“God save the Queen, a fascist regime, they made you a moron, potential H-bomb.”

Those words attracted as much controversy as it did a following in the 70s. Sid Vicious overdosed at the age of 22, two years after the release of God Save the Queen, while the Queen, at 85, still stands and waves to her subordinates today.

As controversial and messed up as the Sex Pistols may have been, they went on to become one of the most influential bands in history. None were charged for attempting a coup against the monarch, the plaids live on, and God did save the Queen.

Malaysia has a peculiar way of dealing with deviant behaviour. We just don’t want them. And we so easily put two and two together, like how celebrating Valentine’s Day will lead to a sudden break-out of orgies, like how being found in possession of Das Kapital or a hammer and sickle means that we’re ‘reviving the communist ideology’.

I have a Vietcong propaganda poster as souvenir from Hanoi so I must be a Communist living in a concrete jungle. Oh dear, they’re going to get me now. Never mind that it’s artistically appealing or that it’s our constitutional right to freedom of personal liberty to own such memorabilia – to ‘own’ it, I must ‘be’ it.

Perhaps it’s not so much an allergy to antagonist idols than an aversion towards pop culture. After all, commercialisation has taken over deviancy and made it popular. Why, you can see Che Guevara’s handsome face all over Petaling Street. Or maybe because Che is the epitome of Western deviation, hence far removed from us.

Rashid Maidin, on the other hand, is a matter of national security? If images and books of Malayan Communist front men became pop culture, would it still be considered propagating the ideology? We have close diplomatic ties with China and wear most brands that were made and assembled in China, so where do we draw the line?

And why, do we detain our very own countrymen? Is our crime rate that low that we make criminals out of ordinary civilians?

It is this dictatorial nature of authorities making certain unlucky people scapegoats to teach the rest of us a lesson, that makes me wonder who is the real communist here.

It is not rocket science, just common sense. For many of us, enough is enough. For Ee Chia, she had her last straw during the arrest of Raja Petra Kamarudin under the Internal Security Act (ISA) in 2008.

“I feel that I want to do something beyond just complaining and whining about the current state of our country. And I truly subscribe to the notion of being Malaysian first. It doesn’t mean that we disregard the diversity of our cultures, but rather to embrace this diversity and yet be united as one,” she says. Ee Chia began to become active with Saya Anak Bangsa Malaysia, a civil society movement and her passion continued to grow and burned fierier with every injustice.

And one such injustice is the recent detention of six Parti Socialis Malaysia (PSM) members under the Emergency Ordinance 1969.

“I feel that they have been unjustly and illegally detained. There is certainly no basis to their detention. The police said that they were detained because they are suspected to be the ‘prime movers’ of the Bersih 2.0 rally on 9th July while our de facto Law Minister, Datuk Nazri Abdul Aziz said that the detention was for the ‘act of reviving communism’.

“So which is which? As of today, they have been detained illegally under EO for 24 days. The judgment for petty theft is 21 days in prison upon conviction. But the EO6 has been incarcerated in solidarity confinement for more than 21 days without any proper conviction. How is this just?” she questions.

So what is the Emergency Ordinance? Why is it such a big deal that both you and I should care about it?

“The Emergency Ordinance was enacted as a temporary measure to control the spread of violence after the May 13, 1969 racial riots. The Emergency Ordinance is used to arbitrarily detain or restrict the movement of suspected gang members and criminals who the police find difficult to bring to justice due to lack of evidence.

Instead of arresting suspects and charging them for offences under Malaysian criminal law, the police simply lock up hundreds of persons for two years or more under the Emergency Ordinance. According to the Ministry of Internal Security in May 2005, the last time the government made EO detention figures public there were 712 EO detainees in Simpang Renggam.” (Convicted Before Trial, Human Rights Watch.)

In other words, if you like Che Guevara – and just for the fun of it – they’ll detain you until they make you want to be a communist and go guerrilla on them by the end of it. I know I would if I’m locked in solitary confinement for 24 days I would go bonkers.

For Ee Chia, it is imperative for Malaysians to know of these repressive laws.

“The EO6 are just ordinary people like you and me, who are entitled to the freedom of thought. If the police can simply use EO as they wish against the six of them, police can use the EO against us, and our loved ones too, for whatever reason only known to them. This is a violation to our human rights.

“It is important for us, the citizens to know and understand the implication of such laws over our lives. Once we are aware of it, then we know that these draconian laws are not needed in Malaysia,” she says.

Increasingly, the public’s freedom of expression, or more conveniently to some, public dissent, is viewed as a force that must be quenched at all costs. Not just in Malaysia, but all over the world.

Malaysia is, to put it blankly, a godfather nation – only those with authority know what is best and we are mere children to behave properly and indiscriminately. Like children, we cannot talk back to our parents and if they send us to the wall, we do so quietly even if our only offense was to say, “No mum, I know the tooth fairy doesn’t exist and it was you who put the RM1 under my pillow at night.”

Because, like good children, we cannot point out the wrong without the risk of punishment and shame.

*Due to the sensitive nature of the article, it was not published in The Star iPad, but was published in Saya Anak Bangsa Malaysia, July 27th, 2011.

Each individual has their own way of winding down and spending their ‘me-time’. For some, it might be exercising or playing sports, being pampered at a spa or shopping while others enjoy a good read with a cup of coffee. Some people read to consume knowledge – reading shapes their world view.

Some read to pass the time, waiting for a bus or in the train. Some read to escape into a world that doesn’t exist. Some read while doing their ‘business.’ (Oh come on, admit it!)

With about a 90% adult literacy rate, Malaysians generally, have access to books. So I was quite surprised to find out that a study conducted in 2005 showed that Malaysians read an average of two books a year and that as Malaysians grow older, they read less. Perhaps the statistics are flawed. After all, how can we quantify behaviour?

Being a curious cat, I asked Umapagan Ampikaipakan, who runs a book club in Penang and KL, what he thought about the reading habits of Malaysians and if reading was limited to a few.

“I don’t think we don’t want to read, I think we don’t know where to start. Because we aren’t exposed to literature in schools and so we have no idea how amazing it can be. Reading is something taught, it isn’t innate and needs to be developed.”

Hadi Khalid, founder of Distro Buku, a mobile bookstore, also shared his thoughts. “In all honesty Malaysians do not have a good reading culture which is contradictory towards our aspiration to become a developed nation.

