A to Z Fun Things to Do & Places to Visit with Kids in Kuala Lumpur

This was an e-book, to be precise, which I found while browsing through the blog of the very creative Emila Yusof, whom I have now added to my blogroll. She is a professional blogger painter, children's book writer and illustrator, as well as a freelance illustrator.

I like the clean layout of her blog and if you ask my close friends, they would say that it is a very 'me' blog. I think it is more me than my own blog!

This e-book is basically a children's guide to places of interest in KL. I would think that children would be attracted to the illustration and would be motivated to recognise the words used. Without realising, children are developing several skills, such as literacy, language, social and conceptual among other skills. I will go into more detail about these skills in a following post.

I am heartened with the fact that there is someone out there in Malaysia producing some good quality stuff for our kids. More importantly, stuff that is relevant to the lives of Malaysian children.

She has made it free for all to download for personal use. Please go to http://emilayusof.com/kids/, scroll down to nearly the bottom and you would be able to see it on your right.

The other face of holiness

By Petra Gimbad

“Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.” – Anais Nin

There I was, giving out name cards at the airport and on the plane. I had spent the week meditating with monks and nuns in Indonesia.

I thought wryly: I am not home and it is work already.

Before I boarded the plane, I met an Indonesian passenger in the waiting room who asked what work it was that I do. When I said I was an NGO worker, he asked if I could provide advice.

It was advice for his friend that he was after, not for himself – despite experiencing arrest in Malaysia a few months before. I admitted I did not know. He thanked me gracefully and disappeared.

On the plane, I found myself sitting next to a factory worker.

Both of us were were leaving Indonesia for Malaysia. I was returning home, he was returning to work. He was in love: when I asked how that was going, he did not know – it was a long-distance relationship, he had to leave her behind if he wanted to earn more. He spent the past month with his ill father who was still hospitalized.

His father was 80 years old. Hanging in the air was the unsaid: there was little time left for them, as father and son. Yet, here he was: on a plane, leaving his country.

All I could think was: my God, he is returning to work in a factory to earn money for his ailing father.

I asked frankly: Malaysia is not always kind to outsiders – we have racial issues even among our own. With the discrimination you experience, why do you return? You can farm – why not stay, plant what you eat – what is it that is worth leaving the home you already miss?

Money, he replied.

I did not know what to say.

Without much detail, he agreed that discrimination occurs and that “some workers in Malaysia are not treated very well.”

Then, he asked what I thought of my trip to Indonesia. I expressed genuine admiration for how hard the locals worked. The few days spent travelling revealed a community who tilled land and sold home-produced goods, both never-ending. Persons working in cities held several jobs with no days off.

Still – despite lacking time and money, many were versatile – singing, drumming and guitar strumming were everywhere. In one area, someone motioned to houses perched on paddy fields, saying people here build their own homes, adding a bit at a time depending on what they can afford.

I looked closer: many of the homes the locals rebuilt after the earthquake that hit a few years back had a beauty and symmetry missing in many Malaysian village houses.

This past week brought the discovery that political knowledge, a love of art, house-building ability and the wisdom of paddy planting can be contained in a single person. As I travelled, I met more of them.

The young man was a serious listener and agreed with what I said. “Yes, Indonesians work very hard. Malaysians on the other hand – give them 1, 2, days, and they complain of exhaustion.” He shook his head with disbelief.

We left it at that and spent the rest of the flight cracking jokes and laughing – talking about youthful lust, the need for affordable birth control for foreign workers and whether there was hope for Indonesia. By then, he revealed some girls at his workplace, who were originally from village areas, were pregnant due to naivette – they did whatever their boyfriends told them to do.

When we discussed the babies’ legitimacy, my question on baby selling came as no surprise to him. In case the rumours were true, I passed him contacts.

At the end, he asked whether I visited his village. I had not. We were wistful as he did not know when he would return.

Removing a package from his backpack, he explained they were sweets from his village. “They cost 1,000 rupiah, but if we can shape them into this form, they cost 15,000 rupiah.”

I protested. “It will be a long time before you go home. You will miss the taste.”

“No,” he insisted, “Take them.”

He would not hear of my paying him for them. I teared.

I was looking peace and enlightenment in a temple, and this man showed me what strength and patience is.

To that man and the many like him, I wish you well.

The writer wants to write like Pramoedya Ananta Toer when she grows up.

A tale of two sisters, shopping

By Petra Gimbad

Dedicated to my sister

“Above all, remember that the most important thing you can take anywhere is not a Gucci bag or French-cut jeans; it’s an open mind.” – Gail Rubin Bereny

It is one thing to shop for the office and another to shop for the jungle: an important realization.

Recently united, my sister and I embarked on a shopping spree long overdue in glitzy Kuala Lumpur.

We would find the best bargains for the best quality, and stuff that was pretty as it was practical for our village, jungle and street environments. We would go where no woman (or man) has gone before.

My sister is the researcher who hikes into villages and jungles at least every second week. I am the child protector who works in a red light area.

She gets to scrub her body frantically at the end of the day to search for leeches, and I get to scrub my head and feet for fear of tuberculosis and needles.

She needed, among other things, a pair of jeans: “I need them to hike in the jungle and to visit ketua-ketua kampung (village heads) – it’s disrespectful to wear track bottoms.”

So off to the mall we went.

First stop: Stage Cosmetics.

“Here, you help her – my sister knows nothing about lipsticks,” said my sister, who reviews skincare and cosmetics part-time. The lovely makeup assistant, B, had welcomed us and introduced an array of pink lipsticks.

“How about this?” B dabbed a shade of pink on my mouth.

“Too Siti Nurhaliza. I’m not a pop queen.”

“This?”

“Alamak, too Mak Datin. I belum cari Datuk lagi!” (Oh dear, too Datin. I have not found a Datuk yet!)

“How about this now?”

“Er, very nice. But… people in my work area will think I’m a sex worker. I don’t want to unintentionally offend some tai kor (gang leader) if I say no when he asks what’s my price.” I was slightly miserable by then.

“Where do you work?”

My sister and I told him.

“Have you ever been asked whether you’re a prostitute?”

“No, but someone I know was.”

B gasped. “Apa jadi?” (What happened?)

“She said she was having her period, so maybe he can ask our colleague instead.”

He laughed.

Next: Caring Pharmacy.

We looked for moisturizers and sunscreen. A sales assistant suggested a brand.

“No, that doesn’t work in the jungle. My skin will peel,” said my sister absently. She turned and pointed to another brand. “Now this brand’s good if you’re planting padi (paddy). Aunty X uses it when she’s in the fields and she’s fairer than I am. But it breaks me out.”

“Maybe it only works if you’re working the paddy fields.” We pondered awhile before realizing the sales assistant had scuttled off.

