I was just browsing the Malaysia Today site and noticed this, which reported that Malaysia has gone in an opposite direction to Indonesia in an area which surprised me. Actually it shouldnt have. It surprised me only because I grew up in an environment which thought Indonesia was more anti-Chinese than Malaysia. My parents and their generation freely used the term “pai-hwa” (which meant anti Chinese) in association with Indonesia. Now Malaysia has out done Indonesia, or rather, Indonesia has progressed where Malaysia has categorically gone the other way.

In this regard, while my recent visit to Malaysia was under unpleasant circumstances and I did not pay much attention to the state of the country while I was there, concentrating instead on family matters, I could not help but noticed how bad things have continued to deteriorate, and I was a mere cursory observer. For example, I noticed the following:

• The infamous Port Klang councillor, Zakaria Md something, the one with the notorious mansion, was known in every nook and cranny of Klang as the most corrupt politician. His nickname in Klang was “Chia Kar Liao” – sounds like Zakaria (when pronounce in Hokkien) but in Hokkien, that meant he ate everything. The meaning was obvious. He was corruption personified – he grabbed everything. Apparently, the Jusco Retailing Group successfully sought his assistance to have a land approved for development to build Jusco’s biggest outlet in Malaysia.
• Klang is so overbuilt there are constant traffic jams. Yet, huge buildings are still being built. Does a town like that need more shopping centres? We drove pass the municipal buildings every morning – a Taj Mahal of an administrative building perched on a hill top. How many ordinary folks would benefit from the huge buildings like these? Drains remain clogged, roads are so riddled with pot holes and public transport so appalling only the poorest bother yet money is spent on these large building projects which benefit only those who approve and those who build them.
• The country’s top police officer, Musa Hassan, commented that the police is not arresting anyone on the Rufaqa matter, because they “cannot simply arrest people”. Well and good, except he went on to say the reason the police “cannot simply arrest people” was that others would accuse the police of simply arresting people. Not that it would be wrong. The police does not “simply arrest people” not because that would be wrong, but because they want to avoid accusation. Brilliant top cop. Maybe he was hinting that the police could and does “simply arrest people”, when no risk of such accusation was present, or such a risk was acceptable.
• The authorities should phase out traffic lights as no one bothers anymore. The mantra for driving in Malaysia is : just dont get into an accident. Everything else goes.
• The infamous Mongolian model murder case? Rumours of fat defence contract implications. Key facts rumoured? The victim spoke Russian and acted as intepreter for huge defence contracts and she was murdered to silence her. Sex, unusually, was a red herring.
• IRD targetting chinese businesses for audits. Chinese businesses would be extorted for hundreds of thousands for back taxes. These came from the horses mouth – the victims.
• Law and order has broken down so badly everyone is worried. An uncle had 3 car loads of robbers attack his home. A neighbour was badly injured when a snatch thief punched and dragged her before robbing her. They even held her by her feet to shake her loose of any cash which remained in her pants pockets. My mother-in-law goes to the neighbourhood morning street market with only a small amount of cash – no wallet or jewellery. She warned Theresa of snatch thieves and robbers, who are so prevalent they should be viewed as a given in Malaysia.

There are numerous other incidents but the above are enough to tell me, and many others, that it is increasingly difficult to call Malaysia home. I spent 12 days in Malaysia and in that short period of time, as many as 5 families approached me and told me they are at various stages of emigrating. I still hope Malaysia turns the corner for the better but there are few encouraging signs on the horizon.

The taxi showed up at my mom’s place at around 11.15am on 12 Dec. As I put my arms on my mother’s houlder, she welled up and I just asked her to take good care of herself. I gave Nicole and Issac a kiss each, hugged my sister Siok Sim, and once we got into the cab, I noticed Kiddo shedding some tears too. I found myself wrestling with extremely mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was glad I was returning to Melbourne, which is now our home and which is where Theresa is, and wherever she is, that is the place I want to be. On the other hand, I was leaving my mother, sister, brother, and their families – people who mean so much to me, especially in the present context. I had wanted to stay on with them, and let time heal whatever wounds that remain unhealed. I was also glad to think of Melbourne where I believed I would recover my health, which for the last 10 days or so had deteriorated a lot.

