In The Beginning

These past few weeks has been a time of mixed feelings; conviction, doubts, excitement, fatigue and heaven knows what else. Tonight marks the three day countdown to D-day. In the tranquil night cooled by the early evening rain, I couldn't help but be transported back to about this time last year.

News were abuzz with the fact that Kelantan is facing a flood. I was thinking in my heart, 'So what? They are so used to it to even make a joke out of it!'

As days grew by though, I begin to arrive at the realization that this time, there could be something different. Before I knew it, regular folks at the local warongs were noisily talking about collecting clothes, food and other necessities for delivery to the flood hit areas. Suddenly, my interest is piqued.

Cruising through the internet, I finally come across something that is best labelled as a new phenomena, to me at least. I begin to notice the efforts of certain individuals which could best be described as simply miraculous for the very fact that it is simple and a miracle. Here are certain individuals who by getting the support of other like minded individuals have managed to get emergency aid to the flood survivors strictly on their own private initiatives.

They handled fundraising, logistics, transportation, needs management and etcetera like professionally run organizations. It was successful through it's simplicity and the fact that it works is a miracle. Unbeknownst to me, the seed of an idea has been firmly implanted in my mind.

Through these observations there is no way I could escape noticing the personalities responsible for these efforts. There was this pharmacist with a sizeable following of supporters comparable only to the number of detractors, some of whom were vocal enough with their threat of bodily harm and other not so pleasant actions. This same shy unassuming person managed to fill up all available space allocated for the flights to Kota Baru and some. Eventually, even some Ambassador decided to don a T shirt and jeans just to help with the manual labours at the aid centre.

There was this lady who gained notoriety by her highly colourful use of the English language when faced with issues that clearly victimized some minority flood survivors. The same person was responsible to ensure aid was delivered to a sizeable number of flood survivors some of whom were without proper food for more than a week.

Another lady caught my eye with an initiative called 'Projek Budu' as part of her other diverse activities during the flood. Apparently, some sympathetic individual decides that the flood survivors has suffered enough. So, a distribution of 'budu' was organized just so that the bleak daily life of the survivors could be lightened up with the addition of a comfort food in their daily diet.

There was also this particularly colourful character. A partner of a business in the entertainment industry where charitable causes would normally be last on their list. A person of such audacity, panache and the right amount of craziness to actually start a flood aid mission using a Mercedes Benz SLK as the mode of transport. When asked of his choice of vehicle, his only reply was that it's the only car he has.

This same individual were to later start another initiative to assist in the improvement of the deplorable living condition of the survivors after the flood. In order to do that, he actually walked from Kuala Lumpur to Kota Baru. A walk that finally took him 25 days to complete. A walk that changed me.

On Malaysia Day, he decided to hold an open house gathering in Raub. It was during the middle of the walk and seeing that I already have a soft spot for his cause that I thought to myself, 'Why not?' It helps that I was already in Kuala Lumpur at that time. So, I dragged along a couple of friends and happily drove to Raub. It was a memorable occasion as the people attending the event were all special in many aspects.

Fast forward to the last day of his walk. I took a bus from Johor Bahru to Kuantan to meet my friend who is already there and together we drove up to Kota Baru. According to plan, we were thinking of doing about 5 kms with him and re join him later at the final mile. I ended up doing 15 kms.

That night, we had a fantastically memorable dinner at a location which requires getting lost at least 5 times before finally arriving. It just so happens that I and my friend shares the same table with this group of highly dedicated volunteers from Kuala Lumpur.

A few weeks later, whilst in Kuala Lumpur, I ended up having coffee with one of them, Intrigued, I spent the time barraging him with questions to satisfy my curiosity. Very sportingly, he answers all of them, and some! We had a good time talking about things.

A few weeks later, I find myself attending one of their activities in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. Suffice to say, it was a moving experience.

And so it came to pass that the series of events brought me to that fatefull evening a few weeks back. I was back in Johor Bahru and was at home. Before I could come to the realization of the full impact of my actions, I posted a statement in a local group highlighting the existence of the homeless and urban poor community. The next thing I know, one of the respondents to my post said the magic word, 'Ok. Count me in'. It seems that she was only the first of many to do so. That made me come to the sudden realization that there's no turning back.