Third stop: Metrojaya.

The fact that my sister works in an office on weekdays and that her feet are more attractive than mine made me sigh. We discovered a white pair of shoes that fit her perfectly.

I insisted that she purchase them: I cannot wear shoes that show dirt because of the street outreach component of my work and wanted to live vicariously through her feet.

“Value the fact that you work in an office, and able to wear heels and white shoes,” I exhaled dolefully. Her feet did look pretty.

The sales assistant tried to sell me a pair of high heels and I refused. As any clubbing kaki (buddy) would know, most women’s shoes in Malaysia are made for fashion and not function. Wear them for three hours and you will lose your toes.

Many Malaysians do not understand the word “No”. My sister helpfully explained to the assistant: “My sister can’t wear shoes she can’t run after kids in. She works with street children you know?”

The woman was flabbergasted. She tried to sell us another pair of heels, made in suede.

“No, no. I can’t rinse these in the sink. I need to be able to run in them, and rinse them to attend night functions.”

My sister turned to the sales assistant, “My sister is serious, you know.”

We knew we spoke gibberish when the assistant looked confused.

In the end, we abandoned the plan to buy a pair of jeans for my sister at the department store, opting for the market near my workplace instead.

“How much?” asked my sister.

“RM5.”

“Ok – let’s go!”

The writer works at a children’s organization.

What's the story in me?

The Nuffnang August Blogger Challenge asks this question: If the old saying is true, and everyone has one book in them, what would YOUR book be? In collaboration with Blurb, Nuffnangers are given a go at squeezing their creative juices to win 1 in 3 chances to get a book of their own published. I am not really looking at getting parts of me printed on paper but hm, should be fun just to answer that question (even more so if I really get to see bits of me printed!). So here goes...

If I had a story to share, it would be about 'the thought' that crossed my mind at the very moment these photos of mine were taken. Hm, perhaps something along the lines of 'the world through my eyes'?:

... everyone and everything leaves something behind in life...


... everyone needs a partner...


... every day is a new chapter...


... every drop of sweat = perseverance + hard work = life...


... every moment counts: be at the right place at the right time...


... everyone needs a break sometimes...


... every present comes with a past...


... every bit counts: slow and steady now...


... every journey in life is a mystery, so just go where the path leads you...


... and I could go on and on and on. I find it amusing, my train of thought, the way I decipher the world around me. I sometimes wonder if my friends find me weird when I question the happenings around us. Pretty sure they do.

There you go. A glimpse into the story in me. ;)

Did You Know 2.0?

This is a little dated but I still find it applicable to some extent... so enjoy...

Lessons in poverty

Lesson In Poverty
by Petra Gimbad

My father's first job was in a prawn factory. Being poor, all he had that was presentable for work was his school shirt. He turned up to discover that his job was shelling prawns. By the end of the day, his shirt was ruined.

I cried as a child when he told me the story. Even now, it is difficult to write about it when I imagine the pain he felt when he came home, exhausted, while peeling off his only collared shirt.

Growing up, I have often and silently questioned my father’s deep faith. He is the spiritual structure upon whom my family is built: insisting that we attend Sunday school and church.

Even now, there is something comforting about his presence. When he returns, it always feels right to attend mass together. He reminds me of certain things, primarily of the importance to returning to my humanity as a spiritual being.

In contrast to my father, I sometimes question the worth in holding faith or hope. I can see the value of hope to keep one going, but despite my belief that there is a God, I have no faith that everything works out for the best.

Recently, I had the fortunate experience challenging my views, by virtue of attending a child protection course at a theological seminary in Penang.

Part of a masters in holistic child development, this was good exposure to spiritual approaches to poverty and development. Most of my course-mates came from African and Asian countries.

Hungry for new perspectives on poverty and development, I devoured my roommate’s books at night. A lot of the analyses were uncomfortably simplistic, but some of the views resonated.

Poverty is not just material, it is also spiritual. The rich, too, feel loneliness and depression. The poor are not exempt from the love and warmth of family and friends.

I dislike immensely happy-clappy persons who declare, "As long as you have God and religion, all will be okay," – a view often propagated condescendingly by the upper and middle-classes.

Even a child from a loving family who plays happily in the streets of a red light district feels hunger, the lack of medical treatment and the shame being jeered at in school for his or her inability to perform academically through lack of affordable tuition.

However, I could not help but feel moved when an Ethiopian girl said, "To me, being in Malaysia is like paradise. In my country our water can be cut off any time, electricity is inconsistent. People there are not only poor, but they are destitute. But we do not feel poor, because we have Jesus."

Uncomfortably, I started to reflect on my father’s faith, as well as the masseuse who cared enough for my family to recite verses from the Quran and a close friend who brings refugees to Buddhist temples to pray.

A lecturer, who works with children who were trafficked and sold into sex slavery, challenged with the perspective that our lack of genuine connection in the world can be a cause of poverty.

Slowly, I started to see. When people practise compassion, kindness and justice on behalf of the other they stand a better chance of survival, even if they struggle. We must not gloss over the fact that being poor is a struggle.

He also questioned the school of thought that children who have been trafficked and sold into slavery are beyond redemption. Children can still feel happiness and we must hope. Otherwise, why do this work?

After the course, it was my father who picked me up at the station. He asked what I learnt. Grateful, I said I was thankful for the love and respect he holds for my mother. Had he philandered and left, its impact could have prevented us from becoming who we are today.

Humbled by his experience of poverty, one realises he holds an understanding of God and how society works to a depth that I may never comprehend.

He brought me home and we celebrated Father’s Day.

The author still learns from her father. Happy belated Fathers’ Day to all.

Comments: letters@thesundaily.com

An Educational Perspective On Self-Esteem

I'm found this and was reminded of an old project a few of us undertook:

An Educational Perspective On Self-Esteem by Voon Shi Jing

Central to most definitions of self-esteem is a person’s positive or negative evaluation of himself or herself. It is a die-hard habit of mine to focus on the negative. Contrary to what some might think, I did not have an unhappy childhood. Fortunately, I was gifted with an extremely effective self-esteem therapist. Not just one, but in fact a host of them for eleven years. Growing up, my therapists were the children my mother teaches at her kindergarten. Teaching them has taught me a lot about how one should look at life. Whenever I wake up on the wrong side of bed or have an argument with my boyfriend, going to the kindergarten never fails to cheer me up and put me back on the right track. Their happy faces and pure thoughts humble me.

As an early childhood education major, my studies at university are proving true in relation to the experiences I have had with the children and myself. Academically, self-esteem covers five domains: scholastic competence, social acceptance, athletic competence, physical appearance, and behavioural conduct. At the ripe old age of 21, I still experience the need to evaluate myself from these angles.

