After some months of trying, I have finally got a job offer. I have for a while now been thinking it’s time I moved on from the NGO I’ve been working and been associated with for the last four years. While I am ever grateful to its founder and staff for helping me get to where I am professionally and personally – sometimes you have to venture further to be of better service because you have outgrown what made you what you have become.
I am terribly grateful to Almighty that I have been given what I have been seeking. It is not entirely everything I wished for but enough that it should get me by until something closer to my dreams comes along.
Yet I often doubt my decision to continue my line of work. Some days I am so convinced what I am doing is right. Other days I am so unsure. Some days I think well, I have to do this as I need to be a participant in all that I read in the World section of the newspapers. Rather than sitting in yet another cosy corner complaining and crying foul the demons that walk the earth. Other days I wonder whether what I do and the sacrifices I make are making any difference to anyone but my own sanity.
I have for sometime been trying to come to terms with the sense of guilt I often feel when I am away or so occupied with my work. Today, I could relate to Nelson Mandela when he states in Long Walk to Freedom, “I wondered – not for the first time – whether one was ever justified in neglecting the welfare of one’s own family in order to fight for the welfare of others.”
Do I fight my guilt and critics of a system that sometimes does more harm than good in the hope that compassion will prevail? Do I continue to sink in further into myself when my surroundings disappoint me or fail to meet my idealistic reasoning? Should I simply give up and give in to a normality that has never been in me?
What if I am wrong? What if I do wrong? Then what will become of me?
So many questions. So little time. So much to do. So far to go.
Round and round I go, where I’ll stop, nobody knows.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
We Are All Under the Same Sky
(Thanks Brother M for giving me the courage to share my inner self)
I haven't really cried for sometime now. Not my atypical crying. I used to cry a lot because it always made me feel better. Some people get mad, hysterical, drunk...I simply cry my eyeballs out. I used to cry just about anywhere - most of the time on my own - as my thoughts drifted to old memories, regrets, loss, heartbreak, anger.
The last few months however have been dry. It's not that I haven't revisited memories nor because nothing bad has happened to me. I guess it was a case of being all cried out. I never quite understood what that meant until recently.
Two nights ago I bawled my heart out while sitting alone under the starry sky on a beach infront of my chalet in Langkawi. I had just had enough of some merciless teasing about my weight from a friend - a teasing I honestly didn't mind but which was simply getting downright rude.
And so...I took a chair out to the beach. I started listening to songs by Nelly Furtado (Why do all good things come to an end), Justin Timberlake (What goes around comes around), Joshua (May God's love be with you), Coldplay and Michael Stipes (cover of May God's love be with you) and Coldplay (Fix you) on my iPod and started smoking a Backwood Berry cigar.
I sat under the stars feeling like I needed a moment to reflect before going home the next day on what has been and what was to be. Before me was the dark sea lit by a row of fishing boats along the coast. Behind me were lights emanating from the chalets along the beach. Lights which unfortunately shielded the sky from showing all its glory. I had no particular thought in my head. I was simply chilling out.
I then realised that what I saw above me was a shadow of what I used to see everyday in Sudan. I suddenly remembered how beautifully the stars shone over Darfur and how I used to gaze at the sparkling diamonds in the sky with wonder and peace.
And suddenly, while I listened to music which I found both a comfort and a reminder of things lost, I cried from beneath my heart.
I cried for the love I had in Sudan - a love I never knew I could find. I cried for the people who I saw but didn't want to know because I couldn't do everything I should have to help them. I cried that I had lost a love I thought was stronger than the green eyed monster. I cried for all the people I left under the glittering stars who can still see the sky through their thatched roof waiting for intruders to steal their peace.
Most of all I cried because I cannot control what is not mine to have or mine to change.
I haven't really cried for sometime now. Not my atypical crying. I used to cry a lot because it always made me feel better. Some people get mad, hysterical, drunk...I simply cry my eyeballs out. I used to cry just about anywhere - most of the time on my own - as my thoughts drifted to old memories, regrets, loss, heartbreak, anger.
The last few months however have been dry. It's not that I haven't revisited memories nor because nothing bad has happened to me. I guess it was a case of being all cried out. I never quite understood what that meant until recently.
Two nights ago I bawled my heart out while sitting alone under the starry sky on a beach infront of my chalet in Langkawi. I had just had enough of some merciless teasing about my weight from a friend - a teasing I honestly didn't mind but which was simply getting downright rude.
