Burst my bubble!

Dear Thelma,
Sometimes I feel that I am breathless. I can't breath. I feel that I have been forced to do what I do not want to, or rather what the society wants me to do. And I have been shortchanged!
I grew up with lots of dreams and ambitions. I wanted to be somebody, away from these misery and constant tone of melancholia and sad songs that seem to be the background score of our daily life. I wanted to be free. I wanted to escape from the clutches of poverty.
Since young, only X seem to understand me. Coming from a similar background, he could relate to what I felt. Only thing that he is a male and I, a female.
Over time, our feelings changed, from one of empathy and understanding, it metamorphosed into something intimate. Our raging hormones which just spurred from nowhere eventually pushed us to cross the boundaries set by society. Suddenly, there was no barrier, no shame. The boundary guarded and protected all this while was now breached.
Why is it that I feel so guilty? I have not done anything wrong or have I? Something so good cannot be so wrong! Now there are telling me that all my big wonderful mountain high dreams have to take a back burner. The fence of decency had been breached and the law of nature must be respected. Our bond must be formally sanctioned by the forces that be. We cannot just go on happy without public declarations.
That was 3 years ago. Now with 1 infant screaming day and night and another quickening in my body, my dreams seem like a distant planet - visible but unreachable.
As if they had an audience with the Forces of Nature, they restricted my reproductive function. Contraception is 4-lettered word in my in-law's family. I thought I was in a hell hole but now I am in a dragon's den, from frying pen to fire.
Why do they keep bringing me down? They put the fear of God and unheard cryptic scriptures to cow me into submission.
If religion was made to transform human from being a savage to a sage, why is it that there are savagely exerting their authority over me?
In front of eyes my sandcastles came crumbling down.... Just sandcastles in the air that popped like a bubble.

Don't judge me!

Dear Thelma,

I am a 19 year old lady with very low self esteem right now. I am writing with the hope that you may empathise with my predicament. Hopefully you can help me justify with the big action that I am going to do right now.
Growing up in the interior of Sarawak, education was not a priority. Carrying on clan's tradition and continuing the women's roles in the family was paramount to the existence of our gender. As the importance of education and need for self empowerment were not impressed upon us, we were raised to believe that we were born to serve the men folks and keep the home in pristine condition and not to stress up the men of the house. Going to school, which itself was a bore, a chore and a burden to the family, I found the long journey to school on raft and foot a nuisance. Hence, I was pleasantly and naively surprised when I joined the band of girls who started vomiting in school, not due sub-optimal preparation of canteen meals but rather because of bludgeoning dose of placental hormones and HCG on the medulla oblongata!
At the speed of lightning (very very frightening me), I saw my carefree days of childhood crush tumbling down like a deck of dominos. I was paraded through a ceremony to give a name to our lusty at the spur of the moment escapade. Very soon my physique ballooned out of proportion unimaginable even in my wildest nightmare!
At the speed of lightning too, I discovered that the man of life was a two (or maybe three) timer and also the man of another woman before me and had offsprings to prove his virility!
As I discovered that as my petite body bloated up with edema of pregnancy, my affaire d'amour with my 'The One' came crumbling down. I was just another one of the statistic of the many helpless victims of 'The One'!
A protracted pregnancy and labour ended with an offspring with essentially killed my childhood. Free time for me was folding diapers and cleaning the house. One year went on... My long lost aunt appeared from nowhere to change my life. She told me to take charge of my life. She persuaded me to crawl out of the cocoon that I have built for myself and change my life. She peeled opened my eyes to see a world more than just brooding over my misfortune.
With a renewed zest for life and the glitz for the good life, I made a drastic make over of myself. Off I came to the Peninsular for life anew.
The blinding lights of the city brought me to heights unimaginable by a village lass like me. In due time, it brought to me the acquaintance of Mr Z. The showering of gifts and attention must have drowned in his sea of love. Pretty soon the sweet fruit of passion begin to rear its ugly head. The spinning whirlwind of dizziness with accompanying sickness without motion soon ensued.
Suddenly reality hit me smack on my head! History seem to be repeating itself, yet again!
What kind of a mother am I?
One unplanned unwanted child growing up in wilderness like undergrowth, unattended to, without love and attention, without role model to follow, without a mother, unwanted and shooed away like a house fly! And now, as if bringing one wild flower to the world is not enough, I am here with another, out in the world so cold. Unsupported and unable to stand on my own two feet. How many times am I going to be the source of offspring who are a nuisance to others? What can I do? What should I do?
I want to start living as a wife and mother like anyone else, married and settled down. My partner, somehow, has other plans. He cites young age and need to improve his economic status as sufficient reason to terminate our art of love! Am I just a pawn in the game of love and sweet nothingness?
It is easy for the uppity high-browed individuals to judge me, that I deserve what I got, that I am short on the religious faculty. It is easy to judge. To err is is human, be in my shoes and you will understand....
Right here still waiting.