In 1922, social scientist Charles Cooley wrote that

Each to each a looking glass
Reflects the other that doth pass.

His explanation: “As we see our face, figure, and dress in the glass [or mirror], and are interested in them because they are ours… so in imagination we perceive in another’s mind some thought of our appearance, manners, aims, deeds, character, friends and so on and are variously affected by it” (p. 184). Cooley assumed that other people are the mirrors in which we see ourselves. Our thoughts about ourselves are affected by how others react to us. When I was younger, I evaluated myself as I thought other people evaluated me. As the looking-glass metaphor implies, I perceived my social acceptance was related to my popularity. I slowly learnt that it was not entirely true. Being a new kid on the block was a ‘cool’ thing. People want to know you more and hence you would have more friends. I was popular in primary school and I thought it was because of that that I had lots of friends. I assumed that my high scores and good rapport with the teachers had a lot to do with my popularity. I later found out that I was popular for other reasons – not so good reasons. Unknown to myself, I was a show-off, and a really big one at that. And living in Seri Kembangan (which made me notoriously famous in both primary and high school for being late for classes) pushed me even further up the ‘popularity’ ladder. I was considered an outcast as everyone else lived in high-class Taman Desa while I was from a village outside Kuala Lumpur.

The looking-glass metaphor suggests that our opinions of ourselves are influenced by the opinions of those around. From a teacher’s perspective, feedback students receive regarding academic achievement should directly affect their self-evaluations, and vice versa. This I have found to be true. Not only through my own experience but also from what I have observed in the children I have shared my life with throughout the years. Positive remarks and words or encouragement motivate children to improve performance. Good performance in turn, lifts the spirits. We have all experienced the adrenaline rush after acing an exam, or winning a competition.

A close parent-child relationship shapes how parents interact with their children and well, parent. This influences the overall well-being of the children. Attachment theorists have proposed that the security of young children’s attachments to their parents affects their general self-esteem. This implies that young children do form some idea of their overall worth. Children who are more securely attached to their parents have higher self-esteem. In other words, children who had learnt to trust in their parents’ acceptance and responsiveness had also learnt to value themselves.

Parents’ behaviour is likely to have strong effects on children’s general self-esteem. Parents of children with higher self-esteem are more affectionate and more involved with their children. These parents make decisions democratically, thus showing their respect for their children’s views. They tend to avoid physical punishment and to rely on reasoning with their children. By doing so, parents show how much they value their children and respect their judgment. The parents of children with high self-esteem are also strict. They set rules for their children’s behaviour and enforce them consistently. Such strictness probably helps develop self-control. In addition, these children will probably learn socially accepted behaviour. By contrast, children with permissive parents probably show “out-of-control” behaviour that is disapproved of, leading to low self-esteem.

When parents provide such a “looking glass” for their children, the children have high self-esteem. In a looking glass, children can see their vices as clearly as their virtues. They learn to look at things from different perspectives, which explains why children with an advanced theory of mind would have high self-esteem. They are able to see the goodness and badness in themselves and are willing to overcome their weaknesses. With this ability, they are able to understand how other people feel and think in different situations hence explaining why children with high self-esteem would have more friends and are able to cope under stressed environments.

Generally, self-esteem shows a significant degree of continuity between childhood and adolescence. Children with low self-esteem would most likely continue to be an adolescent with low self-esteem. The same would be for children with high self-esteem. However, self-esteem can change dramatically over a period of two or three years. This is contrary to the widespread assumption that self-esteem develops gradually. I did not realize this until very much later on. Self-esteem develops quickly during elementary school, as it is the time when children are developing their own personality in accordance to their peers’. I had very high self-esteem in elementary school despite my wrongly acquired popularity. My report card would explain why. I was the top student in school, standing at first, second or third every year for 6 years. I was a school prefect and I was every teacher’s pet. However, as rapidly as I gained my good sense of self, I lost it just as easily if not quicker. This is a normal progression from elementary to middle or high school. I had a very low sense of self-worth in Forms 1 through to 3 as I was not performing as well academically and I felt threatened by people from other schools. Yes, all it took for me to switch from high to low self- esteem was the thought of me not being able to be ‘popular’. It sounds naïve and self-engrossed but there are many teenagers around the world who suffer the same fate. If it were not for my childhood friends, I would have drowned in the sea of self-pity and depression. My parents were my pillars of strength, especially my father who until today is my best friend.

Parents play a vital role in facilitating the growth of positive self-esteem. It is never too early to start teaching a child that he or she matters, or how to socialize with others in a way that is comfortable. The ability of a child to interact well with others is taught from the home. The very self-esteem of the man or woman the child will be depends on it.

Kindness is still here

By Petra Gimbad

I've been taking the bus from Brickfields to make my way home. For those not in the know, it's a predominantly Indian area located in Kuala Lumpur. I love it for its vegetarian food, temples, courageous Catholic priests and old buildings and trees.

It's also a haven for this budding photographer. My photography skills are seriously of shit quality. Snap anything in Brickfields, however, and you're bound to take something good. The last two days I've been zooming in on this wizened Chinese man (a contrast against the district's mainly Indian population) who rummages through garbage for aluminium cans and bottles to sell for income.

Yesterday he was alone. Today he had a friend, which may explain why he carried twice as much, in plastic bags.

Tonight I took the bus home and was touched by four acts of kindness.

The first: a blind man was helped onto the bus by a woman whom I initially took to be his niece. I realised she wasn't when he sat alone.

The second: I sat beside the man and asked where he was going so that I could press the bell when it came to his destination. The woman beside me, smiling, said not to worry - they were getting off at the same stop.

The blind man was Chinese. The woman who looked after him was Malay.

The third: an old woman - you know the kind, skinny and really elderly - she dropped her bags. She tried to pick them up as the bus swung and almost rammed into the door. A young girl grabbed her so she didn't fall.

The woman was Chinese. The young girl was Malay or one of the illegal immigrants you see around - I suspect Myanmarese or Indonesian.

The fourth: the bus stopped at a location I didn't recognise. It was not a bus stop and I wondered why. Then I realised: it was smack in front of a flight of stairs leading down to an impoverished group of flats. The bus driver, bless him, stopped where it was secure for its residents to climb down and make their way home.

I was touched. This has been a good night, and to be able to see these things, I feel truly blessed.

PS: It struck for a moment that had I stayed to do law, I may have never taken the bus. I would be in New Zealand or I'll be taking taxis or driving. Now that I have the time and my pocket money is rather limited, the 45 minute wait for the bus it is.

But as you can see, it is so, so, so, much well worth the wait. xx

Faith and fundamentalism

by Petra Gimbad

I FELL in love with the concept of constitutional law a few years ago; the rights it enshrines are based on principles every man and woman must uphold in order to ensure human dignity, yet, in such a way that we are able to live together harmoniously.