And so...I took a chair out to the beach. I started listening to songs by Nelly Furtado (Why do all good things come to an end), Justin Timberlake (What goes around comes around), Joshua (May God's love be with you), Coldplay and Michael Stipes (cover of May God's love be with you) and Coldplay (Fix you) on my iPod and started smoking a Backwood Berry cigar.
I sat under the stars feeling like I needed a moment to reflect before going home the next day on what has been and what was to be. Before me was the dark sea lit by a row of fishing boats along the coast. Behind me were lights emanating from the chalets along the beach. Lights which unfortunately shielded the sky from showing all its glory. I had no particular thought in my head. I was simply chilling out.
I then realised that what I saw above me was a shadow of what I used to see everyday in Sudan. I suddenly remembered how beautifully the stars shone over Darfur and how I used to gaze at the sparkling diamonds in the sky with wonder and peace.
And suddenly, while I listened to music which I found both a comfort and a reminder of things lost, I cried from beneath my heart.
I cried for the love I had in Sudan - a love I never knew I could find. I cried for the people who I saw but didn't want to know because I couldn't do everything I should have to help them. I cried that I had lost a love I thought was stronger than the green eyed monster. I cried for all the people I left under the glittering stars who can still see the sky through their thatched roof waiting for intruders to steal their peace.
Most of all I cried because I cannot control what is not mine to have or mine to change.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Afghanistan: No You Can't Drive
In 2002, I volunteered and then was employed to work for an NGO on aid projects in Afghanistan. Although our projects were in the country, we lived in Pakistan very near the border. As the distance between where we lived and where our projects were, was not within walking distance and foreigners were not encouraged to walk in the streets due to security - we were usually driven to project sites by hired drivers in our van.
Our drivers were all Afghanis who were born in Afghanistan but had been brought up and educated in Pakistan, in an area where a large community of Afghanis like themselves lived and who mostly still held onto their strict values and culture. These drivers spoke some English and were young and full of spirit and I have to admit, rather good looking.
But their looks have nothing to do with this story. This story is about something else.
One day a group of us had a meeting with Pakistani army officials near the border. As usual, I sat in front, next to the driver. And no, it wasn't because of his looks (well, not entirely!) but because the front seat had the best view of the road. It was my first time in these two countries and there was always so much to see and observe that I always wanted the best seat.
As we left the army compound I told the driver "you know, back home, I drive a lot". He didn't quite respond and just sort of smiled like I was joking. So I said, "no, really, I drive back home. I even have my own car." He simply replied "no you don't. Women can't drive."
As usual, I, a woman quite easily scorned in such circumstances, told him, "Okay...I'll prove it to you that I, and other women, can drive. Stop the van and I'll show you." At first I thought I was playing along with what his "teasing" when he stopped the van and stepped out of the driver's seat to let me in. So I got in the driver's seat. Adjusted the rear view mirror and the seat so I was comfortable and revved the engine a little. My driver, who was in the passenger seat just looked on amused. I wish I could have taken a photo of his face when the van moved after I stepped on the clutch, got into gear and stepped on the accelerator quite comfortably without letting the engine die. He was genuinely shocked. He almost couldn't believe his eyes. A woman was actually driving!
I was almost as shocked too as I thought he was teasing when he said women can't drive. I think that was the very moment I realised that women in his part of Pakistan and Afghanistan were living in a completely shut off and conservative society. I had certainly heard and read the stories. I had Afghanis tell me the same but an experience like that kind of brought the fact home closer.
I continued to drive without much problem although I had never driven on small road road congested with trucks, cars, horse carts, children pushing wheelbarrows, pedestrians and three wheelers. All of whom didn't take much notice of me driving at first.
Not until I drove to "No Man's Land", a smugglers haven between the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan, that is. We stopped here to order some supplies for a food aid project. After about 5 minutes of waiting, a boy who had noticed me came up to the my driver who was still in the passenger seat talking animatedly in Pashto, the main local language in the area. My driver looked at me, smiled and responded to the boy, who then turned around and called other boys to come up to the van. Quite suddenly there were at least 10 or more people surrounding the front of van peering into the windscreen at me pointing and laughing. I got a bit nervous as they started getting more and more excited and shouting words I couldn't comprehend. And so I asked my driver what was going on? He told me that some of the people were asking whether I was a man or a woman because they could not believe that a woman was driving!
This went on for a number of minutes before more people came to look. I felt like a clown in a circus or more like a caged animal in a zoo as it was unlikely I could move the van. It soon got too uncomfortable for my liking so we drove off without any incident.