I had been feeling especially unwell the night before, after having dinner with Theresa’s parents in a restaurant. After dinner, Theresa’s mom took kiddo out shopping for some clothes and I waited at their home. I started to feel unwell than and began drinking glass after glass of water. They only returned around 10.30pm and though I was very grateful and appreciative of my wonderful in-laws’ demonstration of their affection and love to kiddo and I, I was starting to feel too ill to linger on and say anything. I hurried back to my mother’s knowing that all the extra shopping meant I had to repack the luggage, something Theresa usually did.

Arriving at my mother’s I saw my brother David and his wife Jean still there. After a while, I said my goodbyes to them, and reminded my brother of the documents I had tried to draw up to address the matter of my father’s shares in my grandfather’s company. They were to go to my uncle, Ai Meng, who was managing the company.

I still could not get the packing done as the light in the room where I had been sleeping, had gone off. For some reason, I also could not sleep and that meant when I finally got up around 6 the next morning, I was sore all over and I knew than I was coming down with something. I stayed in bed, hoping to catch some sleep to ward off the impending illness. After about an hour, I decided to get up and stretch a bit, to maybe work off the soreness. It proved a lot worse and I decided I needed to see a doctor. Siok Sim took me to Dr Ee, a Klang church member and he gave me a jab, after warning me against any previous history of gastric illness. The warning was to prove itself as while the aches and pains went away, the jab played havoc with my guts and by the time the cab reached KLIA, I had to immediately go to the toilet and from then on, the dehydrating purging process went unabated all the way to Singapore. Meanwhile, kiddo wanted some lunch and I dragged myself to the food area with her and persuaded myself I needed some food anyway, to take the medicine Dr Ee had prescribed.

When we landed in Singapore, I immediately looked for a rest area near the toilets. Kiddo wanted to maximise the 8-hour transit period by exploring the hi-tech Changi airport but thankfully, she has become a lot more street smart and could read maps well enough to navigate herself around the airport as I plonked myself, first in the Cyberplex area then in a rest area with long seats meant for sleeping, waking up only to take note of kiddo’s whereabouts and visits to the loo. By the time we boarded the flight a little after 11pm, I was a near zombie and as soon as I buckled down in my seat, I snoozed again.

We touched down in Melbourne a little after 9.30am and after going through customs, it was fantastic to see Theresa again, even though it was only 7 days or so since she left us in Klang. She looked and sounded excited to see us as much as we were to see her again, and chided us for not emailing her while at Changi. I told her I was a zombie then and hopefully, would start to wake up again now that we are back in Melbourne. After leaving the airport, we drove into the city, dropped Theresa off at her office, and headed for home. On arriving home, my body urged me to climb into bed but the sight of the 3-piece luggage cried out for attention as well. The latter prevailed and I unpacked, filled up the laundry and checked my phone messages and emails. By the time the laundry was done and I had showered and changed into fresh clothes, I was so washed up but the toilet visits had still not let up, so I still could not go to bed. It was almost 5pm then so I just decided to wait for Theresa. She called around 6.30pm and we went to pick her up, went for a quick bite at JG’s and came back home. I was ready to collapse. We pottered around the house a bit, kiddo went to bed around 8pm and a few people rang up but I didnt speak to any one of them, except a mate, but I only spoke to him briefly, being not totally switched on by then.

I know a number of readers of this blog whom I have not given attention to in the past 2 weeks or so. It was rude on my part and I apologise. My state of mind has been floating between vaious states and I hope my hurried engagements with those of you who suffered my rudeness would not be taken as anything more than a momentary lapse brought about by physical tiredness mainly, and emotional weariness. I had not put in more effort to tell you I treasure your friendship and knowing you has made life so much more meaningful. Yet I have not been able translate how I feel about you to action such as meeting up with you or talking with you on the telephone. I wish I could have. You know I do. I hope I have the opportunity to make amends, hopefully not too long from now.

I have just read the previous entry and realised that entry was made on 7 Dec, not 4 Dec. 4 Dec was when I started a draft. I hope to make more entries on what happened in the last 12 days or so. If these things depress you, try visiting only a month from now, by which time I hope the entries would become less sombre and brighter, unless of course you share the view that illumination in life is constituted by all types of experiences.

