A kidnapping incident and the power of caring

A facebook note that has been shared a couple of thousand times a few days back caught my eye and arrested my attention. It was yet another kidnapping incident in Malaysia. Fortunately, the victim had a narrow escape. Her courage and quick thinking allowed her to live another day and stand as witness to Malaysia's tragic state of affairs. Her testimony stirred the hearts of many Malaysians. The people's emotions were evoked. Many teared at the story of her close encounter. Many cried, imagining that it could be them, their sister, daughter or mother in her shoes instead. But above all, many people cried for their country they were born and raised in - and what it has became of it.

Back in the 1980s and 90s, we could hop on our bicycles, pedal to the local park, unchaperoned by our parents to hang out with the neighborhood gang. I remember the ice cream man with his bicycle would always swing by. We anticipated his arrival by the familiar ice cream song coming out of his speakers. When I was older, I would walk my dog to the park and together we would watch my brother play soccer. My brother always asked me to remove the dog because my dog's excited state watching the ball being kicked around, would scare the other kids. My dog, being a retriever, loved to retrieved balls. Naturally, he was excited.

It was hard to say when the crowds in the playgrounds dwindled to a mere trickle. The decline was gradual, like the change in seasons. I don’t just blame the technology. If I were the parents, I would rather my children inside, with their eyes glued to the telly and risking diabetes, rather than risking abduction and rape, when unaccompanied out in the playgrounds. Unfortunately, this is the country's current state of affairs.

Malaysia has hit the heartbreaking point where violent crime has almost become a passing, unremarkable story in the daily newspaper. Every month, a new case is reported – missing child, girl raped, man slashed by a machete. These days, I cannot walk the streets where I'm not  vigilantly inspecting my surroundings. A foreigner might mistakenly admire my curiosity of the world I'm living in. But in reality,  I'm on the alert for the low bass hums  from the exhaust of a motorcycle; On the lookout for a potential white van; A group of shady looking men; Or these days, even an old, fragile woman. I ensure that my car is parked near the entrance door when in the basement of a shopping center or, at least not in a dimly lit area. I do not sling a bag across my shoulders, lest a thief on a motorcycle grabs the bag, and me, along with the bag. When I dish out safety advice to my foreign female friends, they think I'm exaggerating the danger and I'm being overly cautious.

But one can never be too cautious in Malaysia. In the past decade, I've had a close shave with a snatch thief on a motorcycle. Fortunately, I also had a narrow escape. My mother was held at knife point, bag and wallet stolen and subsequently pushed into a deep drain. Her ankle was broken and was on crutches for three months. My adjacent neighbour's grandpa's pants pocket was professionally and swiftly slashed by a machete, not-so-coincidentally revealing a thick wad of cash. They trailed his car all the way from the bank. It was the Chinese new year festival. The cash was to be inserted into red packets for his grandchildren. Instead, it landed in the hands of unscrupulous monsters. My house was broken into a few months ago. The entire house was ransacked and most things of value were stolen. My father said break-ins are bound to happen, sooner or later and we were lucky that no one was home at that time. I agree and like how he views a situation with a glass half full. On the flip side, it's sad, that we have resorted to toasting our champagne glasses despite the huge damage done and consider the lack of physical harm, good luck.

 And these are just a few stories, of what comprise of "normal lar" stories in Malaysia. I must admit that I do not live in constant conscious fear in Malaysia, but in some way, out of necessity, I have become  semi-consciously fearful. I ask myself: am I truly living or surviving?

Before my recent trip to China, some of my friends gasped at me with huge eyes and said, “It’s not safe. You’ll get kidnapped. Your organs will be sold in the black market.” I can guarantee you that China is much safer than Malaysia (unless you are a political activist, perhaps). Once I saw a piece of evening news on the Chinese telly, in which a police interview took place. The spotlight was on an 18-year old unemployed boy who was recently arrested. He apparently broke into a house. Unfortunately for him, the house owners came home in the nick of time while he was performing the deed. Struck with fear, he deadlocked the front door from the inside and called the cops. The police officers asked him why did he turn himself in. In between tears, he said that he rather face prison than the beatings of the neighbors. House break-ins are extremely frowned upon in China, almost equated to murder. The neighbours will possibly beat you up, break your ribs and the police will pat them on the back for it.

This piece of news, gave me a few insights. Firstly, break-ins must be few and far in between (at least, less than in Malaysia) as its able to make the news headlines. Secondly, this news was used a example by the police to deter other youngsters from committing similar crimes. It proved how diligent the police officers were in trying to eradicate petty crime (I know I'm probably generalizing here, because there are instances where it shows otherwise). Third, it was just slightly over a decade ago since my first my trip to China. I remembered the poverty. How many were living in what seemed like unfathomable conditions. Little sheds with aluminum roofing and hay as incubators from the sub-zero temperatures. The land fertilized with human feces. The number of children beggars with dirt on their faces. I vividly remember the fruits at the local grocer - nicely stacked in a basket, black and rotting.. Yet, they were being sold. Although I was young, I realized that they were still being sold because this was probably as good as it got for many of them. Rotting fruit was better than no fruit. What I'm saying is that just over 10 years ago, China was so under-developed in comparison with Malaysia, yet today, I can personally say, is in many ways safer than Malaysia is today.

