finding parallels in their lives with mine, and observing the community around me with the naked eye seems to suggest just that; that I am an ethnologist in my own right.

Those who are unfortunate enough to be the subject of my "research" obsession can attest to the high level of dexterity I manifest in this trade. Mere strangers, do not be deterred by this entry. Rest assured I am not a psychopath who gives random people dirty phone calls in the middle of the night, although I may be a permanent visitor to your Facebook profile, and a distant observer of your many photo albums. Yes, I'm just your friendly, resident stalker (if you must belittle my newfound appellation).

Now that we both know that I am an accomplished stalker, let me compel you to read a social science inquiry I have recently formulated in accordance with my self-acclaimed elevated status of ethnologist. I liken my two year immersion into the American experience to the role of the ethnologist who "goes native", and thus have landed myself with an interesting theory of why the Americans I see act as they do.

We begin with the root of the inquiry, the crux, the situation that such an observation was in order. In a terse and crude approach--and I say this with honesty--Americans are extremely individualistic borderline self-absorbed, self-serving, and stingy. Note my qualifier "borderline" before you bash this little human with unkind words like racist and errr, racist. On the methodology, know that this inquiry is wholly legit for it is backed up with some substantial case studies, conducted and participated by: me.

The common experience I'm sure other international students share beef with me is the "thou shall share not" mentality Americans possess. This may pass of as a stereotypical remark; but again, these are empirical observations I myself have dilligently noted in my interactions with them.

To illustrate my point, an American is never ready to offer you the candybar/chips/soda he/she is holding in his/her hand; quite the contrary to the Asian manners of always offering and serving others before oneself. Or in isolated cases when they actually do, realize that they would never ask you twice, thrice, or incessantly bug you until you give in and take some.

Alas, when little things like a bag of chips are points to retract, more so are ingredients in the kitchen where the concept of "depletion" becomes more distressing (to them, that is) since it requires a trip to ol' faithful Walgreen's. It's safe to say there are three separate sets of cooking oil, butter, bread, sugar, salt, pepper and spices in my room thus far. Milk and juice are shared, but with precision whose turn it is to buy them this week or next.

Instead, here I am, always harrasing the Americans I care about to share what little I have. On the very sparing occassions that I cook, I ultimately get trumped because they are just not up for sharing. So to be fair, their self-reliance works when they are both on the receiving and giving end. But it still points to the obvious that sharing isn't quite practiced in this land of the free, doesn't it?

If sharing tangible materials is a non-practice, the trend observed for teamwork and collaboration leaves room for further probe. But what is sure is the different sense of camaraderie between us international students and us with them.

A case in point is the fact that we international students are extremely open to letting friends hold and read our solutions to problems for as long as they want; and for as much information they want to extract from, provided they don't get us in trouble with the university honor code. I have never triumphed in holding an American peer's problem set as freely as I could an international student's, sadly.

The facts laid out as they should, I shall provide you with my radical Theory of Proximity that seeks to explain this individualistic culture pertinent to Americans. I believe, with vehemence, that the source lies in the geography of the country itself. Think of the USA, the vast landscape encompassing 50 states, the different climate and time zones, the changing topology as you drive from the South to the Midwest, from East to West.

This gigantic land, housing states that are bigger than Malaysia, gives Americans much free space and individual cocoon to roam about in. Leave a metropolis like Chicago, New York or Boston and enter American suburban areas and you will understand what I mean. Homes are spread about, cars are necessary to travel from point A to point B, and less people are breathing in your near vicinity.

Even the aforementioned cities are no Mumbai, Jakarta and Bangkok; where people are literally neck-to-neck in slums that are one and many, and resources are scant. And so we, individuals born and bred in third world countries, developing countries, or just densely-populated countries, are decreed by the nature of our living, to share. We understand and embody the concept of "What is mine is yours".

Or at least if you do not agree, I do. I grew up in my grandmother's little bungalow, with my siblings, mother, three aunts, uncle, and cousins under one roof, at most days. Alas, it is fair to say sharing comes to me as naturally as farting does.

