Sup3rnality

Only You know how it is, the way it is, how it will be.
Only You can give me the patience to see it through.
Only You can hear the voice in my heart of hearts.
Only You know the pain of the sting, the emptiness within.
Only You know my calmness is slowly wearing thin.

But I trust that You know what You know, and for now I won't know till You let me know.
And You always know what's best. And I know better than question the course of things.

As a child, I never once dreamt of being someone else. Living a life of adventure like my favourite cartoon characters (ie, Teddy Ruxpin and  TMNT), yes, but I never wanted to be somebody else.

Perhaps you could say I was happy as I was. Content. And my family, for all that it is, have always taught me to love myself and to never want for something that wasn't mine. I am told that He gives us what we need, not what we want. And He gives us only what He knows we can handle with our own two hands, and no more.

I believe that. I still do. And yet, at this age, now, past childhood naivete and teenage angst, only now I feel the want to be not me at times. Sometimes I ungratefully wonder how it would be if He gave me a different life, if not an easier one.

I mentally slap myself when I think like that. Because...in spite of all the stumbling blocks placed before me, He has also put in my path someone who will walk with me even if I stumble, He has given me a family who always cheers me on from the sidelines and He has given me much to be grateful for in terms of income, security and many other earthly possessions.

But in the split second of stumbling over a rock in my path, the flashes of thoughts that dash across my mind, tossed in with a bundled of confused emotions before the painful impact with the hard ground, I cannot help but think: What if my path was different?

Answers come to me readily: Then you wouldn't be you, my Common Sense chides me. I would not have the people I love in my life now by my side, it adds. And who says another path would be any better than mine, if not worse?

Many a time it has crossed my mind that I do not have peace because I am not wholly grateful for all He has given me. Well, that isn't far from the truth. But the thought that follows is, if that is the case, then why do others I love suffer as well? Why can't I alone bear the burden? Because I cannot see the people I love in pain while I can only watch from the outside.

But who am I to question God's plan? I can only hope He lets people I love find peace within themselves if not in the lives they have been given or chosen. I hope that He too grants me peace, if I may so undeservingly ask.

I know I am far from perfect, or good enough, even, but I hope I am worthy enough for His attention.

I hope that I can one day look in the mirror and not see someone too tired to be recognised as myself, with grey hairs aplenty at barely 30, dark circles under my eyes with hints of worry lines etched into my skin.

I may have never wished to be someone else.

But now I wish that this someone else would be me again.

Due to a small honest mistake, a wrong judgment in choosing of front covers, an oversight... we might be losing a good friend in the office. A comrade. One from our ranks. All over a voluntary job he decided take up, he might lose his career altogether. Over something that was blown out of proportion. It was a mistake, yes, and it was sloppy of him to miss that detail, but the consequences...is much too harsh. His fate now lies in the balance. And we can only hope that the party gunning for his suspension, for our shutdown, will take a step back. It's Ramadan for God's sake, forgive. Stop the swearing and accept the apology already.

And speaking of shutdown, as rumour has it, we might just...if people push hard enough. And that means, no pay. No salary. No anything. And it's just a few days to Raya. We have bills to pay, rent to meet, cars, and ultimately, families... A shutdown doesn't mean a free holiday. It means no money in our pockets. How to pay for travelling, for clothes, for food? We'll be celebrating Raya without a cent. Tell me how is that fair punishment for what is only theorised to be a ploy to poke at racial/religious sensitivities?

It's Ramadan. You said it yourself. Tak hormat Ramadan? Perhaps you should look in the mirror when you call out "bullsh*t" and maki us nicely.

Coincidentally, I've had three of these happen within 12 hours. The first being a conversation I had with Ash last night regarding how we grew up, socializing and language preference, the second being a conversation with my teammate Saiful (he too graduated with a degree in English) about the usage of the English language in schools/unis and its stigma, and the last was a talk show which had "Mat Salleh Celup" (loosely translated as "wannabe Westerner") as a topic of discussion.

In a nutshell, these three centered around speaking English (in Malaysia) and its repercussions.

For myself, this is not a new piece of thought to chew on. It has been one of the many banes of my existence eversince the day I discovered the hard way that not many approve of the language I speak, and that dear people, was when I was only 3 or perhaps younger.

There are of course, many ways to look at this. Factors to be brought in would be one's upbringing, social factor, surroundings, exposure, thinking and a myriad more. But since this is my blog, let me have my say in the way I see and experience it. Like everyone else, I have my reasons for being what I am and nothing anyone could say will ever change that.