Which is where I am today. A facebook page with the name Friends & Strangers were started to facilitate the activities planned. Three activities has been shortlisted being homeless and urban poor food aid, English tuition for the underprivileged and heritage appreciation events. Tonight, it is only three days for our first event is due to start.

Hence this tribute, for without the influences of these people above and others, none of this would come to be.

... as i was passing ...

They say imitation is the best form of flattery. I remember the enjoyable moments reading the works of Sri Delima, aka Adibah Amin of the same title. It brings with it the spirit of nostalgia and romance from a bygone era, the charms of which are totally lost in today's' fast changing world.

Somehow or rather, I am reminded of the time where interstate travel was best done by utilizing the railways. My favorite is the night train called the Senandung Malam from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur. As a school going teenager in Petaling Jaya with a 'kampung' in Johor Bahru, I would be making the inevitable pilgrimage back to JB every school holidays and back again when it's time to get back to school and all the realities with it.

Looking back, the journeys to and fro are some of the most distinct memories that I can recall from the period. It was really a romance from a bygone era. I would start off by walking from Kg Tunku to SEA Park in PJ via shortcuts to grab another piece of museum artifact, the Minibus. The exhilarating ride in one of the most efficient public transport service ever would take me right up to the railway station, and the start of my main adventure.

Why not get my uncle to send me to the station by car? Well, that would chip away a chunk of my adventure experience, and we wouldn't want that, would we?

The next steps would involve the purchase of ticket and making my way down to the allocated platform. It is an experience by itself as you walk through the underground tunnel to emerge at your designated platform with a feeling of awe at the grandeur, majesty and history of the place.

I recall a particularly memorable experience at the station. It was the height of John Travolta's Saturday Night Fever and true to the times, I was decked in a cream polyester pants, tropical shirt with floral patterns, a sling bag (the ladies might want to call it a handbag, but it's not. I'm a man, you see!) and to top it off, I was decked in my one month old shiny genuine crocodile leather top two inch heels! Yes, exactly like the genuine article from the movie!

The excitement starts at the ticket counter when right after handing over my ticket, the counter clerk told me; 'Platform 3. Hurry up. The train is leaving! I was also carrying a standard suitcase with about a weeks worth of articles packed!

What to do? Immediately, I crossed the gates (with sympathetic guards urging me on) and bounded down the stairs through the tunnel to emerge at the platform, in all my finery, luggage and two inch heels, which just makes the short journey very interesting indeed.

Only to find the train slowly pulling out of the station! Not to be outdone (certainly not, after all the running and lugging in heels!) I chased after the train. Suffice to say I eventually managed to throw my luggage into one coach with myself boarding another coach behind it by grabbing on to the handles and hanging on to dear life whilst finding my footing at the staircase. Exhilarating! Oh ya, I still need to find my suitcase from the other coach.

The saving grace was, I was greeted with a short applause after! Expessions of such nature were not a rarity those days.

The real experience of night train riding is however, reserved till the later hours. Upon leaving the station, two social areas would immediately be created by the passengers. One being at the cafeteria whilst the other would be at this place called the train verandah. In those days, there will be verandahs at the ends of every coach. It is a beautiful place, where people would stand holding on to the bannisters, the cool night air brushing against your face and, surprise of all, conversations.

And that's how we while the night and the distance away. The rule is you can talk about anything. Everybody's a stranger with the shared condition of being stuck in the train, up to nine hours for most. This is where romance and sometimes even magic lend itself to the night.

Some will have a can of coke in their hands, others can be seen contorted against the bodywork in a vain effort to light a cigarette (those days we use matches, lighters being the exclusive domains of the rich and James Bond) then, with a lighted cigarette in hand someone will start a conversation. Normally, the opening line would be 'JB or Singapore' and that's how we start, with the click-clacking of the rails underneath, the howl of the wind around us and the night's coolness paying rapt attention to our efforts to connect.

And that's what it's all about, really! To reach out and make a connection with another human being! The conversations were merely the excuse as for the life of me, I can't seem to remember any of it. But strangely enough, I can recall the settings, the environments, even the styles of some of the participants of the verandah sessions in vivid memory.

