Boxing day and the truth it brings

26/12. Boxing day. An annual pilgrimage of keen shoppers all over to the high streets in the chase of tempting bargains, massive discounts and reductions which only appear on this very day. They came in masses, flooding the roads like a sea of men sipping into every space of the stores. This is the day when friends from near and far would assemble in London for the thrill of the 'hunt'. I have to admit that shopping is not an activity i consider as my cup of tea. Instead, i am more interested in something more priceless and valuable that they have to offer; information and the truth.

I have to admit that i can easily give in to shallow words and shallower promises. At times, i have only see the best in people, especially those who are markedly significant and prominent, that you put so much trust in them. I end up being oblivious to the red flags which warns me of the sinister back-stabbing plots which yet to follow. They masked themselves in the veils of innocence and kindness, hiding conspiracies and scandals which has only left me in shambles. Times are difficult. Though dissapointment has only elevated my concentration to focus on my studies, accepting the dismal conclusions was like swallowing a bitter pill, and it only makes me more thirsty for the truth. With friends coming from all over, i have the chance to reopen my past and start arranging the missing pieces.

I am not here to condemn any parties or individuals, and the details of my conversations i refuse to disclose, but i am writing just to point out my own weaknesses which has lead only to my own turmoil. I realised that i am naive and gullible, easily being fooled by empty talks and shallow promises. I must not let my guard down, and be more cunning next time. I also noticed that i have compromised a lot of my values for a mirage of pleasure and enchantment. I let emotion besieged rationality, altering my reality to her mold. For years, i have accommodated myself to the wants and demands of others,but in my absence, deceit and betrayal became my only reward.

Most importantly, i realised that i am weak. Once i fell, i had to crawl, walk, and by then, can i only run back again. But the truth i got, though hurtful, has brought me back to reality, as quoted by Jim Davis 'The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable'.

Just would like to share an excerpt from Greys:

'The truth is painful. Deep down, nobody wants to hear it, especially when it hits close to home. Sometimes we tell the truth because the truth is all we have to give. Sometimes we tell the truth because we need to say it out loud to hear it for ourselves. And sometimes we tell the truth because we just can't help ourselves. Sometimes, we tell them because we owe them at least that much.'

Some art pieces from Malaga i would like to share :

by Juliao Sarmeto, 2000-2010. Taken from MALAGA CONTEMPORARY ART CENTRE

A fling with the military

I remembered when i was 13, i fancy being in the military, and i always fantasised myself being in army uniform, serving at the front lines as a medic. I run towards the battle-scorned field without hesitation against the current of civilians running away, in the shower of bullets, attending a wounded soldier; a true angel in the midst of the battlefield. Therefore, i found the Royal Military College in Sungai Besi as my first stepping stone to turn my day dreams into something more tangible. But judging from my not-so-tall physique, i have to contend to the idea that the military is not made for a 'petite' guy like me. So, my fling with the military slowly laid to rest in time.

Until now.

I had been eying a book for a quite some time, Confessions of an Economic Hit Man by John Perkins and thankfully, i had the whole 2 weeks of my winter break in Spain to finish the book together with Amartya Sen's Development as Freedom, away from the hassles and packed schedule of my medical studies ( though i have tonnes of research paper to go through). All of the sudden, my long-forgotten dreams of being in service is raised from the dead, incarnated in a whole new form, utilising tools which i believe are more effective and systematic than the use of force and violence; developmental economics. Given my full time commitment in the medical field, i acknowledged that i am in no position of critiquing the the current state of the economy or suggesting economic models that could release millions of people from the shackles of poverty and famine. I am also well-informed that my inadequate knowledge of politics would not put my opinions of governance in a place where it will be valued.