But think about it: every day, we face 40 friends in a sweltering hot public school classroom, with only a creaking fan and blackboard, sometimes having to share desks. If in Malaysia, the scenario is as such, what more in sub-Saharan Africa?

It is in fact, the proximity between peoples living together and sharing lives with that hugely affects their interactions with one another. The more people you literally and figuratively bump heads with, the more thoughtful you are about others' needs. For generations and generations next, the love for sharing finds firm roots in our community, right with the idea of nurture and the scientific term conditioning.

Americans, on the other hand, are blessed with the geographical endowment that leaves them free and unbound. My analysis is bereft of income distribution, socio-economic conditions and all that jazz, because I am inciting the idea of the generous space each person is entitled to in America, regardless of their plights.

So, as free and unbound as they are, they sadly lack the experience of sharing for a right to clean water, or a football field, or a dilapidated, shabby, wooden house in a community that seriously scrutinizes your every move (although I do not discount the dire living conditions in the American ghettos). The result of that? Ultra-individualistic, and shall I say "borderline" kedekut, kemut and berkira civilians.

p/s: If you haven't noticed, this entry is laden with satire and sarcasm. Take it with a pinch of salt, please, and don't sue me.

Panhandlers Over Love Handles

You stroll leisurely at a pasar malam, and you are greeted by the familiar sight of a makcik shaking a cup of coins, dressed in tatters. She appears to have amputated legs, or a deformity of some sort and perhaps carry a wailing baby. Oh no-s!

You try to avert your gaze and mutter to yourself "Kesiannya", but you worry about the unimaginably long queue for the famous popia basah you are coveting for. So you pick up your pace, look down, and presume that others would spare some change for that pitiful makcik, to assuage that guilty lump in your throat. But you forget that ever happened once you feed your voracious appetite and laugh the evening away.

You are seated in a subway train, armed with your Ipod on full blast, and perhaps also that paperback you've waited a semester to read. The skyline of whatever city you are approaching seems so welcoming, and you imagine the joy of window-shopping that never quite remains window-shopping.

Along comes a reeking middle-aged man clad in a winter coat of patches to your car, distinctly alerting your senses that you are facing a hobo at hand. He asks for a dollar, but you offer a meek smile and shake your head sadly. But you go back to your interesting novel and find no trouble getting yourself engrossed once again in the world of John and Jane or the likes.

My utmost irreverence goes to you if you go through life mastering the art of being nonchalant to people in need. I have had to turn down many beggars, but never once have I done it out of reflex. It is one thing to refuse beggars, but it is another to completely reserve no compassion for them. Of course, sincerity is a key issue, and "charity begins at home", but what is a few sen, a few cents, a ringgit, a dollar compared to the hundreds you can generously endow to multimillion-earning Ebay or Amazon?

The contra argument may be made that the cents we donate go to footing a junkie's drug bills or go to the pockets of creepy bustards of kidnappers, but there is all that we can pray they find the way to righteousness. Yes, I don't know if the woman I gave my quarters to actually has a baby who needs medication, or if the man I gave my USD2 really takes a bus to the shelter. But again, we do what we can.

It may be my pet peeve that I am quick to pity and completely ridiculous that I sometimes act in favor of the underdog just because I feel "kesian" for them. However, I am adamant that one person can help make another's day, even though one may not completely change another's fortune. I am one to go eat at an empty restaurant next to a bustling one, just because I pity them, despite the obvious signaling (to borrow an Economic term) that the busy restaurant probably serves better food. But again, I do what makes me feel better/happy.

We canvass too see change in the political ruckus of our country, we demand for rights from the constitution, we all aim for greatness in our lives. But these panhandlers plead for some change (pun intended) to access their rights to food, medicine, safety, the most basic needs I am pretty confident we have gotten since we demand for so much more. We get frustrated that political leaders heed not to our voices, how do you think people off the streets feel about us who heed not to their concerns?