It makes sense that if we wish others to respect our way of life, we must also be willing to do the same for others.

Therefore, it follows that if we expect others to uphold and fight for our right to live in the way we choose, we must also be willing to uphold these same rights for them.

My flatmates recently recommended that I read the book The God Delusion, by Richard Dawkins. I plowed through it at a snail’s pace for the last few weeks, which is painful for someone who can breeze through 10 books in a day.

I just completed Chapter Three. Kiasuness decrees that I finish Chapter Four, even though I had a headache the last time I read the book. I cannot say for sure what it is about (I have not read even half of the book) although it is clear that the writer does not think much of religion.

My flatmate tells me that it is a convincing treatise on how the world will be a better place without religion. It was difficult to explain to him how my cultural upbringing as a Catholic woman has made me a more compassionate person. This does not mean that an atheist cannot be just as loving as a person who professes a faith. I just think that after a while, labels are useless in labelling a person as just or unjust.

The problem, as I see it, is this insistence we have on claiming an identity. How can an identity represent entirely who a person is? Therefore, how does being a Christian tell you who I am, or a Chinese for that matter? Or in the author’s case, an atheist British man?

Being Chinese does not make one filial, neither does being a Christian make one charitable. My atheist flatmate seems to love his parents and has worked in an area which was ranked one of the poorest places in Britain. Something which most of the people I used to attend church with would never contemplate doing, for all their posturing on how Jesus of the Bible transforms you.

Primarily, what disturbs about religion is not so much the concept of spirituality. My personal definition of spirituality is this: that there is a force out there called Love, which is the God I believe in. How we learn to embody this force is a personal journey. We experience Love along individual paths.

Instead, what disturbs is fundamentalism and the institutionalisation of religion.

Fundamentalism takes the view that "it is my way or the highway". It means imposing your perspective and will on others. Faith, to me, can only be carried by one who realises that he or she knows nothing. True humility decrees that what we know goes as far as our best knowledge, which can only be experienced.

Words fail to describe experience.

Words, anyway, are a mere invention to describe what we perceive. What we perceive is only one perspective that may be inaccurate. Language can further distort this perspective. More truthful is, therefore, the truth that is felt with the heart.

Institutionalisation of religion is another form of the "my way or the highway" approach. A friend once pointed out that only a secular country can truly enable a religion to flourish.

With a political system that institutionalises religion, there can be only one interpretation of the Quran, the Bible, the Buddhist scriptures or the Mahabharata and Ramayana.

History has shown, time and again, that this approach had led, for example, to the murder of children during the Christian Crusades and the mistreatment and violence that both men and women suffer on a large scale.

One fails to see the God in this.

One must therefore ask, will we ever learn? Do we have the courage to acknowledge these historical occurrences?

Theology has shown how, with time, interpretation changes with society. Our interpretations of whatever scripture we subscribe to therefore hold no guarantee of perfection.

To the best of our knowledge, even with the most loving intentions, there is never any guarantee that we know exactly what we are doing in the moment. The consequences of our actions carry across miles and through the cosmos, far beyond the boundaries of what we can foresee.

This is what I believe the Constitution protects: the freedom to pursue our paths of choice, but without impinging on the freedom of others or in a way that leads to the detriment of one’s neighbour. How well this freedom and system of mutual respect is protected is up to us.

Who we are as human beings must inevitably evolve. We are constantly moving towards increasing complexity. As opposed to a more complex bigoted and violent reality, hopefully, towards a direction of increasing compassion – for love, truth and peace.

***

Pet, I'd have to say, this overtakes the Merdeka post I so loved. Erm, but the reason I like this article is different to the reason I had for loving the Merdeka one. Aiya, in short, you're superb la.

Election musings

Perhaps it's the weather. Or maybe it's because the house is empty. Or it could be due to friends leaving for home to celebrate CNY with family. When I read this article, my chest felt heavy and my eyes were teary. Somehow, emotions were triggered. I think it most probably was because of the situation I'm in at the moment - waiting at the crossroads for the lights to change.

Election musings
Petra Gimbad

American writer Joan Didion once wrote, "Life changes in an instant. The ordinary instant."

Some time back, I granted an interview to a mass communications student regarding sexist parliamentarians. She was not able to see the need for our political leaders to respect women. I doubt that it will take anything less than a personal brush with sexual harassment for her to wake up to reality. We may all arrive at different points of realisations in our own time, but sometimes one wonders whether they come too late.

Sometimes, we never learn.

Election time, we hear, is coming.

Recently, a friend opined that Malaysia is headed for an economic downfall. I cannot confirm the truth of what he said.

Some believe that we should never speak of what we truly do not know. However, one hopes that humbly being aware of how little we know while asking questions fosters better understanding.

Anyway, if covering our own asses is all we care about, no wonder we are in the state we are in. A melancholy hangs over many friends and acquaintances, regardless of whether they have decided who to vote for or not.

Many do not bother to even register to vote, a right people have died for. The answer, apparently, lies in migration. They seem to forget that even successful migrations can take years to complete and not everyone has that option.

What if one has to wait a few years? What happens in the meantime?

What if one’s application does not succeed? What then? Is the only answer to amass more money?

What of the underprivileged who do not have that option?

Someone asked, "Why stay in Malaysia when things are so bad?" All I could reply was, it all depends on your personal calling.

We honour those who perform compassionate work in war zones, and humiliate those who choose to stay, under less extenuating circumstances, for the same motivations.

We forget that for a lot of us middle class English speakers, life is still pretty good. I admit I compare myself to a disabled couple who survive on less than RM500 a month in Kuala Lumpur and refugees who do not even have the legal documents to find work to feed their children; in a society that thinks migration is the answer and forgets that this makes us Malaysians refugees in other countries, too.

Forgetting that our ancestors were once migrants too – whether from China, India, Indonesia, the Middle East, Portugal – you name it. One of my favourite Yasmin Ahmad blog posts lists her crew’s ethnicities from one of her films, illustrating how many Malaysians have their roots placed in more than one country outside of Malaysia.

Is it wrong to make one’s life elsewhere? No. But lest we forget, our country was built on the backbones of our migrant ancestors. Once upon a time, they dreamed of giving their future generations a better life – that’s us. This is not so wrong.

I am not so learned to be able to state for sure whether we are at a tipping point concerning which way our country will turn judicially, politically or socio-economically. However, there seems to be a fear that peace may end.

But I do know that we need to move beyond the fears and beliefs that paralyse us from thinking and taking action. An understanding of how we arrived at where we are, which should include political analysis but also must go beyond political blame.

It is about politics and social science, but also bigger than these.

