my fisheye view on life

I feel nauseous, I really do. Physically and mentally.

Physically because I am sick and have been since Sept. 1, 2007. Which says a lot since it’s the day right after our much lauded big 5-0 celebration.

Mentally because after all my efforts in ignoring any articles that mention anything remotely to do with a certain individual with initials of K and J, I managed to read something particularly puke-inducing when I was reading up on our dear Marina Mahathir’s blog(I’ve been reading her writings since my school days so I am a fan, I guess). Apparently someone who is, IMHO, totally undeserving is going to hoist our beloved flag during the re-enactment of the declaration of Independence 50 years ago. I am so tempted to call the flag Jalur Temberang now… but I guess dear ol’ Zam will ask to have my sorry arse hauled to Bukit Aman for insulting our country’s symbol. But if possible, I would like to have their asses hauled to Bukit Aman for insulting my intelligence in all their years of ’service’ in the government. Wishful thinking I guess.

As I read Marina’s posts over the last week about Merdeka and all that I have read over the past months (which weren’t much since I have been ignoring most of the ass kissing stuff that seems to be in the papers a lot) , I do feel a bit sad. The thing is, what I feel about it now is pretty much how I feel physically… nauseous.

I can’t remember the last time I read anything with Malaysia Boleh tagged to it that made me feel proud since the ‘98 Commonwealth Games. I mean, sheesh… who cares about the longest or biggest feast of some kind of Malaysian food that goes to waste after it’s been recorded in the dumb book of records when there are people starving or children who can’t afford to go to school in our day and era where the country’s economy is supposedly booming.

How can I feel proud of my country when I don’t even feel safe to walk in the streets after dark or even in my own home? How can I feel proud when I hear our people’s representatives in the sacred House of Parliament getting away scoot free after doing the most ludicrous of acts and a sham of an investigation? How can I feel proud of my country when people can’t even understand the mechanics of queuing up to get on a public transport and acts like some kind of uncivilized animal each time there is a crowd or when there’s free food?

On the eve of the big party, I actually managed to forget all about it and went to bed before it even occurred to me that I should be celebrating. And I can’t believe that I felt so little of it that I didn’t even remember to watch out for the fireworks. And I used to be such a sucker for Merdeka celebrations.

Each year since I was old enough to remember, I would be either watching the parade on TV or be a part of the parade. I remember the days under the hot sun where I would be practicing with my school band for weeks before the big day. I remember waking up at 4 am to get to school by 5 am because we needed to attend the rehearsals for the parade. I remember marching by our dear Sultan and I remember congregating on the Padang Ipoh afterwards with all the other contingents and singing along to Sudirman’s Tanggal 31 song (oddly a fave song of mine) while we were waiting. How much have changed since those days!

I love my country because this is where I was born and bred. I love my country because it made me who I am when I was born a Malaysian. I love my country because it is the only home I’ve ever known. I love my country because I am Malaysian.

I do not shout words that ring hollow while waving an ornamental weapon. I do not say Malaysia Boleh each time the opportunity presents itself. Heck, I don’t even have a Malaysian flag!

But I know the words of Negara-ku by heart, I still remember the notes of this song even though I haven’t played it on any musical instrument for over 6 years. I know the Rukun Negara by heart. I still have that tingling feeling when I hear our national song even though the tempo’s been changed multiple times for god knows why. I still remember the day when Tunku died and I stayed home and watched the funeral on TV even though I didn’t know much about him then. I remember the sorrow and solemnity even though I didn’t understand it then.

I remember all that should be remembered that is in essence what being Malaysian is about. I wonder if I can say the same of our leaders.

Merdeka? Yes, we gained independence in 1957.

Merdeka? I wish we have the same independence in our mentality in 2007.

A few years back when I was in Bangkok for a short holiday, I read in the Bangkok Post (or some other Thai English daily…) that Bangkok was plagued with poor roads and potholes… and that even one of the ministers who were inspecting roads fell into a pothole. Ironic and hilarious.

Poor roads and traffic jams, I guess, that’s one similarity that most people in both cities can agree on. How many times have motorists been stuck in a jam for god knows how long? My guess is, daily. And not only on federal roads. Highways, which are suppose to make traveling faster, hence the toll fares, are jammed. How on earth did that happen? Why are we paying to escape a jam just to get into another massive one?

And what about our periodic bouts of flash floods in the city? Each time there’s a thunderstorm, our dear ol’ KL gets flooded. Remember last year? Remember the year before last? Remember all those times that we saw all the pictures and footages of underground car parks and walkways being submerged in muddy water? And all those outrage and angry statements by various leaders? Has there been any change since the last time that happened? This question can be answered if you flip the pages of Malaysian dailies on June 11, 2007.