There's also a second part to the kidnapping story that I have not mentioned. The victim wrote that she was extremely thankful for the people who ran out of the car to help her.

"Strangers who didn't know who I was, came forward and offered me tissue paper, water, cellphones, and general comfort.Malaysians, please care for one another. You already do. Just keep on caring. Keep watching out for each other. Don't worry about being thought of as "busy body" or "overreacting". The world can be a cruel place, but all it takes is for people to care for one another to make all the difference."

This is a call of action to all of us. We should care enough to send smses to female friends who drive home alone late in the night, asking them if they have arrived home safely. Male friends should care enough to accompany their female friends to their cars. Or perhaps, drive them when possible. Large business owners should care enough to install extra CCTVs, lighting and hire more security guards for the parking lots. We should care enough to thank police officers, when a job is well done or even offer them a smile. Because we know that mere salary does not equate to job satisfaction, but appreciation can add a mile to job fulfillment. Parents should care enough to provide the love, support and education that a child requires, in hopes they grow up to be good citizens. The government should care enough to install more CCTVs on the public streets.

And very importantly, we should care enough, to be politically aware and cast our votes during elections to keep our politicians on their feet. When governments fear their people, there is liberty.

I'm not a huge optimist but I do believe small changes do go a long way. Sikit sikit lama jadi bukit.

top 10 food choices

Yesterday I was thinking if I had a choice to live off only 10 types of food for the rest of my life, what would they be? Not very deep thoughts, I know. But still....

Here goes:
1. Beef
2. Wild salmon
3. Spinach
4. Avocado
5. Olives
6. Cheddar cheese
7. Chocolate
8. Coffee
9. Broccoli
10. Oysters

When I was 10: New neighbours

That year was a year of significant change in my life. I not only moved schools that year but my family also moved houses. New houses meant new neighbours. Our left door neighbour had a daughter who was coincidentally the same age as me. We coincidentally went to the same school and was supposed to be in the same class that year (that is till I moved schools that year).

I clearly remembered my first encounter with her. I was playing in our house compound, running barefoot with mud between my toes when I saw her over the fence. My parents nudged me to say hi. I went over and we introduced ourselves.She said her name was Yvonne. She then invited me over to her house to play. I told her, I'll ask permission first. My mum said I shouldn't go over because I was muddy and dirty. She suggested that I invited her over to our backyard instead. She declined the invite. Perhaps she didn't quite like the outdoors or perhaps because I declined hers first. I still do not know.

But that was my first and last encounter with her. I never really saw her again after that. I heard that she became a doctor.

For the life she lived

Note: This was written a while back
 
Not remembered for her death but for the life she lived. That was how Prince William and Harry wanted their mum to be remembered.

Death. Still a taboo word in most societies. I dare not mention her name anymore. It was as if her existence was wiped out from our memories. I cant quite remember how she looked like. I was probably a little too young back then. But i clearly remember her presence. I remember how she gave me a tiny gold bracelet. I thought it was the prettiest thing i ever seen in my life because it glimmered in the light and its refine detail made it seemed fitting for an angel. And my last gift from her a boardgame. I was probably 6 years old back then. The day i received the gift was the last time i ever saw her. If i knew her candle would have stopped burning then, I would have savoured every moment spent with her. But i remember her not for her death but for her life. So i try to capture every fading memory I have of her and jot them down in words.

Yesterday in cell group, we had a session where we would write an obituary for ourselves. It was kinda freaky at first. Something our grandparents would disapprove. But, it really made us ponder on what we would want to be remembered for - a billionaire, the first person who stepped on Mars, a peacemaker, a person with integrity, a person who gave his 110%, a person who loved unconditionally, a person who walked the footsteps of Christ. I once read this in a book - "Imagine you were lying in a coffin and all your close friends and family were at your burial ceremony. What would they have said in their speeches? What would you have wanted them to say?"

When I was 10: the pork buns

My tummy was grumbling. It was recess time and I removed the lid off my lunchbox. I was excited because everyday a different food item was packed for me. Today, two white fluffy buns stared back at me. Char siew bao (roasted pork bun) - one of my favourite snacks in the world. The pork meat was succulent and coated with a dark sweet and salty sauce. There was a slice crunch from the condiments. And the bread was soft like fairy floss. As I about to grab one, a friend peered into my container and quickly shot a look at me. Her eyes were wide open, like I had a broken human finger in there or something.

"You can't eat cha siew bao in school. You cannot eat them in front of Muslims," she said.

That revelation was completely new to me. I never knew Muslims could not eat pork. I was not told in my old school. My family certainly didn't warn me. Did they even know? If they knew, why would they pack pork buns in my lunchbox then?  I was extremely embarrassed and pushed it aside. I can't seem to recall whether I actually ate the buns that morning or suffered through my hunger.

In my old school, we had only a few Muslim kids and one Muslim teacher in my year. Because Muslims were such a small minority, most of us were oblivious to the Muslim rules and practices.

