Below is a reply to a comment from Malaysia Waves blog. Since it’s quite long, and I have not written anything here for quite some time, I guess I’ll just post it here. The guy was responding to my earlier comment and here’s his original post:
Dragonajie,
This is 'pakcik dari serendah'. Sorry if I have to say that, I think you are dreaming. The malays are far behind the chinese in many aspects be it in retail business, trading, construction, manufacturing etc. The chinese in malaysia deserve it for their hard work and the ability to take up enormous risks. In employments, chinese graduates and school leavers will get the first call (in most industries) leaving the malays on second call. That is why there are so many unemployed malay graduates.
Their only evenue is to seek employment with the government and GLC, even that is challenged and questioned until the PM himself seemed to have problem in explaining. Low paying factory workers are mostly malays, smallholders and farmers are also mostly malays. Since majority of the population are malay, is it wrong for the government to assist the malay. Unity among races can only be achieved if the economic pie is shared equally but it is not in Malaysia. Don't blamed it on one dato's son whom you knew got a scholarship as these isolated group of people are just greedy morons. Malays still need help and don't expect other races to help. We need to help ourselves through politically unity...yes 'keistimewaan orang melayu dan bumiputra' in our constitution is unfair to DAP and PKR's point of view but as a malay man yourself, what do you think is fair then??
So my replies as below:
Salam pakcik dari serendah. Thanks for your response. :) I am not very good at debating issues like this, but I’ll try my best to express my point of view. :)
We talk about non-malays as if Malaysia consists of just the Malays. The standard Malay mindset is that the non-Malays can go to hell for all they care but the land belongs to the Malays. Is this the right attitude that we want to teach future generations? How about non-Malays who are born and bred here, who have been here for 4 generations, is Malaysia not their home too? Do they not pay their taxes? Do they not contribute anything towards building this nation? Isn’t it frustrating if the same thing happens to us, if the situation is reversed?
When we talk about poverty, why is it that only the Malays are of concern? How about Sabahans and Sarawakians? The Orang Asli? The Sikh? The Indians? For all its worth not all Chinese are rich either. Poverty is a universal problem regardless of race, so why only focus on the Malays? On Malay unemployment, it’s not just because of the ethnicity factor, it is also because many Malay graduates are incompetent. This is what happens when we put Malay quotas in local universities, the Malay students we gave education and study loans to are more interested in motorbikes. These ungrateful brats should be given the boot in their sweet hinds.
We are losing valuable non-Malay talents overseas. It is a real problem, when our own Malaysians prefer to work in Singapore, Australia, the US, the UK, when so much more can be done here. Imagine if one day Malaysia is attacked by the US or something like that, perhaps for our oil or whatever, wouldn’t we want the non-Malays with us to defend the country? Or would we see them say “Aiya, Ketuanan Melayu maa, tanah lu orang, lu orang defend sendiri laa”.
So what is fair? Equal opportunity, that’s what’s fair, in my humble opinion. We need to encourage more non-Malays to contribute to the country. Let them buy houses at the same prices as the Bumis. Poor Malays will not be able to afford to buy a house anyway so only Bumis with money benefit from it. Let them have more chance at getting study loans and scholarships. Allow more positions for them in the government. In return, we expect them to open up more employments in the private sector, and we want to buy supplies for our businesses at the same price that they are selling to their people.
I consider myself fortunate for being able to work in an MNC, and experience first hand how it feels like to be “marginalized”, intentionally or unintentionally, and it sucks. But like I stressed so many times, for things to change, we individually must change first. After all in the afterlife, there is no Heaven reserved for the Malays. :) Thanks for reading.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Death in the Family: Ayah Ngah, You Will Be Missed
April 12 marked a black spot in my life. The night before was uncomfortable. It was a very busy week at work, a few assignments were due at the same time, I had a test coming in the morning and final exams were just 2 weeks away, and I had to deal with an infestation of some unknown creepy crawlies on our bed. The itch of the insect bites kept me wake most of the night, and strangely enough my wife and kid were spared from their fury. Half the night was gone when I decided to sleep in the office room instead.
At exactly 0625 hrs, my mom called, and the news was, Ayah Ngah had just collapsed into a coma and had to be rushed to the hospital. I was having a test that morning, so my mom told me to go for the test and she will update me of any news. Alas, news came sooner than later. At exactly 0701, my mom called me again; Ayah Ngah had passed away.
My state of mind immediately after was some kind of numbness, perhaps from prolonged strain of the week, added by lack of sleep throughout the night, and the news sounded like “Oh… he’s gone…”. As usual, wife and maid did all the packing, and I went into the shower. Under the hot sprinkle of water, reality sank in; Ayah Ngah was gone, and he was gone forever. Bits of memories flashed in my mind, and getting out of the shower, I burst into tears in the arms of my wife.