Speaking on which, SMART tunnel which was supposed to help avert traffic and flash floods, will start charging RM2 per trip on Friday, June 15. But how effective has this one-month trial been so far? I’ve traveled via the SMART tunnel a few times, mostly to KLIA and Puchong. My trips to KLIA, I think during non-peak times, I might have saved about 10-15 minutes? Not a whole lot. To and from Puchong, I guess, if I didn’t have to show up for work on time, I would have been able to reach my office in town within 25 minutes. But then again, I don’t have that luxury. So I was still stuck in a jam because hey, surprise, there’s a lot of people who has to reach the office by 9 too. However, I believe the trip was lessened by 20 minutes. Which is a whole lot less nap time for me in the car.

But the dumbest thing would have to be that the existence of this new tunnel means that Jln Tun Razak and Jln Bukit Bintang would be more jammed than ever. Correct me if I’m wrong, isn’t part of the reason for this tunnel is too help avert traffic?

For the millions that have been spent on building faraway sport complexes in England and millions paid to send two fellas up to space to play batu seremban and drink teh tarik, why aren’t our tax money being channeled to develop better public transport (which IMHO, would have been able to help avert traffic much better) or even hire some competent city planner or civil engineers to actually help plan the city better? Sometimes I wonder why am I slogging over my tax returns every April. Besides the fact that law requires me too, of course.

Public transport while not that far reaching or efficient, do serve the purpose for those who has access to it. Not too expensive and quite convenient if you want to go to the city, I can’t really complain that much. But if you do live somewhere without access to the LRT or Monorail or even the Komuter, tough luck.

How do you survive the traffic jams, floods or potholes (I still snicker when I think of the minister who fell into the Bangkok pothole…I wonder when our dear Samy is going to fall into one)? My advice, learn to fly or swim. Or remember that sometimes walking short distances are actually more effective than taking a taxi or driving. Traffic fumes aren’t as bad as you thought here in KL, especially in the evening. Sometimes it can be enjoyable.

Take a walk, open your eyes and look at the city you live in. It might be dysfunctional but there are sights that you might not have noticed. Look at the beautiful little white flowers that are being planted around the sidewalks. Look at the Twin Towers which is really quite majestic, especially all lit up in blue at night. Look at the beautiful blue sky (well, not during our hazy months of course). Look at the butterflies and dragonflies and birds and bees and those frangipani trees by the roads. I think I spotted some squirrels flashing by in trees and the odd electrical line (fried squirrels anyone?)…

For all the flaws and imperfections, KL is not that bad at all. In the mean time, learn how to swim…it’ll be handy during rainy seasons.

If there’s anything that’s to be said about Malaysians in general and KLites in particular, it’s that particularly odd inability to understand the word ‘QUEUE‘.

It doesn’t matter, not really, that some of those poor unfortunately souls (like yours truly) who have been stuck waiting at the platform at the train station for the past 20 minutes and have already seen 4 trains pass by. Some, well mostly young, immaculately dressed ladies and middle-aged ‘executive-looking’ ladies, feel inclined to turn a blind eye to most people queuing up. For all they care, we’re just organisms blocking the direct route to the train as it rolls up to the platform.

When it comes to crunch time, no one, and I really do mean NO ONE, come hell or high water (or in this case, old pakciks and pregnant moms), stands in the way of these people. They are really, really good at taking positions to bypass everyone else who feels the ‘incomprehensible’ need to queue up. I mean, in my line of work, I’ve seen how reporters, photographers and cameramen take positions and it’s not pretty. But these people, they are better than the pros. It’s like watching poetry in motion when you watch these people slip in through the queues and effectively taking up places meant for people who are actually stupid enough to stand in one. And not to mention the shoving and pushing.

Sometimes I think I’d rather be an ant. Ever seen an ant cut queue or pushing other ants away to get to the front?

But then again, I’m digressing. How to survive Kuala Lumpur really when you have to take public transport? You’ll just have to go with the flow, I guess. The flow, meaning which the fella who’s being pushed by the fella behind who’s being pushed by the other fella behind him/her…

For what it’s worth, it’s always fun to see the bemused expressions of tourists (especially the Westerners…most of the others… are just as good in the art shoving and queue cutting as any local here) .

An old poem I did way back in 2004 (1st part of a 3-part series).

Photo courtesy of Sean Eng

In the silence I’m left,
Pacing, pacing.
Roaming in the deafening silence,
Grasping and clawing.
The air is closing,
My breaths are quickening.
I can’t see,
I can’t feel.
All I know is the silence is pressing,
Waiting and lurking,
To pull me the moment my step falters.

My steps grows quick,
Click, click, click.
I only hear the rythm of the fall of my feet.
Thud, thud, thud,
My heartbeat grows as my step quickens,
The only sound that fills my ears are my own.
The road is ever reaching,
Into the endless darkness.
I can’t know,
I can’t think,
What chases behind and what awaits in front.
Smirking and scheming,
Ready to pounce the moment my mind wavers.

The rain’s pouring and the wind’s howling,
I’m pacing, just pacing,
In the dark alleys of the unknown,
With the dread of nothingness swallowing me,
And wrapping its icy fingers around me.

This is me

My restless soul rises once more

Seeking to wander along lives yet unexplored

Seeking to experiences that gives me new perspectives

Seeking to meet people who inspire instead of demoralise

Seeking to inspire and not dishearten

This is me