The United Altered States of Maryam

On my flight back from Brisbane to Kuala Lumpur, I sat next to a Malaysian Chinese man who had spent the past two years working in Sydney but was originally from Alor Setar, Kedah (approximately 6 hours drive north of Kuala Lumpur). He was heading back there to visit his mom for the holidays. He was probably in his early 30s, rather short with the smile of someone who had secretly farted in public. He was also rather nervous-looking although I could hardly blame someone for looking nervous on a flight especially when a bona fide storm hits 2 minutes before take off. I swear I could have created my own ocean judging by how sweaty my palms were.

The middle-aged lady in the seat behind me, she said to what I assume was her husband (although you could never be too sure about these things.), “We’re not taking off in this weather are we????!!!!” to which the (possible) husband grunted, “Well, we’re already on the plane. The weather’s not that bad.”

The howling wind was contorting the trees around the airport into yoga positions and rain water smacked the windows of the plane like a frustrated mother to an insolent child. It was quite possibly the darkest 2 p.m. in the afternoon I had ever seen. The highway of dark clouds in the sky were striped with bright flashes of lightning, like the flash from a giant, heavenly camera that Someone Up There was using to take snapshots of how utterly ridiculous humans can look when faced with the thought of impending doom.

“If I had known it was going to be like this, I would have taken a whole bottle of Valium,” said the middle aged lady. If I had known that she was going to be nervously kicking the back of my seat throughout the 8 hour flight, I would have personally stuffed her full of Valium myself and hit her unconscious on the head with a heavy, blunt object for good measure.

Thankfully, the storm cleared out 15 minutes later and the pilot cheerfully announced that we were ready for take off and that we had only good weather ahead (or at least, I think that’s what he said. Malaysian Airlines pilots seem trained to clearly enunciate the ‘Ladies and Gentleman/ Tuan Tuan dan Puan Puan’ and ‘Thank you/ Terima Kasih’ part of their announcement while mumbling and garbling all the words in between). That was when the man sitting next to me (I didn’t catch his name) decided that it was safe to start a conversation.

“So, is this your first time going to Malaysia?” he asked.

Err, well, if you discount the fact that I was born there and the previous 20 years I had lived there, then yes, this would be my first time in Malaysia. It seemed a little surprising to me that a Malaysian is unable to recognize one of their own especially when I was sure that he had heard me speaking to the stewardess in conversationally perfect Malay. Earlier, my Malaysian passport had somehow jumped out of my bag onto the floor and he had picked it up and handed it back to me. Of course, there’s a time for smart ass replies and then there are times when you should just politely shake your head, smile and go, “Oh no, I’m Malaysian. I just go to uni in Australia.”

“Which part of Malaysia are you from?” he asked.

“I’m from KL.”

“Ohhhh, so you KL-girl lah….. no wonder,” he said. I couldn’t be bothered to ask him what he meant by that probably because I already knew. KL-ites are to the rest of Malaysia just as Parisians are to the rest of France. It’s the can’t-be-helped aura of stuck-up-ness that people of capital cities tend to have, stemming from the subconscious belief that they’re better than the rest of the country (Come on, admit it KL-ites, deep down you do think you’re better than the rest of the country) And then he asked, “Do you speak Chinese?”

Again, I shook my head. “I can swear and say chicken rice in Cantonese but that’s about it.”

“Wah, how come Chinese girl cannot speak Chinese?!”

“Actually, I’m Malay.”

“Cannot be, your skin is too fair for a Malay.”

I can only sigh at this. He’s not the first person I’ve heard this from. “Well, it says so on my birth certificate. And both my parents. And my grandparents.” And by the way, I’m not so much fair-skinned as I am pasty from spending the last month depressed and voluntarily confined indoors. Also, the constitution officially defines a Malay person as someone who:

a) carries a Malay name

b) is Muslim

c) follows Malay culture & tradition (or something like that)

d) born in Malaysia or has lived in Malaysia for a significant amount of time (or something like that)

Nowhere does it say that a Malay person has to be of a certain skin color. Nowhere does it say that Malay person cannot be lighter or darker than a particular shade of brown (and it shouldn’t either). It makes more sense for people to be grouped (if they should be grouped at all) by the way they live their lives, by their shared assumptions, values and beliefs than the way they naturally look (clothes, accessories, hairstyle and plastic surgery not included). I mean, I’ve been told that I share an uncanny resemblance to that demon-possessed girl in The Exorcist but except for the fact that we are both prone to rather demonic tantrums, I doubt we have much in common.

And then the guy says, “Your English osso very good for a Malay.”

Right, and nowhere in the constitution does it define a Malay person as someone who

e) speaks lousy English.

I’ve never heard a sentence that ends with ‘….for a Malay’ that wasn’t at least a tad bit insulting. I remembered in my former college, this classmate of mine; this girl from Belgium said, “Oh my god! You’re pure Malay?! I thought you were half-white. You’re very pretty… for a pure Malay.”

Bitch. Realizing that I had taken offense, she then said, “I mean, not that I …um.. I mean, my boyfriend’s pure Malay.” Right, so you have an ugly boyfriend then, you dumb Belg.

Nowhere is it officially written/ stated that a Malay person

f) has to be uglier than everyone else.

Back to the man sitting next to me on the plane, I wish for his sake that he would stop shoving his foot in his mouth. I know airline food is bad but that’s no reason to keep tasting your own toes. “So, how long have you been studying in Australia?”

Okay, valid question but by now I was in no mood to engage in a proper conversation with him. Curtly, I answered, “Nine months.”

“Being in Australia must have changed you a lot……”

Now how the hell would a stranger I met an hour or so ago be able to know that? (If you’re wondering, I do not have an Australian accent nor do I pretend to have one. What do you think I am? A Channel V Asia VJ?) “Not really. Why do you think so?”

“Because you seem very modern for a Malay.”

Great. Does he mean to say that the Malays are

g) backward and can only progress by living with a bunch of white people

“If anything, you seem more Singaporean Malay. They’re more modern.”

Sorry, what he means to say is Malays are

h) backward unless they’re from Singapore.

Oh well, who cares what he thinks? He’s from Kedah! Kedah is so dull that the kids have to start goat-sacrificing cults to keep themselves occupied and amused. Ok, not true. Not fair of me to say that. But hey, everyone thinks they’re better than someone and alas, I can’t say I’m an exception. I really shouldn’t hold it against the guy. Someone else will sock him in the face eventually and that person will throw a good punch……for a Malay. Keeping this in mind, I wished him a merry time back in Alor Setar as we disembarked at KLIA. I meant it….. I really do hope he has a good time being back in his hometown. Even if the little voice in my head did say, Yeah sure, like anyone could actually have a good time in Alor Setar.

Posted by Maryam on Saturday, November 25, 2006 at 7:18 PM | Permalink