progress

We have progressed. From nacet super disposable blades to gilette’s mach 3. From dad’s beat up Proton Saga or mom’s equally rickety Daihatsu Charade to a Toyota or a Honda, or even a Merc or Bimmer. From a rented room somewhere in Old Klang Road to an apartment, to a double storey terrace, and maybe even a bungalow. From a lowly junior clerk to a manager, and even head of department. From Old Spice to Calvin Klein. A wooden hut in Pantai Cenang to a week in New York. We have progressed inexorably upwards over the years. Sometimes slowly, sometimes fast. Sometimes a step backward for every two forwards.

We have become cleverer, but also more cynical and condescending. More experienced, but also more distrustful and paranoid. Wiser but more bigoted and dogmatic. We have learned from our mistakes, but have continued to keep our worst attributes and weaknesses. Made more acquaintances but lost friends. Bought many toys but had less fun.

Indeed, we have progressed, but I sometimes wonder if its only in a material, capitalistic way.

"Fair & Lovely"

(after a brand of skin whitening cream)

half the world want to get thin and tanned, and the other half wants to get fat and fair...

migrant crackdown

they're at it again. another crackdown on migrants announced. soon, probably, all the detention centres will be chock a block full of living, sweating, hungry, stressed and even bloody and bruised bodies.

but that's not the end of it. a crackdown has other effects as well. the psychological effects of knowing that you are hunted, and that open season has just been announced on your species. the gnawing fear that you, or your children, or your loved ones will be snared and caught.

the effect of this fear is not only psychological. you are physically caged in your hideout. afraid to venture out. afraid to go out and work and earn a living. your employers, having been raided, will be afraid to employ you. they would be afraid of their own future and their own livelihood.

when money is tight, this is perhaps the most vulnerable period for migrants. this is when free healthcare would count most. when the children and the aged and the pregnant get sick but their families don't have money for food, let alone medicine.

the only thing is, even if the mobile clinics are free, life in a detention centre is not. and so, fear prevents them from getting even goods and services that are free of charge.

try and feel what it is like to be living in fear.

feel for the hunted...

Hovis

Hovis was named by Linda's auntie after a brand of brown bread sold in England. In his 14 years walking the earth, he has rambled in the long grass of english parks. Stood by us when we were sick, never leaving our sides. Saved uncle's life by nudging him awake in the middle of his first heart attack. Took us on long walks when our hearts were broken, mending our souls with his presense.

Losing him,

is like losing a lover who loves unconditionally, regardless of what monsters we turn into sometimes

is like losing a mother who kisses our cuts and bruises and makes us better

is like losing an old precious friend who knows us better than we do ourselves, and who grounds us in their presense

is like losing our own personal jesus or buddha, who understands that we are who we are, and that is enough for our salvation

Losing him, is like losing, all at once, our lover, our mother, our friend, and our god

My Black Dog

There is nothing wrong, yet everything is wrong. I am healthy, yet I am very very sick. I am sourrounded by family, and yet I am so excruciatingly lonely. There is hope, and yet there is despair beyond all hope. There is hunger, and yet nothing can satisfy it. There is strength, and yet it crumbles with the morning breeze. It is everything, and yet it is nothing. there is love, but it is quickly overtaken by hate and anger. Each time, everytime. there is thirst, but oceans of water lie in wait just out of arms reach, in vain. There is much bravery and honour, but it melts with the first rays of the morning sun. I am complete, but I am but a fraction of myself. I am fully present, but my mind wanders off at the slightest excuse. I am here, but i am there and everywhere.

Looking through other people's shoes

I thought it was a bad idea, distributing cooked food during one of our mobile clinics. Of course, a major part of it was dogma saying no. The often heard "XXX doesn't do this" or "this is not what XXX does".

And of course, already burdened with this negative perception, the rationalisation came fast and quick. It's not professional. We are NOT a charity (heavens forbid). If you want to do food distribution, we have to do it properly. We shouldnt distribute cooked food - what if there is food poisoning? It is not sustainable. And tens more boring intellectual arguments. Is there malnutrition? Show me.

