A testimony to perseverance and diligence comment

The post above was posted by me yesterday into an anonymous-based confession page of my uni. I chose to hide my identity there as I didn't want to garner sympathy or praises of any sort from my fellow college mates for my own life story that happened as it did. Talk about being inconspicuous.

But seeing that it is also a form of testimony and could potentially serve as an inspiration to some lost souls, I would like to repost the original post with a few appends to it :)

Here's the full post :-

   To everyone grappling with financial struggle and constant civil wars within your families, please don't lose hope. Never give up. Know that every cloud has a silver lining. There's always a beacon of hope emanating from somewhere. We just have to keep working our way towards it. 

   Having been there done that, I can affirm that not being too absorbed in the hodge-podge but rather focusing on what's ahead and need to be done reaps a bounty harvest. And this would mean persevering through it all. 

I was and will continue to be a living testimony to this.

Here's my brief life story, the story thus far.

1) My parents, as I can vividly remember, would always quarrel with one another.
2) The financial strain my family experienced was always a mounting pressure.
3) My siblings and I inadvertently picked up hatefullness from our parents. We found ways to vent our frustrations at one another through dramatic sibling rivalries.
4) My parents eventually reached a mutual decision to not have anything to do with one another. My father ran away from home twice with the second time being the final time. He never came back.
5) My mother became a single mother henceforth. She works around the clock to make ends meet. Things have never got any easier.
6) My parents never officially divorced and that has been a major problem for me when applying for scholarships and loans. No information about my father. No proves that my parents are separated. No prove that my father is not contributing to the family's monetary needs.
6) Despite the struggles I faced , I managed to obtain straight A's for UPSR(5A's), PMR(7A's) and SPM(7A+, 2A's). I also had an excellent track record. This was achieved without attending any tuition centers. And no, I'm no genius or any sort like that. I'm of average intellect. I'm a slow but a steady and determined learner.
7) I was very hopeful about getting a scholarship to further my studies for pre-u. Unfortunately, of the 11 applications I sent in, I proved successful for none. 
8) On the brighter side, my eldest sister had migrated to US with her husband and they had been able to contribute for my pre-u studies on top of the partial funding I received from my study loan.
9) I'm currently in my second semester for my foundation course and I hold a 4.00 CGPA from my last semester. I am working towards maintaining a streak to hopefully land myself yet another scholarship opportunity. 

  Sometimes when I look back in retrospect, I do think that things were unfair at certain points of my life. I mean it is hard to forgo that natural inclination especially when you're surrounded by so many others who are clearly far better off than you, right?
Often when this happens I like to remind myself that life wasn't even meant to be fair in the first place considering how fairness in life would take into account all aspects one can imagine of. Put simply, a fair life is nothing more than just a figment of the fictitious world we sometimes pretend to live in- a place where all sorts of delusion flourish in. 

As someone wise once said, "Life is only unfair with the delusion that it should be fair". This quote spoke volumes to me.

   Whatever the stakes, we have a purpose in each of our lives. Petty first-world problems that come in in between are nothing but what they exactly are, first-world problems! 

Each time you are going through some hardship and feel like hoisting the white flag, think again. Reevaluate the problem. Come up with solutions. Think straight. 

  There are many others who are fighting a harder battle that are not even tantamount to what either of us are going through. This is not to say that you should understate and not acknowledge the problems you're facing, but rather you should be proactive in helping alleviate the very burden that is on your shoulders.

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Common courtesy comment

Person #1 to person #2 : Thank you :)
Person #1: Welcome, myself  :')

 I started noticing this for quite some time now. I have the [lame] habit of being overly polite when I'm obliged. I have a low threshold between feeling thankful and obliged to begin with. I easily feel obligated for even the slightest good deed done to me. It's almost as if one can call me "The Muchas Gracias Girl". That pretty much explains the problem with me in this topic.

In some instances though, maybe it's not me who's the problem. And maybe being overly polite shouldn't even be called a problem if it doesn't bring about any drawbacks in possessing the trait. And no, being benign has never caused me any chagrin. It just got me wondering why a large number of people I have come across don't have the sense of common courtesy; often a time being something one could easily mutter a "Thank you" or a "Welcome". Just a few seconds, it does not even take up 1% of the effort one puts into chatting or ranting relentlessly the rest of the day.

Like, come one, people.

It's common and courtesy for a reason. Common as it is the same across any culture I believe, at least among the cultures and norms here supposedly. Courtesy as in exchanging pleasantries among socially apt people.

Maybe it doesn't come naturally to some. But it's only so long until one comes across another polite individual and realize just how pleasant subtle politeness can be and pick it up from there, right?

