saya dak tahu melayu
Wednesday, December 24, 2014 | 6:40 PM
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| Taman Tanjung Emas (the town's park) located at the estuary of Muar River. |
Yours truly was on a Malaysia trip to visit my mother’s side family and while I’m relieved to be back in Singapore, I miss the slow-paced life that I had in Malaysia. That said, in the post-high school life, everyday has been a soul-searching, self-reflecting and society-studying day. In the past, after a trip back from Malaysia, my blog post will revolve around my Granny, about old age, about family values, reminiscence of my childhood etc. But with less on my hands back in Singapore and in Malaysia, I have a tiny bit more space in this minute brain of mine to think about other things which I have never addressed before, and got around to facing head on with some feelings and thoughts which I have put at the back of my mind every time I go back to Malaysia.
I realized that I have been quite lucky throughout my life. (Geez what a cliché line out of nowhere LOL) In all the community that I grow up and live in, I was always part of the “majority species” (i.e. Chinese). Even in kindergarten, I was in a Buddhist school (with a vegetarian menu mind you, not that I’m complaining though, I had a happy childhood heehee), and it is a requirement for all the kids to learn Chinese. So my only non-Chinese friend was this guy call Vivek who understands bits and pieces of Chinese (I think he picked up Tamil in primary school though and doesn’t really speak Chinese now).
Prejudice and discrimination is nothing new. I’ve studied it in GP lessons, discussed it with my friends, witness it in documentaries before. But to experience it and to recognize it for what it is, from the point of view of one who is at the “discriminated end”, is a first for me. And I slowly begin to see for myself how real and important the fight against discrimination is. At the same time, how superficial I had been when I volunteered in and claimed to support these movements against discrimination without truly understanding the depths of it all.
Discrimination is action that denies social participation or human rights to categories of people based on prejudice. Prejudice is prejudgment, or forming an opinion before becoming aware of the relevant facts of a case. Case may refer to ... Wait what am I doing ... ?
My parents grew up in a city call Muar, which is the second largest city in the state of Johor, Malaysia. It’s near Malacca and is about a four-hour drive from Singapore. Growing up in Muar, I’ve taken my surroundings for granted and have not really realized it until my dad pointed it out a few weeks ago that Chinese is actually the majority in Muar, which is one of the few places where Chinese is the majority rather than the Malays. One would think that realizing this would put me more at ease and that I can safely remain in my comfort zone but it turns out that it actually made me more sensitive to the racial issues.
Reverse discrimination is discrimination against members of a dominant or majority group or in favor of members of a minority or historically disadvantaged group. - Wikipedia
While writing this post, I have a dozen browser and tabs opened for me to check my facts and definition (Okay I admit that half of the tabs were Youtube, Twitter and Instagram cause I got distracted (which is the criminal for making my blog posts incoherent at times). … And no I have no Instagram account but I bookmarked my friends’ account pages to stalk them because I am a
Being acutely aware of the discriminated feeling has brought me unfamiliar fear which really caught me by surprise. Before I was the victim (P.S. though I said victim, no one really physically inflicted pain or harm me, I only went through a self-inflicted mental turmoil), I thought that people who are discriminated feared the ridicule, the ostracizing, ... the feeling of being left out, of never being accepted. But only when the tables were turned, did I realize that it is much more than that.
There is this constant fear that you are neither protected nor safe and will never be because the law (or to put it more accurately, the system/culture) is not equally in your favor as another group of people. The fear, that they can mistreat you and still get away with it but there’s nothing you can do about it. You wont, don’t, and can’t say anything about it, but in your head you can’t help but scream in the highest octave you can reach, “that it’s not fair”. Funniest thing is, you’ll feel that everyone can hear you. Everyone “knows”, everyone “sees” it. Some tries to do something about it, they share your grievance but not your story, they protested in your stand but without proper justification, you knew that even if there is a so-called increase in awareness of the situation, the only ones who truly understand the severity of it all, were the ones who have been through it “down there” with you.
“Down there”, there is this constant need to watch yourself, because you cannot afford to step on “their” toes. This consistent self-minding (gosh, for the lack of a better word that my limited brain capacity can currently come up with), prevents you from breathing freely, stops you from enjoying each moment to the fullest, as you check your surroundings and yourself each time. You don’t talk too loud, for fear of getting on their nerves; you don’t talk too soft, for fear of offending them and looking like you’re talking behind their back. You’re not sure where to place your eyes, to look at them and face the judgmental look of disapproval and disdain? Probably not but looking straight and ignoring them might provoke them. Looking up might cause you to look too arrogant. Looking down might make you look weak and easier to be bullied. ... And closing your eyes just doesn’t make sense. To be at ease without having to worry about anything at any moment becomes a privilege that’s too good to be true. How tragic.
