Tuesday, February 27, 2007


*Slapping palm to forehead*

Assalamu'alaikum all.

Until I get proper broadband access, the overworked uni comp lab is all I've got. And the chocolate mocha lying near my feet (untouched, due to the 'no consumption' rule) makes me feel guilty for hanging around too long.

And so, feeling like the awful blogger that I am, I have decided to share a few interesting links:

a) This was just pathetic, man.

b) This feels a bit personal, thanks to current living situations (BTW, yes, I have moved in, but the unpacking will take a while).

c) This is going to freak Ijjie out, and make Raiyan upset.

d) This is just so sad, on so many different levels.

Sigh. O, my First-World-country-wannabe homeland. When I am far away, I miss you. But when I am near you, you give me a headache beyond all expectations.

Ummu Wafa', may Allah give you strength to face all that you will.

Wassalam.

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this has been a rant by Syazwina Saw at 11:50 am

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Wednesday, January 10, 2007


Traveller's Guide to Living.

I am a loner, I just thought you should know.

I prefer to be alone sometimes, and I only seek company when I desire it. I am so used to having a license to surrender in self-pity, that now when I no longer am forced to do so, I still retain the habit of keeping to myself.

I read a book sometime ago, where the young intrepid heroine claims that her entire machismo act is just a cover for her ardent shyness. I remember thinking, ‘she got it in words’ when I read that paragraph to myself.

And although I call it a habit rather than a negative attribute that I am so selfish, I have found that as a result, I am seldom aware of my surroundings.

So I guess it makes sense that my two favourite places are the cities I’ve visited nearly every year since I was born. I hope that they count, despite the fact that they are both my parents’ hometowns, respectively.

During the recent Eid celebrations, my family and I travelled to these two spots, and after years away from both, I rekindled my love for Pasir Mas and Penang.

Pasir Mas has always existed in my memory. The first realization I had that every year, I was going back to Kelantan, came when my mother announced to a friend over the phone that she was from Kelantan. I was six, and this discovery was something of a surprise to me.

“But Ma,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “I thought we went back to Johor every year.”

When I told her recently, she claimed that she wasn’t surprised, considering the state of the organization of my mind now, that I was so clueless, even as a child.

My grandmother’s mostly-wooden house was built from the highest quality wood (I forgot what kind) by my grandfather, who saw to it that it would last generations. Every year, on the way to my kampung, I fall asleep in the car, anticipating the solid thumps of the wooden panels as my young cousins, in the tens, run around indoors, either making barricades out of pillows and playing fort, or simply catapulting themselves from the window and onto the pebbly underside of the house. Much to the fear of their parents.

I look forward to the scent of mosquito coil smoke, staying put to our clothes and hair until days after we arrived back home.

I look forward to watching as old men work their trishaws past our house, or listening out for the tinkle of the homemade ice cream man on his bicycle, with wafer cones and tinny hot dog buns for ice cream sandwiches.

I look forward to watching wooden homes, each uniquely designed and painted, dotting vast spaces in between green bushes or yellowing paddy fields. In my mind, I would compare them to the ugly, bland uniformity of the housing areas back home, and relish the sights.

I look forward to slipping past my mother and her sisters and their respective husbands, as they flit through the kitchen, each bustling with getting kinder for the outdoor grill (which is still the best way to get anything cooked) or coconut leaves for the nasi impit, or peeling the onion and skinning the ginger. This year was notable for my being assigned kitchen duty. Dang.

This year was different. The house was coloured different, it was a different Eid, there were fewer people than I was used to, and my grandmother didn’t really favour the rich smell of the mosquito repellent coils anymore. But then again, I had not visited in years, no thanks to the awful timing of my exams. And I had been out of the country, so maybe everything seemed different, regardless.

This year was also different, in that I finally had a digital camera of my own, and as the competitive streak in me searched for bright, attractive photos for my Flickr page, I found my usually fleeting and random thoughts actually find some sort of continuity as they moved through my head, feeding me with comprehension.

I finally understand what I feel about my Malay heritage.

I guess it was also different because I was too old to camp out in the living room anymore. And also, my grandmother, Mek, could no longer afford to foresee the entire cooking operations down in the tiled kitchen. Her feet have been giving her some serious pain, and now she only moved from her room, to the telephone table overlooking the indoor kitchen, and if she could bear it, to the front.

