Edit: :)

Hormones. Definitely.

:)

:)

On a recent trip, I realized suddenly that I might love someone. My first reactions included

Shit.What? Oh, dear.

Hehe.

…among other things, but those were the main ones, and mostly in that order. Maybe it’s the result of several intense talks with the IS-ers about love, but for the first time, I’m quite nonplussed about it. Happy, yes, but I’m not overworking my brain about what to do next, simply because I already know the answer.

Nothing, of course.

There are many reasons. First of all, this could just be PMS talking, in which case I’d be feeling quite incredulous at myself in a few days. On the other hand, if this is really true, then I certainly am not going to mess anything up by expecting some radical realization on his part. (though it’d be nice if that did happen) Also, we are quite good friends, and I’m happy continuing to be so for the time being. He’s already seen some of the worst bits of my personality, so it’s perfectly acceptable not to expect some sort of miracle to happen here. I suppose I’ve had enough of the whole Love is blind concept, which, face it, is extremely detrimental to one’s mental health in the long run.

Yep. That’s about it. On a slight more fluffy note, hehehheee.

Hrmph.

Here’s a tip about men: Don’t oppose them. Let them think that they’re right, and then let circumstances prove them wrong.

I would have thought this a load of bullshit, but it came from my very own mother. She was talking about my father. Not only is the man a fervent supporter of the theory of duality, but he is also the most stubborn man I know. This is not a good combination. Even worse still, I have definitely inherited some of the stubbornness. And his voice. Which makes me, on an off day, sound like a man. But that’s besides the point.

Personally, I have no problems with letting someone remain under the delusion that he is right. The right or wrong of a discussion (often construed as argument in my home) is irrelevant. What is important, though, is that we both understand each other. And that’s where the problem lies.

After a few weeks home, I have come to understand that most people don’t really listen to you. What they hear is the “keyword” of your sentence, and after that they shut you out in order to think up points to refute your point. (The point being the perceived meaning of the “keyword”) Never mind that you might have mentioned both sides of the story; the fact is that you’ve said something they don’t agree with, and the rest is doomed history. Most conversations I have witnessed are a waste of time because the people are constantly repeating the same things, only in different ways. Each person wants to show the other his intelligence and knowledge in a conversation. It’s all about impressing people. The essence of the conversation is lost.

That’s why a good discussion is hard to come by. A lot of people mistake discussion for argument. There is a difference. A discussion is where rational actors converse on different standpoints, in order to try to understand other perspectives on the same issue. The purpose here is to learn. An argument, on the other hand, is where actors try to one-up each other and prove themselves right by proving other people wrong. Its purpose is to win.

I try not to argue because I want to learn. But it’s hard when someone points a finger at you and declares that you’re getting upset and thus are in no condition to further the conversation, even when all you’ve done is ask a question in a mistakenly hostile tone. This I attribute to the deep voice I have that doesn’t express much emotion, and my personal refusal to try to lighten the tone of my voice. Call it another variation of a self-fulfilling prophecy, but when someone does that to me, I do get angry- not at the conversation, but at the person’s certainty that I am in such a mood.

Really, though? Is it communication when you manipulate the other person into thinking they’re right, and then letting them be righted by error? I call it strategy, not communication. Such a strategy cannot be healthy for a relationship. Maybe it’s just me, but I really don’t care if guys are turned off by my refusal to let them think that they’re right. First of all, I don’t intend to get into an argument, unless it’s for a worthy cause, and it’s with a rational, interactive person. Only then is communication present, and learning commences. Otherwise it’s just a bunch of people trying to defeat each other. What’s the point?

Looking Poverty in the Face.

Fieldwork has been a part of my internship ever since I began, starting with the SUHAKAM meeting and most recently, a trip to Kg. Gong, an Orang Asli village in Pahang. While the trips so far have been more than enlightening, as well as immensely fun – as in the case of Kg Changkuah in Tapah – this one put a more sombre light on things. I have always tried not to take things for granted, a result of my mother’s constant reminding of how lucky we are to be living in such abundance. However, I learned that simply imagining a deprivation of resources is not enough; living it is needed in order for us to fully appreciate what we have, or what we don’t.