Let's lay down the basic facts first:

• My first language is English, and I only started understanding Malay when I was about 4 or 5, and only grasped my Malay conversational skills when I was about 6.
• Reason? My parents were concerned that if they did not start me young in practicing English, I would miss out and not catch on. However, as it turned out, English developed to be my first language and Malay faded into the background. 
• I grew up very very sheltered and hardly socialized. My closest friends all spoke English. I was only exposed to other people when I entered kindergarten. *I hate it when people say I'm a spoilt brat who don't want to leave home and socialize. Truth is, I could not. I did not have a choice. So shut the hell up and don't criticize my upbringing. I didn't turn out judgmental, insensitive and rude, so I think I'm alright.
• Hence, I never really developed my Malay speaking skills and I cannot carry on a full and proper conversation in Malay without feeling awkward and conscious. 

My personal experience regarding my speaking in English:

• Socializing was difficult. Not only did I have limited exposure to other kids, I spoke in a different language altogether. And on top of that, having grown up with books and all sorts of educational material, I never had much interest in talking about boys, gossip and who's who. 
• When I speak in English, well, there are the positive reactions, and then there are the bad. And the bad? Everything from oh-my-God-who-do-you-think-you-are-you-must-think-you're-so-much-better-than-everyone-else-cos-you're-speaking-the-language-of-the-West, or you must have no self-respect and patriotism because you're speaking the language of our colonizers, or even, you must have very low morals because you speak the language of the immoral devils of the West. 
• People talk down to me or not talk to me at all because I'm not like them. Or they offend me by refusing to speak Malay to me even when I do thinking that I would not accept someone who speak to me in Malay.

My thoughts on the matter:

• The talk show I watched had valid points, and the guests they invited put forth some interesting outlooks. They invited a couple of Malay guys who grew up overseas, and a caucasian guy who grew up in Malaysia; and they gave some very good point of views and experiences. But I still feel this need that this has to be reiterated and drilled into the minds of people. First of all, language cannot be associated with a culture. Like how once learning German was banned thinking that it might spread Nazi ideology; learning and speaking English does not mean you adopt the lifestyle of people who started speaking English in the first place, so why the fuss about learning it and speaking it?
• Maybe my parents are at fault for not balancing those two languages, but so what? That doesn't make this matter any less a point. Why is speaking English so wrong?
• I can be patriotic in any language I speak. I understand that our own national language is an identity that we should be proud of and I don't deny that. But to think that not preferring to speak Malay undermines what I am offends me. Of course, the fact that language itself has been politicized doesn't help any, ie literature written in any other language than Malay is not considered to be valid to be called Malaysian literature. And here I thought the concept of a multiracial and multilingual country meant something. One Malaysia my arse.
• Speaking English means I'm immoral? I am emulating Western girls? First off, you are generalizing people from the Western hemisphere to be evil. That alone has me putting your name down for future avoidance. Second, you are judging me from the way I speak only. What happened to not jumping to conclusions? 

I say wake up and smell the identity. Malaysians are so hung up on "identity" but could hardly even agree on it. We are first and foremost people. Human beings. That's the way God sees us anyway. We are not race, or colour, or language. We are people. Why so much fuss on the language I speak? Melayu akan pupus? Malays will grow extinct? BS la. It's this so many restrictions on definition that is eroding our sense of self. We do not know how what we are because we are constantly at fight of what should and should not be, which widens the possibilities and narrows the term Malaysian.

It's not that I don't speak Malay at all. I do. When situation and company calls for it. But in situations where I have a choice, I choose English. Why? Because I express myself better. Those listening get what I'm saying and reads me loud and clear. And I feel comfortable that way. And even then, often I mix both languages at once for the benefit of others and myself, especially when I get that sidelong glance like I'm a disease.

This issue goes much deeper than just what I'm saying, and if I were to really go in depth, I'd be better off writing a paper. There is just too many angles to look at this. And I know some people will not understand or agree with what I say...but like I said, these are my thoughts on it and this based on what I have endured in my lifetime. I'm not saying that this is what should be, but this is the ignorance that I think we are suffering from.

Language is the words we choose to use pass a message on to another. It is a choice. It is a preference. It should not matter what language you choose to speak. You are what you are.

And I?

I'm a gorram Mat Salleh Celup, so sue me!

Linzy~

There is this street in the town of Seremban which, on weekends, is closed off to make way for the street walk. This is when people come to open little roadside shops where they sell knick-knacks, curios, old magazines and books, and a myriad of other things. You never know what you will find. There is always something that would catch your eye.