It hurt me, to see her life so different from how I remembered it. I imagined having to change as much as she had. Looking back, I should have sat down more hours with her, and give mind to the guilty pang I felt every time I passed her by.

But I didn’t really, and before I knew it, it was time to kiss farewell to everyone, and make our way to Penang.

I have always had a particular fondness of that island-city. I was born there. I guess that’s reason enough.

But it’s more than that. It’s about how I’ve always known that when I entered Penang, I was entering another city, another state. There is a different charge in the atmosphere, a different vibe. It’s a land the rest of time forgot, until recently. I have never seen another city where everything took its own time to age and grown old. Penang really managed to age gracefully.

You know when a city is proud of itself. I see it in my Penang, where the current generation still live in the old houses they grew up in, even though they drive around in the latest Mercedez models. New businesses open up in abandoned Edwardian mansions. The same couple my parents used to visit for desserts still work where they left them, nearly two decades ago. And according to my parents, they look as young as ever.

The same ocean front, Gurney Drive, remains a famous dating spot, and an outdoors lounge for families at night. Not even the tsunami, which brushed up against it, could change anything much. Every time we leave the Evergreen Laurel, which overlooks the ocean, my mother glances up at her dream home: an apartment at Number One, Gurney Drive.

I cannot pinpoint my most vivid memory of Penang, but one of the stronger ones would have to be driving along the Penang Bridge, the third-longest in the world, with the windows rolled down and our heads jutting out, just so we could feel the face-whipping breeze past through our mouths, never mind that we whiffed more exhaust than ocean breeze.

Line Clear, the nasi kandar stall which operates in an actual alley, still makes the best stuff in the world. Near it would be the Indian clothing boutique, where I bought my most favourite peasant blouses. We would always pass the gorgeous Eastern & Oriental Hotel, and on cue, my parents would repeat stories of haunted elevators, and how Anna Leonowen’s husband was buried in the nearby cemetery. This year we didn’t visit Komtar, which used to be a modern landmark before I was born, mainly because nothing’s changed. At all.

I’ve always had the feeling that I, the directionally challenged, would actually succeed at driving in Penang, because I’d end up in the same familiar circles, going through streets with British names, and always passing the same girls’ school or kopitiam.

It is a small, cosy island, the soil I was born to. Now, I realize that the only fitting thing would be to visit the hospital I was born in, as I reach my twentieth birthday in eight days. It would be a trip I would go alone, because nobody else would understand. Also because I wouldn’t stand the company.

I guess now, compared to my primary school years, I am a loner by choice.

In any case, just like in Melbourne, I wouldn’t mind wandering the streets of Pasir Mas or Penang alone, safety reasons aside. I can just imagine it: Me, walking through the streets, snapping up photos of nearly everything and imagining what Helen would comment about them, and thinking --

-- as easy as God has given this to me, He can take it all away.

Life is a celebration; a gift from God. Treat it with respect and dignity. And treasure it.

'Do they not travel through the land, so that their hearts (and minds) may thus learn wisdom and their ears may thus learn to hear? Truly it is not their eyes that are blind, but their hearts which are in their breasts.'

[Al-Hajj, 22:46]

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this has been a rant by Syazwina Saw at 3:07 pm

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Friday, December 08, 2006


Burst your bubble.

Assalamualaikum wrh. wbt.

On the flight back, I was accosted by images of the Malaysian ideal -- a place for leisure; for shopping, for dawdling at odd angles in the sun, for eating, for bright sunny days and taking in the delights of the tropical rainforests.

And it scared me.
I was frightened.

Because the Malaysian ideal is becoming less and less Malaysian by the second.

Has it ever struck you that the standard and gauge we use to analyse the world is becoming less Malaysian, and more Western? Now, I'm not trying to segregate different schools of thought here, but it is very striking how much the way we evaluate something is becoming less of our own, and more to the ideals presented to us by the media, which is made up by, in turn, the ideals of a society hiding behind the facade of awe-inspiring glamour (read: Hollywood) -- a society which, in trying to figure out its own culture and ideals, seeks to enrapture others in their own way of thinking.