Obama isn't the only one who wants change (namely the panhandlers) and he certainly isn't the only one who can create change (namely us), you know? In fact, the chap has so much reform to mobilize and expectations to live up to that it is more likely that we can start making change first. Yes you youths, put all angst about love handles (or lack of six-packs) behind you, it is panhandlers that should receive some attention.

No matter where we hail from, and where we are currently leading our lives, change comes from the little things we each do to and for the people around us. Maybe then changing a 329 847km² land wouldn't seem like such a distant idea.

Put The Hate Back On The Shelf

I am malay, a Malaysian and I have dark-brown hair and sawo matang skin.

I once spent many evenings playing shyly with Pearly, a Chinese friend who lives a few doors away from my grandmother's home.

I once shared a bubble bath with Nami, a Japanese-Indian friend.

I once shared my lunches with Shiori, a Japanese friend.

I once pretended that the playground at Fairfield was mine and all mine with Leanne, a Mat Salleh friend.

I once shared a laugh with Paul, when I got berated for going in the concrete wading pool with my diapers and him peeing on the floor. Paul is German.

I once learned how to cycle from my neighbor, Shazelyn, a Mamak (forgive the lack of a better term) friend.

I once shared a pillow and my dreams with Latha, an Indian friend.

I have been brought up in part by Bibik, my Indonesian second mother.

I was four, five, six, seven, twelve, sixteen.

Perhaps we should all rewind to that age when race, color, nationality, religion are meaningless; but friendships everything.

Perhaps we should all try to embrace diversity, respect differences and understand reality.

Perhaps we should forget about who triumphs and who founders, because in the end everybody loses.

Perhaps we should lift our veils and use EyeMo Moist for the eyes, and Clorox for the mouth while we're at it.

Perhaps we should bear in mind that we should identify with things, just because we are human.

Perhaps we should not stay in the shadows because we are not this color or that, this nationality or that, this religion or that.

Perhaps then can we put the hate back on the shelf.

p/s: Slander and preposterous.  We really have cause for worry if the human race can stoop as low as this. Enough said. 

Buka Mata Luas-luas

As I write this entry, I feel very inspired, though distressed at the same time. Less than 24 hours ago, I complained that I feel very shallow for not knowing much about the Israel-Palestine conflict. But we've all got to start somewhere, right? I have seen before my eyes and for the first time, the sufferings of Palestinians at the Gaza strip, having attended a film screening about the Gaza Strip held by the MSA less than 2 hours ago.

I realized a long time ago that a sound education is all these side things you learn, not truly the raw Math, Econ, or science being preached in class. But this is the first time (well, the couple of times) I truly felt the magic of informational panel, screenings that goes beyond the scope of academics. Safe to say that I do not yet have the full picture per se, but at least now I won't go all glossy-eyed when I hear people talk about Zionists, Gaza strip (West Bank), Hamas, by-laws and all that.

Basically, the Zionists have been progressively pushing Palestinians out of their own rightful land since 1948 (when Israel was wrongfully established). They hide behind the facade of targeting Hamas militants (a political, yet also humanitarian group that serves its people by setting up schools, mosques; which is why they were elected) and get immense support from the American government in terms of machineries, fighter planes, weaponries. (Okay. . . so that far I knew before--to some extent--but it feels great being able to put everything together).

When they hold Gaza under siege under the claim that Hamas started bombing South of Israel first (which are makeshifts, homemade bombs, unlike the massive killers the former have), they are in fact doing what we can only call as ethnic cleansing because they kill innocent children (I saw disturbing images of children being massacred in the film), civilians, bulldoze their homes, cut down their trees and stop all forms of medicine, food and supplies in and out of the strip. As ridiculous it may sound to the rest of the world, it's amazing how the Zionists believes steadfastly that Palestine does not exist when in fact it is the other way around.

