Nostos

"Do you miss home?"
"Yeah well, of course I do, I mean... yeah... of course I do."

My voice quivers ever so slightly, lips recoiling almost defensively as I speak the words. I cannot help but feel a pang of guilt. It's a question I am asked often, and short of giving a lengthy explanation, I opt for the much simpler, cookie cutter reply of "Who wouldn't?" and launch into a even lengthier panegyric on the beauty of Malaysian cuisine.

Occasionally though, I cannot bear to hide beneath a flurry of superfluous words.

"Do you miss home?"
"Not really."

Every single time I say this I feel like I am being judged, like I am admitting that I am a horrible person wracked with familial problems, or worse yet, an ungrateful brat who can't be bothered to remember my parents.

What is home anyway?

Sure, I miss my family. I miss driving with my father in one of his old cars, just the road and some Lynyrd Skynyrd playing on the stereo. I miss my mother's cooking, which is the strangest thing, because when I was at home I wanted nothing more than to escape from it. I miss my brother bothering me in the midst of a movie or reading a book to show me his latest cool magic trick or the latest Youtube fad he has discovered.

I miss my bed, my dog, my house. I miss the lonely walks beneath the stars to the abandoned playground, just sitting on the swing and contemplating life in solitude. I miss the colorful and vibrant food, the sweet-as-sin milk tea in the morning and the fragrance of fried rice at 3am at night.

But it's far more complicated than that. With "home", there is also chaos. There are the frantic 2am rushes to get a press statement prepared on time. There are the heart-stopping moments as you look into a riot police officer's visor and see your own reflection staring back at you. There are the speeches that come rolling, one after another, until they all blend and mix and form this amorphous, all-encompassing ball of lies that devours everything in its path. There is that fear, that anger, that disappointment that permeates the air, the front page of the newspapers, the websites, the cyberspace, the conversations at coffeehouses.

For most people, "home" is this place of refuge. This place of shelter, where everything becomes OK and life stands still. Whatever storm, quake, disaster stops at that invisible wall people call "home" and whatever exciting, crazy ups and downs go away for a monotony that most people decry but I crave.

For me, "home" is the storm. Home is the embodiment of chaos, of messiness, of burden. Yale, for all its "stress" and "commitments" and "assignments" is a safe haven for me. At least here I know I can close my eyes, I can fall asleep, I can let go of myself and life goes on. I am not constantly bombarded by an insidious hopelessness, assaulted by the egotism or stupidity of politicians, weighed upon to take upon the mantle of a fighter.

Not all people share my sentiments of course. Many can ignore, forget, forgive what happens on a daily basis in Malaysia. As much as I would like to, I cannot. I feel a sense of responsibility, of duty that does not permit me to pretend like all is fine and good with the system when it is clearly not.

Malaysia is like family to me I suppose. No matter how bad things get, I cannot let go of it.

"Do you miss home?"
"No. I don't."

Perhaps there is a better question to be asked then.

"Do you love home?"
"Yes."

"Lost Home". Taken in New Haven, December 2013. OKJ All rights reserved.
Click for larger image.

Merdeka

merdeka( merdéka) 

bebas (drpd penjajahan, kurungan, naungan, dll), lepas ( drpd tebusan, tuntutan), berdiri sendiri, tidak bergantung pd yg lain: 

Malaysia ialah sebuah negara yg ~ dan berdaulat.

William closes the dark green Kamus Dewan, taking care to wipe off the Milo stains on page 883, rubbing sweaty fingers on mercun, meriah, meriam and merdu.

He closes his eyes in mock reverence, a smile dawning upon his face as he lets the meaning of the word seep into his twelve year old mind. After a few moments, he understands.

His country- free from the evil British colonialists! After hundreds of years of being under their oppressive rule, Malaysia was free! He smiled, a spring in his step as he contemplated how lucky he was to be free. 

Grabbing his tiny Jalur Gemilang, he skips all the way to the living room, where his parents are watching TV, reading the Moon or the Sun or whatever astronomical object it was, drinking kopi O, and talking to each other. William never could understand how they could do so many things at a time, and then accuse him of not being focused enough. At least he did one thing at a time.