Sadly, that appears to not be the case. Not with the common faces I come across.

I just hope they pick up this virtue at some good points in their life.

"Politeness costs nothing but yields much"


Estranged comment

Estranged from my acquaintances, friends, lover, family...

..and faith.

I don't know if I were meant to be estranged from everyone and the rest of the world. Maybe not the rest of the world, just people. I do find joy, solace, and whatever synonyms there are that attribute to the security I experience behind closed doors, in the confinement of the four walls of my own room. 

I don't hate people. Neither do I disapprove of their company. I just find it exhausting to be around people because I innately feel the need to be able to jump into people's shoes to experience what they're experiencing so I could truly understand what all the fuzz and buzz in their conversations are about, thus, deliver appropriate response. I feel the need to do this all the more to fit in because of the fact that I already am estranged- with the way I work things out, how I act on my own, etc. Simply put, I can't spontaneously associate with people's experiences, feelings, etc so I would try my level best to understand them or abandon the whole mission altogether and dissociate.


Because on my own I think I can't fully understand another person, I in turn feel insecure when I give out my thoughts. My mind would be plagued by the 'what if's' of people not being able to comprehend me in addition to the insecurities I already have about myself such as my unnaturally fast-paced speech, unintelligible words in between, among many others.

It's not just about not being able to understand the context of people's talk. Often a time when I am able to understand a few parts, I inadvertently think of WHY the subject in question was necessary to be brought up at all. I try to battle with my mind that if I am going to keep thinking about everything in that manner, what is left to talk about? I mean, from a logical perspective, people don't just consider bringing up a topic because it's worthy of having the spotlight. They do so to share thoughts and experiences, mutual understanding and to forge new relationships or coalesce existing ones among people they care about.

The above anecdote is a very typical cycle of thoughts I have in my day-to-day encounter with friends and college mates. Obviously, the problem is something of only my concern since it has only my discordant internal responses involved. Like what my twin sister would always say, "..get over with it, it's all in your head".
You might say the same. Everyone else might say the same. The truth is, the problem of having all these insecurities trajected at one from every corner is like an ailment that is hard to cure. And I have plenty of these. Sometimes when all else fails in curbing the devils inside me, I like to think that maybe it's something innate. I like to think that everyone's unique and that I'm no exception. 

Maybe I found my abode in solitude. Maybe I'm an introvert. Maybe I'm an asocial. Maybe I'm just being paranoid.
Maybe I'm all of the above.

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On racial discrimination - from a personal recount comment

  Most of us have had our fair share of experiencing racial discrimination. Being an Indian in Malaysia inadvertently places me and all other fellow Malaysian Indians in a very small and often a time marginalized 7.1% of the total population of this so-called multiracial country. We are often subject to senseless racial and religious sentiments spewed forward by the more 'purer, upper-class' races, who are incidentally the ones given more rights and freedom to bargain for better lives regardless of whether they deserve it or not.

I personally had spasmodic encounters with racism from preschool until lower primary and a little more during my upper primary school years. Being the sensitive lass that I was, I would often come running home with teary eyes and would gibberishly recount the awful instances the best I could to my mother. She was like my superhero during my growing-up years. Emotional though I was, I was most of the time absent-minded whilst my whole blurry and small world revolved around me. That said, I usually took no heed of what some nasty schoolmates had to say about me. I've heard the common racial slur directed at us Indians all too often - the 'Keling' word. I guess I had developed some sort of tolerance for it back then when I heard of that word every so often - directed towards my Indian teachers, fellow Indian friends, and myself. Besides, it didn't take me long to realise that the word had little to absolutely no meaning at all. I like to think of it as an 'empty' word.

There were two instances however, that really affected me and sent me home tearing for the rest of the day. I still occasionally think of those unpleasant days and would tailor words in my mind and recreate that bloody moment virtually with a bolder me in the picture.