“We lack ‘proper’ bookstores – not just a ‘hypermarket’ of books which consumers go only to buy books on sale – but a bookstore that acts as a clubhouse for readers where talks, discussions and forums can be held.”

Utilising the concept of a distributor, Distro Buku also sells magazines, CDs, DVDs and T-shirts. Hadi feels that Malaysian readers want something different from what is available in the conventional bookstores.

“We do have readers; we read the newspaper, online blogs and occasionally magazines but what we lack are people who buy books.

There is a lack of appreciation for books and we feel that our greatest challenge is to contribute towards the development of a reading culture and general appreciation for books. Our survival and success depends heavily on both.”

He further opined, “But the future of our literary scene is promising as we have so many talented writers and we are developing with the advent of independent publishing houses such as Silverfish, Matahari, Sindiket Soljah, Sang Freud Press, Stormkitchen, DuBook Press and FIXI.”

I have always assumed readings and book clubs are exclusive. I was only introduced to readings two years ago but it was organised by a small group of people in a small social setting where everyone already knew each other and I felt awkward and the reception, cold. Perhaps because the reading scene is so small, they become a clique of their own.

But Uma proved me otherwise. “The book club we run is open to the public and anyone can show up whether or not they’ve read the book. It’s more of an excuse for a social gathering where people can exchange ideas and debate on issues. The book is just a starting point.”

“I find that readings are better attended than they used to be. I saw a significant shift from 2006 till now. I was really impressed at the literature scene at the recent Arts for Grabs at the Annexe because there was a huge demographic of individuals who attended, not just the arty types, but all sorts. Borders, Kinokuniya and MPH have readings monthly, but they also have them in smaller settings like at Silverfish or art galleries.”

I thought perhaps books are increasingly pricey. It’s a pinch to my purse every time I’m out looking for a new book and I often think twice (sometimes thrice!) and spend some time contemplating before checking out a book.

Uma also feels that Malaysians generally do not see the value in reading but price is not the issue.

“Of course niche books are expensive, even overseas. But paperbacks are generally inexpensive. It’s just that we’d rather spend RM50 on pirated DVDs than on a good book.

To inculcate a reading culture, you have to get both kids and adults reading. Adults should be motivated to attend book clubs and social events – to introduce them to things they didn’t find interesting – and make it interesting.”

Perhaps it doesn’t matter how high readership is in terms of numbers and percentages. Statistics are just numbers after all. Malaysia does not have a good track record in maintaining and updating studies so they mean nothing and we can’t know how credible these numbers are. Numbers are often used flippantly by ministers to give the impression of success. Sure, a reading public is testament to a progressive and developed country, but without adequate space and freedom for debates and discussions to take place and more importantly, to have access to all kinds of books, controversial or otherwise, we will not nurture a learned, mature and confident public.

For me, reading is a personal journey; a window to infinite views and imagination at your behest. Regardless of your preferences, be it bloody macabre or sensuous romance, economics for dummies or ethnologies of the world, through the words of others you learn more about yourself as you continue to define and re-define your world views.

I’m an advocate of self-learning and I believe that if we take the initiative to get involved and be interested in expanding our views, for our own good and self improvement, then perhaps reading comes naturally and no ambiguous campaign is ever needed to coerce people into the reading habit.

*Published, June 29th, 2011.

 “And the whole earth was of one language, and of one speech. And it came to pass, as they journeyed from the east, that they found a plain in the land of Shinar; and they dwelt there. And they said one to another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn them thoroughly. And they had brick for stone, and slime had they for mortar. And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth. And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of men built.

And the Lord said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another’s speech. So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city. Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the Lord did there confound the language of all the earth: and from thence did the Lord scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth.” Genesis, 11:5-8

For a very long time, I spoke Malay when I studied at a national school and my peers were mostly Malays. My mother speaks English and just a little Malay with a Kedahan twang, so we would be conversing in two different languages at home.

But after completing high school and having my higher education in English, I subsequently switched and found myself articulating and writing my thoughts better in English. Like most Malaysians, we are either dual or multilingual; having our own respective mother tongues while acquiring English as our second or third language.

It’s a peculiar and interesting situation here in Malaysia; unlike our neighbours like Thailand and Indonesia who’ve pacified ethnic differences by coalescing the different ethnicities under one language, Malaysia still maintains its various ethnic identities and attempting a balancing act to appease the different ethnic groups.

I’m not aware of any other country with a vernacular school system. Although I’ve always been apprehensive towards vernacular schools and maintained that our education system needs an overall reform, my friend Zi Hao is of a different opinion. A Hakka and Hokkien descent, Zi Hao speaks Mandarin, English and Malay.

“Vernacular schools should be maintained because it represents the multitude of the society because language is a whole system of thought. You are learning the philosophy of the language and the social aspects of that language. For example, Malaysian history as taught in vernacular schools, even though it follows the same syllabus yet the method of teaching, communicating the knowledge may present a different viewpoint. There’s an added value to teaching history that may be obscured by national education.”

However, being multilingual also means there are certain aspects of our thought or speech that would be compromised. Because English was a learned language and most of our knowledge was consumed in English, I tend to think or opine better in English than in my own mother tongue, however I feel more comfortable to use Malay colloquially. Zi Hao also feels that it is easier to express his thoughts in English as through reading English books, he acquired a wealth of English vocabulary.

“Being multilingual means you are sacrificing something – for example, I’m more inclined to write in English rather than in Mandarin. But everything is so fluid nowadays that national language probably means nothing and perhaps an international language is more practical.

“That’s a danger too, because language then is in connection to power. So in places where there’s poverty, they have to learn the international language to get out of poverty.”

For so many years, Malaysia has been grappling with a national identity that intends to unite us all and language is one attempt to achieve unity. ‘Bahasa Melayu’ became ‘Bahasa Malaysia’ to give us a false notion of a national language and a national identity.

Yet we can see how flawed an attempt for a national language when vernacular educated Malaysians can hardly speak the language while the Malays constantly feel an encroaching threat to their identity when there is more emphasis on English or with the prevalent use of bahasa rojak. The familiar political rhetoric is for ‘the unity of all the different races’ yet most of the time it remains mere rhetoric, because as much as we like to console ourselves, we never were and never have been ‘united’.