Today's headlines on the Star, Double the Joy! A happy family celebrating Raya and laughing along. William peeked over his father's shoulder: he was reading something boring about neglecting other ... what was that word again... communities. "Daddy, what does that mean?"

Daddy turns around, tortoise shell glasses barely resting on his nose. "Well it means that certain minorities, like the Chinese and Indians and Dayaks and Orang Asli are being ignored. How do I say this... Mmm.... Take for example you and your older brother. Imagine if I treated your brother better, like giving him more candy, being OK with him failing exams, giving him extra pocket money and time to play computer games."

"But that's not fair!"

" Aha, that's where you're wrong. I could say that it's perfectly fair because your brother came first! And if you complain, I'll tell you to go back to whichever family you came from, even if that 'family' isn't really your real family. And that, my dear, is more or less what is happening."

William shook his head in horror. How could such a terrible thing happen? With all the solemnity that a twelve year old could muster, he heaved a great sigh. Daddy just laughed, and ruffled William's hair. 

But the sadness of a twelve year old is an impermanent thing. Pretty soon, the boy was zooming off in his bike, Jalur Gemilang in tow. He was on a quest of great importance: to bungkus roti canai from the nearby mamak stall.

On his way, he admired the sea of flags on display. Everyone is so patriotic, why doesn't Uncle Bernard love Malaysia too Why doesn't he want to come back? - whispered his little heart. He wondered about all the cousins who had gone overseas and never come back. Julian, who was a chemical engineer; Mary, a physics professor in Brown University; Hannah, his favourite cousin who used to play on the PS2 with him, a doctor working in Brisbane. All nice, loving, caring people, who somehow, said that they would not come back because there was no freedom in Malaysia. But William's little heart whispered again- How could this be? Aren't the evil British gone?

Absent mindedness never serves a bicycle rider well. Sure enough, William's bike hit a curb, and fell over- landing at the feet of the mamak stall waiter. Burly hands grabbed him, put him upright. " Boy, you jaga sikit la. Danger tau. Aiyoooo.... mana ibu bapa you?" William recovered himself, shook his head, and took out a five ringgit note.

"Empat roti canai, abang. Dan satu Mentos."

The abang looked at his hand expectantly. 

" Tak cukup la boy. Sekarang ni barang apa-apa pun mahal. Lagi satu ringgit."

Wow, things were getting pretty expensive. One twenty for roti canai. Even in the extremely short life experience of William, he could still remember a time when roti canai cost eighty cents. Ah well. 

After completing his transaction, and chewing on his mentos, William started the trip back home. He was taking a shortcut, through his "secret route". It was favourite path because he could pretend he was going through a scary trek through a land of evil things. A number of sights along the way helped this fantasy of his.

First, there were the trees. Long, over-arching great old behemoths of nature that would shade the road. But today, as he travelled through, the trees were gone. Chopped down by DBKL most probably. The image of the sliced off tree stumps reminded him of an image of the Bakun dam he had seen. The photo was a collage of a destroyed rainforest; a crying Orang Asli woman; and a government officer cutting a red ribbon officiating the whole event. The image stuck in his mind because the Orang Asli's expression, a cold, teary stare of indignation, invoked in him a sort of comradeship- he had that look on whenever his brother forcefully took away his toys from him, and refused to give them back, even though they were rightfully his.

Then there was the church. The church wasn't a really a scary building by itself. But the black marks along the wall, and the burnt out rubble around it was pretty spooky. The church had been the target of an arson attempt a while ago, a Molotov cocktail had been thrown in. All that for a single word. William shook his head, wondering how on earth could mature, big grown up, God fearing people get so worked up to the point of fiery crime over a single word. 

The church brought up questions in William's head. His parents had been talking about some sort of church raid lately, something about Muslims in a church. William had interrupted them, asking: Mommy, why can't Malays go into churches? Why is it bad for a Christian to donate and help Muslims? Can't we help each other? Can't they choose what's best for them?"

The reply: " Go back to your room William. You don't understand, this is an adult issue. Go to sleep, it's getting late."