Thus arises the disconnect between the intellect and the heart. The oh-so-clever brain and the oh-so-feeling heart.

My brain was tricked today. They said to just help them go and pick up the food. That it's already cooked and packed. But it wasn't. We had to cook, clean up, and pack. The three of us - me and two other refugees.

And for once, the playing field was levelled. I was no longer the NGO with power and money and western medicine and knowledge and a university education. For that 2 hours, I was just a cook. A cleaner. Just like them. For those precious minutes, i felt a connection with my beneficiaries that i never felt before. There is a difference between being among them, and being one of them. Being one of humanity.

And for the future, i will remember that i have to say no not just with my mind, but with my heart. And the word "Proximity", bandied in the NGO world will never mean the same again.

To look through other people's eyes, you have to be in their shoes.

a face

a Rohingya child, living in a camp in Bangladesh. Forgotten by the rest of the world. Look at her squarely in the eyes. What do you see?

"Illegal Immigrants"

It's really amazing what years of conditioning does for your perception. Even after all this humanitarian work, i did not realise that i still harboured the perception that illegal immigrants are somehow criminals. Bad people. People that have broken the law, just like thieves and rapists and drug pushers.

That is, until, you put a face to it. Those faces, squatting on the concrete floor, waiting patiently for their turn to see the doctor. Indians, Bangladeshis, Afghanis, Myanmarese, Iranians, Nigerians, Indonesians...

People with names and a wife and kids back home. Ordinary people. People like us. Pople fleeing harm or looking for a better future for their families.

They are not criminals. The only crime they did was not having a passport, or overstaying their visa. There is nothing illegal or illicit about them.

They bleed, just like you and me. Honest. I saw them. I looked into their eyes.

Laila

The Laws of Demand and Supply

Why I have never seen it, despite it having stared at me straight in the face throughout my two years of pre uni and another three in it, is simply a source of bloody embarrassment! Any student of basic economics knows the laws of supply and demand. About how there is this magical price at which supply and demand would equal, and there would be neither excess of supply, or lack of demand. A point, that is to say, in equilibrium.

That it is a "law" implies something sacred and sacrosanct about it. Something that is close to the laws of nature itself, as to how things are or should be. Something that even has the absolute authority of science behind it, what with graphs and figures to back it up.

Now I realise that the law of demand and supply is as much the laws of a particular belief system. The religion of capitalism. For demand, in this "scientific" equation, really refers to want that is backed up by purchasing power. Dollars and cents. Cold, hard cash.

So there can be perfect economic equilibrium in our perfect world, but it is really only perfect for those who can afford to buy what they want, and those who profit by supplying it.

It is far from equilibrium for the majority of the population who have third world diseases and no effective economic "demand" for cures. No major western pharmaceutical company is developing better cures for Malaria and TB and sleeping sickness and Chagas and Leshmaniasis simply because there is no economic sense - there is no money to be made. And where there is money to be made, as in drugs for HIV patients, patents and the corresponding high costs of drugs are denying affordable life-saving medicine to tens of millions.

And this is where the laws of supply and demand are laws for the rich, the middle income, the prosperous. In the capitalist world, you can get anything you want, as long as you can pay for it. And for billions of people that we have forsaken for the sake of our new religion. Our shiny, expensive new God clad in a Cerruti suit and Dior shoes. For the billions that cannot afford to pay for healthcare, for vaccinations, for their own education and that of their children.

They can only pay for it with the only things that they can afford. They are paying for it with their lives and their childrens' future.

"That I Would Be Good"

sung by alanis ...