This understanding also includes our taking responsibility for our action or lack of in the past. To mourn for what no longer can be undone, to thrash with guilt, but also – to let what we know and our sense of justice move us forward, in steps.

I have met a rare few who are exempt from this melancholy. Those who express anguish, regardless of whether they declare their love or hate of this country with passion, are affected by Malaysia’s future.

Whether it is to vote, to read up in order to join initiatives, to write letters to the press or to create our own little solutions which contribute to the huge effort as a whole, we choose or do not choose what we do. We decide to do all we can or less.

We still are the stakeholders of this country.

How fares the cabbie?

Pet, I know I've told you this before but I have to stress this again: This is your best piece of writing so far. So proud of you.

How fares the cabbie?
by Petra Gimbad

I saw the lanterns today. Lit from within, they provided a breath of fresh air and light-heartedness to an otherwise stuffy shopping mall, filled with teeming customers. Then I realised: I look for hope everywhere.

It amazes me still to discover how misplaced our judgment can be. One of my closest friends blames it on my starry-eyed optimism and adamant refusal to have anything but faith in humankind.

In this case, I was surprised at the venom with which acquaintances responded to the recent request from cab drivers to raise their base fee of RM2. "They’re all cheats, they’re rude, they all are greedy," I heard again and again.

When my mother informed me that cab drivers were going on strike for two days around the Merdeka weekend, I asked every driver I met the week following that: "How did the strike go?"

The first said he did not go on strike and that the rest who did were crazy. He needed the income. But just in case, he drove only around his kampung, lest he incur the wrath of his fellow colleagues. He did not know what might happen to him otherwise.

The second talked about how the prices of goods have gone up, that cab fares in Kuala Lumpur are cheap compared to say, Penang.

I agreed. I pay RM10 for very short distances in Kota Kinabalu. Forget about the meter.

Another told me his meter was broken and I could pay whatever I liked. This was after I saw a few customers refuse to enter his taxi. Since it was the Merdeka weekend, he could not find anyone to fix it. He was not looking forward to paying a couple of hundred dollars on Monday.

"Is it not your taxi company’s responsibility?"

He laughed and sighed.

The most memorable chap started yelling about how ludicrous it is that Malaysia produces its own oil, yet we pay above minimum prices for gas. "Tak masuk akal! You tengok Singapore-ah, mereka tak ada gas sendiri pun masih boleh beli minimum price!"

The friend whom I narrated this incident to, grinned and remarked, "You can’t argue with that."

Which brings me back to hope and misplaced judgments. I use cabs on a daily basis, and rarely encounter drivers who lack courtesy. In fact, they gauge my facial expressions before opening up – with advice on how to live a good life, chats about the economy, politics, race and religion and asking what really causes rape when they discover I work for a feminist organisation.

Some of them quake when I say it is up to them which route to take, A or B. "Customer marah oh," they tell me. "Bagus kalau you bagi tahu saya mana mau pergi, nanti you tak happy, I pun tak happy. Nanti you cakap saya tipu dan tak mau bayar."

Smelling their fear, I suspect that Malaysian consumers of cabs are not exactly the paragons of graceful speech.

Once, I responded: "Saya ingat mungkin uncle prefer guna jalan itu kerana ada lampu. Saya dengar ramai driver kena attack lately."

He laughed, then sobered and told me it was true. A few days before, someone he knew picked up a young slight girl of my age. Upon reaching their destination, he was attacked and robbed by her friends. It happened in my area.

A couple of these cab drivers finally asked, "What’s your opinion on the fee raise?"

I responded honestly: Malaysians complain too much, their claims of virtue smacks of hypocrisy and their solutions are utterly misplaced.

If, for recreational purposes, Malaysians must fill the malls to the brim with the aid of a cab, then as far as I am concerned, a cab ride is a luxury. We do pay a lot less for cabs by the meter in this part of the country.

Malaysians complain that cab drivers show no respect. However, what about our respect for them as human beings? Too many instances of customers yelling rudely at waitresses instead of making a gentle request come to mind.

Most pressing: if what we want is efficient and affordable transport, we are barking up the wrong tree. We should be coming up with new ways to pressure the state to provide good bus and train services.

(A good friend, incensed with KTM, is now on first name basis with the main office after writing a flurry of letters to the press. A quick phone call from her complaining that the train is late gets an announcement two minutes later that the train will be arriving soon.)

The last I asked, there has been no response as of yet as to what has been decided on the issue.

This cab driver sighed. "Aiya, expected la."

Petra likes feminism and social justice. She is a media officer at the All Women’s Action Society. Comments: feedback@thesundaily.com

Break The Shackles Of “Tribal Think”!

Pet emailed this article to me this morning. Like freaking early la.

Authored & submitted by Jayanath Appudurai

For a long time, I have agonised over writing this piece to challenge my fellow Malaysians. Finally I said to myself – "what the heck? If I don't do it now, I may not live long enough to see if they really care about the future of this beloved land".

What better time to challenge my fellow citizens if not the approaching 50th year of nationhood. So here goes.

For too long, we have allowed to our own detriment a "cartel" of self-serving politicians and their coterie of entrepreneur buddies to set the agenda for this nation. They have moulded our thinking and controlled our thoughts, behaviour, responses and actions using the time-tested symbols of manipulation – race and religion!

We readily succumb to their clarion call to defend the race and religion and have fallen victims to our own comfort zone of categorising and stereotyping our fellow Malaysians along these lines. We, without a thought, consciously and sublimely succumb to grand generalisations and condemn our fellow beings based on these categories.

"All Malays are stupid, lazy and dependent on government handouts!"

"All Chinese are greedy, uncouth and are prone to using any means to accumulate wealth!"

"All Indians are dirty, untrustworthy and are prone to alcoholism and criminal activities!"

Unfortunately or fortunately depending on your worldview very little is heard by way of generalisations on Kadazans, Ibans, Dayaks, Melanaus and other minority Malaysians because we ,especially in Peninsular Malaysia, have rarely taken the trouble to know about, let alone understand our East Malaysian brethren.

God forbid, if and when we do so, I am sure some equally ridiculous generalisations will spew forth from our warped minds! And we will spew it with relative impunity with nary a thought!

Just for a moment reflect on these generalisations…..better still say it out aloud!

Can you honestly with a clear conscience say that you have no family member, relation, friend or associate of your so called "racial-religious tribe" that is not stupid, lazy, greedy, uncouth, dirty or untrustworthy? If you can I would really like to meet you and your pure tribe! You really must be specially selected by the Creator.

Have you not ever come across Malays that are intelligent and industrious and self-reliant; Chinese that are generous, civilised and not wealthy; or Indians that are clean, trustworthy and "teetotallers"?

What about the Malay cardiac surgeon who did a triple by-pass on your father and saved his life? What about the Chinese hawker who donated his day's entire earnings for the tsunami disaster victims? What about the Indian who donated his kidney to save your cousin?