One’s language is made up of words that form sentences, to which we use to express our thoughts and emotions. Each word is a mere representation of something tangible or intangible but is not absolute. One thing may have more than one word to represent itself in different languages, but the thing remains the same having the same corporeal or incorporeal features. To borrow from the concepts of Structuralism, a sign – a word, gets its meaning in relation to or in contrast with other signs in a system of signs.

In cultures and societies, words can be powerful and are able to invoke extreme emotions because of the meaning it is associated with, the historical and social burden some words carry.

We see this happening with the outburst of the Interlok predicament, when ‘pariah’ literally caused political chaos. While the politicians fumbled with so-called conflict management, the rest of us really felt it’s time to move on. Words have come to play in the political scene too often; we are all too familiar with ‘pendatang’, ‘balik kampung’, ‘Allah’ and so many others. But if we take out the associated meaning from these words, it remains just a string of alphabets structurally formed to be audibly coherent. We invented these words and created the social relations. It is never absolute.

Malaysians consist of highly strung and overly sensitive individuals trying to cling onto their own ‘identities’ that any notion of a Malaysian identity is an imagined one. I was trying to reconcile with this idea of unity to which Zi Hao challenged. Perhaps I was trying to simplify a highly complex situation in Malaysia but complexity is what makes us unique.

“We need to see conflict in a different way – conflict doesn’t necessarily mean it is bad. In Malaysia, conflict is seen as controversial and sensitive. But conflict provides a platform for events to happen – to spark negotiations, a way of understanding each other.

“We need a space in between that is communal and created by the society itself. We need to allow it to happen naturally rather than controlled and institutionalized. This space is important for engagement and discussions to happen between different races and religions rather than becoming a corporate and singular entity.”

Perhaps we don’t need a national language because in reality, our national language would not cinch us managerial positions in Singapore, England or anywhere else in the world. Yes we feel all warm and fuzzy when we’re all speaking Bahasa Malaysia but really, what we’re speaking is the bastardization of the language, bahasa rojak, an evolution from pidgin to be a unique language in itself.

And it is actually bahasa rojak when spoken outside of Malaysia that we can identify fellow Malaysians. Bahasa rojak is that space in-between, where the different ethnic groups had collided. Languages evolve, adopt from each other and create new ones.

Language purists are concerned with this phenomenon and insist on correct usage of the language but confined within a conservative way of thinking, they fail to recognize that ultimately, what binds us together is the colloquially spoken language, what had allowed us to understand each other is the existence of bahasa rojak.

And instead of controlling it, we should be celebrating it. And as we continue to try and make sense of what makes us Malaysian, let us start by acknowledging bahasa rojak as a sure feature of a truly Malaysian identity.

Southeast Asian cultures are rich with customs and traditions that embellish the communities with values and standards and Malaysia is no exception. Communal in nature, we are taught cultural norms which set guidelines for good and acceptable behaviours from a very young age through the telling of myths, legends and folklores.

Our culture has a deep sense of oral history and the telling of these stories is often a performance. From time to time, these stories may alter; variations may be introduced or it may be adapted with the changing times but the fundamental lessons rarely change. I always wondered why we don’t just give direct advice instead of making up stories.

Perhaps the old folks underestimated the intelligence of a child and decided that lessons are best learned through stories. And to an extent, I think that’s true, because without these stories, life lessons would just be plain didactic.

We grew up with the stories of the witty Sang Kancil, the mighty Badang, the sisters Bawang Merah and Bawang Putih, the ungrateful Si Tanggang and so many more. But these stories are not mere entertainment but serve a function.

According to Polish anthropologist Malinowski, myth is a charter for how and what people should believe, act and feel. Cultures are built upon symbols and metaphors and through these stories we permeate cultural rules. As culture is learned, these stories, be it a myth, legend or folklore serve as moral guidelines.

Though there may be variations across different cultures, they all seem to share fundamental themes or lessons which we all can relate to. Many of these stories tell us the consequences of evil and manipulation, the rewards of heroism and the dynamics of human relationships for us to learn from.

Some stories attempt to make sense of the world around us and explain the origins of things. Rosman and Rubel wrote that people attempt to explain the unknowable by constructing a supernatural world and talk about that world. The supernatural world is thus articulated through myths, legends and folklores.

The Orang Asli communities have animal tales to explain the behaviours of certain animals and how they acquired their physical features. For example, the stump-tailed shrew was a conniving creature that used to serve the moon rat as an advisor and devised an uprising against the moon rat. The moon rat, after finding out who was behind the uprising, swore to kill him and chased the shrew into a crevice. But the crevice was too small for the shrew and only the tail was left outside. The moon rat bit off the tail, and hence the shrew got his name, “stump-tailed shrew.”

Myths also attempt to explain the origin of places and how they came to be. Gunung Matchincang and Gunung Raya in Langkawi were named after two battling giants who were transformed into mountains by a witch for causing mayhem during their children’s wedding ceremony.

The fight had caused pots and pans to be flung everywhere and fell on to Belanga Pecah (broken pot) and its contents spill onto Kuah (gravy) while a saucepan of boiling water spill onto Telaga Air Hangat. Baling in Kedah also has its roots traced to the legend of Raja Bersiong (The Fanged King). Raja Bersiong who was ousted by his people, fled to a place called Merbau where he removed his fangs by twisting them by hand, hence Merbau was renamed as Merbau Pulas (pulas means ‘twist’ in Malay). Raja Bersiong then threw his fangs away, and the place where he did so was named Baling (throw) and the place where the fangs landed is called Siong, which is a village in the Baling district.

It is important to note that above all, these tales as old as time, transmitted from generations to generations as part of our literal history embody our history. These stories represent the people we once were; before our culture is diluted with the introduction of foreign elements. I lament the selective amnesia of our animistic and Hindu roots yet these stories stand testament of our past. We were mystics. We had Hindu kings. We had water demons, kings who drank blood and talking fish.

Unfortunately, this part of our history is slowly diminishing. Already some of our traditional dances have been banned. Perhaps one day, these stories would have ‘cleaned-up’ versions but what’s more worrying is that perhaps one day, these stories may no longer be relevant as we embrace modernity and disregard such tales as literary nonsense.

We bicker about racial representations in literature, yet we have a wealth of educational stories that doesn’t have a trace of race and religion in their vocabulary but focused on human relations and spirituality (note that I distinguished religion with spirituality.) But perhaps due to their animistic nature, such literature is not a ‘required reading’.