When we got back to our office and home, my driver complimented me on my driving - which I thought was rather nice of him! I asked him whether it would be safe to continue driving and he seemed to think so. So, from then on, I was known as the first woman to drive in Chaman (Pakistan) and Spin Boldak (Afghanistan). I would regularly drive around, never alone of course, but with at least a staff or volunteer in the car. I loved it. I felt it was also an opportunity to educate Afghanis and Pakistanis in the area just what a woman, particularly a Muslim woman, is capable of, given the chance. I don't think I changed their mindset, because as a foreign woman, I was expected to get away with doing certain things local women weren't allowed to do, but I hope I at least opened up their minds a little to some possibilities.
I know for certain that my drivers were more than happy to let me drive and that I had gained their confidence as a competent driver. Oh yes. I must have. Because one day, they let me drive for over two hours from the border to the nearest capital, while they all slept in the back seat.
Our drivers were all Afghanis who were born in Afghanistan but had been brought up and educated in Pakistan, in an area where a large community of Afghanis like themselves lived and who mostly still held onto their strict values and culture. These drivers spoke some English and were young and full of spirit and I have to admit, rather good looking.
But their looks have nothing to do with this story. This story is about something else.
One day a group of us had a meeting with Pakistani army officials near the border. As usual, I sat in front, next to the driver. And no, it wasn't because of his looks (well, not entirely!) but because the front seat had the best view of the road. It was my first time in these two countries and there was always so much to see and observe that I always wanted the best seat.
As we left the army compound I told the driver "you know, back home, I drive a lot". He didn't quite respond and just sort of smiled like I was joking. So I said, "no, really, I drive back home. I even have my own car." He simply replied "no you don't. Women can't drive."
As usual, I, a woman quite easily scorned in such circumstances, told him, "Okay...I'll prove it to you that I, and other women, can drive. Stop the van and I'll show you." At first I thought I was playing along with what his "teasing" when he stopped the van and stepped out of the driver's seat to let me in. So I got in the driver's seat. Adjusted the rear view mirror and the seat so I was comfortable and revved the engine a little. My driver, who was in the passenger seat just looked on amused. I wish I could have taken a photo of his face when the van moved after I stepped on the clutch, got into gear and stepped on the accelerator quite comfortably without letting the engine die. He was genuinely shocked. He almost couldn't believe his eyes. A woman was actually driving!
I was almost as shocked too as I thought he was teasing when he said women can't drive. I think that was the very moment I realised that women in his part of Pakistan and Afghanistan were living in a completely shut off and conservative society. I had certainly heard and read the stories. I had Afghanis tell me the same but an experience like that kind of brought the fact home closer.
I continued to drive without much problem although I had never driven on small road road congested with trucks, cars, horse carts, children pushing wheelbarrows, pedestrians and three wheelers. All of whom didn't take much notice of me driving at first.
Not until I drove to "No Man's Land", a smugglers haven between the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan, that is. We stopped here to order some supplies for a food aid project. After about 5 minutes of waiting, a boy who had noticed me came up to the my driver who was still in the passenger seat talking animatedly in Pashto, the main local language in the area. My driver looked at me, smiled and responded to the boy, who then turned around and called other boys to come up to the van. Quite suddenly there were at least 10 or more people surrounding the front of van peering into the windscreen at me pointing and laughing. I got a bit nervous as they started getting more and more excited and shouting words I couldn't comprehend. And so I asked my driver what was going on? He told me that some of the people were asking whether I was a man or a woman because they could not believe that a woman was driving!
This went on for a number of minutes before more people came to look. I felt like a clown in a circus or more like a caged animal in a zoo as it was unlikely I could move the van. It soon got too uncomfortable for my liking so we drove off without any incident.
When we got back to our office and home, my driver complimented me on my driving - which I thought was rather nice of him! I asked him whether it would be safe to continue driving and he seemed to think so. So, from then on, I was known as the first woman to drive in Chaman (Pakistan) and Spin Boldak (Afghanistan). I would regularly drive around, never alone of course, but with at least a staff or volunteer in the car. I loved it. I felt it was also an opportunity to educate Afghanis and Pakistanis in the area just what a woman, particularly a Muslim woman, is capable of, given the chance. I don't think I changed their mindset, because as a foreign woman, I was expected to get away with doing certain things local women weren't allowed to do, but I hope I at least opened up their minds a little to some possibilities.
I know for certain that my drivers were more than happy to let me drive and that I had gained their confidence as a competent driver. Oh yes. I must have. Because one day, they let me drive for over two hours from the border to the nearest capital, while they all slept in the back seat.