Have you not ever come across, heard of, or befriended a fellow citizen of the "other" tribe who was kind, considerate, generous, moderate, rational and objective etc.

Surely you have but you would in all probability have rationalised it as he or she is "different" because….. You would have subconsciously enumerated a host of reasons not to "upset" your comfortable worldview.

So why do you do it? Because it is so easy when you stereotype and rationalise your way through life using tribal categories. You don't have to think and waste your precious brain cells. It makes you feel secure. It gives you a warm feeling of oneness, ownership and identity with the ilk of your tribe.

You reinforce your ignorance with equally ignoramus tribe members and everything is honky-dory! The bonding feels good! You feel great wallowing in your misplaced tribal pride.

And of course the cartel has ensured that you continue to muddle along this way because they will always benefit from this tribal mindset. Ah! But have you for a moment reflected on what the cartel does to control and reinforce your thoughts and actions.

Consider these "symbols" of thought control and manipulation so creatively used by the cartel:-

"Bangsa Malaysia versus Ketuanan Melayu"

"Perpaduan Negara versus Perpaduan Ummah"

"Malaysian Malaysia versus NEP"

"Secular State versus Islamic State"

"Bahasa Malaysia versus Bahasa Melayu"

"Bumiputra versus Non-Bumiputra"

"Constitutional Liberties versus Social Contract"

Think! How many times have you fallen for these Machiavellian machinations?

Worse still how many times have you used them to achieve your own ends?

Did you really feel good about yourself?

Did not an "inner voice" say something to prick you?

Of course it did, but you rationalised it anyway!

So my fellow citizens the buck stops with you!

You and only you, can do something about breaking the shackles of tribal group think!

And this 50th Merdeka will be truly meaningful if you take the first step to liberate your mind from the insidious control of the cartel and your respective tribes.

I challenge you not to meekly accept your tribe's group think and let the cartel's agenda hijack your mind! Pledge that from this day on – to rephrase Martin Luther King – "I will not judge my fellow Malaysians by the colour of their skin or their religious affiliation but by the strength of their character and the courage of their conviction".

This Merdeka Day commit to beginning the process to really take charge of your thought processes. Once you have sorted out the obvious "inequities" in your mind, move out of your comfort zone and go forth to "liberate" your family, relatives, friends and tribal members.

And Oh Yes! – don't forget your fellow Malaysians. They are waiting to bond with you and discover the true meaning of nationhood!

Selamat Merdeka!

24 July 2007

Vox is Up!

Hello everyone!

You must be wondering what Vox is. I'ved added a new link to my sidebar for Vox. It's an online magazine for women. Well, of course guys are allowed and welcome too but when I say 'for women', it's along the same lines as magazines like Cleo. BUT, Vox does not focus on what Cleo focusses on - clothings, hairstyles, sex, boyfriends and break-ups etc. Vox is a forum where the voices of young women (like yours truly) are heard. It's a humble website, with a handful of contributors, mostly university, high school students or fresh graduates.

I just had to write about Vox because I am very proud of it. I'm proud of it not just because I have an article published there but because it is a symbol of preserverence and self-belief. It is the brainchild of a very dear friend, of when she was her happiest as a uni student. She, with her best friend from childhood decided to turn her dream of publishing a magazine to reality. They decided to go electronic as of course, this form requires less financial commitment.

Personally, I feel that Vox is not just abother e-mag. Vox is about empowerment. Vox is about respect. Vox is about rights. Vox is about striving for your own success. Vox is about trying.

Just click on the link in the sidebar if you want to know what I mean.

To Stand Up When It Matters Most

Something Petra sent to me earlier today. I think she did that because it sorts of reflects the person I am. =) Head to the NST website for the original.

05 Nov 2006
Malik Imtiaz Sarwar

I was recently asked what I thought motivated those who steadfastly pursued ideals and worked towards making them a reality, often demonised or put at risk for doing so.

This Aidilfitri I did not go for prayers with my father, to spare him the discomfort of having to confront the hostility I would have been exposed to. There are those who consider me an enemy of Islam, and there are those among them who have been unduly generous with their viewpoints.

This Eid despite my parents saying that it was all right, I stayed away from them so as not to interfere with their celebrations with friends; even as yet another do-gooder acquaintance of my mother advised her about my activities, making clear her unwillingness to consider an alternative view.

My story is not unique. I have heard it in one form or other from those who have tried to stand up and make a difference. In our history, there have always been those who have been called "anti-government", "anti-establishment", "anti-Malaysia",
"anti-Islam", "anti-Constitution" and a host of other names by those whom I suppose should be called "convenient anti-principles".

Through the years, I have been intrigued at how glibly the labels are thrown about as and when convenient, no matter the apparent contradictions. No matter the lack of sensibility.

But the question remains unanswered; why do they struggle, what pushes them? Some suggest the pursuit of fame. I think there are easier and more conventionally acceptable ways of becoming known. Money? I do not think so.

Many a believer in principle I know has forsaken a lucrative career in the belief that if we put our minds and backs to it, one day, this nation will be a place where all of us can be happy and at peace with each other.

What then, I am asked with some frustration. And I wonder why it is that it can only ever be about fame and money. Where do truth, justice, fairness figure in all of this?

Are we delusional for believing that these factors do have some significance? Are things so bleak that there is no reason for hope?

I do not think so because of the fact that there will always be Malaysians to whom truth, justice and fairness come first and who are prepared to act accordingly.

And as long as they do, and show the way to others who can be inspired to act in like way, there will always be a reason to carry on with the struggle.

In 1996, I was fortunate enough to have been part of a process that would ultimately show me that every so often one would meet the one person that mattered most at the time.

Many may remember that in late 1996, a conference called the "Asia Pacific Conference On East Timor II" was held in Kuala Lumpur.

The conference was broken up by a mob of about 200 people who managed to gain access to the private area where the conference was being held and terrorised the participants.

The police got into the picture and arrested more than 30 of the participants, including R. Sivarasa, Tian Chua, Ivy Josiah, Jacqueline Surin and Syed Husin Ali. The legality of the arrests is currently being challenged in court and I will not speak about that.

The 30-plus arrested participants were taken to the Dang Wangi police station.

A group of five lawyers who banded together purely from the spirit of wanting to assist, worked for the release of the detainees who had been remanded for varying periods.

I wish to record my deep admiration for the commitment shown by those lawyers: Sulaiman Abdullah, Datuk Dominic Puthucheary, M. Puravelan and Ragunath Kesavan (now secretary, Bar Council); I was the fifth.

The negotiations with the police were difficult, in part because they were reacting to the various civil society groups and concerned family members that had encamped outside the police station.