I may have exaggerated what I have felt (actually I didn’t) but le readers have to forgive me for I am quite an emotional one (and forgive yours truly for the abusing of the quotation marks i.e. “”). Anyways, time for a short break from the serious topic (which I will go back to) and switch to some stories I imported from Malaysia (about what I was doing there la duh). I felt like I was going through a “housewife training” during my stay in Malaysia. Hmmm… I wonder if I can put that into my resume… “(Self-Proclaimed) Professional Housewife”. Well, I finally learnt how to make my Granny’s special chili, a lesson I’ve been putting off for six years. I love that chili cause it literally goes with anything, from meat to veggies to kueh (and I would even eat it with plain rice only wtf) and most importantly, it is a necessary ingredient (IMO) to make mouth-watering sambal chili.
Been taking care of my four-year-old nephew and helping him reach little milestones. For one, I taught him how to eat by himself at the dining table. He was really spoilt by his parents and my granny (only-child syndrome), and they let him get away with eating meals in front of the TV, getting spoon-feed. But yours truly is having none of that as I firmly believe that all habits, especially eating habits, start young. It won’t benefit him (and those around him) if he turns out to be awkward or lack manners at the dining table after getting used to TV time during eating time. And so… somehow, I managed to get him to eat by himself at the dining table at meal times.
Okays it was no miracle. It took lots of coaxing, compliments and stories to lure him there and to get him to remain seated at the dining table. To a child, you must be really careful with what you say. Saying things like, “Oh you don’t want to come here eat? We going to give all the good food to Kor kor (scapegoat) liao.” Most of the time, they will react with more retaliation and annoyance. And sometimes express resentment towards the ‘scapegoat’ receiving the nice food in his place, by pinching or screaming at the person not to eat the food. The child will have to be led to the dining table positively and sometimes it’s easier when everyone “help out”, i.e. set up a setting as this:
How to get your toddler to eat at the dining table
Act 1 Scene 1
Characters: Toddler - Boy, Toddler’s mum, Toddler’s cousin (ideally slightly older)
Mum: /full of affection/ Boyyyy, time to eat!
Cousin: /in exaggerated disbelief/ HUH?! He so young… Know how to eat by himself meh?!
Boyboy: /eager to prove himself/ YA! I EAT (by) MYSELF!
Mum: /proudly/ See? I told you he’s grown up already.
Cousin: /in exaggerated awe/ Wow ... You’re so smart! So guai already!
How to get your toddler to eat at the dining table
Act 2 Scene 1
Characters: Toddler - Boy, Toddler’s cousin (ideally slightly older)
Cousin: Boy, come here eat. Your mummy said that you don’t know how to eat by yourself but I told her that you’re very smart and surely know how to eat by yourself.
Boyboy: /eager to be praised/ YA! I EAT (by) MYSELF!
Pardon yours truly for all the broken English I use for conversation but that’s about how it went. Of course, every kid is different (according to my granny who raised me and my brother, she did not face this problem. … I guess we were like pigs and am obsessed with eating LOL) and with kids there is no 100% success formula but this worked on my four-year-old cousin. And to keep him at the dining table, we have to constantly keep him occupied. Once he’s neglected or out of the conversation, his attention goes out of the window and he’ll leave the dining table to play with his toys or something. Anyways, for his little milestones, I taught him how to scrap his plate clean of the last few bits of food (yes somehow this has to be taught), also taught him how to brush teeth (the bottom row of his teeth was black leh wtf I’m not even exaggerating), and taught him how to spit out his sputum (痰: tan2) (okay actually it was more like vomit out his sputum cause his cough sounded like he was chocked up with sputum).
I told him that we’re going to try something interesting and then I stick my finger down my throat (similar to bulimic behavior). He followed (as monkey see, monkey do) and a while later, vomited his month-worth collection of sputum (apparently it didn’t go away despite his antibiotics). Apparently it’s not a very fun thing to do and he never wanted to try that again. So if he’s sick again, we’ll have to find other means to having him spit it out. But I guessed his breathing became much easier so despite the ordeal he had to go through, he still likes to stick with me.
By the end of the week that I spent with him, he got really attached to me (my brother was really impatient with him so I guess I was preferred though my temper is worse). There was this one time he even accidentally called me “marmee” and then right after he said it, he realized his mistake and gave such a sheepish and embarrassed look that one can’t help but laugh. LOL. Confession: I’m really proud to receive his acknowledgement and approval. Hahaha.
My time in Malaysia was not only spent with my baby cousin but also my aunts and granny. And women have to do what women have to do! i.e.
... You know what? I'll leave it for another day because this post is too long already and I'm kinda having a writer's block. Sigh. Yours truly is feeling real bad and apologetic about the quality of this post. :( Anyways this photo was taken in my granny's Malaysia home, which has much amazing white-washed walls and flooring to camwhore against (though good lighting is lacking).
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