Finally, he passed the scariest part of the route: an abandoned warehouse. Apparently the owners were arrested for being communist. William had no idea what a communist was, except that they were supposed to be really bad and they blew up train tracks for breakfast. There were bits of torn yellow cloth around, remnants from the T-shirts they once were a part of. A while back, Uncle Ravi had been picked up by the police for questioning. Daddy said it was because Uncle Ravi had worn the same yellow Bersih T-shirt, and gone to participate in the rally. "Is Uncle Ravi a bad man, Daddy? Did he commit a crime Is that why the police caught him?"

Daddy put on this zoned out look on his face, same as when he talked about grandfather who had passed away years ago, and solemnly said: "No, William. We are the ones who are criminals for watching and doing nothing while our country went down the drain."

"Huh?"

"Never mind, Will. You'll understand one day."

William finished his journey, and parked his bicycle. "I'm home!" His parents greeted him with a smile, and into the dining room they went, laughing, eating, drinking- and William's tiny heart whispered again: Wow, it sure is good to be free. Merdeka! Merdeka! Merdeka!

Happy Merdeka Malaysia. Enjoy your freedom this Independence Day.

  

The Zombie Apocalypse of Malaysia

Oh well.

I think we have a very serious problem in Malaysia. I think there must be a spreading contagion of zombies, threatening to turn our population into the undead. And I don't think we have some sort of hot chick ready to blast away, guns blazing, saving us from our fate. At least not in Malaysia. Oh well.

Now before you scratch your head in bewilderment and wonder if you got the right blog or whether your suspicions of my mental soundness were true, allow me to explain. I have not, in fact, seen any zombies. However, I can deduce that there must be some sort of grey matter hungry creatures lurking about because of the SHEER AMOUNT OF BRAINS DISAPPEARING FROM OUR COUNTRY.

Malaysia's human capital leak ( or should I say flood?) is getting worse and worse every year. According to the World Bank, the number of skilled Malaysians living abroad has tripled in the last two decades with two out of every 10 Malaysians with tertiary education opting to leave for either OECD (Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development) countries or Singapore.

What those numbers mean is that if you are in a room with five people now, one person out of your gang will be gone. Poof! into another land where every Ali, Ah Kau, and Muthusamy has turned into a Tom, Dick and Harry; where people try to become darker instead of fairer; where air conditioners turn into heaters. Or they could have just gone down to Singapore. Yawn.

According to some very reliable sources, the push factors for the human resource flight are career prospects, compensation and social justice. Some Malaysians also cite better living conditions, weather, accessibility, public transport, transparent governance blablablablabla. Basically, Malaysia sucks.

And I dare say that again in big bold capital letters. MALAYSIA SUCKS.

Mamak stall!

Oh yes, the government is terrible, and as transparent as a rock can get. The public service definition of fast would have put even the Tortoise from the story the Tortoise and the Hare to shame. Yes, this is a country where Pizza Hut arrives faster than the police. Malaysia is a baking oven half the time, and the other half it's drenched in the torrential downpour. It's a place where you order roti canai and you can't even tell whether that waiter at the mamak shop is nodding or shaking his head. ( oh right, forgot about India.) It's a place where you ask "Excuse me, could I have a size L sweater please?" and instead of hearing "I'm sorry ma'am that item is currently available", we get two words: "No stock!". In a nutshell, so many things are terrible about Malaysia.

Enough with the complaints. For a moment, just forget about all that. Just humour me a while more, and play along. Close your eyes, and imagine your parents. They've taken care of you for years, nurturing you, providing so many good memories, a place to stay, food to eat- they've given you a life. Now imagine if they became sick. Suppose they become afflicted with Alzheimer's. They go crazy, don't recognise you as their child, forgot who they were, and start making a mess of the house. Do you abandon them? Or do you try to find a cure for them, help them?

Malaysia is now in that situation. Malaysia is like a senile parent, asking some of her children to get out of the country, telling some they don't belong here; she rages and messes up things, making life difficult for her children; she bogs them down financially, denying them some opportunities to advance their career. She has forgotten who she is.