After a successful trip to the hilly Kg Changkuah, where the air was fresh and water aplenty, walking into Kg Gong was like walking back into the desert after a stop in the oasis. The smell hit me as I walked towards the village, but perhaps it was simply the stuffiness and humidity of lowland forests that got to me. A few rickety houses dotted the clearing, with dogs and chickens running everywhere. It really wasn’t at all bad until we got around to bathing. Unlike the previous village, the water source for this one was the swamp, and that too was drying up because of the drought. The path to the bathing area was a precarious walk across skinny tree trunks and strategically placed planks of wood, which were enough for seasoned villagers to run on, but not urban visitors. I found myself grasping desperately at the overhanging branches, which, face it, if I did lose my balance, would have broken at the slightest tug. But it was all about the placebo effect of actually holding on to something, even if it was less than a hundredth of my weight. Lol. Behind me, a dog from the village trailed behind, waiting patiently for me to cross safely.

The bathing area was a piece of swamp no bigger than a shower cubicle. This was where the villagers bathed. The water was cloudy, as swamp water is wont to be, and unlike the river in Tapah that was brown with resin but ran clear when scooped up, I tried not to look too closely at the water that I was going to pour all over myself. In fact, I tried not to look at the water in general. It seems that the water quality was the least of the villagers’ problems. More likely, the drought had dried up most of the remaining water in the swamp, making it more like a waterlogged forest floor than an actual swamp.

Consequently, the shortage of water led to a number of illnesses among the community, the most common of whichwas the flu. By the way, did I mention that the villagers were losing their land? With even that gone, their source of income was dwindling, and subsequently they had no money for medicine. Common flu cases often escalated into more serious ailments, such as bronchitis. During my stay there, a toddler sneezed up a significant amount of green mucous, while a number of the other villagers had deep, chesty coughs. A few others also had scabies. Apparently I was lucky; another person on a previous trip actually saw a tapeworm come out through someone’s face. Or something to that effect.

Perhaps the biggest blow of this whole thing was that the few children who had been going to school had stopped altogether. I can’t say I blame them; they’re too busy trying to live as it is. And without a supply of electricity in the village, how would they study? It’s not as if they were lazy. From what I gathered, most Orang Asli choose to walk away rather than stand their ground. It’s not cowardice either, but just another concept of peace. Thus, when confronted with the harsher environment that is school, coupled with the almost inevitable discrimination, it’s no wonder school must not be the nicest place to be. Then again, after only two villages so far, I am hardly in the best place to make general statements.

Now that I’m home, though, I realize the fortune around me, and my own poverty as well.  I may have clean tap water, but not a river brimming with fresh, clear mountain water. TV and computer I may have, but not a clear night sky that shows all the stars that can ever be seen. I may have a (or be on my way to having) a formal education, but I cannot tell a rambai tree from a rambutan tree, nor animal tracks from human. And I will always  be unable to sit back and enjoy the simpler things in life, because I have a watch that dictates when I should do what I have to do at a certain place. Most of all, I will always need a fan or an air conditioner to cool the air because my brick house has no proper ventilation system that keeps the air cool  and fresh.

Who’s poor now?

Malaysia: Land of the Weird

I believe Brown has just been spammed. Specifically, Brown’s International Mentoring Programme.

After being assigned summer contacts, us mentors were supposed to email them and let them know that they can pick our brains about anything they want to know about Brown. I was prepared to give lengthy lectures on class selections. What I wan’t prepared for was the possibility that my summer contact wasn’t even a student.

My introductory email was simple enough: Hi, I’m your summer contact, as me anything, bye!

The next thing I know, a confused reply lands in my inbox: Who are you, what is Brown and what is IMP’

At this point, I went into “Eh?” mode and attempted to give an intelligent, sophisticated explanation about who I was, while trying to be as non-patronising as possible.

The next email really threw me off: Are you in Malaysia? Where is this Brown?