It is a shame that we no longer heed the underlying message of our folklores, myths and legends instead opted to harp on the superficial. Farish A. Noor wrote, “Nations need tales, epics and fables to glue them together, and to give the members of such nations a common compass, a heading, a beacon to follow and admire.”

Have we lost the art of storytelling that we are falling apart?

“If they want a crusade, so be it. If they say that the peace that we enjoy is not good enough…we shall take up the challenge. Don’t take the silence of Muslims as a sign of fear,” he warned to cheers from about 150 people at a ceramah last night.

So was the statement made by none other than Datuk Ibrahim Ali a couple of days ago. Of course at first, I was gobsmacked. How could anyone in their right mind utter such words?

But then again, it’s Ibrahim Ali. My partner gleefully exclaimed, “Don’t you all agree he is the most powerful man in Malaysia? He turns up in the media more often than Najib and Rosmah.” Don’t get me wrong, we just love poking fun of bigoted statements.

We’ve now learned to take whatever he says with a pinch of salt. Because really, what else can you do? Strike back and make him relevant? Speak up on behalf of the majority of liberal Malay Muslims who don’t share his views? It’s a fine line. If we don’t challenge him, it’s a silent acceptance of an unaccepted behaviour.

But if we do, we are recognizing him as a threat and he would bask in all the glory of media attention.

I contemplated writing a letter in response to his statement and found myself actually worried for my safety. “What if they found me and splash acid on me?” I asked. My partner told me to not bother, as these groups of people do not understand rationality.

So it comes to this: that a bigoted group like Perkasa and I are on extreme ends of the spectrum and have different rationalities, mine being driven by sheer common sense while theirs by the colour of your skin and which god you subscribe to. I couldn’t care less if my Prime Minister is a Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist or an atheist as long as he can do the job right. I just could not fathom why one would go to such extremes calling for violence, when there is no such threat in the first place.

I could not fathom why one would jeopardize peace and get people all riled up for nothing. But I attempt to want to understand how some Malays have come to be so paranoid and for a majority group to be suffering from minority complex, but it is a problem deeply rooted and groups like Perkasa are just picking at the surface. This rhetoric of racial and religious threat that has taken centre stage in our political discourse will one day collapse on us and propel us into chaos. It is a dangerous game they are playing, and I’m not sure for how long we are able to stay patient.

The social segregation in Malaysia has existed long before race-based political parties came into form. The divide and rule formula proved to be successful for the British. Stereotypes of the ‘other’ were created and prevailed. For those who have been sheltered within their own ethnicity and have not mixed with people from other races and religions, they come to know only these stereotypes and these become their ‘truth’ and shaped their worldview of the ‘other’. Perhaps this is a flippant way of understanding how we come to be so divided. As much as we try to pride ourselves in being multiracial, racism is very much apparent.

I remember looking for a salesgirl position after finishing high school and realized that some shops would have “Chinese only” stuck on their glass windows. I also remember walking past a car with a sticker, “UiTM hak Melayu dan Bumiputera” displayed on the windshield. But it is not just plain racism, it is systemic. It is a pre-conceived system indoctrinated into our society. And we lapped it up and practice it. We are all looking out for ourselves and our own kind. It is unfortunate, really.

I’ve always wondered how multiracialism and multiculturalism in Malaysia is different as compared to say United States or England. They both have a Chinatown too. Or is it because we have more official holidays? We celebrate at least three new years in one year and the births of religious pioneers from the Prophet Muhammad to Jesus Christ to Buddha. We harp on multiculturalism more so than others to the point that it gets nauseating. But what does it really mean when you have groups like Perkasa threatening the very foundations of Malaysia?

If Ibrahim Ali was to have his way, our public holidays will be reduced, no? My point being, the fact that we all celebrate these occasions and many more in very simple rationale, is that we’ve accepted each other as part of a larger community that transcends our own race and religion. We’ve acknowledged the significant events in each others’ culture and tradition that we share the joy of celebration as well, regardless if we chose to stay home and watch TV specials instead.

We may have our differences, but these differences do not separate us from one another, nay, they complement and fill us with so much cultural wealth and identities. Do we really want to be homogenous? That would be boring.

I named my column Tapestry because I had intended to feature the stories of the average Malaysian and their lives when I started writing. Okay, to be honest, I nicked it off my Anthropology 101 textbook, The Tapestry of Culture. But I thought that it describes Malaysia and Malaysians so well. We are a young country with a long history of intermingling (and inter-populating) of various ethnicities and cultures. Our history as an important trade stop-over had formed our society and made us into who we are today. We are not merely an immigrant country; we’ve assimilated and our cultures have blended and complemented one another. We all know each other, because we subconsciously practice practices that are unique to one culture like eating rice with your hands or putting our chopsticks on the rims of the bowl after we’re done instead of sticking them in.

Yet we are still suspicious of one another, kept attempting to pit one group against the other and internalizing rhetorical speeches as if they are the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

We have yet to be comfortable in our own skin and faith that any kind of criticism is perceived as a threat and almost immediately defensive shields are erected.

I wonder if there will ever be a time when we are able to laugh at ourselves and able to accept stereotypical jokes as just that, jokes. After all, we are all subjected to good humour. And when that day comes, ‘yo mama’ jokes would be localized into Ibrahim Ali versions, and we can all have a good laugh.

“I, I, I, I, I, I repeat…don’t talk sh**.”

My first taste of ‘activism’ was four years ago, when my friends and I gathered in front of the New Zealand Parliament, or fondly known as the Beehive, to participate in a ‘Free Palestine’ march.

Along with about a hundred people or less, we peacefully and in orderly fashion marched down Lambton Quay towards the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade building. I remember the policemen assisted in directing traffic as Lambton Quay was blocked off specifically for the march.

That image burned into my memory as it was a stark difference to images I’m used to back home. It didn’t take much for me to participate, just a yearning to show solidarity with the Palestinians and I was overwhelmed with the fact that we were not met with resistance from authorities.

But here, back in Malaysia, a simple act of solidarity could earn you some serious implications. Take for example the UKM four students – four political science students from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia who were charged under the Universities and Colleges Act 1971 for being in the vicinity of the Hulu Selangor by-election last year and allegedly showing support, sympathy of opposition towards political parties.