But what i can say is this. i realised that most of us who are privileged enough to obtain a decent university education are not just bounded by the responsibility which are set on the piece of paper after completing our degrees, but it goes far and beyond that. Being pragmatist (maybe a bit of realist as well), i believe that our ignorance towards the issues around the world has led to further deterioration of what now can be classified as humanity crisis. It came to me that my list of duties and responsibilities also includes towards humanity and community, especially after i opted myself in medicine, and i realised that the least i can do to fulfill this call of duty is to be aware of what's going on in the world and the struggles of millions who are in dire need. I had a conversation once with Ammar Roslizar, and he instilled the idea in me that in this era, human science will prevail as a driving force of civilizations and whoever could master this realm of knowledge, he or she will become the masters of the world. This notion enticed me further to spur my understanding of development, governance and economy.

So, i might opted to go into the army, after my conversation with Saffa about the excitement of being in the military, maybe travel around the world to see and meet more people and to have a larger perspective of the world, or i can march myself towards the front lines, with governance and economy as my preparation, medicine as my uniform, values and principles as my compass, my voice and actions as weapons. Or God-forbid, i might not do anything.

Of sleepless nights 2

Whose very existence is sustained by superficial recognition and attention; fueled only by hauteur,

I rise above and beyond.

And i am capable of better.

-anonymous-

Of sleepless night 1

I noticed recently that i showed signs of pseudo-imsonia, where my efforts of shutting my eyes to a good night sleep seem so futile. Rather than wasting my time counting sheeps, i feel my nocturnal active state of mind is best to be put to good use by brushing off the dust of my blog i left for more than a year, and hopefully, i can dozed myself to sleep with all the boring stuff i post on it.

My second year promises me a whole lot more clinical, with more patients and more real-life health conditions. Most medical students has this sexy fantasy of patients coming to them with a constellation of symptoms, and using their medical wisdom, they would trace them back to their diagnosis. Sounds something out of House, but in reality, it is not as exciting as it is on the tele. I thought that it would be dry; student gets patient's history, student figures out the diagnosis and treatment, student presents findings to the consultant, student gets his/her butt kick for giving the wrong diagnosis. Very typical. However, my recent sessions at the hospital and consultations have given me something more than what i bargained for.

Consultations room are windows to humanity at its darkest and finest hours. It is the very place where doctors would break the very bad news that would turn the patient's life upside down. At the same time, in that very same room, i watched courage prevails in the chaos of struggle and devastation. Their conditions are more serious than a mere fever and winter cold; these are conditions that shackle them to a life-long regime of drugs that they have to take in dozens a day. It's not easy to accept the fact that an expiration date has been put on you, and you see death lurking in every dark corners. But despite it all, they have shown great determination and courage to stay alive. Science can only do so much, but what really brings them through the ordeal are the very same thing you find in the eyes of a child in a refugee camp and in the tears of a single mother who raise her children all by herself; strength, courage and hope. It is at times of struggle, that men returns to their most admirable traits and qualities, which forever resonates into the lives of many, becoming a source of inspiration to those who seek or suffer.

And for every second i spend on this path, i am truly grateful.

Stand up agains poverty

STAND WITH US - REGISTER NOW!

On October 16, 17 and 18th, millions of people around the world will "Stand Up and Take Action" against poverty and for the Millennium Development Goals. The mobilization will send a clear message to world leaders that we refuse to be silent in the face of ongoing poverty and inequality. Stand Up & Take Action, coordinated by the UN Millennium Campaign and the Global Call to Action Against Poverty (GCAP), is a global event in which citizens urge their leaders to keep their promises to achieve the Millennium Development Goals.
We heard from organizers around the world about the many Stand Up events planned. These events include concerts, silent vigils, tree plantings, campus rallies and many more creative event ideas. Last year 116 million people participated, breaking the Guinness World Record for the largest mobilization around a single-cause event in recorded history.

Yellow and brown folders

I was somehow awaken from my sleep by an unrully and unexpected phonecall around 11 am. It was my mother at school, asking me to head straight to the school. It sounded urgent, but i was quite dubious of her summoning me early in the morning while she was at her workplace. Being my mom, i know far too well of her schemes. I took a short shower, and i was on my way to MRSM Kuantan.

