I’m always rambling about something-or-other, so I’ve noticed. Then again, I have added a disclaimer warning blog-hoppers of the perpetual verbal diarrhoea.

So anyway it’s Merdeka Eve, and I hear fireworks going off in the distance. I sit here in my old comfy pajamas; Elmo, Bert and Ernie on the front (yes, a cozy threesome indeed), a throwback to my halcyon days of youth (and because its terribly comfortable, who cares if I look about 5), listening to my Mushy Love Songs playlist (Jewel’s ‘You Were Meant For Me’ currently playing) and being an all-round grumpy puss.

What a way to usher in my country’s 50th year of independence? No mad drinking binge, or skimpy outfit donned, or having my body and about a gajillion others squished in a crowded space where anyone and everyone is susceptible to sexual harassment, or even a mamak session with friends to watch the fireworks on a wide screen TV?

Because honestly. I don’t feel it.

I’m sorry if I’ve offended anyone by saying this, but it all seems like such a farce, to participate in such pomp and pageantry when my heart is simply not in it. For two simple reasons:

1. I am lonely.

2. I am disappointed.

The first is because my gang’s dispersed—Jo’s gone across the causeway to see her boyfriend, Sush’s MIA, who knows where Mun Teng is, Dennis is probably busy, Josh is in Manila, Esther, Abby, Manda, Chien and Liss are still in Australia, and I’m feeling the need for the comfort in the presence of people I know and love. Family? Is busy watching TV, and I hate lying on those stupid park-bench faux-couches and watching the Idiot Box. I don’t even need to go into how much I miss Tim.

The second reason lies in the fact that I have been pondering over the big hoo-hah about the 50th Independence Day celebrations. Yes, I know it’s a Big Deal, and I appreciate the fact that the nation’s forefathers and all strived to liberate this land from the clutches of colonialism…at surface level.

I mean not to be one of those pessimistic, cynical souls ranting and raving and being ungrateful, but taking a slice of this moment in time, I really do feel regret.

Regret because while this may sound oh-so mean, I think we are too willing to celebrate mediocrity.

We are a nation obsessed to the point of it being mad with breaking records of a physical kind; prioritising the needs of one ethnic group over another; covering up deep gashes in society with cheap and temporary fillers (so, ahem, when it pours, leaks happen). We are too quick to shoot anyone down, who dares verbalise anything bad about the rulers, government, state religion or special rights of some of the ‘indigenous peoples’. More so if the voices of dissent belong to a certain fairer-skinned ethnic group.

We push important issues under the carpet in a childish gesture, as if it could solve all our problems. We create and modify laws, statues, policies, national icons/symbols on a whim. We eye each other with suspicion and act all buddy-buddy and muhibbah when in fact we are secretly backstabbing and badmouthing each other.

We pretend, basically, that everything is fine and dandy. But is it really? I think we are more racist now than ever before, to be honest. It breaks my heart, because I remember things were not like this when I was younger. Reading stories in today’s special edition of The Sun, with people of the older generation recalling a time when comments weren’t racist, history wasn’t rewritten at the drop of a hat, and food could be shared by all, I remembered my own childhood, where some of my best friends were Muslim girls.

I didn’t always view people by their racial categories, you know. A friend was a friend, simple as that. I think in a way the adults spoilt it for me, by pointing out that I shouldn’t mix too much with one group of people because I might get lured into their religion or way of life. This is something that I always think back on with much sadness and regret, and pity, for the ones who did not understand the concept of faith, that one’s faith could be so easily swayed or challenged that one should avoid other’s beliefs entirely.

My house is the only house in my entire row that is flying the Malaysian flag this Merdeka. Even then, it wasn’t because we bought it or anything; my dad went to go pay the cukai pintu (literally, door tax) and got it for free, and told my brother and I to put it up because it was there.

My uncle, upon seeing the flag out there as he came in over the weekend, asked me who put it up and why. As a former government servant, I was surprised to hear this from him, but perhaps, it’s not so surprising after all. He told me that many are avoiding flying the Jalur Gemilang because of their grievances with the current government, and that I should take the flag down because by flying it, it shows I’m supporting them in office.

I balked at this, and was quick to defend my actions.

I told him, my only uncle, almost 35 years my senior, that just because I fly the national flag it does not mean that I am a supporter of the government, nor am I an opposition sympathiser. I fly the flag not as a person with one political ideology, or a critically-thinking Communications student, or a female, or a Chinese. I fly the flag as a Malaysian, who loves my country, who wants things to be better, who wants a real paradigm shift, and not some whisper of a promise that will soon too be swept under the rug.

I just find it sad that this mentality exists, that a single gesture can be interpreted so narrow-mindedly. Perhaps I am contradicting myself, in my critique of pomp and pageantry, but this is one thing to me, that says “I am Malaysian, I love my country, please let things be better soon because this is my home”. Have a peek at this article by truly one of the country’s visionaries, Raja Petra Kamarudin. In this article, he made a call for ‘Civil Disobedience’, and some suggestions on how we as Malaysians can show our support, peacefully, to the Agong and remind our government that this country is ours. Seriously. Click, and have a read and a think.

I am honestly not trying to propagate any one view on this blog, so please realise that these thoughts are my own, and penned at a time when I am extremely tired. Physically, mentally, spiritually. So do forgive me if they are not entirely coherent or viable, I am not one of those overly intellectual and deep, ponderous bloggers because I am given to flights of fancy and fluff. So this is my stab in the dark, if you like.

What I do want to say is though, albeit wistfully, Happy Merdeka.  Because all those negotiations, the agreement to guided independence, the suffering some had to go through for that, that all has to be remembered. But we should not forget those in our country who are still fighting for fundamental rights, for women and children’s rights, for the rights to speak up and be heard.

This is my personal tribute to those who are still fighting the Good Fight for the benefit of us all. I do not need to name you, you know who you are.

This is for us who want to make a difference and are trying in our own ways, because even changing a mindset, or the way we react to another person, the way we reach out in kindness and understanding, this all helps.

This is for our parents and teachers, for telling us what we need to know, and things we didn’t, but are helpful in its own way.

This is for everyone we take for granted. The kakaks who keep our toilets clean, the ‘boss’ at the mamak who brings us our teh tariks, the taxi drivers, the clerks, the rubber tappers, the farmers, the fishermen…this is their Malaysia too.

For the country, and my fellow Malaysians, I have one wish.

It’s a quote Tim reminded me of almost a year ago, a tender wish born out of love. I quoted it in my article on youthmalaysia.com, found here. For those tho are too lazy to even click on the link, the quote in question is by Reinhold Niebuhr, “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

I don’t need to be stuck in bad traffic or a surging mass of sweaty human bodies screaming to remember that I am Malaysian and proud of it. I will do it silently, with dignity, and great hope.

I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.