Clause 15 of the act states that “No person, while he is a student of the University, shall be a member of, or shall in any manner associate with, any society, political party, trade union or any other organization, body or group of persons whatsoever, whether or not it is established under any law, whether it is in the University or outside the University, and whether it is in Malaysia or outside Malaysia, except as may be provided by or under the Constitution, or as may be approved in advance in writing by the Vice-Chancellor.” Clause 15 (3) further outlines the prohibition for any student to “express or do anything which may be construed as expressing support, sympathy or opposition to any political party or trade union or as expressing support or sympathy with any unlawful organization, body or group of persons.” This ominous law pretty much did the job pacifying our youths, to the extent that we compromise their freedom of thought and opinion.

Farhan is one youth that is undeterred by the act. “My first participation with the civil society was joining Chi Too’s Main Dengan Rakyat (Playing with the citizens) in 2008. It was just a bunch of people reclaiming public space and playing peoples’ games such as tag, konda kondi, sack race – games that we used to play as children.

“During foundation year, I would go out and wander around Kuala Lumpur on my own during weekends. I started reading alternative news and was exposed to the socio-political situation of Malaysia.

“I wasn’t happy with what I was seeing – citizens being discriminated against. So I helped out with Food Not Bombs and joined a humanitarian relief effort for mobile clinics in the rural areas. I realized what’s happening on the ground can be attributed to what’s lacking at the top.

“I would always go to the Annexe and got to know the scene there – events like Freedom Film Festival, or the talks and screenings that they regular organize and from there I got to know Frinjan,” said Farhan.

Frinjan, derived from the word ‘fringe’, is a voluntary collective of literary practitioners working to promote socio-political issues through the arts and literature.

“I see the art that Frinjan brings carries meaningful content. And with youths, we can’t use old methods like lectures and talks any more to attract their attention but we can use the arts, like theatre, music, poetry and writing to inject the socio-politic elements into our message.”

Through mingling with the civil society groups, I got to know some very passionate and dedicated youths, who believe in making a difference, by participating in movements and social projects and feel that voicing out their opinions is not a choice but a right. But it’s also disheartening to find that youths like Farhan are a precious few.

“Of course I think youths should be more involved but there’s that problem of ignorance. Not just plain ignorance, they are scared that action will be taken against them. We are constantly trying new things to get the youths involved, so we make the Frinjan scene ‘cool’ and appealing to them. But sometimes the ‘cool’ element can be detrimental to the cause itself. The cause will lose its meaning when everyone gets on board just because it’s cool to be different, but they are missing the point.”

The Malaysian civil society seems to be predominantly English-speaking, which can be a problem as it creates a barrier for the Malay speakers. Academicians and forums often use English as their mode of communication and automatically, alienate a large part of our youths. Unlike in Indonesia where books are translated into Bahasa Indonesia, our Malay-speaking youths have limited access to alternative knowledge – knowledge different from our one-dimensional education system.

Zul, Frinjan lead co-ordinator piped in; “The challenges we face are engagement and language. There is a stark difference between the English, Bahasa Melayu and the vernacular-educated. And then you have the East Malaysians with their own languages. If we want to attract a larger crowd we have to collaborate with groups who are English speakers. We’re also too urban-centric. If we take our cause outside of KL, we lose the connection with the locals there. We haven’t quite bridged that gap.”

There are many challenges that face our civil society, including the restrictive laws that govern social conduct, general complacency and a sort of distrust that exists among our society.

When one advocates causes such as human rights or even presenting the viewpoints of alternative history, it is easily met with resistance. We regress into our cocoons when faced with something we are not familiar with. Any issue deemed controversial or taboo gets muddled with politics.

Issues that are fundamental concerns to the community such as Interlok or MyBalikPulau somehow found their way into political bickering. It is challenging to present different ideas to a society indoctrinated with one dominant ideology for a very long time.

“Youths don’t challenge each other via ideas, because in our schools, we don’t develop ideas of our own. Clearly, our education system is limited, but that is beyond our reach - that is the domain of the government and government policies. But what we can do is to work with our surroundings and be inclusive and make an effort to influence our peers and to use the language that they are most comfortable with,” shared Zul.

It is easier to assume the role of an armchair critic than to be an active citizen who is engaged with their community; who can think independently and are on the ground working towards building a strong civil society like the Frinjan group and their peers amidst the shackles and chains imposed on us. Their dedication and passion give us hope to a more vibrant and active civil society, and I believe that little by little, they will push their way through and become formidable pressure groups - the fifth estate - a crucial aspect of a democratic country which is long overdue.

Flying into the Kuala Lumpur International Airport, one will be able to perceive an aerial view of a landscape shaped by what looks like the ‘corn-row’ hairstyle.

Oil palm plantations lined neatly, some circular, stretching thousands of hectares, creating a false impression of luscious greenery.

On the ground, we see oil palm planta- tions lining both sides of our highways, we see huge billboards of plantation compa- nies promoting sustainability and we buy products that contain small percentages of palm oil like shampoo and chocolates without really realising that one in every ten items at a supermarket contains palm oil.

That ‘vegetable oil’ in your chocolate, might have just come from the oil palm plantation you passed on your way from Kuala Lumpur to Seremban. But you might know this; Malaysia is the second largest producer of palm oil, behind Indonesia.

In recent years, palm oil has attracted many negative views particularly on the environmental front. But on the social side, things are just as bad but when dealing with marginalised communities, it’s bound to get messy and controversial.

Seldom do we hear about the workers in the plantations or local communities affected by this industry. Even if we do, the issues are usually documented in human rights reports or court cases regarding land conflicts and for many, these issues do not concern us.

Part of my work requires me to conduct consultation with plantation workers and visits to their houses to assess their living conditions. It allows me just a glimpse of what life is like away from civilisation – in this case, one and a half hours away.

Oil palm companies interested to obtain the Roundtable on Sustainable Palm Oil (RSPO) certification are required to adhere to a set of principles and criteria which act as a guideline to their plantation practices and management. The roundtable, an international multi-stakeholder organisation is the only regulatory body for sustainable palm oil production. One of these principles requires that the company look after the welfare and well-being of their workers and neighbouring communities.

During my assessment, I met Yasdar, a cross-dressing plantation worker from Bulukumba, South Sulawesi. He has been working at the plantation for more than a year as a loose fruit collector. Interestingly, collecting loose fruits are usually the task of women while men usually do the more challenging job of harvesting palm bunches. I was quietly pleased to find out that this particular plantation practiced non-discrimination of employees as Yasdar was free to work in the area he felt most comfortable with, free to express himself.