I'll start with the lesser unpleasant one. One quotidian school day when I was in Year 4(10-year-old), I entered my class to a bunch of classmates playing their flutes to a discordant melody. The second period was Music lesson and my music teacher had assigned each of us to get ourselves flutes for that day's music lesson. I sat down next to my classmate who was busying herself with her own Yamaha flute. I pulled out my purple, translucent flute from my bag and started scrutinying it with my 10-year-old sense of awe and wisdom to not play the flute and add to the cacophony. The girl next to me,well let's call her Iman. Iman turned to take a pause and look at my flute. Seemingly curious, she asked if she could have a look at my oh-so-fancy instrument. I obliged and handed her my flute. She then proceeded to place her mouth at the tip of the flute and begin playing a note. Another guy, let's call him Izzul, who was seated in front of Iman turned around and gaped at Iman. His face was contorted in some sort of disgust. Well I would have to admit that maybe Iman didn't have a knack for flutes. But that was not the case. Izzul went on to jeer at Iman for being silly to place her mouth on a flute that tentatively had my saliva in it. Well, really I wouldn't mind if he was apparently concerned over Iman's hygiene. I was wrong yet again. He went on to tell Iman that she was actually playing a flute that had some Keling's saliva in it and that it was dirty, for that reason and not in a more general fact that anything with another person's saliva is unhygienic. Iman then went all dramatic in drinking and gargling her mouth with water. She went so far as to call me "najis". Having little knowledge in the Malay language back then, I could hardly fathom what she had meant. I asked her to Barney the meaning of the word to me. She nonchalantly explained that najis meant feces. I was perturbed. She gave little to no regard about my feelings and how it would tear part of my confidence as soon as I understood what she had meant. I tried to muster a bit of boldness to knock some sense into her head but with my gibberish language, I don't know if I had anything more than a mesh of hand-signs and nervous errs enter her head. Needless to say, I sulked with her for the rest of the day. We did end up becoming close classmates though through Year 4 and Year 5 after an instance where I had sensed her seeping guilt and blatant suppressing of the need to apologize to me.

My by-far-the-worst discrimination came when I had least expected. The long-awaited ring of the school bell marked the end of class lessons for the day. I was in Year 5, one more year and I'll be graduating from primary school. One could already call themselves 'semi-senior' or so once they're in Year 5, I guess. It could be said that my upper primary school years were generally a blur but relatively peaceful. Peaceful was not what it seemed on that particular day, however. I walked to my school van with my twin sister and settle in an old seat on the second row of the van. We were exhausted and sweaty and the stuffiness inside the van only exacerbated the uneasiness we felt. Not long after, a group of Year 6 guys that were well-known for their talkativeness in our small van community enter and sit in the the row directly behind us. There was one peculiar guy in the group who always stared blankly at my sisters and I. I think it's worthy to note that my sisters and I were the only Indians in the van. We usually dimissed the guy as being strange and maybe just maybe curious about us in some odd ways of his own. Just as the van started moving, one of the five who was right behind me put out his entire arm through a sliding window and held up the formidable middle finger on my side of the window whilst bellowing "fuck, fuck, fuck..". It went on like a mantra. Bear in mind my sister and I have not been exposed much to this word or any other profanity prior to this but exposed enough to know that it was a bad word. It immediately struck my 11-year-old mind that it was a horrible word and that that guy was evil for saying it. I retaliated by mustering some courage to back my sister and I. I apparently did what I would call now, " turning the other cheek". I naively told the verbal abuser that he shouldn't be doing so and that it was a sin to use such profanity, in hopes that he would repent. Instead of retreating like what I had expected, his other members joined him in jeering at the two of us with a myriad of racial slurs. I turned to look behind and the guy whom I thought was quiet and peculiar was showing up a middle finger and yelling profanities at my direction. It was unbearable. No one bothered to back us up or offer to knock some sense into those offenders. Not even the van driver. My whole journey back home that day was a living hell.

Another thing I would like anyone to note is that my sisters and I were very, very quiet and needless to say, peaceful individuals. In retrospect, I think it was that quality about us that had made way for informal truces between us and the notable racists we had in our lives. None of the aforementioned instances or whatever racial discrimination experiences in between and henceforth have been prolonged any longer than an hour by the same individual. There were random spikes of racism by different individuals across different situations, to put it concisely.

In hindsight, I don't know what to make out of the racial intolerances I experienced as a kid. Those unduly racism I had experienced in the later stages of my childhood had a considerable mar on the already thin sheet of confidence I trumpeted around as a child blossoming into the early days of my teenhood. I would often find myself obsessing over a lighter skin shade so I can be likened to a person of a more 'dignified' race, similar to those of my lighter-skinned counterparts. I tried ways to hide my identity as an Indian, making use of the unintelligible fact that most of my peers bought into, that is the notion that Christianity, is a race. I knew for a fact, that this was, as obvious as it sounds, a stupid belief. This is sadly, still a widespread notion. And as sadder as it gets, racism is still on the rise, incongruent with the trend that statistics show of Malaysians today, that there are more literates today as compared to yesterday.

  This leads one to wonder, what is the cause of the widespread racism among society today, especially among Malaysians who have long witnessed a heterogeneous society? What is this deep-seethed, directionless hatred that our younger generations are harbouring toward their brothers of different races? Where is it coming from? What measures are the older generations taking to curb racism and nurture goodwill and promote unity instead?

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