Not only are the Palestinian people suffering physically, Israel is also playing mental warfare. In the film, there was a footage on how during the second Intifada (uprise of the Palestinians), Israel dropped gas canisters containing god-knows-what-poison that rendered many into catatonic states and seizures. They trick kids by leaving glove-like looking items that contain bombs, and I personally saw the ugly remains of a boy whose life was taken by it. Worse, the media (especially US mainstream media) makes it seem that the Zionists are only doing what's best to defend their "country" from Hamas' attacks, and that Hamas is using its people as shields and they themselves are killing their own people. Absurd!

At various points in the film, the eyes could do nothing but shed tears while the heart feel pain. It was completely humbling to see how the children there learn to fight by throwing stones at the borders (where Israel has built their stone wall separating their "territory"), because that is the only way they know to defend their homeland, their family, their homes. I whine about my problems and my so called deprived childhood (which now doesn't seem like such a big deal at all) but Alhamdulillah I still turned out fine, didn't I? Tak pernah pun tak cukup makan, bapak kena masuk penjara, kena berhenti sekolah jual surat khabar and pergi baling batu dekat army yang musnahkan my home, kan? Sumpah, insaf seketika.

Furthermore, I'm blessed with the opportunity to live in a peaceful country and enjoy the things I take for granted like the freedom to walk around without fears and insecurity. I quote a boy in that film, "What is there to live for? In the end, I am nothing. I wish I could just die, because death must be better than this". At that point, I wish I could teleport into that film and shake that boy real hard and tell him not to give up because God will always makbulkan doa orang-orang yang teraniaya.

Then again, what can one youth do to help restore their faith to live and keep fighting or at least surviving? Many many organizations in the country are circulating petitions and conducting phone marathons to put pressure on the American government to end the siege in Gaza. I learned from true stories of the organizations here in Chicago that by calling government lines, the congressman's office and telling them that you care about the ongoing assault on Palestine and wants it to stop, they may give in after a few weeks to sit down and talk things out with the organization.

Note to self: You can sign petitions calling to end this absurdity. You can attend these kinds of informative events, learn more about it and inform more people about the cruelty that is going on, about the assault on Palestinian people. You can read more literature on this, keep yourself informed, feel their sufferings and empathize with them. You can donate some of that money you use to waste on Coach bags and Forever 21 clothes, Nj. Most importantly, you can consistently pray to Allah that justice will rise above all, and strength be with the Palestinians.

Owh, YOU can too!

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Some useful websites (organization, unbiased reads):
1. http://ampalestine.org/ (Chicago-based organization that are organizing gigantic rallies all over the States)
2. imeu.net (they put up credible articles from various sources)
3. Islamic Relief (donation page)*

*taken from externalcapsule.blogspot.com. Thanks.

Of the Obama-rama and Being in Chicago

I gotta say it. Heck, I'm proud that I'm living in Chicago in this unprecedented moment, when America elects its first African American President! And studying in the UofC, where Mr. President, Barrack Hussein Obama once taught constitutional law in the Law School? Or living in Hyde Park, and in fact just a few blocks away from Regents Park, where Obama resides? And the fact that I've been on the 21st floor of Regents Park when the Obama family is just 15 floors above? Tres cool, tres cool, indeed! It's times like this when the pain of being in "The (hell yeah) Windy City" (that makes your lips crack and leaves your freezing ears begging to be kept under the hood/scarf/ear muffs) is discounted. And what beats having your dorm as the one of the polling locations in Hyde Park?


I must confess I didn't follow the 2008 US Elections as closely I should have. But talk about lam-pi (stands for lambat pickup), I just ordered some Obama magnets because I know my mom would be euphoric if she got one of those. Hah, but my thoughts of outsmarting businesses by buying the election paraphernalia after the election did not work. I repeat, did not work. They got rid of the election momento-s and replaced them with "Obama: 44th American President"things instead. So I didn't get to buy election goodies for cheap, and in fact paid more as I had to fork out for shipping costs as well. Little girl thought she could outsmart those shark, sharp, profit-first businesses, who was she kidding?

