Am I Doing The Pantomime?

"Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinion, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation." -Oscar Wilde

What if we are nothing underneath our skin? Perhaps we are merely a collection of thoughts learned, quotes found, passions emulated and dreams followed. Maybe I am. The thought is too depressing for a weekend half wasted. Oh tidak. I need some green tea ice-cream. And some catching up with the surreal biatches living their unrealistic lives in the Upper East Side. Oh boy.

Saya Pelatih Melapor Diri Pada Tahun 2011

At times it pays to have a brother who's bengkeng. After he has so kindly (to me) and unkindly (to them) chided the PLKN officers who screwed up my 4-year deferment, the verdict is out.

It's now 2 years before I have to lug my then 22-year-old (and hopefully NOT pudgy) unfit self to bootcamp.

Why? Because Bank Negara has spoken, and thy files are marked and stamped. There is no escape. But wait there is; to defer until I'm old and thirty OR get married and have kids, whichever comes first (preferably the latter). Ok, just kidding. I'll do it, you bet I will.

Pant through an obstacle course like I did throughout my 5 years of boarding school, use "hardwater" and get pimples like I always had in camps, march under the scorching sun and grant myself a tan like the one I have lived with for so many years? For Yahoo! fun as such, who can complain? Wait, then there is the privilege of donning those blue heavy uniforms and running around in those UGG-ly boots? Ah, sheer pleasure.

Oh, so you noticed the sarcasm? No, no, really, learning how to handle a gun and actually do some community service may be the only two things I'll value from PLKN. With the first, I am armed with the security, confidence and physical knowledge that I can blow off the dick of the next dickhead who breaks my heart; and the second, for obvious reasons.

Sure, this is going to be legen-wait for it-dary! Wait, no, really, I'm dead serious about the gun, no the community service. Eh, no, the community service, yes, yes.

And no, I am not usually this gedik, if that's what you're wondering. I just hate this serving-PLKN-before-I-work business with a passion.

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.