And so have we. For a moment, just try to remember all the things our country has given us. Those late night mamak stall adventures; those times when we used our hands, fork and spoon, and chopsticks all in the same meal!; the ability to swear in four languages and seven dialects; to have our ears perk up at the call of the ice cream man; to have our dogs howl at the monotone drawl of the "Old Newspaper" guy. So much beauty in our country.

Be the change you want to see in the world.

That beauty deserves a second chance from us all. Rather than leaving, rendering the country poorer and at a loss; why not stay, contribute, do something. Help Malaysia remember who she is, heal the country of the disease; instead of blaming the country itself and abandoning it to its fate.  You see, that's the whole problem with this country. Capable, educated people look at the situation, put up their hands in resignation, then pack their bags and leave. It only worsens the situation. This is our country, why not look at the situation, and resolve to do something now or in the future? Gandhi, Tunku Abdul Rahman and Martin Luther King were all pretty well to do people who could have jolly well left, or carried on with their own privileged lives. They didn't. And for that, we have a better world today.

I know there are difficulties, I know there are reasons to leave. And most of all, I know, Malaysia sucks. But the real question is: what are we doing about it?

I'm not saying don't ever leave for studies, for a job, for a trip. By all means, go ahead. But just remember, wherever you go, you are Malaysian, and for all the bloody diseases that plague this stubborn patient of a country, she's still alive. Malaysia lives. And she needs to be cured.

The Racism Within

John Malott,
former US Ambassador
to Malaysia

Recently, John Malott's article in the Wall Street Journal concerning racism in Malaysia sparked a furore of protests, praises and controversy. Many bloggers have spoken out for and against Malott's views, with a sort of cyber war going on.

This blogger is not going to join that war. In fact, this blogger is not going to deny or support any of the issues discussed in the aforementioned article. I will simply tell you of something that is often ignored.

While the non-Malays are complaining of pro-Malay racism; and Malays are accusing non-Malays of sacrilege and religious desecration, we forget that we are all guilty of racism. We forget that while we have one index finger pointing at one another, we have the other fingers pointing at ourselves. 

Now before I am labelled as unpatriotic by the zealots, blasphemous by religious figures, and a fool by others, I implore you to reflect upon the validity of my statement. Let's imagine you are in the car. You are driving peacefully when you see a driver not of your race nearly cause an accident by overtaking you without signalling, at breakneck speed. What do you think of then? Cina babi? Stupid Malay? Bloody Indian? Perhaps you might say that those thoughts were out of impulse. Very well then. Consider another situation. You are sitting on the train. You see this man, and he walks into the train. When you look at him, is not his race one of the first things that pop up in your mind? There is bound to be some form of racism, where we judge and evaluate a person first and foremost by race.


Where does this racism start? From our upbringing. From a very young age, our parents tell us what Malaysia is. They tell us their views of the world, and being young and malleable, we follow and listen and take it all in. We are told that the Chinese are mata duit, greedy, cheating liars; that the Malays are lazy and use the government as a tongkat; that the Indians are keling, pariah, and dirty- and being so believing of our parents, we accept these views unquestioningly. And when we have children of our own, we unwittingly create this culture of racism, a vicious cycle going on and on and on.


As a child, I had a fear of the dark. I feared the darkness because I could not see what monsters were lurking in the shadows, because I did not know what horrors awaited me. I feared, and thus hated, because I did not understand. And this is what is happening today.  We are kept in the dark about each other. As our society moves to segregate, categorize, label, and divide people according to race, we are interacting with each other less, talking with each other less, eating together less. We are understanding each other less, and therefore since we cannot comprehend each other, we fear and hate each other. We are falling under the ease of stereotyping and generalizing.

And that is the sin we are all guilty of. Just as a ping pong ball must be returned to the hitter for the game to continue, the game of racism can only continue if both sides return volleys and hits. Some may argue that we have no choice because racism is used against us, therefore we must respond in kind. Nation A fires on  Nation B, therefore Nation B must fire on Nation A. The result? More fire, more lives lost. Being racist to the those who practice racism is not going to make them less racist. In fact, it will only give them more reason to be racist, and we will be stooping down to their level. Racism only leads to more racism. As Mohandas K. Gandhi once said, 'An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.'