I got side-tracked, never mind. But I meant to say, I was never disinterested. I took time to listen to the students at the Quads campaigning for Obama, handing out fliers, prepping volunteers for out-of-state campaigns, etc. I took time to google the names I saw being chalked on the pavements on campus-- Ron Paul, John McCain, Sarah Palin, Joe Biden. And I saw, heard and learned aplenty. The night of the election, I joined the hundreds on campus in watching the big-ass screens they sat up on campus.


When they shouted, I shouted. When they stood up and applauded for Obama, I gave him a standing ovation too. When they cried and hugged, I could understand why. The air was so charged with emotions of hope and of fear, of relief and happiness, of pride and thrill. Obama represented everything people thought was impossible, not to mention the best change the whole world really vouched for--becoming the first Black president, and marking the end of the darkest phase America has gone through.

The ambience the day after was inspiring! In the dining halls, I saw the happy grins and twinkle in the eyes of the cooks and helpers. I heard the excited chatter about Obama's historical win and the amazing night at Grant Park (which I *sobsob* missed). In the hallways, knowing smiles were passed, as if students were greeting each other with "Yes, we did!". Hang on, you may say, why am I so excited about a foreign country's president elect? Of course I must care! Whatever America, the powerhouse of the world, decides, the whole world is affected too! Here's to hoping that Obama would bring some good change to the world. He's undeniably got skyhigh expectations to live up to, especially with the American economy plummeting and its past foreign policies creating damage to say the least. Good luck, sir!

The political activism here is a stark contrast to that in Malaysia. Any person, young or old, in an educational institution or not, is given agency to voice out and be heard. Students are in fact, the main driving force in the Democratic campaign this elections. People in America wants out from Bush and his ilk policies, and they show it. They rally, they wear badges, they create catchy banners and wear sassy political tees. Even kids in preschool and elementary school are so involved! I tutor first graders (who are super cute and amazing, btw) at the St. Thomas the Apostle School and listen to them:

"My mommy says Obama will be the next president".
"Granma says Mr. Obama is going to be the best president ever!"

Gosh! When I was that age, I don't think I recall even knowing if the elections were on, though I do know Dr. Mahathir was the PM, and that he was/still is a leader extraordinaire!=) Anyhow, here's a picture of them making an oh-so-messy-but-it's-thought-that-counts banner for Obama. The banner reads "Thank you Mr. Obama for becoming our new president. We love you".


I just think that perhaps this is the reason why some young Malaysians don't break out from their cocoons (hell, I think a part of me is still, anyways) or open their eyes to important issues. We don't get the exposure. We're told to be quiet and be complacent. We're taught in school that we can't discuss openly about politics (though we still do). And it still bewilders me how fantastic the SPM and PMR results turn out to be anytime the country nears an election. Can't be a coincidence can it? I'm probably not the most qualified person to be talking about politics and all that jazz, and I certainly don't want to, but I do know that I think students, especially in universities should be given the chance to participate in such important movements like campaigning and canvassing for politicians. We're after all the generation who's going to live through the years and face the effects of the constitution and policies, so why must we be silenced?

But of course, the big part of this problem is on the part of the youngsters as well. You know, where person A gets too distracted, joins the rowdy gang, and goes marching up and down to uphold "Reformasi" at Jalan TAR, and completely leaves studies. Or young, person B who maliciously attacks (verbally, and even scarily, physically) people of different political stands. And uninformed student C who only comments and talks big at mamak Ali Maju or Syed Bistro but knows no shit. That's when the reading and being informed comes in--pick up newspapers (and don't believe everything it says, hehe), read blogs, master two sides of a coin before you open your mouth lah, then only you're not that mentah, "tin kosong" people will condemn. (That was a note to self as well).

Alas, there's no dispute there that getting to the stage of political awareness like in the USA requires moderation and respect for others, which in Malaysia we may lack of, seeing to how many university students who were violently involved in the last political turmoil back in 1998. It doesn't have to be through fights, or slander fits and fist-action. All you need is a rational argument and the gift-of-the-gab, so you can actually get people to listen to your two-cents worth on why you think YB A is hampeh or why YB B is the bomb. And all the government needs to do in its part is to is trust the rakyat. Amin.