(please insert your own italics where it hurts most...)

that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds

that I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowing

that I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingy

that I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good
whether with or without you

Ants and Saturo

I no longer see ants as opportunistic house pests bent on seeking out the last crystal of spilled sugar, the last crumb of toast, the last sliver of rice. I used to just squeeze them all to death with one sweep of my arm, hardly what you would call proportionate use of force in Geneva convention "rules of war" talk. And then, after 30 odd years of conditioning and reinforcement, all it took was a casual "eh don't do that" from my friend for me to make that leap in consciousness. I no longer see them as vermin to be exterminated with extreme prejudice, but of the nature of how things are and how things will always be. Ants have been for millions of years , and will continue for millennia to come, interested in gathering food. Ants, at the very worst, show you that perhaps you should have cleaned up after eating. I now no longer feel the need to commit mass murder and to hunt "those buggers down". I now simply remove the food, and the ants will go on their merry way somewhere else, where there is food. Why I have never felt this before, and why suddenly it became crystal clear, is really amazing.

My small, little, Saturo moment.

Terminator II

It was a big and brand new shiny lorry. Long too, with its three axles. And crucially, it was empty. Which meant I could barely keep up with it in my weedy scooter as it barrelled up the windy bits leading up to Frasers hill. I was actually loosing ground as we went uphill, but I doggedly kept my throttle pinned. It paid off eventually as I slowly clawed my way back as the roads got progressively less steep and crucially, more windy.

The moment finally came when I managed to slipstream past it when it lost too much momentum going into a sharp corner. The timing, however, couldn't be worse, as a few bends on, the roads levelled and then started to snake downhill. Damn Newton and 10 tonnes of gravity on the side of that cursed lorry. Pretty soon, in the failing light of dusk, I had the headlamps of the lorry gaining on me.

Now I know how that young kid in terminator 2 must have felt like, being inexorably hunted down by a mac truck.

Magick River

There are only thin threads of similarity between us, if any. Antares, a Malaysian Chinese who has been living with the Temuan Orang Asli for more than a decade. Heri, his childhood friend who has lived and worked in Australia as a photographer and publisher for 10 odd years. Jeff, the opposite of Heri, an Aussie in Malaysia. Alex, a KL Chinese and his two American friends - an Afro-American woman working in Singapore in the aviation industry, and a Hong Kong chinese, educated in the US and now working in software in New York. Two mixed heritage kids. Chairman Mao, top dog.

And yet, in this magikal river, I feel that everybody is my friend, my family. And tha t i am somehow connected to them. To the river. The dog. The forest and the blue skies.

Zen Navigation

I was introduced to that term by my brother, who, whilst driving one fine day a long long time ago in the annals of prehistory, got horribly lost and then, as if by magic, found what we were looking for.

Thus the term Zen Navigation has been used ever since to mean a bloody brilliant stroke of luck, with no skill or memory involved, with perhaps a tad of prayer. Just bloody mindedness, not stopping to ask directions and pure, god given luck. So the words “Zen Navigation” would usually be shouted from our lips when, suddenly, when it seems that all the Gods have forsaken us, that one still is smiling. Pats of the backs and (incredulous) laughter would soon follow. And of course, the rolled eyes and shaking heads of any female in the car, usually my sister in law.

My own personal experience with Zen Navigation last weekend in Kuala Kubu Baru left me with a newer definition, though. Zen Buddhism is fanatically obsessed with “no thinking”, the art of doing stuff without consciously thinking of the task at hand (or any other thing). Athletes in peak performance use the same technique. Instead of thinking about where to place their racket, their body, their feet, they instead operate as if on autopilot, letting years of practice take over. The state of No Mind.

And there I was, only vaguely aware of where I am, and where I am heading, as I criss-crossed the backlanes in what is now the diverted road towards Frasers from KKB. I have been through this road several times before, being driven, driving myself, getting lost, searching for those handwritten signs and arrows.

But that day as I was riding my scooter, I left my intellect behind, and lets my senses take over. Peripheral vision, long term memory and reflexes melded into one as I turned as if by intention, and reached the main road on the other side after about 10 turns. Now… THAT was truly Zen Navigation!