Just today, in one of the free tabloid dailies that arrive at my doorstep every morning, was a column dedicated to 'the voice of the youth'. Both were diatribes of the most trivial kind: the young woman went on and on about how age is nothing but a number, and the young man indulged in a self-justifying essay (which Mark Tredinnick would scorn for sure, for its lack of substance) about why he was only sticking around, 'shaking leg' in Malaysia, fulfilling his filial duty (towards his parents which he is 'not very fond of'), waiting for a transfer overseas to fall from the sky.

Both were topics that have been exhausted within an inch of their lives. Both were stale, and did not at all interest me. Both were rants of the most selfish kind -- superficial, and unpersuasive.

So tell me, is this the voice of Malaysian youth today?

My lawyer friend and neighbour had a chat with me the other day about the difference between the Australian youth and the Malaysian youth. We both observed that the youth in this country of ours had their opinions and their thoughts beaten into submission.

The Malaysian youth -- which I shall from this point onwards refer to as 'remaja', for want of a shorter phrase -- have evolved into self-centered, hedonistic young adults who can't care less beyond what affects them and transcends generations.

Don't get me wrong. I love my country. Or else, with all the livability of Melbourne, I wouldn't think of coming back home. I love my homeland -- the only country I've grew up in -- so much so that this slacktitude hurts me. It makes me sad. It also gives me a headache when I think about it for too long.

We are the people this country relies on to bring it forward. Instead, we're too concerned with petty relationships, our appearances and having a good time to care much about the state the world is in.

I don't blame the youth of Malaysia. Well, not completely. It's easy to get sucked into a mind-vaping environment. I've only been a week back, and I've gone from channel-surfing with disdain at the utter lack of substance of the shows screened here, to actually getting stuck in front of the idiot box for nearly hours at a time (admittedly, in front of the Disney Channel, which is the only channel whose shows seem to contain any semblance of a message, other than CNN and Al-Jazeera in English, which is simply awesome, man).

The thing I wonder is, isn't the generation before us, i.e. our parents, concerned by our lack of empathy?

Again, I don't fully blame them. They had lived through years of evolution of minds. Maybe they find this lack of action to their liking. Maybe they've decided that the revolutions of the youth have had more than their fair share of say.

Sadly, as a result, the remaja seem to be hurtling into a heads-on collision of self-destruction and disrepair.

Rempits, prostitution, porn, fornication, child-murder, rape. Those are just a few of the tragedies that seem to have become the norm in today's world. And Malaysia is no less prevalent.

I guess my point is that the remaja -- the crux of the future of Malaysia -- have to wake up and burst this little bubble they've enclosed themselves in. We have to realize that we hold the fate of our nation in our hands. We are the ones who will inherit this land, whether we like it or not, and sooner or later, we're going to have to lead and govern it. We're going to shape the way of things to come. For a start, we've got to realize that having original thought is not a crime, despite what others might say.

And while we're at it, let's stop caring so much what other people think, and start thinking more about the benefits, rather than the popularity of our actions.

Let's stop indulging in 'emoting' out thoughts out with rubbish vocab that is all style and little else, and start talking about things that matter -- things that have the potential to make a change in someone's lives. Let's take it a step forward, and match our talk with our actions. Talk is cheap (if done correctly, heck, it can be free!), and in the end, if we don't do as we say, the only people we're fooling are ourselves.

Let's dare to be different. Let's dare to brave through difficult times, just for the sake of what results in the end, even if we won't live to see it. If you believe in the Hereafter, show it with the things you do, and the principles you believe in. If you don't, well, think about what you're going to leave behind for your children. Do you want to let them inherit a shell of an existance?

If you love your country, the way God meant you to, then prove it. Make a change for the better. Think for others, not just for yourself.

Let's quit being full-time optimists and start being full-time activists. And stop acting as if CHANGE is a dirty word.

Because trust me, it's not. In fact, for a monosyllabic, it's actually quite rewarding.

'Rasulullah once mentioned in a hadith, as narrated by Imam Ahmad:
"Islam began foreign, and it will end foreign, so the foreigners (ghurabaa) should rejoice."

When asked by the sahabi, "Who are these foreigners, O Prophet of Allah?"

He explained, "They are those who make right what has been wronged by mankind."'


Thank you for letting this reminder for myself become a reminder to you, as well.

Jazakumullahu khayr.

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this has been a rant by Syazwina Saw at 6:48 pm

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