Plantation workers are designated with different tasks, typically, you have people who harvest palm bunches or fresh fruit bunches (FFB) as they are known, those who collects loose fruits, those who spray pesticides and those who spread manure. They are paid according to their tasks either per tonne, hectare or on a daily basis.

Hence, plantation workers do not usually earn a fixed amount of income every month, and during monsoon season, they would earn less rain would hinder them from going out into the plantation.

A typical day for Yasdar would require him to head into the plantation as early as 4am and return around 11am. Sometimes he would take the lorry into the nearby village and help out at weddings for extra income. But movement is very limited; the area in which the plantation is located is a hotspot for police officers arresting illegal immigrants.

For plantation workers, it is a common, albeit questionable, practice of the company to hold on to their passports. If they wish to go out of the estate, they would have to go through the procedure of applying for the release of their passports. However, the procedure usually takes a few days, and sometimes workers would go out without their passports and risk getting caught.

As I was chatting with Yasdar, his friend came to join us. Anik is a mother of three whose husband also works at the plantation. She is also from Bulukumba and has been working there for four years. She added that they usually buy groceries from the shops inside the plantation. Groceries are usually priced higher on-site because of access difficulties. The further the plantation is from main road access, the more expensive.

Malaysia does not recognise a minimum wage, and many of the plantation workers can be considered impoverished. I’ve seen a monthly payslip of a mere RM300. A bag of 50kg rice costs almost half of what they earn in a month and some workers have a family to feed.

To elevate poverty among the workers, RSPO introduced decent living wage to ensure that their basic needs are met; the amount that they earn should be able to cover their monthly expenses with a bit of money left for savings. Decent living wage becomes a benchmark but unfortunately, some companies may not choose to adhere to the standard.

The oil palm industry provide job opportunities for many migrant workers like Yasdar and Anik. Let’s face it; Malaysians themselves would not be flocking to the plantations if they can help it.

Plantations in Malaysia depend 50% to 90% on foreign labour. Like most migrant workers, Anik left her village in search for a better life, to earn more than she could back home. Anik’s own hous- ing area is somewhat adequate and she is more or less content, but some of her peers live in appalling conditions.

From the outside, the housing areas look pretty. Most houses are made of wood as new housing blocks are being built in stages. Pots of flowers and plants decorate the lawn. It is a mini village of sorts.

I visited a family who were living in a half burnt house. Their house caught fire a few months ago when the next door neighbour, who burnt their house down, left a lighted candle unattended.

The burnt areas were patched up with zinc sheets, held up by a wooden structure. I also visited a house where a ceiling fan was missing its head; the toilet light switch and living room fan were not working, as if ‘for display only’. The occupants of the house have been living in that condition for about a year.

I’ve also seen holes in ceilings, clogged drains, oil drums used as water catchment, rusty zinc used to fix holes. For most houses, electricity supply is not constant, and is shut off at around 11pm.

For most families, they sleep in total darkness, sweating. Some families have to share the house with another family due to a lack of space. You wouldn’t even think twice about living in such conditions, but for these workers, it is what’s available to them.

It is disheartening to see how people can be treated as mere tools to be worked for the benefit of others. What to me comes as common sense can be treated flippantly by employers. The oil palm industry reaps billions in profits, yet the very people who labour for it get next to nothing.

We take for granted simple things like being able to move about freely, having continuous access to clean water and electricity when these are considered luxuries to others. And you’d be making a grave mistake if you think that plantation work- ers deserve such living conditions for the work that they do – no human being ever does. The lackadaisical attitude of some companies to provide decent living conditions and decent wages has left many plantation workers in compromised situations, and we haven’t even began addressing loopholes within our laws.

*Photos courtesy of Wild Asia.

Stumbling upon an old forum thread discussing Chow Kit got me peeved with some of the comments.

One wrote, “Yes ‘down there’ will grow fungus and big red scabs if you go to Chow Kit. It’s all crack whores and lady boys. Yuck. Any foreigner wouldn’t come out alive I think. My guide book just says ‘at night the bar girls come out to play’ with drug warnings etc. I think even hardened locals wouldn’t go there.”

Some people are just plain shallow. 

And a lack of positive reports on refugees and migrant workers does not help the situation either. A large part of this ignorance is due to a lack of understanding of the socio-economic dynamics of a particular society. Chow Kit is a famous drive-by to spot sex workers on duty, and as we gleefully exclaimed, “there’s one!” do we really know the real story behind that character standing suggestively in front of a dingy motel?

Who better to provide us an insight into the communities on the fringes of mainstream society than Anna*, a social worker who zooms in and out of the seediest parts of Kuala Lumpur like it’s her own backyard.

“How bad is it? I’ve had cases of children being trafficked because their parents are poor. There are also cases of clinics offering baby trafficking services for mothers who can’t pay the delivery bills.”

A pasta-loving, yoga enthusiast who reads 36 Stratagems and the Art of War as her training manual, Anna is no stranger to voluntary work and had worked as a media officer for a women’s organisation before landing a position as a social worker for a community organisation. Also a columnist for a local newspaper, her experiences with the media distinguished her from a conventional social worker.

“These communities are talked about in the media and we are aware of them but we have this fear of the other that we don’t mingle with. But you have to remember that they are still human beings.”

A study on media reporting of refugees in Malaysia conducted by a visiting scholar from University of New England, Australia, found that reports tend to validate stereotypical portrayals of these communities based on a few and focused on social problems associated with them.

“Working with an NGO gives me a human rights-based approach to my writing but I also realised that the media works in very constrained limitations. So while I agree that our papers need to grow a lot more balls, the public and activists also need to understand these constraints. When we criticise the media, we are also criticising ourselves as Malaysians. Hopefully one day, we will get there but you know, Rome wasn’t built in one day lah,” piped the 28 year old.   

Working primarily with refugees, Anna’s portfolio also includes working with homeless teenagers, teenagers at risk of drug addiction and who work as sex workers for a living.

According to a report last year by Amnesty International Malaysia, there are between 90, 000 and 170, 000 refugees and asylum seekers in Malaysia. Yet Malaysia is one of the few countries that have not endorsed the 1951 Convention relating to the Status of Refugees and its 1967 Protocol. They are denied the right to work and are often subjected to arbitrary arrests and abuses.