Compliments Everywhere but Home
Today as I was entering the loo in The Curve, a shopping mall, I heard a lady tell her friend "skinny is better than fat, so don't complain." I couldn't help but smile, because as a fat lady, I felt inclined to disagree.
Whenever I come home after a long trip, it always strikes me how most Malaysian women are tiny, boobless and buttless. And when they look like they have boobs, I suspect their molds are made from artificial material rather than flesh and blood. I always feel extra, extra, extra large in Malaysia.
I never think about my weight when I am away. As far as I am concerned (and according to my regular medical check-ups) I am healthy, enjoy my life fully and still have the ability to attract the opposite sex. Yet, I am often made to believe otherwise when I come home.
Let me provide some examples of some of the conversations I've had since coming home after sometime being away: a close relative starts telling me about all these new ways to lose weight - from herbal drinks to massages; my cousin - whom I only meet once a year during Eid - after talking about men and relationships suggests "you should lose a bit of weight"; and one of my bestfriend's father says "wah...you makan banyak ah" (wow, you eat a lot don't you - or something to that effect). I know that the first two examples were said with concern to my health and apparently dismal marital status respectively, while I suppose the last was said in jest (albeit in a rather insensitive manner - sorry S).
Never mind how I am suddenly popular with agents from Herbal Life, or other weight loss or nutrition programs who are keen to help me lose weight insisting I can lose so and so kg after only two weeks. Never mind as well that I never seem to go on dates in this country.
I must admit that such suggestions, remarks and occurrences affect my self confidence sometimes.
When I'm away however, no one makes any remarks or suggestions about my weight. NEVER. Certainly not to my face. Instead I often get compliments from people including strangers - whether men or women. Mind you I am talking about people from countries in the Middle East, South Asia, Europe and Africa where heavy set women are often the norm.
I remember now a strange advice I often receive from Malaysians before I travel. "You'd better be careful when you go to countries in Africa/South Asia/Middle East - the men from these countries like women who are big especially those with big boobs and bums". I never used to think much of it in the beginning - and in fact viewed such a "fact" as indeed a negative characteristic - perceiving that these men were particularly lascivious just because they liked ample women with ample assets.
So whenever a man from Africa/South Asia/Middle East used to compliment me - I used to instantly think that they were just trying to flatter me so they could get into my pants.
Thankfully after spending some time travelling in these continents and knowing their people better, I now think much more of myself and understand cultural behaviour much better to recognize that such assumptions weren't always right. Rather, I came to realise that Malaysians had smaller minds and that men from Africa/South Asia/Middle East had better taste!
Knowing that doesn't help my self confidence in Malaysia. I still feel conscious as I try to find suitable clothes that fit, or when one day I stood next to a girl in an alteration shop who complained that the smallest Levis she had bought was still too big, or when I feel men no longer look my way (except at my chest when they realise this fat woman has some specifically appealing assets).
Oh to wander the world and receive compliments from a restaurant staff who says to you as you pass "you are so beautiful" and then gives you an orange just before you leave the premises (Turkey). Or to receive compliments like "I was first attracted to you when I saw your bum and the way it jiggled as you walked" (India - from a man I got to know beforehand as a friend - not a stranger!). Or to be appreciated for my smile and the colour and the feel of my skin (Africa, Middle East, South Asia). Or to go places where people find you attractive enough that they flirt with you with a smile, with words, with gestures.
Yes, of course I don't depend on compliments to feel good about myself. But it's nice to be appreciated for who and what you are and not be reminded that you are not at par with other women just because of the size of your body.
I suppose that's partly why I always crave to leave Malaysia. Well one of the many reasons. I just feel pretty damn much better about myself!
Whenever I come home after a long trip, it always strikes me how most Malaysian women are tiny, boobless and buttless. And when they look like they have boobs, I suspect their molds are made from artificial material rather than flesh and blood. I always feel extra, extra, extra large in Malaysia.
I never think about my weight when I am away. As far as I am concerned (and according to my regular medical check-ups) I am healthy, enjoy my life fully and still have the ability to attract the opposite sex. Yet, I am often made to believe otherwise when I come home.
Let me provide some examples of some of the conversations I've had since coming home after sometime being away: a close relative starts telling me about all these new ways to lose weight - from herbal drinks to massages; my cousin - whom I only meet once a year during Eid - after talking about men and relationships suggests "you should lose a bit of weight"; and one of my bestfriend's father says "wah...you makan banyak ah" (wow, you eat a lot don't you - or something to that effect). I know that the first two examples were said with concern to my health and apparently dismal marital status respectively, while I suppose the last was said in jest (albeit in a rather insensitive manner - sorry S).