We, too, practically lived there. Operasi Lalang was fresh in people's minds and many feared that the arrests would be converted into ISA detentions.

The lawyers were anxious to get the detainees out as soon as possible. As they emerged to cheers, freed one by one and it began to seem that all would be released, the tension began to dissipate.

By the evening of the fifth day, only 10 more remained in detention. After discussions with the police, we were confident that they would be released at the latest by the next morning.

The next morning told a different story. The 10 were taken to the Kuala Lumpur magistrate's court for a further remand hearing.

We discovered this by chance and immediately assembled, presenting ourselves at the court. It was a tense hearing, with the magistrate about 3.30pm ultimately dismissing our objections.

We had anticipated such a possibility and intended to petition the High Court judge for a review that very afternoon, as in our minds, the decision was wrong. We communicated this to the magistrate, asking for her grounds of decision and the notes she had taken.

These were necessary for our review. Despite our insistence, she told us that these would be available for collection in only about a week's time.

We rushed to the High Court as the 10 were being driven off in a police van, sirens blaring.

The sight strengthened our resolve. Getting there, we were ushered into the chambers of Justice Datuk K.C. Vohrah, then a High Court judge (he has since retired).

He took in the sight of the motley bunch in front of him and gently asked us to explain what we wanted. He heard us out patiently, his brow creased with mounting concern.

Then, with all the indignation of justice denied, he directed his registrar to get the magistrate's file immediately.

Turning to us with a look of anguish, recognising that every second more was a further second of incarceration, he told us that he could only allow for a hearing the next morning so as to give the Attorney-General's Chambers a chance to be heard.

As such, he explained, our clients would have to spend a further night in the lock-up.

I was struck with wonder at the way in which the process was unfolding. This was everything I had learnt the law should be; responsive, decisive and compassionate.

That night, the lawyers worked round the clock and by the next morning, presented an argument that would ultimately define and limit the manner in which the police obtained extensions of the remand period. About 5.30 that evening, Justice Vohrah ordered the police to release the 10 immediately.

It was an inspiring moment, and one I will never forget.

More than the fact that justice was served and the truth had prevailed, Vohrah had shown me that to get there, all it took was a firm belief in doing the right thing as conscience dictated.

Since then, I have had the chance of meeting other courageous judges, whom I cannot name since they are still sitting, and other men and women who have stood up and been counted when it mattered.

What other motivation is there a need for?

* The writer is president, National Human Rights Society (Hakam).

Clever Isn't A Dirty Word

by India Knight from The Sunday Times

I spent quite a lot of time on holiday cajoling my eldest son (he’s 13) to at least attempt to make inroads into his reading list for next year. He sat on the beach reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which was encouraging, and then decided he’d done plenty and needed to devote much more of his time to surfing and hanging out.

What about Waugh, I cried. Greene? Siegfried Sassoon? Oh look, Selections from the Aeneid — I’ll pay you to read it. But he was gone.

When I dropped this same son off to go on a school trip to France last year, I was amazed to see one of his friends, who’d got there early, sitting on a wall doing the Telegraph’s cryptic crossword, if you please. I felt a stab of purest envy.

This paragon is no doubt spending his summer holiday reading Riddles in Mathematics by Eugene P. Northrop, also on our reading list and doomed, I fear, forever to gather dust in our innumerate house. I bet this child devours Virgil and can quote from Decline and Fall.

Whenever I order my son to be more like him, which I do at least twice a week, he smiles beadily and says: “But he’s a boffin.” So? So, being a boffin is a fate worse than death, apparently. The only thing that saves this child from gross unpopularity and ostracism is that he is also a) funny b) nice-looking and c) crucially, good at games.

I have explained patiently to my son that if he were to make a small effort academically, Stephen Hawking would probably still manage to sleep at night, but to no avail. Being seen as actively clever is now apparently socially unacceptable, and his friend is the lone and freakish exception to the overwhelming rule.

Last week, delegates at the 35,000-strong Professional Association of Teachers’ annual conference were told they should stop telling their pupils they are “clever” because it is “uncool”. They should instead use the more thrusting, businessy term “successful”.

Simon Smith, a teacher from Essex, told the conference: “A culture has developed that mocks being clever... I have talked to various pupils. They said being clever meant you were boring, lacked personality, were a teacher’s pet and other things not polite to mention in company such as this. With a few exceptions, including sport, academic prowess is in many eyes not ‘cool’. We need to change this, perhaps by changing the language we use.”

Another teacher said pupils often failed to turn up to collect their awards at prize-giving “because it is not cool”, and a third pointed out that achievers and Nobel prize winners were not considered celebrities, unlike people who’d made a virtue out of undistinguished academic careers, such as Alan Sugar or David Beckham.

Other teachers spoke of clever pupils deliberately making their work second-rate “because of peer pressure not to appear bright, clever or hardworking”.

Now, we all had a class swot, hand permanently up, panting with their love of knowledge, keen on double maths and given to a little light dissection of mammals in their spare time.

Nobody’s suggesting we need more of those: being the class geek, or nerd, or boffin, is not necessarily a number one priority when you’re 13, and a trip to the cinema is always going to be more fun than impromptu revision. However, there used to be kudos attached to cleverness, especially for those who developed the trick of making it seem effortless.

That seems to be a thing of the past: at school, as increasingly throughout society, thickness, or the appearance of thickness, is where it’s at.

It doesn’t seem to occur to David Beckham’s admirers — or Alan Sugar’s, for that matter — that working hard at school might have meant their hero was a clever football player, as opposed to a notoriously dim one, or that Alan Sugar might have made even more money than he has already if he had got a few qualifications.

Nor does it occur to them that for every Richard Branson there are a thousand undereducated miserable people, massively chippy more often than not (and with good reason), who wish they’d stayed on at school. Maybe they should take to heart the sobering statistic that 40% of criminals in our jails are illiterate.

We also heard last week that schools may soon no longer be required to teach children the difference between right and wrong, if plans to revise the core aims of the national curriculum are to go ahead. Teachers would instead be asked to encourage pupils to develop “secure values and beliefs”, though what those values might be is anyone’s guess. The draft proposals also delete any reference to promoting leadership skills, and remove the requirement to teach children about Britain’s cultural heritage.

Barmy, isn’t it. It’s bad — and loony — enough that we exist in a culture that encourages all school children to feel “special” and “equal” in terms of talent and opportunities: a really stupid lesson to teach them, given that it is a fact of life that some people are demonstrably cleverer than others, and demonstrably more likely to succeed, and some people, despite their best efforts, are just thick.

But no: all must have prizes and pats on the head, and the demoralised stupid children must be made to struggle terribly in mixed-ability classes while the understimulated clever ones yawn and look out of the window.