Another report released by Suara Rakyat Malaysia (SUARAM) in 2006 reported there are an estimated 1.8 million documented foreign workers and an almost equivalent number is undocumented. However I’m sure these figures have climbed since then.

Many of these refugees and foreign workers are part of the fringe community in Kuala Lumpur, and because some are denied the right to work or to earn decent living wages, they are amongst the city’s poorest.

Yet instead of reviewing labour policies, implementing minimum wage or adhering to international guidelines, the Malaysian government unleashed forces on these communities to curb illegal immigrants, denying them of their basic human rights.  

“There is a gap that exists between the rich and poor in Malaysia and a lot of middle to upper class Malaysians don’t realise we are getting to a very dangerous point. I remember the late Tony Kassim telling me that a friend of hers once said that Kuala Lumpur reminds her of Iran before it fell and that sends shivers down my spine! Even reading Shirin Ebadi’s book, I felt there were similar dynamics at play.”

Anna measures her success not in terms of numbers, but in terms of how much of an impact she leaves on the person she’s advocating for.

“When you work with high risk and vulnerable communities, of course the higher the failure rates will be but that’s okay. Sometimes they just need to see how much effort you put in, how much you care for them and they would appreciate it even if you failed because at least you tried and a lot of people have not tried. People need faith in human nature.”  

“You don’t know what kind of kick you get from helping people – saving up money to buy milk for an orphaned baby even when you’re not earning much, or when you managed to free kids from lock-up so that one of them can have an opportunity to a new life. That’s wealth. You need to experience it to understand it.”

Working as a social worker might not be the ideal occupation for many people. But sometimes, it is not about sacrificing a comfortable life for a better society, but doing the little that we can.

“Speaking up doesn’t have to mean taking a loud speaker and blaring it. Speaking up is about taking actions. If you see your next door maid being abused, find out how she is instead of turning a blind eye. People remember kindness. You have more to lose if you don’t speak up.”

*Names have been changed to protect privacy.

Published, April 6th, 2011

Irina* grew up in a rural paddy field village in Luzon, Philippines. The eldest of five, she was made to do housework while the others get off scot free and was always bullied by her mother as soon as her father stepped out of the house.

One day, a neighbour found her crying at the back of the house and feeling sorry for the girl, called her over and told her that the reason she was so mistreated was because she was a step-daughter and that her real mother had died when she was still a baby. After learning the truth, she finally told her father how she had been treated all this while in his absence. Soon after, her parents decided that it was best that she was sent to a boarding school.A polite, soft spoken woman, Irina, now 55, has three children and three grandchildren. Life didn’t get any better.

“I left Philippines in 1996 and went to find work in Hong Kong after my husband passed away. It was a difficult life. My son was only six months old. But after seven days I was terminated because I didn’t know how to do the job, I was only a housewife.” Irina recalled.

“Two years later, I went to Singapore. I worked with a very nice Muslim lady for eight months before I had to leave because my son had chicken pox. I stayed in Philippines caring for my son for a long time, until I left again and came to Malaysia in 2005.” 

“I was already intrigued by Islam when I was working in Singapore. I always saw my former employer praying and was curious. Sometimes she would cry in her prayers. So it was easy for me to finally embrace it when I came here.”

Irina goes to Islamic classes three times a week and works as a domestic helper during the weekends to supplement her living. There are about 80 muallafs (Muslim converts) a centre in Petaling Jaya. She is now learning how to read the Quran.

“We need to apply for a visa every year to study Islam. My first time, I had to go for an interview with Jakim (Islamic Development Department). They asked me to recite the Al-Fatihah and three sura. If you passed, then they will issue you a one year visa. Every year the interviews get harder to test your knowledge.”

“But now, our officer told us there is a new memorandum from Jais (Selangor Religious Department) limiting our study visa to only five years. A lot of us are worried because after that what happens? If we go back to the Philippines, we cannot study Islam, there is no one to teach us there, especially for me, I live in the village, and there is no mosque. It’s very worrying.”

A quick call to the Human Development Department confirms Irina’s conundrum. According to a representative, the five year time limit imposed on muallaf calling (when one is considered a new convert) from the date of the conversion was a decision made by the National Fatwa Council. I was told that the muallaf initiative is sponsored by zakat, a yearly welfare contributions by Muslims (zakat is one of the five pillars of Islam and a requirement for all able Muslims.)

The time period was imposed for new converts from the date of conversion to attend classes and study visas will be issued for non-citizens. However, I was also told that should they wish to continue their studies after the five year period, they can do so at their own cost. But for Irina, she is no longer entitled to a working visa as she has passed the age limit.

This draws my scepticism on institutionalised religions. When the freedom to practice your faith is regulated by a selected few, you are at their mercy. You preach then teach, and welcome new brothers and sisters, but when the time comes, you leave them on their own. I presume the imposed time limit is an effort to also curb the influx of migrants and a mechanism to regulate zakat payables, but isn’t zakat meant for all underprivileged Muslims? There is no basis to impose the time period in the first place, as the Fatwa Council had decided that such a calling (of a muallaf) is merely customary. But what is customary is now made a ruling that you are to abide by.

It gives off an impression that you’ve been cheated. You leave your hometown for a better future, for the freedom to practice your faith and you’ve assimilated and become comfortable with the life in Malaysia. But the comfort is short-lived, and given the circumstances, you might see yourself sent back to the life you worked so hard to escape.

I acknowledge the possibility that perhaps some might use the excuse of conversion to stay and live in Malaysia. But if you are really honest in your preaching, does it not matter? Regardless of their intentions, is it not your duty to preach and to guide with an open heart and to refrain from judgment? Does it not show that the conversion of non-citizens is executed half-heartedly, without an extensive and holistic approach that would not only ensure their paths to Islam but to also look after their welfare?

If the concern is that the zakat funds cannot cope with the increase of muallafs, then the Islamic Department should look into proactive measures rather than to regress behind the safety net of laws. 

I see nothing wrong in continuing their visas to study at the same time allowing them to work so that they could support themselves and not depend on the funds. Or create new avenues such as employing them as tutors to new converts. Who can better understand them than converts themselves, no? But with institutions come bureaucracy, and common sense has no place. And once you merge bureaucracy with religion, by introducing visas and regulations, you undermine the very core of your duty to preach.