Talking about the participants, they comes in all shapes and color. There's the young and the old, the urbanites, the quintessential village types, professionals, businessmen, students, factory workers, in short, men and women from all strata of society.

What's the common ground, then? Well we all share this urge to connect. Interestingly, I have not been able to recall meeting up with the religious types from any denominations at the verandah sessions. I wonder why?

And then, there are surprises. Someone might just slide against the railings with a 'Tupperware' in hand. Next thing you know, we are all laughing merrily away with a chicken wing in hand.

Not all encounters started off pleasantly, though. I remember one incident at the cafeteria. Two guys from the Special Forces were noisily making love to their beers. At another table, there was another armed forces personnel of Sikh descent quietly nursing his coffee. A sudden inspiration seem to strike someone from the beer table and the next thing you know, they are singing an army song (derived from a children's song – words will not be reprinted here) that is quite insulting to the Sikh community. Racism rearing it's ugly head, so we all thought. After the third round or so of the same song, it starts to get too much for the lone infantryman and the next thing we knew, he rose up from his table and stride over to the beer table. There follows an argument with words like preserving honor and insult being the centerpiece of the exchange.

All of a sudden, one of the guys at the table stood up, and says....... 'sorry la Singh, we're just having fun'. The other guy follow suit and the next thing you know, the two guys were trying to hug the victim whilst the victim puts up a vain attempt at avoidance. Amidst the reluctance, we suddenly found the victim being seated as a guest at the table and next thing you knew, the beer starts flowing again.

When the tenseness subsides, I waddled out of the cafeteria to my verandah session. Much later, I heard loud noises coming from the cafeteria. Curiosity got the better of me and I make my way back to the cafeteria. Guess what I found?

The three guys (the Sikh included) were giving a throaty rendition of the same offensive song earlier, one arm around each others' shoulder and the other arm holding a can of beer each, for continued nutritive fortification!

Oh, did I mention that all this were happening at around 70kmh with everyone doing their best to maintain their balance. I'm sure we'd all make good samba dancers then.

And so it goes on, we continue with our journey. Some might go back to their seat to sleep whilst for some others that would have been such a waste as there's so many things happening around us.

I remember one particular journey where I would step onto the station every time the train stops just so that I can tell my friends that I have been to all the districts covered by the railroads. In one instance, I even managed to have a whole cup of coffee at the Gemas station! Indeed, one of the finest local coffee I've had.

So what happens when we arrive? We disperse the same way we convene. No painfully pretentious goodbyes, no hugging or dramas of undying friendship, really, nothing of that sort! The most would be a handshake, the norm would be a wave of the hand and bye being the most popular phrase used.

For that moment in time that we we're together, we've shared our thoughts, our dreams, our fears and heaven knows what else. I think that it was one of the most sincere interactions one could find. There is no extraction of loyalty, confidentiality, commitment and what nots. Absolutely nothing of that sort.

We all gave, expecting nothing in return.

For some, they might pass each other on the streets some time later, but chances are, they might not even recognize each other.

You see, at the verandahs, all men are equal.................

Freedom

A lot has been said about freedom. Some has made its equation to their status in a nation, others have turned t into a movement. Some refer to it as their status in a document whilst others prefer the more ambigous version. Whatever form it takes, freedom is indeed a very precious commodity to mankind.

Not many though has explored what, in my mind, real freedom is. To me there is no freedom unless we can have freedom of mind.

'Surely, such a simple thing that is' some say 'as no one knows what I think, so no one can stop me from thinking whatever thoughts I want to'. Indeed that is how it appears to be. We are so presumptous of the fact that we have always been free to think our thoughts. 'As long as it stays in my mind, no one can stop what I'm thinking' say others.

Truth be told, it is indeed a fallacy. A fantasy we create to provide us with the illusion that we are being who we think we are. The very same fantasy that allows us to live with the illusion that we have control over our own lives, our views, our likes and our dislikes.