Dear Thelma...

27.4.2010

Malaysian Indian, Indian Malaysian or Malaysian?
Dear Thelma,

I am confused. I am at a crossroads. I was born in Malaysia some almost half a century ago in a government hospital to two Malaysian parents whose parents were also born in Malaysia. My parents and grandparents contributed in their own way (albeit their low status in the rung of the social ladder) to put Malaysia on the world map so at least some Americans now know that there is not a void space between Thailand and Singapore; and Himalaya and Malaya is not interchangeable; or Malaya is not a female equivalent of He-Malaya!

I started my primary education with Malaysian Language as the medium of instruction even though other countries in the region were keeping up with the Joneses and emphasized on the English Language because our leaders told us that it would unite the people and stop internal squabbling. All my subjects from Standard 1 to Upper Six were taught in Bahasa Malaysia, even though we did not have enough reference books at the higher levels and we had to translate (in our head) what we read in English before writing it on our examination papers. I only learned my mother tongue from my mother (duh!) and the POL classes. I obtained a distinction in Bahasa Malaysia at ‘O’ levels. I speak the Malay Language, English, more than smattering of Hockkien and Cantonese dialects (also swear in these dialects as well) and Hindi/Punjabi. I can understand the Malay in its different dialects – Apo nak dikato (Negri); also a Malay song by the local group, Blues Gang; Hangpa pi sana ‘ngan sapa? (Northern); Kecek Kelantan gak gewek (Kelantan); Makang ikang (Terengganu), etcetera. I have many Malaysian friends of various ethnic and religious backgrounds. I also rejoice during their merry making cultural and religious events.

I furthered my studies at a Malaysian university, spent 2 years living and dining amongst people of Kelantan. I started working with the Malaysian Ministry of Health (12 years altogether), serving people of all races in various states in Malaysia. I pay my dues as a responsible citizen by paying hefty taxes regularly and vote in the General Elections. I know the lyrics of the Malaysian anthem (Negara Ku) by hard and stand at attention when the Jalur Gemilang is hoist or Negara Ku is played. I cheer my Malaysian team whenever they are competing even though they are losing. When I am overseas and foreigners asked me whether I am Indian, I proudly tell them I am Malaysian. That reminds of the 80s’ song by ‘Men at Work’ titled ‘Down Under’…

Buying bread from a man in Brussels
He was six foot four and full of muscle
I said, "Do you speak-a my language?"
He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich
And he said,
"I come from a land down under
Where beer does flow and men chunder
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover." (Yeahhh!...

But now, my Deputy Prime Minister (and Prime Minister) say I am Indian first then only I am Malaysian. How can I call myself Indian when I have not set foot on Indian soil and have no plans to do so either? I am sure the Indian Government has no interest in me too. Maybe they and their people may want our economic support via the well orchestrated guise of temples. Thelma, I am going ravaging mad. I need an answer now. Please help me fast. I can hear the paramedics entering my house to strap the straight jacket on me!

FG.

Dear FG,

I will see you in person in the psychiatry ward after you are more lucid with your insight intact and after the doctors have medicated, stabilized and rehabilitated you. You see, I do not want to lose my publication licence. Please fight your own battles as I have been fighting mine.

Thelma.