February 18, 2009

and it happens again

Posted in Malaysia, My Home, Ranty Pants at 9:01 pm by meldee

Come into my parlour, said the Spider to the Fly.

Canon EOS Kiss, Degraves Lane, Melbourne.


By nature I tend to be quite a self-absorbed person (like everyone else, I’m sure).

I navel gaze, think my thoughts aloud, scrutinize every concievable imperfection on my body and in my heart. In a way I suppose I can be like a baby, fully mesmerized by my own fingers and toes.  My existence is a blissful one, as long as I am safe, sheltered, fed and loved.

But I was also born with a tiger’s spirit blessing the stars above my head, and with warrior blood in my veins. I was born, quite possibly,to fight. 

Not necessarily involving fisticuffs, though I joke that that is something I’d like to do before I die (get into a fistfight with someone I really detest, no holds barred), but a to protest injustices and unfairness, to stand up for something I am absolutely convinced is The Right Thing and to go down, if I do, kicking and screaming all the way.

Because I am not only self-absorbed, intellectual rhetoric also tends to elude me when I am completely involved in something—sometimes literally kicking up a big fuss is the only way!

I probably sound quite cryptic, but I am actually deep in thought. And not deep in thought a la former Menteri Besar of Selangor Dato Dr. Khir Toyo kind of I-must-sit-and-think-two-hours-a-day, but just sort of tentatively prodding my disparate thoughts out with a stick and seeing how they turn out.

Things in my home state are in pretty shite condition at the moment. 

There has been a blatant violation of privacy of state Exco and Assemblyperson (get it right, you fools, how can a woman be an assemblyman?!) Elizabeth Wong. You can read about it from any good (indeed, even any bad) Malaysian news site for the full details—

I am more concerned now with the issue of private spaces and how vital they are and, oh, what a precious right it is.

Because it is a right. The right to let loose, to be free and forgetful, relaxed and romantic, dark and delirious—in the quiet and solitude of this essential space called ‘home’.

I really don’t feel safe anymore. My rights have been stripped from me and now I have to behave in the once-sacred space I called my room.

It angers me. My self-absorbed self needs this space and quiet to just be for a few hours in a day, to get back in touch with myself before I am lost.

I am sure I am not the only one who feels such.

I don’t know how many more times these things have to happen before people realise what a crime it is, to take away this precious space.

I don’t know how refugees or political detainees or people living in detention camps cope. I say this as un-princess-fully as I can, because along with food, shelter, safety and love—a space to be alone is what I feel every person is entitled to.

Shame on you who don’t realise this.



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