Instead of outright complaining against each other, we should all reflect upon ourselves and ask if we are guilty of racist thoughts as well. Parents should stop this culture of race generalisation, and all races should interact with each other sincerely and thoughtfully, so that we can understand one another. Separating young students according to race in schools, as one educator wanted to after racial fights sprung up in schools, is just going to fuel misunderstanding of one another. We should not be separated- laundry is the only thing that should be separated by color. So the next time you look at someone, try not to think of their race first. And when we can reach that stage of looking at each other, and we recognize each other as members of the nation, and then, and only then, as members of our race, it is then that our nation can truly be 1Malaysia.


Let me begin this process of inflection by admitting that I have been guilty of racism.

Years ago, I embarked on my first bus journey home.  It was an alien environment for me; I had always had the privilege of having my parents fetch me home, and the run-down, dusty bus made me feel like Alice in Wonderland, lost and lonely. The other students spoke in rough tones, their speech littered with Cantonese expletives from time to time. They were of all ages, and all of them were Chinese, with the exception of one boy. This Indian boy was the subject of constant ridicule, bullying, and mockery, but he just took it all in, always a blank stare boring into the greasy metal floor. Words like ‘keling’ flew around, carelessly and callously. Being from a family that always taught me all humans were equal, and having friends of other races myself, I was shocked and shamed by their conduct. But I did nothing, being afraid and alone. And by doing nothing, I had effectively condoned and allowed such a blatant act of racism continue, I had become an accomplice. By my silence, I had contributed to the chaos that ensued. 


I often think back to that moment and wish I had done something. But I cannot change the past, and so I am now trying to change the present, for a better future. Racism may be institutionalized in Malaysia, but racism is also internalized in all of us. Fight racism inside yourself, then carry that fight to the world.


"Be the change you want to see in the world."
- Mahatma Gandhi

Interlocked In Interlok

Keepers of knowledge, the papers were torn, and ravaged; thrown and spit on; burnt to a crisp until the pages were no more. They were deemed seditious, malicious, ideologically and politically incorrect, and thus they had to be destroyed as an act of defiance.

This was not Shi Huangdi, burning books so no scholars would become more intelligent than him.

This was not Adolf Hitler, monarch of the Third Reich, burning all books that were deemed un-German.

Neither was this the Communist Party, burning all texts written by "capitalist pigs".

This was Malaysia, nine years from 2020, and these were books burnt by angry citizens.

The book? Interlok.

 Interlok, a book written by Abdullah Hussain, has recently come under fire for its "racist" and "discriminatory" content, with characters in the story calling another Indian character a "pariah" and a "keling". Politicians from the opposition have been quick to capitalize on this, stoking the flames of discontent, using it to fire up unrest, instead of steering the rakyat to a more progressive, and practical way of solving this. Instead, community leaders have shown themselves to be of the same political genius of the likes of Adolf Hitler and Shi Huangdi.

Firstly, as a fellow Malaysian, I can understand their rage, but what I cannot, and never will condone is their manner of handling the issue at hand. Burning books? Barbarians, Nazis, Communists and terrorists burn books, not civilized, educated people! By committing this atrocity, these angry citizens have not only further stoked racial unrest, they have also destroyed the sanctity of books. They have only further validated, and proven that Malaysia is far from an open minded, tolerant society.

When someone disagrees with you, one does not kill the person, or shut them up with duct tape. One endeavors with logic and reason, to debunk their arguments, to prove that they are wrong. It is the most effective, most practical way of handling an issue like this. If one is unhappy, one should complain to the press, go through the legitimate procedures, and tell the world about it. Burning and other acts of destruction only paint a radical, extremist light on the activists, however noble their intentions may be. 