Just being there gives a whole new meaning to another person's trash is another person's treasure.


I am quite the thrifter. I suppose I get it from my dad. I love going to junkshops and shops where they sell used stuff for a fraction of the original price. And with each junk comes so many possibilities. Like the retro heart-shaped sunglasses that will soon be on my Vintage shop. Or out-of-date handbags they wanna shove off, that is now also a vintage collection of mine.

But I think one of the things I like best about going to the street walk is the book stall. There, all the books are strewn in boxes and all over the road unceremoniously. I'm not kidding, the books are just dumped there like so much trash. And you, the potential buyer, would need to dive in and do a little spelunking to look for a book you might  like. But it's not that hard. You can find a good one in every five books you pick up. By the time you are at the end of your tether, you'd have a stack of 20 books at least. But the most wonderful part is that, the books are mostly RM3-RM5 each :)) The last time I went, I forked out RM33, for about 11 books. What a steal!

On the last trip, one of the books I picked up was the book above, Inside the Kingdom by Carmen bin Ladin. I got it for RM3 by the way. And I read it about a week back. This wouldn't be the first time I would have read books -- fictional or non-fictional -- that describe the life and status of women in Islamic countries.  I've read Soheir Khashoggi's Mirage and Nadia's Song, Fauziya Kassindja's Do They Hear You When You Cry, Betty Mamoody's Not Without My Daughter and a few other titles I do not remember right now. Some of these books are about women who grew up in that environment and wanted to get out. And some of them are books on women who were brought into that life via marriage etc. So I am no stranger to these books and stories.

This book by Osama's sister-in-law is quite the interesting read. While it was not really that thick to be really immersed in it and it didn't take that long to read, it was so engaging that I kept turning the pages to know more and more. Although, at the end, it didn't really leave me with much to think about.

Let me clear a few things first about the book: If you're looking to read a first-hand experience on living with Osama bin Laden, then this is not the book for you. If you're looking to read about women being terribly mistreated then this is not it either. It merely is a story of a woman who fell in love, got married, followed her husband to his home country, and saw a way of life that she did not agree with.

But of course, I am not living in a Islamic country where women are made to leave a cloistered life. Nor am I an European woman. Perhaps it's not my place to say how one should think. But this book was written for the masses to read, and so a reader will form opinions, it's a given. So my opinion on this book is based on what I think as a person by just reading this account and not judging any sides.

Carmen, the woman who married Osama's elder brother, tells what she witnessed in the Laden household. She saw oppression, injustice, fanaticism and/or extremism, backwardness and a lack of education. They, the women of Saudi Arabia, saw responsibility, a show of faith, an obligation and honour. Who really is the one missing out?

For me, after reading many books such as these, I have both a sense of pity as well as a sense of respect for women who live their lives shielded from the eyes of any other. I say pity, for as a woman who is (almost) free to do as she pleases, I cannot imagine being forbidden to do the things I love. For example, read, listen to music, pursue knowledge.. These things that people take for granted are things that these women are forbidden from enjoying. But then again, if they were born into that life, then they might not miss it to begin with, since they would have never known such things. But other than that, I pity them knowing that they (might not) have the freedom of choice, the freedom of opinion and speech and the freedom of knowledge. But I also say I have a sense of respect for them because, for the love of their religion, they are ready to forsake their earthly pleasures. Although their extreme thoughts on Islam are not the same as mine, and their practice of that belief is not in line with what I think should be, I admire their will and dedication.

And the author? Well, I cannot help but think that she is too judgmental of others. I don't blame her for not being able to accept the culture, she is after all from a totally different background. But she didn't seem to make an effort to acclimatize herself and seemingly spent a lot of time complaining. Not that I don't agree with her, as a number of her opinions did ring true with what I thought, but for the most part, she did act like a princess who is too used to getting her way all the time; and would go as far as being disrespectful to another's culture to get what she wants.

Compared to the other books I have read, she got it easy. The Laden family is filthy rich, and could afford her all the luxuries she could ever want (albeit in limited supply or choice). She was not physically abused in any way. She got to travel back to Europe several times a year and also contact her friends in the States and from Switzerland. She had it all, just not in the right place.

I, of course, do not know how it feels. I suppose feeling homesick and lonely and far from everything you know plays a large role in all of that, too. So, who is the wrong party, really? Hard to say, since everyone wants to be right, and everybody would have a plausible answer. So unless every race, nation, continent and basically everyone on earth unites and live under one, absolute set of rules, there will always be a difference in ideas.