Never mind: in the instant gratification society we live in, every one of those children genuinely believes that success and riches are their due and will land on their lap by magic, either through reality TV or, well, just like that. We are raising a generation that is going to be massively disappointed.

The world of school increasingly bears little or no resemblance to the real world: no streaming, no competitive games, and now nobody being encouraged to develop leadership skills, to want to be clever, or to familiarise themselves with ethics. Instead we get ignorance and moral relativism for school-age children, who are too badly educated to even make sense of the concept. No wonder we’re dumbed down.

Victoria Beckham, who’s made a career out of being skinnier and more ill-looking than a famine victim — nice — has had her hideous hair extensions chopped off and replaced with a strange, studenty bob. Hold the front page! Many tabloids did, last week, to heap praise upon this most unlikely of “style icons”. Meanwhile, poor old Zara Phillips went somewhere wearing a boob tube — a green cotton strapless top — and got bashed for it all over the Daily Mail. Phillips is a super-fit Olympic-quality horsewoman, who dresses like an ordinary girl and has an ordinary, athletic shape. Posh is a pin-up for pro-anorexia websites and, according to Grazia magazine, has the waist-size of a seven-year-old girl.

Why does anyone bother maintaining the crazy fiction that she is any kind of role model, or that her slightly simian, emaciated size 0 looks are aesthetically pleasing and somehow worthy of being aped, and that anyone who’s a size 12 or 14 is a gigantic heifer? Is everybody mad? I mean, who is abnormal here? It’s certainly not Zara. But all this is just unbelievably depressing.

They lied to me in school

By Petra Gimbad

My flatmate and I were watching Oprah, who asked: "What is missing from your life?" Often, she said, the answer lies in our ability to love ourselves. This is true. Without vicious intent, our family draws painful awareness to ourselves when we step wrongly; society constantly tells us who and what we should be. There is little acceptance for one trying to discover oneself. The only approval that we are free to receive in public before reaching adulthood is praise for academic ability. It was only when I studied overseas that I discovered that the Malaysian habit of freely comparing the number of A's so-and-so's son or daughter achieved was not a global phenomenon.

Few friends were allowed to experiment with what they liked and were barred from pursing what they truly wanted, yet they were expected to make the right career choices at 18 that would make everyone happy. It is tragic when one crosses one's teens without ample scope to discover what one loves, particularly in a society that prides itself for its pragmatism. Study your math and science not because you love it, but because it will feed you; learn the piano to be "cultured", it looks good on your CV; avoid volunteer work because it is dirty, there is no point in doing work unless there is money involved. We read to be "smart", not for love of knowledge. Practical choices must be made, yes, but surely there is room for doing things we love too?

The friends with whom I shared my schooldays are now in their early 20s, and many of them are lost. It was easy at 18 to predict the choices most of us would make: top students aimed for medical school, the boys applied to engineering schools, those lacking in confidence did accounting. There was the occasional computer science student and biomedical science student. Parents twisted and wheedled: "You want to help the world? Be a doctor." "You're so good at language and writing, look - be a lawyer, not a journalist."

I asked a friend who graduated cum laude about her passion and what she wanted to do with her life. "Hee hee," she giggled. "Uh, I like to shop? And do stuff with my boyfriend?"

There is not much help for the jaded in university. We were assured constantly: "Oh, theory is always boring. That's accounting. Just stick with it. Wait till you get into the real world - that's when the fun starts." Perhaps, but friends who have graduated seem to lead the exact same lives we led in college or secondary school; but instead of waiting for the bell to ring, they wait for 5pm. They still mamak with the same friends - different faces sometimes, but essentially the same characters. Their conversations sound similar - gossip about everyone's personal lives, the latest girl (different name, same person) and the newest mobile phone (usual Nokia of increasing hideousness). Underlying it all is a restlessness which drives constant complaining and the urge to pick apart everyone but themselves.

And how they cling! Breakups are painful, but they are worse for those who have relied on their partner to provide all companionship, reassurance and fulfillment. Too many are caught in stranglehold relationships because of what they lack, which may include a truly fulfilling career, a family they can really talk to and friends who actually challenge them to be all they can be while accepting them for who they are. Many are crippled by the lie that you need someone else to complete who you are, without realising that each one of us is a whole person fully capable of providing for his or her needs. The thought that we are responsible for our happiness seems to frighten us or meet disbelief. We don't trust ourselves capable of this because we do not know our worth.

Societal norms all too often impose limitations on the people we are expected to become, influencing how we will allow ourselves to grow for the rest of our lives. It is so easy to lose the unique voice each one of us was gifted and neglect our soul's potential as a result.

Nobody wants to be a pauper. Still, I am now more firmly convinced than ever that being successful in terms of prestige and money does not make finding happiness any easier.

Petra likes feminism, social justice, and working on the online magazine, Vox. She is a law student in her spare time. Comments: feedback@thesundaily.com

Rearranging Letters

Shaun had this email forwarded from Dennis. Had us both laughing.

This has got to be one of the cleverest. Someone out there either has too much spare time or is deadly at Scrabble.

DORMITORY:
When you rearrange the letters:
DIRTY ROOM

PRESBYTERIAN:
When you rearrange the letters:
BEST IN PRAYER

ASTRONOMER:
When you rearrange the letters:
MOON STARER

DESPERATION:
When you rearrange the letters:
A ROPE ENDS IT

THE EYES:
When you rearrange the letters:
THEY SEE

GEORGE BUSH:
When you rearrange the letters:
HE BUGS GORE

THE MORSE CODE :
When you rearrange the letters:
HERE COME DOTS

SLOT MACHINES:
When you rearrange the letters:
CASH LOST IN ME

ANIMOSITY:
When you rearrange the letters:
IS NO AMITY

ELECTION RESULTS:
When you rearrange the letters:
LIES - LET'S RECOUNT

SNOOZE ALARMS:
When you rearrange the letters:
ALAS! NO MORE Z 'S

A DECIMAL POINT:
When you rearrange the letters:
IM A DOT IN PLACE


ELEVEN PLUS TWO:
When you rearrange the letters:
TWELVE PLUS ONE


AND FOR THE GRAND FINALE:

MOTHER-IN-LAW:
When you rearrange the letters:
WOMAN HITLER

Yep! Someone with waaaaaaaaaaay too much time on their hands!

Pet's column

Hey everyone!

As we all know, our dear friend Petra is an English fanatic and loves volunteer work. We need more people like her in the world! OK, now, she's managed to score a place writing for the Sun newspaper. Do check out her monthly column! It's out every first Thursday of the month and do let her know if there's anything you are interested in getting out into the public. She will take everything into consideration and will be very thankful to you for enriching her bank of already rich information.

For your convenience and to spur you on to reading more columns, here is her first column.

Pet, you go, girl!