Secondly, I am of the opinion that Abdullah Hussain's novel is exactly what it is meant to be, a NOVEL. It is a story meant to entertain, educate, and raise awareness. The whole reason of the writing about the ill treatment given to the Indian character, is to raise awareness about it, so that readers know that it is wrong. The caste system, keling, pariah, these things have in fact happened in the past. In some ways, these things still remain at large in society. Some say it is unreasonable to comment on the caste system. However, the caste system, though officially abolished, still survives in a form, because in India there is still prejudice against the untouchables, and there is still a great divide between the rich and the poor.The racial injustices mentioned in the book are still happening today. The problem is, that people take literature too literally. The caste system is a symbol of the injustice that happens all over the world simply because of one's background; the racial injustices are reflective of the very things we must avoid. So what if things are not 100% factually correct? Nobody said Interlok was a factual historical commentary, in fact, Interlok is a work of FICTION. 

At the very same time, the incidences in Interlok do not glorify and condone the acts of racial discrimination mentioned. They simply reflect what society was at the time. Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn, has characters calling African Americans 'negroes'. These characters act the way they do simply because that was how things were in that era. Khaled Hoesseni's Kite Runner describes a child being sodomised. Does writing about it indicate that the author condones it? No! It is in fact, the opposite; the author wishes to fight it, and instead of ignoring the problem, chooses to acknowledge it, and tackle it head on. In George Orwell's 1984, he describes an authoritarian society, with a Big Brother watching over all. Had he been published in Malaysia, his book probably would have been burnt, as a text that spreads communist ideals. This could not be further from the truth, he is in fact fighting the evils of communism by raising awareness about it, by shocking the reader, so that the reader can understand how terrible communism can be. Likewise, Abdullah Hussain fights racism, by showing us how things should NOT be.

In essence, Interlok retains its integrity as a piece of literary fiction. On the other hand, its validity as a textbook is not as sound. Not because of its content, but because of the teachers teaching the subject matter. The teachers using Interlok as studying material must be able to handle the racial issues raised in the book maturely and reasonably. Students must be educated so that they know the characters' ill treatment of Indians is wrong, and of the social context of the novel. And so, the real question is not whether Interlok is a good textbook, but rather, can our Malaysian teachers handle it sensitively and responsibly? With no offence meant to those truly Malaysian educators, it might be wise to point out all the controversy surrounding the principal who asked racial minorities to go back to China and India. With such educators in charge of schools, how can we expect students to emerge with progressive, tolerant mindsets?

The Education Ministry has been placed between a rock and a hard place. If they choose to withdraw, they will be acceding to the demands of political and narrow minded bickering, as well as damning Abdullah Hussain's work of literature. Should they choose to do otherwise and retain the book, they might be causing untold damage at the hands of some racist and equally narrow minded educators. Once again, it seems like the Malaysian government has got itself INTERLOCKED in a bad situation. Surprise, surprise.

Why?

A while back, I met my friend's father, who is a staunch MCA supporter. Upon finding out I was interested in politics, he asked me whether I supported DAP or MCA. I told him that I would support whoever served the rakyat's interests. He gave me an incredulous look, laughed, and said it was utter bullshit.

So this is what it has come to. Our politicians have used the term "For the rakyat" this, "For the rakyat that" to the point it has become a byword for nonsense, and the calling of politics known as craptology. It saddens me when I hear these comments, because it reminds me of the sad state of affairs our Malaysian politics is in. Our politicians, from being called champions of the people, are now in the eyes of people bloodsucking leeches, liars, rapists, cheaters, fraudsters, crooks, thieves and worst still, assassins or C4 bombers. 

People chide me for being saddened. They say I should get used to things, that I should be less idealistic, less optimistic, care less. And I thought to myself sometimes, "It's true. What can we do against such reckless bigotry? Such blatant crime? Better to resign one self to one's fate, and be satisfied with what we have. At least we're not as bad as the Philippines where in Maguindanao they butcher people, or like Iraq where bombers ( not just the mongol-philia type) are aplenty. That's why I should give up.

I tried. But I cannot.

The moment we stop caring, the instant we stop striving to become better, we die. Not outside, but inside. The second we give up, that is when everything is truly lost. Edmund Burke once said that all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. And dammit it's true.That's why we must not give up. 

We as the people of Malaysia cannot give up. We cannot simply migrate and pretend, and forget our country. A fool, an idiot and a bloody deluded man I may be, but a faithful and honest fool I remain. I know I am doing this for the people. People who have suffered much in the prisons under the ISA are certainly doing it for the people. It's simply not worth it for money, fame or power. It's a reason, a calling greater than individual needs or wants, a desire to serve that overcomes the seduction of being served. That is why I am doing this.