Never mind how I am suddenly popular with agents from Herbal Life, or other weight loss or nutrition programs who are keen to help me lose weight insisting I can lose so and so kg after only two weeks. Never mind as well that I never seem to go on dates in this country.
I must admit that such suggestions, remarks and occurrences affect my self confidence sometimes.
When I'm away however, no one makes any remarks or suggestions about my weight. NEVER. Certainly not to my face. Instead I often get compliments from people including strangers - whether men or women. Mind you I am talking about people from countries in the Middle East, South Asia, Europe and Africa where heavy set women are often the norm.
I remember now a strange advice I often receive from Malaysians before I travel. "You'd better be careful when you go to countries in Africa/South Asia/Middle East - the men from these countries like women who are big especially those with big boobs and bums". I never used to think much of it in the beginning - and in fact viewed such a "fact" as indeed a negative characteristic - perceiving that these men were particularly lascivious just because they liked ample women with ample assets.
So whenever a man from Africa/South Asia/Middle East used to compliment me - I used to instantly think that they were just trying to flatter me so they could get into my pants.
Thankfully after spending some time travelling in these continents and knowing their people better, I now think much more of myself and understand cultural behaviour much better to recognize that such assumptions weren't always right. Rather, I came to realise that Malaysians had smaller minds and that men from Africa/South Asia/Middle East had better taste!
Knowing that doesn't help my self confidence in Malaysia. I still feel conscious as I try to find suitable clothes that fit, or when one day I stood next to a girl in an alteration shop who complained that the smallest Levis she had bought was still too big, or when I feel men no longer look my way (except at my chest when they realise this fat woman has some specifically appealing assets).
Oh to wander the world and receive compliments from a restaurant staff who says to you as you pass "you are so beautiful" and then gives you an orange just before you leave the premises (Turkey). Or to receive compliments like "I was first attracted to you when I saw your bum and the way it jiggled as you walked" (India - from a man I got to know beforehand as a friend - not a stranger!). Or to be appreciated for my smile and the colour and the feel of my skin (Africa, Middle East, South Asia). Or to go places where people find you attractive enough that they flirt with you with a smile, with words, with gestures.
Yes, of course I don't depend on compliments to feel good about myself. But it's nice to be appreciated for who and what you are and not be reminded that you are not at par with other women just because of the size of your body.
I suppose that's partly why I always crave to leave Malaysia. Well one of the many reasons. I just feel pretty damn much better about myself!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
The Drifter...
Not so long ago, someone told me "Hey...it's not good to be drifting for so long you know". As usual I never react fast enough when some someone says something that takes me completely by surprise. So I didn't respond by asking why she thought I was drifting.
I get the impression she thinks so because I do not have a full time job and haven't had one for more than a year now.
It makes me sad and annoyed at the same time when a person chooses to label me as someone who is drifting without asking me beforehand what exactly it is I have been doing with my life just because I prefer to keep some information to myself. I guess I shouldn't care but apparently I do because I feel I need to get this whole thing off my chest.
So let's see...what have I been doing in the last one year or more to qualify me as a "drifter":
1. Jan-April 2006: Went to Egypt to study Arabic.
2. May 2006: Spent two weeks in Sudan working.
3. June-August 2006: Had a 3 month contract to work. Spent two weeks in Jogjakarta indentifying rehabilitation projects and a month in Syria working on Lebanese displaced projects. Plus travelled to Jordan and Sudan for work, and Egypt for a short holiday.
4. July 2006: Spent a week on a training course in Australia.
5. September 2006: Spent two weeks on a training course in Korea.
6. October 2006: Took the month off for Ramadan.
7. November 2006: Attended a few days training course in Bangi.
8. December 2006 - March 2007:
- Contracted to write two operational manuals for an NGO
- Went to Thailand to buy supplies to sell at a flea market
- Started selling household wares at a flea market on Sundays
- Did a number of voluntary work for two organizations in Johor and KL
- Conducted a training for an NGO
- Went for a ToT in India and travelled some
Oh yes...I have been drifting because I haven't been working full time and because I didn't sign a long term contract. I have been drifting because I refuse to work for the only organization in Malaysia that does the kind of humanitarian work I like, on a full time basis for personal reasons. I have been drifting because I have been spending the last 6 months applying for jobs overseas. I have been drifting because I refuse to give up my dream and passion of working in the field and because I want to experience working for a new organization. I have been drifting because I won't beg for help to get me a job somewhere.
If that's the case, then a drifter I am glad to be.
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