I remember flying from KL to Sydney over 20 years ago. I was leaving Theresa for an indefinite period and that made for a very unpleasant flight. No flight has been anywhere near as difficult since, except the one which took us to my father’s final send off, on the morning of 1 Dec 2006. I tried to take my mind off what awaited us in Klang, Malaysia, by trying to watch the movies. Unfortunately, my movie choice only aggravated the situation. I watched a Singaporean film titled “Singapore Dreaming”. It was the story of a middle aged legal clerk of a largeish Singaporean law firm. He was conscious of his wealth (lack thereof) and social status and was counting on his son, on whom he had spent a fortune by sending him to America for a university education. He also had a daughter, who was smarter and worked harder than the son but had the misfortune to grow up in a traditional patriarchical family who always (no matter how unfairly) favours the son. The bum of a son got his break, not her, the smarter, hard-working sister. The protagonist’ constant dream was to win the local lottery and buy his way out of the filthy lifts which take him to and from his housing commission apartment. He finally hit it, and won the grand prize of 2 million dollars. The fragile family predictably comes apart, and while he inspects the grounds of an exclusive country club he was applying to join with his new found wealth, he suffred a heart attack and died on the parking lot. At this point I wanted to turn off the movie but I didnt.

The protagonist in the movie was too close to my dad in a number of ways.

I looked at my watch a few times after the movie and decided that I needed to watch another movie to off-set the effects of that Singapore flick. I had always drifted in and out of “The American Beauty”, having never finished watching it. I also never found out the ending. I thought it should be very different from the “Singapore Dreamin” so I turned it on. Of course, it turns out to be another mistake, as the protagonist (played by Kevin Spacey) was shot and killed just as he was discovering inner peace and started living in a way which satisfied him.

Each of the main characters in the two films died, just as they achieved their dreams and thought they had made it. I wished I had watched the crap that was titled “Miami Vice” instead.

As we descended near Singapore, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably. Theresa, seated 2 seats away next to Kiddo and still groggy from the anti air-sickness medication she had taken, tried to calm me down but all I could think of was how I last spoke to my father in person more than 2 years ago and I was never to be able to do that again.

We arrived at Singapore a little after 3.30 pm, took the connecting flight just before 5pm, and by the time we left luggage carousel, it was close to 6pm. Theresa’s brother and his 3 year old daughter (Megan) were waiting for us at the arrival lounge.

The massive traffic jam on the way home gave me plenty of time to think some more about the whole scenario and I simply had no idea how I was going to manage it. When we arrived at my parents’ home, I saw David my brother outside the house and he immediately put his arms around me. I found it extremely difficult to see my dad lying in state and took a few minutes to walk into the house. I remember standing next to the casket and just not believing my father was lying in it, never to speak or listen to me anymore. I dont remember ever crying that much in my life. We had arrived at the house a little before 8pm and the wake service was to start at 8.30pm. I sat on the front row between my mother and Theresa and found the whole service disruptive to my desires to recall my father’s life. But then the pastor spoke about how he had visited my father about 10 days or so before, and found my father to be a peace with God and himself. David and Jean (his wife) were to repeatedly reinforce this with me. While this was very comforting, it wasnt what pained me. I had always been sure of his salvation and prayed only for his relationship with God to be closer each day. What pained me was the unbearable realisation that I was never to hear him, speak to him, or simply look at him going about any sort of activities, ever again. I had so much more to say to him. I wanted to listen to him some more. I dont think I heard him enough. I hope nothing would ever come in the way of relationships with people who mean something to me, ever again, no matter how difficult or how painful the process of keeping that relationship open and alive, prove to be.

Yesterday afternoon, I took kiddo and a niece (Nicole, my sister Siok Sim’s daughter) nephew (Isaac, Nicole’s brother) to lunch in a coffee shop in Taman Chi Liung, a housing estate next to that where my parents’ home was. My father went there for breakfast every morning, pedalling on this bicycle. Sitting at a table next to us was a man who looked about the same age as my father. He even looked a little like him. As I looked outside the coffee shop, I saw another old man pedalling on a bicycle. The two scenes did it for me and I went off again. Drying my tears, I explained to kiddo and Nicole what just struck me. I dont know how long this is going to take. When I would stop recollecting my father’s life or let it break me down. Last night a few uncles, and their families, David and Siok Sim, kiddo, all went for a drink at the local Indian-Muslim stall (“Mamak Stall”) and Jean came up and recalled some of Dad’s last days. It broke me down again. Would it stop soon?