Chinese

Chinese is a bizarre language. I got it from the first lesson. To get the idea of how weird it is, just read this article - If English was written like Chinese - I found it very funny, but maybe it is just the pain of recognition.

Is it good to be a pretty woman?

While reading morning papers today, I was itching to write a few lines about the fiery speeches of UMNO (the ruling Malaysian party) leaders, but a few pages through the paper, I decided to quote a leader of another Malaysian political party - PAS. It is know to be exclusively Muslim and far more conservative in its attitudes than UMNO. These are some views on the issue of female employment in some of Malaysia's more conservative Eastern states.

"Crimes against women happen at night. Therefore, we felt it was not suitable for women to work at night...

"[P]retty women have a higher chance of getting married earlier and their husbands would determine if they should continue working...

"For those who are not so pretty, their chances of getting married are slimmer and they should at least be given the first choice for employment."

These insightful ideas were expressed at the Malaysian Parliamentary debates (Dewan Rakyat). I hope I will be forgiven for not commenting on such ridiculous remarks, but I would like to quote my dear friend Nini here - someone needs gender studies real bad!

(This posting refers to the articles published in the New Straits Times, Malaysia, November 15, 2006)

On freedom and democracy

The head of the ruling party and the prime minister of Malaysia, Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, does not want to be taken for granted. He said that it was becoming more and more difficult "to be nice". Badawi warned that parties should not abuse greater freedom of expression, which he had allowed, as things could become different.

I don't know how it sounds to the others, those who gave the speech a standing applause, but to me it sounds nothing less than authocratic. What I give you - I can take back.

(This posting refers to the articles published in the New Straits Times, Malaysia, November 14, 2006)

It made me sick

Reading Malaysian daily press has always been a tricky task for me. Malaysian (English language) papers are an irritating blend of limited freedom and self-censorship, flawed logic, arrogance and hypocricy. Today, however, I was close to crying, when I found, among other irritating news and articles, the following piece.

A 105-year-old man in Malacca married a 22-year-old girl! Set aside the 83 years of age difference and the fact that the girl was working in her fiance's son's house as a maid (she is from Indonesia), the guy has a 69-year-old wife, 6 children, 19 grandchildren and 2 great-grandchildren. I did not doubt that the two could have become very close as friends, in platonic terms, but one question was tickling my mind, while I was struggling through the article - do they kiss? The last paragraph gave the answer - they hope to have children!

Just as a side-detail for those who are less informed about the Malaysian ways. The guy's first wife is not only still his wife, but she also likes her husband's new wife - the number 2 is kind and caring. I wonder, did this first wife ever fear that her husband would find someone younger when they were getting married? After all, the number 1 is no less than 36 years younger than her crabby hubby.

(The article was published in New Straits Times, Malaysia, November 12, 2006)

Chocolate III (disappointment)

I personally hand-picked my last box of chocolates, one by one. They were Leonidas, all dark, no nonsense. Needless to say that I paid too much for the tiny box.

The thing is that I need chocolate on a daily basis. And it has to be good. Bad chocolate disappoints me, and disappointement causes chocolate craving, which can eventually cause chocolate addiction.

My last box was so good, I had to limit myself to 3 pieces a day. With everything said, imagine the following situation.

I open my magic golden box to take out a piece of delicious dark "ambrosia", when a slimy little lizard gives me an angry look right out of the box, sitting between the pieces of chocolate. I was hysterically scared! But I was also disappointed that my chocolate dreams were shattered. Whereas Vishen was even more disappointed that he didn't have a video-camera handy to captcure expressions on our faces (I mean mine and the lizard's).

Dogs and children

"My husband and I are either going to buy a dog or have a child. We can't decide whether to ruin our carpet or ruin our lives."
- Rita Rudner

An optimistic approach

I don't know where it comes from, but my dad has always asked me this question when I complain too much.

Do you know what's the difference between an optimist and a pessimist? When a pessimist says "It can't get any worse than that!", the optimist replies with a smile "But of course it can!"

Routine (is what you take for granted)

Desperate and helpless - that's how I feel every time I make a trip to the immigration office. I'm sure that anyone who has lived abroad knows the feeling. But there are various degrees to this inevitable experience. I've lived in 6 countries already, and nowhere does it get as bad as in Malaysia.

I was about to make this posting last week, after my first visit. But a little philosophy, some fretting and complaining had done their job, and I put the wasted day behind me. Today, was another wasted day - this time, Vishen joined me in the experience. To give some explanation - if I want to stay in Malaysia for over 30 days at a time, I need to apply for a wife's visa (not 'spouse', but precisely the 'wife'). Last time, after waiting endless hours in a room crammed with people and restless, noisy and tired children, I finally got to the counter, a little past 4PM, only to hear from a very upset officer that he was not going to talk to me. That was exactly what he said: "I'm not even supposed to talk to you unless you come with your husband." Only after showing unprecedented persistence, I got him to answer a few questions, but I left the office with a bugging feeling of hopelessly lost time, which was not in my power to rewind and rewrite anew.

As if the sexist humiliation of the last trip was not enough - this time I had to listen to a patronising lecture on the Malaysian law, just because I dared to question the reasons behind some of the regulations. The officer explained that Vishen had to come along so that he could personally confirm his consent to live with me. With a faint air of irritation (have to admit to that sin, although I was more than reserved in expressing my displeasure), I asked: "Isn't the fact that he is married to me a sufficient proof of his consent to live with me?" That was my biggest mistake of the day! This remark ticked off the officer and pushed him to the edge. It took a while to get back to the question at hand - extension of my wife's visa. But the officer refused to talk to me or even acknowledge my presence with the persistency unobserved in his professional transactions.

Well, the day had a Hollywood ending after all - I got my passport stamped (after paying an awful fine for not extending my last visa on time, as I happened to spend last year studying in UK, and did not bother to come back to Malaysia for that matter). This was my 8th Malaysian visa so far, and the encouraging news is that in 5 months we have to go through the same process again, only to get another half a year covered. There is no end to this process, at least none predictable. There are thousands of wives, some of them from Europe and the USA, who had spent 10, 15 or 20 years in Malaysia, have citizen-children with their citizen-husbands and still no permanent residency permit (like the green card in America). And the cherry on top is that the wife's visa comes without the right of employment. A cheery prospect, isn't it?

A little humor and philosohpy, however, go a long way. Such insults and humiliation, if nothing else, at least teach acceptance and patience. These are a few very useful qualities for an adventurous and restless person.

I am a bird of passage

I have a strange feeling that a long and unbelievable journey is about to start. I am job-hunting now, and my new career may take me anywhere in the world. Even more so, considering my determination to find a job in fighting poverty.

At first, I was afraid to even think about going to a developing country or a remote area. But how can I make a difference, especially in poverty reduction, if I am afraid of any contact with the cause of the problem? Now, I have decided to go wherever my life takes me.

I miss Europe. Memories of the past hit you unexpected, they catch you unprepared. Suddenly, a quiet guitar solo, when you hear it in the new odd environment - hot and sweaty, with wrong Asian smells, tropical plants and different kind of people - may cause a storm of the highest magnitude and bring back the memories so strong that you are not sure if the world around you is real.

Today, I caught myself thinking that even if I end up spending the next few years in the weirdest place in Asia, somewhere in Nepalese mountains or surrounded by the slums of Dakha, I will always have my good old Europe and comforts of the Western world waiting for me to come back. I don't know when this day will come, but I feel like a traveller at the beginning of a long journey. And even if I never come back, just the thought of my home will make my trip so much lighter.