Care more. Do more. And be the change you wish to see in the world. Because we should. Because we must. Because we can. Because we are Malaysians. And that, is why.

Leaks

Malaysia seems to have a bit of a preoccupation with leaks. From a certain MP commenting about a fellow MP's monthly "leaks", to the leaks that plague our ahem, integrity-driven ( but most definitely not of the structural type) Malaysian institutions, there seems to be no end of holes ( both the physical and people type of holes), in our country. The latest one comes in the form of a leak, of the SPM BM Kertas 2 paper, just hours before the actual exam.

Apparently, our compatriots in the North ( think Rice Bowl), mistakenly gave students Bm Kertas 2 in the morning of 23rd November 2010, when they were supposed to have given out Kertas 1 instead. A truly careless, callous, and thoughtless blunder of the highest order. And the best part is, they purportedly did not even realise it and let the students finish the entire paper! Following the completion of the paper, the gleeful students proceeded to spread the joy, raining down a flurry of SMSes to their pals. What happened next, is pretty obvious. Students who received the messages proceeded to open their books and read up on whatever had been revealed.

Well, I cannot prove or testify to the truth of the story, as I myself find it hard to believe such a blunder can be made. After all, examiners first read out the name and code of the paper, and follow that up with a " Ada apa-apa masalah tak? Sila pastikan anda menerima Kertas yang betul." I also find it rather implausible that of all the perhaps 20 invigilators present, among which there probably would have been Bm teachers, not even ONE saw sense and stopped the whole disaster ( or blessing to those students) from occurring. The whole arrangement also defies logic, after all, does not 1 come BEFORE 2? Or has the world truly turned upside down?

However, I myself saw the message, and its contents indeed concurred with what the paper included. So it's a rather moot point discussing whether or not the question leaked when the evidence is right in front of us.

What is not a moot point, however, is the weaknesses and problems this incident has revealed in our examination system. Firstly, if the incident truly happened as the tale above, then it has shown us either one of three things: One, that it was done on purpose, OR, that our invigilators are in fact, not vigilant at all, OR that our invigilators are visually impaired. As I have serious doubts that the latter is true, as invigilators are respected teachers who are perfectly physically capable, I will only discuss the implications the first two bring to light.

If indeed it was done on purpose, then it would truly be a rather unintelligent way to leak a question. Not only would it be too easily detected, there would be not much to gain from it, as the information would turn into a public product, easily transferred at minimal cost and profit to the leaker. It would be far more profitable to sell the paper under table ( not that I'm saying they do), and far more discreet. Unless of course, whoever did so is ... not very bright.

Conversely, if it was a mistake by the un-vigilators, then it has dreadful implications. It would show us a complete lack of vigilance, care and commitment on the part of the invigilators. The very same people, who educate and are our future leader's "second parents". Now, I'm not saying that all educators are lacking in commitment. In fact, I have the utmost respect for those teachers who have brought me up. However, we cannot simply brush off the implications this incident has. These educators, will bring up your child? They are supposed to teach them to be responsible, hardworking, dedicated individuals. And it truly pains me to even consider that this story might be true, that our teachers made this grave mistake, that will cost the nation a huge amount of shame and embarrassment.

The Ministry should own up and explain exactly how the incident happened lest the public goes about rumour mongering and cooking up wild speculations. Those involved should be punished, and a re-sit should be staged to salvage what semblance of integrity they still have. (though I highly doubt this will happen.)

Understandably, some parents will grumble that it is not their child's fault, but think about it. Is it fair for the rest? If your child profited from the leak, is there any value in that A? Would you be proud of your child? Would your child be able to look back, and say he truly earned that A? Would you want a 'leak' of his own sense of right and wrong? Life will throw further trials and tribulations at them. They will have to face them nonetheless. No more leaks this time. Only hard work, determination and a sense of integrity will help them, and certainly teaching them to keep quiet, and profit at the expense of their own conscience, is not the way to cultivate those values.