In reality, we are only able to think what we allow ourselves to think. We filter our minds with taboos, prejudices, impressions, training, culture and many other factors, internal or otherwise. We think according to certain specified criteria we have set for ourselves. Some of which, were colored by our past experiences of triumphs, defeats, joys, sorrows and added to that would also be scars from the past.

This would bring us face to face with the most powerful culprit, FEAR. I believe it is the single most important factor in shaping our thought process, by erecting walls of limitations in our mind. Fear enslaves us, thus taking away our freedom of thought.

The irony of it all is, we are the one who puts in these limitations ourselves. We are the ones enslaving our own minds!

Imagine, how we would think if we could only strip our mind off these limitations!

To start with, the song Imagine by John Lennon comes to mind. Most would not understand it. Some would label it blasphemous. Others would even consider it the rantings of a twisted mind. With freedom of mind, though, one could actually appreciate it and see things in a totally different light. New perspectives would begin to open and we would be amazed at our impression of things we have long taken for granted.

Someone I knew has recently managed to pull herself out from a rut she was tragically stuck in for some years. One day after her recovery, she drove back to her parents place and was delightfully surprised to find that her way home was shaded with trees lining both sides of the streets, giving her a welcoming feeling of comfort. It was so amazing to her because the trees has been there for years and is the only road leading back to her home all the while. But she has never noticed it till now!

Soon, new opportunities begins to open for her when there was only setbacks previously. Things just somehow managed to work itself out and the woman whose life was stuck in a rut is beginning to fly like a butterfly.

Amazing, what freedom of mind can do to you.

DP

The term above will evoke all sorts of mixed responses from people. For those schooled in the arts of digitized gratification, it might elicit some response via symptoms of palpitations, slight difficulty in breathing, decreased concentration and difficulty in maintaining a straight sitting position. The political historians might recall a certain DP Vijandran, aka 'Dexter' for his proven dexterity.

I hate to be the one throwing in the wet blanket, but unfortunately, both are far from what we are referring to here.

The term was actually coined at the end of World War ll and initially applied to and mentioned specifically as a European problem. Obviously problems of this proportion tends to take a life of it's own and eventually, what started as a European phenomena managed to spill across the globe, tainting with it local political perspective and injecting a totally mixed cultural response wherever it landed. Some of these responses, whilst passive, still teems with strong undercurrents of disapproval whilst in other instances, it erupts into full scale violence.

The term DP stands for Displaced Person and was largely used to refer to the refugees, Jews being a sizable portion of the figure, made homeless after the war. Whilst we knew what happens to the Jews (somehow they managed to find their way back to the promised land, after a few thousand years, that is). Suffice to say, the handling of this problem back then leaves a lot to be desired and as a result, new problems were created. This new condition still persist till this day with the original DPs becoming the local and the locals reduced to being the newly minted DPs.

Years later, a similar but much more manageable situation was created with the tearing down of the iron curtain. Overnight, people found themselves to be suddenly without a country. In desperation, some turned to the oldest profession in the world and due to the unavailability of a local paying market, they repositioned themselves for export.

Overnight, an old industry was transformed with the injection of new technology and talents. This phenomena allows the industry to garner fresh interest and open new market from sectors previously bored with past services offered.

However, all good things must come to an end and via some political arrangements made halfway across the globe, these DPs were eventually provided with a legitimate place they can call home.

Fortunately for those merry men, the eventual resettlement of these DPs does not in any way effect the the vigor of the industry, in fact, with the added drive from newly found capitalism, there seems to be an upmarket trend in the said industry which is still reporting record growth at the time of writing.

Some years back, DPs were paid a special tribute when their plight were brought to the attention of the world by Tom Hanks in the movie, The Terminal.

Being a DP is really not fun at all. You have no bank account, no passport, no way to get married, not permitted to have children (just go through the process but don't produce!) and many other things that we took for granted in our normal life.

Anyway, enough background material! What I want to say is that nowadays, DPs still exist. Though small in number, they can be found at all corners of the globe, even in this beloved country of ours (I mean Malaysia here).

Whilst the DPs of the past were political in nature, these new breed of DPs are all cultural in nature.

Actually, it happens because of the imbalances in progress and change. The DPs of today do not have any of the traditional DP problems such as passport, marriage, giving birth, banking (alright, some may have serious issues to sort out with their banks) or others but it is more of exercising their cultural rights in society at large. In other words, they are simply people that just doesn't fit into society.