My mom was waiting for me with that cheeky smile of her, signalling that i have a task waiting for me somewhere in the school. She brought me to a room where piles and piles of yellow and brown folder lie stacked on the floor. I know that what i was about ot do will involve me mendling with all those folders. They were folders of student's information, going back all the way to 2005. My mother's friend briefed me on the task in hand; i was to key in certain information of students into spreadsheets to be sent to MARA HQ. Being raised by MARA all my life, a little typing and keying in is the list i can do. Sounds easy, but the folders do not just contain names and personal details about them, but they hid a sorrow chorus of grimness which the families of these students had to endure in the secluded areas around Malaysia they call home.

One of the folder tells about a student who came from a family of 15 siblings. What shattered me was the fact that the only breadwinner in the family was a just a single mother, who worked as a Felda settler with a monthly income of just RM600. I just could not comprehend the idea of a single mother could feed such a huge family. My family spend at least RM 250 for groceries every fortnight, and my family is only 6 people big. Instead this is a woman who brought up 15 children with an RM 600 paycheck. My attempt to imagined the situation and the standard of living that they had to go through was beyond comprehend, emotionally and logically.

Another was about a student whose father was a pensioner who relies on RM 400 a month to raise a family of 7. One could not help to ponder what kind of life do they lead, what kind of shelter do they live in, what kind of food do they consume... questions that stabed and ached my heart.

These are a few of the many stories of families who had to endure such tribulations and hardships. After all this while, i though stories like theirs are only plots in soap dramas on the television. But these are true life accounts, real-life conditions which these families had to endure, but sadly go unnotice. I was fortunate enough to be born in a family which is able to provide more than my essentials. How would they have survived with that small amount of money in this very hard times.

How can i eat with ease when they are people out there who can't afford a decent meal and their staple food are just tubers and rice donated to them?

How can i wear the many clothes i have when there are people out there whose clothes are all torn and worn out by time and dirt?

How can i enjoy the comfort of my home when there are families who had to call a crammed one-room hut as their home?

It just kills me.......

Tarawikh

Scrumptous, spicy, negeri sembilan food served with sugary desserts have always greeted my family on my mother's side at least once every Ramadhan. It has been a tradition for us to have this family-get-togethe-cum-iftar where most of my family members will assemble at my Mak Teh's house to break fast and have Tarawikh together. It's kind the once-every-year thingy, like raya where the whole family will convene in a fiesta of gastronomical festicvities. It was supposed to be those normal gathering that we had every year, but somehow, it turned out to be one which has surely left a huge mark not just in my 20 years of life, but it would be my realization to a turning point which starts to unravel in the coming days of my life.

My family was somehow appointed to 'foresee' the planning and the invitation of the event, though it was held in Damansara. Pak Lang and Pak Ngah, with their pious exterior and interior, have always been asked to lead thefamily's tarawikh. Unfortunately, my Pak Lang was in Mecca performing his umrah. My mom thought it would be nice if the 3rd generation would take the lead as the imam. So, she chosed me. I don't have any problem with it all, though my Ayat Lazim and Baqarah needed some brushing up to do. No piggy for me at all.

That night, i took lead of the congregation, reciting what's left of the memorized Al-Baqarah inside my head. I've done it a couple of times, so it was something that send shiver down my spines. A few glitches here and there, but alhamdullillah, everything went well and we completed the 8 rakaat of tarawikh and 3 rakaats of witir. It's those normal solat jemaah, and nothing fancy bout it. However, as the male line dissolved, what i saw completely shocked me. One of my aunties was emotionally crying, and i could see pools of tears formed in the water-glistened eyes if my grandma and my aunties. Was i that bad? i thought. Somehow, grandma extended her hands, waving it at me, asking me to appraoch her. She opened her arms and i could feel the warmth of a grandmother's love towards her grandson as she hugged me thighly. I could feel warm-tears slowly flowed down my neck, and she said to me "Inilah hadiah terbaik yang wan boleh dapat". One of my aunty held my hand and she hoped that this must not stop here. A wavering surge of my family's hope and aspiration gushed into the the my very veins, and from there, it came to me.