Seriously?

I mean, really. It’s one thing to accidentally register for a program; it’s quite another to forget the college that 25 000 applicants had slaved to get into. Unless, of course, he never applied in the first place, thus never accepted, and continued to remain in the dark about the true identity of Brown.

But perhaps it was all a terrible misunderstanding, so I asked: Did you apply to Brown?

This time, he completely went off track: Where can I meet you tomorrow? What’s your phone number?

HELL, no.

If he thought I was an interested counterpart from one of the many dating websites, he is sorely mistaken. Anyway, I have alerted the powers that be, and am waiting to confirm if he is indeed a legit Brown student. If he is, he’d better have a damn good reason for saying what he said. Geez.

Mmm Summer.

This summer is turning out to be a really good one. Not only are ALL my friends back, but for once I’m not being melancholic about one thing or another – which is somewhat ironic, given that I actually have a more concrete reason this time around Also, I managed to worm my way into what I feel is one of the best internships ever, even if it is only my first. Lol. I’ll not mention the full name of the organization, lest this blog be dragged up by Google everytime someone types it in Google, but it handles the affairs of the marginalized indigenous people of West Malaysia. The organization is small, but the people are quite powerfully networked, especially my boss the Dragon. Said dragon is not only extremely intelligent, but knows it. To date, I have been quizzed on a variety of topics, from identification of trees to the physics of suction – none of which I knew the answer to, which made me seriously rethink the quality of my education thus far. At the very least, though, it’s motivating me to read about things that were previously dismissed as uninteresting – like the history of the Maldives. Who knows when I might be asked to espouse on its constitutional flaws? Or explain the workings of a microbe in a dead strangling fig? I am definitely out of my league here.

On another note, joining a gym was possibly the best idea ever concieved. Now that I’m actually paying to spend to put my poor, unfit body through the pain of exercise, suddenly I just can’t keep myself away from the gym. Not to mention that my internship operates on an ad hoc basis, which means that schedules are irrevelant and I have to use whatever time I have NOW. This has the more awesome long-term result of eliminating the lazy, procrastination cells in my body. YES. No more torturous all-nighters; I’m well on my way to leading a supremely boring life of finishing my work on time.

Going to the gym has been its own interesting little adventure, since the gym has an unusual concentration of hot guys. However, as Malaysia would have it, said hot guys are appealing only insofar as they do not talk. In the words of fellow gym mate Jen, “He opened his mouth and an apek vcd seller jumped out” (or something like that) What a pity. Not that those guys don’t pass similar judgments on us too, like “Okayish face, but what is she wearing? And what has she been eating?” Or perhaps they’re too absorbed in lifting huge weights without killing themselves, and subsequently admiring their plentiful pecs in the conveniently mirrorred wall situated in the weights area.

Other gym frequenters (in the morning, that is) include aunties and uncles who are sometimes on the verge of being amas and akongs. They often come in groups who, after a workout, occupy a table in the lounge and eat tong yuen together. This has actually happened. The tong yuen (or was it bubur cha cha?) was transported via the traditional metal containers stacked on each other. I can’t remember what it’s called, but yes, mini picnics happen in the gym. Other uncles and aunties who come individually exercise silently and quietly exit after a workout, looking like a million dollars. Such people are often the more fit ones.

Then there’s Jen and me, the sesat-ed unemployed bums for whom the gym has become the main element of our summer existence. Mine, at least. BUT WHEN IS THE FAT COMING OFF!

Such are the elements that so far make up my fantastic summer. Gym and internship. Why didn’t I do this last year?

A Beginning Among Beginnings

After several half-hearted attempts at reviving my blogging habit, I finally decided that, contrary to popular belief, a blog can indeed be a space for intelligent contemplations with witty (but not vulgar) remarks as testament to the author’s personality. However, I also acknowledge my own tendency to veer away from the mark, and will succumb to occasional emotional outbursts, which could be entertaining to read depending on the reader’s disposition.

So yes. I have started a blog. This one, to be exact.

Welcome.