I am not referring to people who is a menace to society. Nor am I talking about those whose deeds makes them subjects of embarrassment.

I am talking about supposedly 'normal' people. The only problem they have is that they are at a totally different intellectual wavelength from society at large. Let's just refer to them as Cultural DPs.

With their different cultural outlook, beliefs, perception and other characteristics, they are generally relegated to a different strata in society, consciously or otherwise. It has to happen this way as both parties (Cultural DPs and mainstream society) really have difficulty finding common grounds. Even if a common ground can be found, most often than not, the relationship will be grounded merely on tolerance, rather than acceptance.

As we all know, that is really not a good foundation for any relationship. Someone once said that for any relationship to work, it must be based on the fundamentals of mutual trust, respect and acceptance. When the ingredients are not there, it just won't work.

These Cultural DPs may even be considered as a pariah of society, irrespective of their financial status, but herein lies the difference. For all intent and purposes, these Cultural DPs actually considers the general society as pariahs. With quiet accusations of pariahs flying around between these two camps, it is no wonder that a solution for integrating the two will never be within reach. As the English are so fond of saying, Never The Twain Shall Meet!

Thus these Cultural DPs actually ostracize themselves from society though according to the other side of the camp, they were ostracized by society. A matter of perspective, really, depending on which side of the fence you're on.

In spite of all these, these Cultural DPs not only survived, but actually thrives. Like wolves in the wild, they begin to form packs. Others may prefer the solitary route. Whichever way they choose to operate, these Cultural DPs somehow or rather manages to make an impact in their surrounding, actively or passively. Whilst society at large would go down the well trodden path, these Cultural DPs will open new ones, building roads where there's none. Discovering innovations, spurring growth. They become agents of change.

This comes as no surprise as by and large these Cultural DPs are actually in possession of high intellect. With their unbridled view of life and it's surroundings, they are able to break new grounds in their chosen fields, be it the arts, business, engineering, teaching and whatever field they jumped into.

For want of a better word, they are usually referred to as mavericks. However, if they are successful or influential, they would then be labeled as someone with a unique approach in handling matters.

Alas, they know better. They realize that they are merely being tolerated. So it goes when the day ends, they will go back to their private enclave, lost in their own thoughts, most of which, would not be understood by the general society. A lonely world to be in.

For the lucky ones though, they manage to form packs of like minded peoples. In some instances, these packs would also be converted into pacts, whether transitory or even permanent. The are also the most fortunate amongst them who managed to find their soul mate and settled down to a life of joy and bliss, disrupted momentarily when he inadvertently forgets to take out the garbage. However, by the time they wake up in each others arm the next morning, all quarrels were forgotten and life is blissful again. For these lucky ones, some evenings were found in company of good standing where dinner chatter can last the whole night and peals of laughter is as unabated as water down the falls.

Some unlucky souls though, in order to integrate themselves into society with the fantasy of their being normal, would be stuck into relationships or even marriage where things are not as rosy as it may seem. For some, it will be totally untrue to say that there's no love involved. However, due to the disparity in intellect and culture, there will be this uneasy undercurrent always threatening to surface. In spite of the love, a partner in the relationship may spend sleepless nights staring into the heavens to fill the emptiness in their heart not understood by their partners. Those with less self control would eventually start cruising the nights to fill their time with activities to either enrich their minds, or totally numb it! A wretched state of existence to be in but in life, we reap what we sow.

Whichever way we want to look at it, accept the fact. If you're different, you're different. Period. Having crossed that bridge, we should then start to deal with the reality. Never make the mistake of assuming a level of 'normalcy' for it is purely a fantasy. Instead, carve a niche in the world around us! Nurture it well and let it grow.

A song by Sting, An Englishman In New York comes to mind. It starts by pointing out how different he is from others and ends with the words....be yourself, no matter what they say'....

So, by now you'd be asking yourself this question, 'Am I a DP?' Well, if you can read these writings and actually appreciate it, chances are you're one.

Me? I dunno. Can't understand any of the above . . .