The Malaysian government may be iffy about the influx of migrants but it is inevitable. Malaysia needs labour yet the lack of proper systems in place and loopholes often discriminate against migrant workers and the way we treat them is appalling. But I believe we can do more; we have yet to impose minimum wage yet alone recognize decent living wage, working hours and living conditions. We have yet to treat migrant workers as a decent human being, with the same rights as everyone else and entitled to the same opportunities enjoyed by others.

“Sometimes I get criticised by other Filipinos in my area because I wear the headscarf. But I don’t mind, I’m happy. I keep to myself. I read the Quran every night – it has become my habit before I go to bed. My companion is Allah. He is my friend, my guidance and saviour.” With a smile and softness in her eyes, Irina has found her place.

*Names have been changed to protect the identity.

Published, March 23rd, 2011

“We were on a boat trip and Phil* came up to me and we started talking. As we were talking, a bird flew over and he wondered what it was and I told him it’s a Brahminy Kite. He was impressed that a girl could identify birds!” recalled Thea* of the first time she met her husband during a holiday in Hanoi, Vietnam.

“I remember I was really annoyed by his loud laughter with his friends! We became friends throughout the trip. But I never thought much of it until I came back and received a written letter and an email from him. I guess he really did want to keep in touch.”

The couple kept in touched since then and with a few trips between Thailand and Malaysia, eventually Phil popped the question and they got married in 2001. At the time, they were both at a point in their lives to be moving forward.

“It’s funny because coming from Thailand, his Malaysian friends had expected me to be one of those farang girls because well, Thai girls are famous for that. So when they actually met and spoke to me, they realized that I’m well-educated. You could tell by their expressions that they had judged me even before meeting me.”

Thea had studied Marine Science and Environmental Biology and was a diving instructor since 1994 before joining a local NGO in Bangkok as education program director in 1997.

“It wasn’t hard for me to leave Thailand because I wasn’t attached to things, I didn’t really have a hometown. I was ready to move on and explore other options. And Malaysia isn’t that far different from Thailand geographically, I just had to find my way around.”

“Cultural differences really stood out for me when I first realised a sort of unspoken rule that women eat last when food is served. Usually the children would eat first, followed by men and then the women. At the time, I was pregnant so I ate with the children and wondered why my sisters-in-law were not eating as well. In Thailand, we all eat together, there is no hierarchy.”

“But I’m lucky that his family accepts me as I am and does not try to force me into doing things their way. One similarity between our cultures is that we respect the elders, so I showed my respects to my mother-in-law and we get along really well.”

Mixed marriages sparked a deep interest in me recently. Not that I’m alien to such unions as my own heritage is of mixed ancestry, I’ve never paid much thought to it until I realised how awkward Malaysians really feel about interracial relationships.

Given the fact that Malaysia is a melting pot of cultures and our society is very fluid, inter-racial relationships are not uncommon, yet we still possess a somewhat contemptuous attitude towards it. 

I remember discussing interracial relationships with a friend and she was hopeful that Malaysia’s future lies with children from mixed parentage, so that the racial distinctions will one day be diluted and irrelevant. 

But when I suggested that a Malay friend was interested in her, to my surprise she said, “I’ll never date Malay guys. My parents would kill me.”

Borderline hypocritical, the onus is on everyone else to create a better Malaysia but never your own, isn’t it?

Remember the ruckus last year when Information, Communication and Culture Minister Datuk Seri Rais Yatim cautioned young people to “think a thousand times” before considering a union with a foreigner last year? Citing a study that only three out of 10 mixed marriages work, he was also quoted to have said, “The failure of marriage is caused by cultural differences, religion and how a person is raised.”

Hold that thought.

My parents belong to the same cultural and religious group and yet their marriage failed. It always intrigued me how easy people make assumptions and present these assumptions as factual. 

Maintaining a mixed marriage is not difficult; maintaining ANY marriage is difficult. Of course to an extent, there are cultural barriers between partners from different backgrounds.

“Thais usually don’t like to confront, I beat around the bush and try to avoid conflict but Phil is very confrontational. But eventually we learn how to address this; we try to see from the other person’s point of view. It’s difficult and takes time.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with different religion or nationality; it’s about the personality, what kind of a person you are. For us, our roles are very clear and when we work together according to our strengths, things run smoothly. It’s a disaster when we hijack the other person’s role!”

Datuk Seri Rais had also commented that “It is not easy to get citizenship in Malaysia, the question here is that it is easier if it involves a woman marrying a Malaysian man than the other way around.”

Thea’s case proved otherwise. Eight years and two children later, she still has to pay a visit to the immigration office once a year to renew her visa.

“We’ve met so many couples who have been trying to apply for PR for so long, some up to 20 years! Of course, they are non-Muslims. So I know that if you’re not a Muslim, getting a PR is a hassle. For me, as long as they allow me to work and be here with my family, I’m more than happy. But I do feel it’s a bit unfair.”

I personally feel that cultural or religious differences are not necessarily a bad thing. Differences bring variety and vibrancy to a relationship. You learn different things about each other’s cultures, while appreciating your own. 

It doesn’t mean you lose your identity once you marry someone of a different culture. Many aspects of the Malaysian cultures have influenced each other because they have existed together for so long. But we easily blame cultural differences as the root of all problems because we do not make enough effort to try to understand something that we are not familiar with and we are unable to accept them without trying to impose our own ethics and belief systems onto them.

Thea is Buddhist while her husband is Christian. They expose their children to both religions – they go to a Thai temple and church simultaneously. When they grow older, they can make their own choices and choose their own paths. “We give them the space to explore and we never impose on them that this is right or that, we just explain to them as it is. And we are okay with either way when they are ready to commit.”

And while both parents speak English to the children, Thea uses Thai for routines like eating, sleeping and bathing so the children understand some Thai.

Mixed marriages become a problem when it is laden with bureaucracies – when one is forced to assume the other’s culture and religion because the law won’t have it any other way or when one has to go through countless paperwork and the frustration that comes with it. 

And things get even more challenging when the people around you react to your relationship in such menacing ways instead of providing the support base that the marriage needs.

Because between the two individuals involved in a mixed marriage, it doesn’t matter what colour your skin is, what god you pray to or whether you can use chopsticks or not, what matters is the love you have for each other, how well you work together and the commitment you put into the marriage that would eventually, make or break it.

*Names have been changed to protect their identities.

Published, March 9th, 2011