Ayah Ngah was the husband of my father’s elder sister, and in the family circle he was the ‘old man’, the one everyone looked up to, the one who had veto over decisions, the Maharaja, the figure of authority. He was the de facto family elder and his opinions carried weight in every conversation. He retired from the police force many years ago, and he had always been around ever since I can remember. Throughout his retirement age, he suffered from a genetic eye condition which rendered him practically blind. But despite that, he remained to be very formidable and commanding, perhaps the very traits carried on from his younger days in the police force. He was the symbol of the family, and a model of sheer willpower and spirit of never-giving-up no matter what the odds were.
In the extended family circle, I had always been the ‘one who is never around’. I left home very early in life to attend boarding school in Perak, went to further studies in Johor soon after, and build up my family and career in Penang. Everyone else pretty much stayed around central region, particularly KL/Selangor. Being away for so long perhaps made the most of my character; independent, perhaps a tad rebellious. However being away sets the quiet distance between me and the family.
Gatherings were very common and frequent, especially when practically everyone lived just around. Even my parents in Seremban were just about an hour away from KL, and therefore Ayah and Mummy Ngah’s place in SS3 Kelana Jaya had always been the de facto gathering place of the family. That small 2 storey terrace house was where my generation of cousins grew up with each other while the parents sit down together in the kitchen having all sorts of conversations, be it Siti Nurhaliza vs Noraniza Idris, Mahathir vs Anwar Ibrahim (me being Anwar’s man though, so I kept away from this conversation because apparently everyone else was Mahathir’s), children’s issues with examination results, looking for jobs, joining a band, getting caught with whatever, weddings, funerals, bank loans, a piece of land they had been trying to sell, car loan, house loan etc. etc, you name it. The place was also where our grandmother passed away, which kind of brought us, the cousins closer together during my early teenage years, visiting her whenever school was on holiday and reciting the Yaasin for her up till her death. My generation of cousins, the 80’s babies had all grown up now, and we had been replaced by the 90’s babies, the second cousins, the MTV generation.
In the house though, one constant always remained: Ayah Ngah, who will always sit at the head of the table in the kitchen, and who will always sit on the sofa by the front door afterwards for coffee. I remember during my earlier childhood, he used to make me sit on his lap, and he would ask me all sorts of questions especially about school and studies. I’m quite sure every one of my generation had to go through that one time or another. Even after the children had grown up, he still played that role, giving out advices and his insights whenever he felt necessary, or when no one else can, especially the parents.
It felt sad, how someone who had always been there suddenly wasn’t. To me, Ayah Ngah’s death represented the first of his generation in our family to go. His was the first death in my adulthood, and with his demise came the cold hard truth that sooner or later everyone’s turn will be up. It made me question myself, whether building my life 6 hours away from everyone else was worth it for selfish reasons, or simply because it was meant to be. Being away gave me the freedom to live my life as my own, at the expense of missing family events and relationships. It showed, how over the years I kept running out of things to talk about with my cousins, how I shied away more from everyone and frantically looking for common ground. I hardly knew anyone anymore, and it made me wonder at my funeral, who would I be remembered as? Will I die a lonely death, or will friends and family from here and afar be there for my final Solat Jenazah and accompany me to my final resting place?
Dear Ayah Ngah, you had always been there and I especially had taken you for granted. Looking back, I knew I should have spent more time talking with you, getting to know you better instead of the usual “How are you?” and “Fine, thank you.” Now, should-haves and could-haves no longer matter, and all I can offer you are just prayers, al-Fatihah and Yaasin. May Allah bless you in the after-life.
We rushed back to KL and arrived just in time for Solat Jenazah, and I stood watching every moment beside Ayah Ngah’s grave as they buried him beneath the red soil of Bukit Kiara. The mood was somber, and the sun felt like just inches above our heads. The experience touched something deep inside of me, and I’m sure many of us in the family felt the same way, perhaps more so since they were much closer to him than I was. It was a reminder, and one I would not forget for the rest of my life.
Al-Fatihah to Haji Zakaria bin Mohd Don, and may Allah bless his soul with barakah till Judgment day.
At exactly 0625 hrs, my mom called, and the news was, Ayah Ngah had just collapsed into a coma and had to be rushed to the hospital. I was having a test that morning, so my mom told me to go for the test and she will update me of any news. Alas, news came sooner than later. At exactly 0701, my mom called me again; Ayah Ngah had passed away.
My state of mind immediately after was some kind of numbness, perhaps from prolonged strain of the week, added by lack of sleep throughout the night, and the news sounded like “Oh… he’s gone…”. As usual, wife and maid did all the packing, and I went into the shower. Under the hot sprinkle of water, reality sank in; Ayah Ngah was gone, and he was gone forever. Bits of memories flashed in my mind, and getting out of the shower, I burst into tears in the arms of my wife.