One other time, I undid my bottle cap to drink water in class. As I swallowed down my first few sips, a Malay girl, who had short curly hair and round silver glasses, sitting right behind me told me, "You're so rude. You shouldn't drink water in front of Malays (who are Muslims) during Puasa (fasting) period."

I was in disbelief and shocked. I didn't even know what Puasa meant. I think I went home that day asking my parents what Puasa was and why couldn't I drink water in front of them.  My parents explained the situation and that day was the last time I performed that "rude" act.

When I was 10: the new kid (part I)

"You will be going to a public school from next year onwards," my dad told me during one school holiday.

"What? Why? I don't have any friends in the new school. And all our neighbour's kids go to my current school. I'm suppose to be in the same class next year as our neighbour's kid," I replied with a petrified look.

My dad gave his explanations and the paper work has been done. There was no turning back. That school break was spend buying new set of school uniforms and in dread of the year to come.

Finally, the first day of school arrived and I was placed somewhere in the middle of the class. I was extremely quiet that year. I only spoke if spoken to. I tried to hold my pee in as much as I could because I didn't know how to excuse myself to the toilet in the native language, Malay. I was unfamiliar with the language and the culture. The kids were playing games that I've never played nor seen before. One game was called "tiang" (pole). Till today, I'm uncertain about how to play the game. But I think, its something like musical chairs. There were poles supporting our corridors leading from the classrooms to the main area of the school. So five girls would be playing the game, but only four poles were available. At the count of three, everybody had to switch poles.

Another game the girls played were "batu seremban" (5 stones). It resembled mini beanbags that could be fitted in the palm of your hand. Mini pouches were hand-sewn together and filled with rice. You would then, throw one in the air, while catching the rest. There were various stages involved in the game. I was an initial observer, soon participated and got pretty good in the game. I even made my own 5 stones.

At one stage, all the classes took a sudden interest in animals. I was placed in the second class. The second class took an interest in tadpoles. The first class were busy catching ladybirds from the school garden. The third class...hm...I can't seem to recall. Tadpoles were an interesting lot. I recalled their transformation from little wriggly fishes lookalikes, to seeing them sprout tiny legs and watching their overnight transformation to tiny frogs. We always let them go before they got too big and ugly.

And of course, we played "getah" (literally translated as rubber). Much to his surprise, I asked my dad to get me a large packet of rubber bands from the local supermarket. The rubber bands would be looped together (sometimes two rubbers per loop to strengthen the bond) to form some sort of elastic skipping rope. The game is played as such: We were divided into two teams and two people from the opposing team would hold up the rope between them. First the rope was held right up to their ankles. The team members would then all have to jump across without touching the rope. Next, the rope will be up to the hips. Everyone jumps across. Next, its up to the waist. Everyone has to jump across, but we can touch the rope. The next measurement was the underarm, the shoulder, below the ear, the head, and the last one would be, one hand above the head. Most people were very flexible and skinny back then. That coupled with our lack of fear for falling made us superheros. Our legs would defy gravity and go above our heads and across the rope.

At one season, the entire class took an interest in hopscotch. The moment the recess bell rung, all of us ran out like madmen into the sun and onto the sand. We would take sticks and start drawing boxes in the sand. One of us would find a pebble and start the game.

That year, recess was playtime rather than a time to eat and chat. No wonder most of us were scrawny. But nonetheless, we were happy. Some of my good friends till today were in my class that year. You play together, you stick together.

When I was 4: Dumbo

My favourite cartoon as a young child was Dumbo. I would watch it a few times a day, from start to finish, rewind, and press play again. My mum said, because of my addiction to Dumbo, I was an easy child to look after. Pop in Dumbo and I can be left alone unsupervised. I suppose that a lot of our character traits have been developed since a young child. I know that if I like a certain thing/project, I'll be able to work on it hours on end, with full concentration. I've sat down and work on certain projects for 12 hours straight before (with just a few toilet breaks) But give me something too mundane or not to my liking, I'll find it hard to focus for even a mere half hour. Unfortunately, life doesn't just present us with cake, chocolate and everything sweet. Sometimes, lemons are thrown in the mix, just so we will never forget and take for granted what sweetness taste like. With that being said, I'm still learning how to deal with the lemons.

Recently I've come up with an analogy about "life". I've always enjoyed hiking. It's one of my greatest passions and I always feel very much alive when I'm out in nature and on a hike, conquering mountains. I try to look at life as one big hike. There will be times where I'll be asking, "Why am I doing this torturous exercise when I could be sipping lattes at a cafe?" and at times, I just want to give up, turn back and go home. But over the course of the hike, I stop, look around me and admire the breathtaking view and our Creator that painted that view. The most satisfying part comes when we finally arrive at the peak. I'll have a huge grin on my face, knowing that the journey accompanied by cuts and bruises and sometimes, threats from wild animals is worth it. I guess, life should be like a big hike. I will have down times and up times, but at the end of the finish line, I want to have that sense of satisfaction and contentment that it was a journey worth going on and a hike well done.