And Osama? Well, he hardly gets that much of mention in this book. He is often mentioned from glimpses of him, or brief run-ins with him; but besides that, nothing much. Here is a story of a woman who, in a place foreign to her, discovers herself and makes every effort to retain what she almost lost.

I can't say I liked the book. I can't say I hated it either. It was an entertaining read, that is all, for me. Substance-wise, it left a lot to be desired. Content-wise, it was engaging enough. It just didn't jive with me. But from reading this, I do have somewhat of a better appreciation of what I've got. It's not much, but it's everything to me. And I am content.

Love,
Lin

I have no words for the burning of the church in KL. It left me speechless. I cannot find the words to say anything. I feel like bowing my head and fading into the background. I am, outwardly,  the same as what those barbarians are. I am Malay. Pure, as far back as I can tell. And I am Muslim.

Of course, those savages are no Muslims.

But in my multi-raced company, where Malays are a minority, I feel all eyes on me. And I am ashamed. Ashamed that by identity, I could easily be identified as being like them. Like savages. Like ignorant, stupid, and intolerant bastards.

Here is what I think, based on what I learned, particularly from a wonderful lecturer whom I admire, Dr Fadzilah, who taught me Islamic Aqidah in IIUM (I am currently looking for my old notes to make sure I'm saying the right things):

• Allah is not the word for the Almighty Creator. No name could contain Him. But 'Allah' is the closest word to encompass Him (I want to revoke this statement, cos I think I got the facts wrong, but in any case, what I'm saying is that, in a way, cos I don't know how else to put it, what's in a name?).
  
• I don't know what to think about the issue on the name Christians would like to use to address God, but in whatever way, God is still God. What differentiates religions is that how we practice our belief and how we believe in the concept of God. But what makes us the same is the strife towards good and peace. So if we can't reconcile the dissimilarities in belief, at least unite on the want for peace.
• We all think we are right. We all want to be right. We will always feel we are right. So therefore we all want to be superior to the other. But it doesn't mean we are. Nothing gives us the right to force someone else to take what we believe in. For example, me as a person, I want to know something before I believe in it. I don't want to be forced without knowing what I'm doing means. Otherwise, where will appreciation come from?
• Everywhere I am reading "...a row over the use of the word "Allah" for the Christian God", or "Other religions Gods cannot share the name..." etc. Don't they know that to say "their God" or "other gods" or "their religion's god" etc is a form of monolatry? It is as though they are saying that there are many gods, and each religion has their own god. It is just up to us which one we want to worship. This needs to be corrected. It may be an honest mistake in semantics, but it does connote the wrong idea. 

I do not know what to think anymore. Flashes of scenes from "Green is the Colour" is coming back to me. Please God, let these people's minds be open.

Ashamed and afraid,
Hazlin

I just suddenly felt compelled to say this:

I am Muslim.

I may not look the part. And I may give in to one too many of my weaknesses. But that doesn't make me any less a person who whole-heartedly believes in Islam.

I may have my ideas, my opinions and my arguments. And just because I am young, a female, dress the way I do, think the way I do and am seemingly a non-conforming Muslim, doesn't in any way make my opinions invalid. I study my religion both academically and independently, and have consulted respected learned lecturers/profs etc, and it is in that way that I have come to the understanding that I hold. I do not blindly follow, nor do I blindly draw conclusions without knowledge. I know what is right and I know what is wrong. I understand why some things are right and why some things are wrong. I know that Islam is about "This is best for you because...", not "You cannot do this because We say you can't". And I know the flaw in the system that is eating its way into many believers here in this country that makes being a Muslim so difficult. And I know the flaw that makes Islam so difficult to believers and non-believers in this country. And I know the flaw that makes me such a heretic in the eyes of many whenever I open my mouth about religion.

I believe Islam is common sense and what is natural. And I follow my common sense and my natural tendencies for goodness and avoid whatever that will bring bad. Or perhaps I try the best I can to. I believe in my belief. Do not judge me. Only God has the right to that. There are many elements in Islam, after all, that is up to interpretation, other than what is clearly laid out in the Qur'an and Sunnah. I know what I know, and I know that I don't know everything. So I'll rectify what I lack and strengthen what I already have.

I carry Islam with me all the time, even if you don't see it. I am Muslim because I am a person who wants what is right. I am Muslim for I uphold common sense. I am Muslim because I acknowledge that I am a cog in a wheel, and it takes me and the whole world to make this wheel turn. I am Muslim because I am me, and no one else is.

Love,
Hazlin