Ayah Ngah was the husband of my father’s elder sister, and in the family circle he was the ‘old man’, the one everyone looked up to, the one who had veto over decisions, the Maharaja, the figure of authority. He was the de facto family elder and his opinions carried weight in every conversation. He retired from the police force many years ago, and he had always been around ever since I can remember. Throughout his retirement age, he suffered from a genetic eye condition which rendered him practically blind. But despite that, he remained to be very formidable and commanding, perhaps the very traits carried on from his younger days in the police force. He was the symbol of the family, and a model of sheer willpower and spirit of never-giving-up no matter what the odds were.
In the extended family circle, I had always been the ‘one who is never around’. I left home very early in life to attend boarding school in Perak, went to further studies in Johor soon after, and build up my family and career in Penang. Everyone else pretty much stayed around central region, particularly KL/Selangor. Being away for so long perhaps made the most of my character; independent, perhaps a tad rebellious. However being away sets the quiet distance between me and the family.
Gatherings were very common and frequent, especially when practically everyone lived just around. Even my parents in Seremban were just about an hour away from KL, and therefore Ayah and Mummy Ngah’s place in SS3 Kelana Jaya had always been the de facto gathering place of the family. That small 2 storey terrace house was where my generation of cousins grew up with each other while the parents sit down together in the kitchen having all sorts of conversations, be it Siti Nurhaliza vs Noraniza Idris, Mahathir vs Anwar Ibrahim (me being Anwar’s man though, so I kept away from this conversation because apparently everyone else was Mahathir’s), children’s issues with examination results, looking for jobs, joining a band, getting caught with whatever, weddings, funerals, bank loans, a piece of land they had been trying to sell, car loan, house loan etc. etc, you name it. The place was also where our grandmother passed away, which kind of brought us, the cousins closer together during my early teenage years, visiting her whenever school was on holiday and reciting the Yaasin for her up till her death. My generation of cousins, the 80’s babies had all grown up now, and we had been replaced by the 90’s babies, the second cousins, the MTV generation.
In the house though, one constant always remained: Ayah Ngah, who will always sit at the head of the table in the kitchen, and who will always sit on the sofa by the front door afterwards for coffee. I remember during my earlier childhood, he used to make me sit on his lap, and he would ask me all sorts of questions especially about school and studies. I’m quite sure every one of my generation had to go through that one time or another. Even after the children had grown up, he still played that role, giving out advices and his insights whenever he felt necessary, or when no one else can, especially the parents.
It felt sad, how someone who had always been there suddenly wasn’t. To me, Ayah Ngah’s death represented the first of his generation in our family to go. His was the first death in my adulthood, and with his demise came the cold hard truth that sooner or later everyone’s turn will be up. It made me question myself, whether building my life 6 hours away from everyone else was worth it for selfish reasons, or simply because it was meant to be. Being away gave me the freedom to live my life as my own, at the expense of missing family events and relationships. It showed, how over the years I kept running out of things to talk about with my cousins, how I shied away more from everyone and frantically looking for common ground. I hardly knew anyone anymore, and it made me wonder at my funeral, who would I be remembered as? Will I die a lonely death, or will friends and family from here and afar be there for my final Solat Jenazah and accompany me to my final resting place?
Dear Ayah Ngah, you had always been there and I especially had taken you for granted. Looking back, I knew I should have spent more time talking with you, getting to know you better instead of the usual “How are you?” and “Fine, thank you.” Now, should-haves and could-haves no longer matter, and all I can offer you are just prayers, al-Fatihah and Yaasin. May Allah bless you in the after-life.
We rushed back to KL and arrived just in time for Solat Jenazah, and I stood watching every moment beside Ayah Ngah’s grave as they buried him beneath the red soil of Bukit Kiara. The mood was somber, and the sun felt like just inches above our heads. The experience touched something deep inside of me, and I’m sure many of us in the family felt the same way, perhaps more so since they were much closer to him than I was. It was a reminder, and one I would not forget for the rest of my life.
Al-Fatihah to Haji Zakaria bin Mohd Don, and may Allah bless his soul with barakah till Judgment day.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Missing Person: Have You Seen This Man?
One of my friend, Salhi Khaiessa Ahmad has been missing from home for about two weeks now. He suffers from schizophrenia, and has not been taking his pills since missing from home in Kelantan. He had been missing several times before but was always found within a few days at Kuala Lumpur and Ipoh. This has been the longest he's been gone. Each time, he had been trying to make his way to Kuala Kangsar, most probably to get back to the Malay College where he studied 10 years ago.
Another friend has set up a blog in an effort to gather support from the online community. The chances may be slim, but any kind of help cannot be overlooked. If you happen to work in the broadcasting or mass media, or happen to have anyone we can contact, please do not hesitate to contact me.
the blog can be found here.
the Star report here.
my thread at Lowyat.Net online community here.
if you happen to see him anywhere, or can offer help in any form, please call En Ahmad at 09-786 6040, 017-970 3227 or 012-296 2642.
Please help us in our search. May Allah bless him and protect him until he safely returns to his family.
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