I have always thought that the only way i could prove myself worthy of my family's love is through worldly, tangible achievements. This axiom has fueled my never-ending thirst for victories, accomplishments, and glory. A tradition of excellence has slowly and gradually established in the pressure of proving myself to my family. But after that night, after i felt the comforting warmth of my grandma's hugs, the family's hope and aspiration from my aunties, i realized that what i have achieved after all this while came second. From what i see, what matters the most to them is to see the generation under them, and the coming generations, could sustain themselves not just physically, but spiritually as well. They want us to be righteous in mind and heart, where actions and decisions are made based on values engraved in the pages of the Quran and Sunnah. They know, without a shadow of doubt, that we are capable of gathering wealth and richess of the world, but it won't mean a cent if we are poor in heart and love. And i believe the same idea is shared by other families as well.

I am no cleric, and i have made a few mistakes of my own, but life is all about growing and learning, and indeed i have learned something new today.

An RM 29.90 pants

17 boys from MaBIQ, the local tahfiz school, ranging from the age of 6 to 16, greeted us as we stepped into Kamdar. The awe and excitement was apparent on their faces. My dad’s company was generous enough to donate RM 150 each for them to buy new Baju Melayu and clothes for them to celebrate on Hari Raya with their family, and my mother add in another 1000 to make their shopping trip a day to remember. These boys are from impoverished areas around Kuantan, who are not able to get a decent education as they can’t afford to get one. Some of them came all the way from Perak, though the question of how they end up in Kuantan I am not sure of the answer. At the school, their curriculum is Islamic oriented, where they emphasized a lot on memorizing the Quran and the Syariah.

It really caught my attention to see how the hopped from one section of the place to another. From their action, it is quite clear that they are quite hesitant of spending a ‘huge’ amount of money on clothes which they deemed are very ‘fancy’ and ‘posh’. Bear in mind that this is Kamdar where the baju melayu over there just cost around RM 20 to 90.

I got to assist a 16 year-old boy named Suhaimi on his ‘shopping spree’. I observed him as he hovered from one pants to another, flipping them from side to side, but after an hour over there, he didn’t come to a conclusion of what pants to buy. I convinced him into choosing any pants that he likes, and insisted him of not looking at the price tags. He slowly approached a cream-coloured slack pants and he showed it to me. For someone who is much inclined to quality, I examined the pants, and it is not something that I would wear. I took a look at the price tag and it was just RM29.90. He noticed that I was looking at the price tag and he suddenly apologized. “Mahal sangat ke bang? Saya tak pernah beli seluar harga camni”. I was taken aback and drowned in sympathy. Here was a boy who was reluctant to buy a RM29.90 pants because he thinks it is too expensive, and I was wearing an RM150 jeans.

The time I spent with these boys made me realize that they are familiar and aware of the opportunities available beyond the four walls of their school. A boy asked me about the school I am currently studying. I told them about the uni I’ll be attending. Their response were quite alien to me , and it came in the form of question directed to me with neutrality and confusion. “mane dapat duit tuk belajar abang?” Money was the first thing that came into their mind. My secondary and higher education fees have always been paid by MARA. But in their world, education was one of many areas that they believe that they can’t afford to enjoy. I talked about scholarships to them, but word does not register in their heads because they never heard of “scholarship”. To them, education is limited to those who are wealthy and the world is not made for them. However as I share my experience in Kuala Klawang and Langkawi during my MRSM days, they seemed so eager and it shows how interested of them in the idea of education and the perks it has to offer.

There are a lot of things in life, especially the small ones, we often take for granted; from the fancy clothes we wear on our body, to the mouth-watering delicacies that we enjoy on the dining table at least 3 times a day, to the warmth and comfort in the place we call home. To most of us, we are born with a silver spoon in our mouth, and we can get whatever we want simply on demand. But to the families of these boys, everyday is a battle just to meet ends meet. They are just some out of countless families who share the same fate as theirs. A single mother who rely on RM 100 a month from the welfare department to feed her 5 hungry children, a father who work odd jobs to make sure the bills are paid and his children get books to study. Listen to their story.

Family is where my home is

It is another 1 month till I board the MH2 MAS flight to London, leaving Malaysia, and continuing the next 5 years of my life on British soil. My dreams of reading medicine in the UK and having a nice shiny stethoscope around my neck has come to a near. I have waited this moment since I was 5, but as it comes closer, I felt this kind of solitude and displeasure suddenly arise out of the excitement of a UK education in London. I soon realized that I am not 100% ready to embark on this journey yet. Physically, I am built for it, but emotionally, my heart is still with my family here in Malaysia.

I chose MRSM Langkawi as my upper-secondary school of choice so that I can be far away from my family as possible. I also voiced out my intention to my friends of going out on this once-in-a-lifetime journey, with time and distance separating us. How bold and naïve I was back then. But once I got into my college years, that is when I found the value of family.

Now, as I count the days where I have to depart from them, I feel this awful kind of sadness gripping me slowly but surely. Maybe it’s true when they say, distance makes the heart grows fonder. I’ll be celebrating Raya in London this year, away from the warmth and festivities of my home in Kuantan. Trully, in every man, there is a child, regardless of how far he traverse, his heart will find his way back home. For me, inshallah, I’ll be coming back into my family’s arms one day. Family is where my home is.

A decison a Pakistani man has to make...

At times, people will have to make very tough decisions, but it can never be compared to the decision that Mohammed Iqbal from an improvished region in Pakistan had to make; to sell his kidney or his children, for a sad 1500 dollars? http://edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/asiapcf/07/16/pakistan.organ.selling/index.html

He had to face this tribulation after being drowned in debt with his lanlord, who he borrowed money with, just to pay for the medical bills for his family and his wedding. I personally feel that no one should have to endure making difficult, inhumane decisions just to make sure there's a roof above his or her family, or to get a decent healthcare. I wondered on what grounds he made the decision and i seriously cant imagine myself being in his torn shoes. There are laws banning the selling of organs in Pakistan, but the enforcement department seems to be the most important yet missing piece in this huge, tanggled, sad puzzle. Toblame demand would be very inmature, as everyday people fall sick and in dire need of organ transplant. But my heart goes out to millions of people like Mohammed Iqbal, poverty stricken who had to make such decision. To me, one thing for sure, it all leads down to a more bigger and serious picture which has been the attention of nations, but with little effective action; poverty and famine. The so-called "rich-nations" have pledged billions and billions of dollars and euros and yens in aids to third world countries like Africa and Pakistan, still they have only reached a fraction of their total goal. Its and irony that wealthy nations have invested so much of their God-given resources in wars on the pretext of "spreading peace and democracy" when they have other alternatives which involve less killing and more humanity. The economic downfall was the number one excuse given by these nation's leaders which cause them to lag from their 25 billion dollars target by 2010 to africa. Well, US can still invest 651.2 billion dollars in defence, Sivio Berlusconi of Italy can still manipulate the state media to cover up its promiscuous activities with teenage girls, so why not they take out a very small share of their GDP to make the world a more sustainable and better place to live in. It's not whether they are able to, it's a question whether they want to give it or not. The battle that they have to concentate on is not just in the rouge lands of the SWAT valley or the Helmand Valley, as the biggest war of all takes place in the hearts and minds of the citizens of the world.

And if you are still wondering what Mohammed Iqbal chosed, he did what any responsible would do; sell his kidney.