I still remember vividly when you used to crawl up to me when I was asleep and start pulling my hair and my ears and my nose. Everyone showered so much attention on you, and even I couldn’t resist teasing you just to see how you would react. Of course, we were young back then, and we lived simpler lives, oblivious and carefree to the ways of the world. Times have changed. We grew up, we started knowing things, our innocence were lost.

Yet, all that knowledge and reasoning still couldn’t stop me from trying to shout reason into the ears of this stubborn, loud, impatient man that is my brother.

Why the anger? That’s the one thing that bugs me. It’s one thing to be curious and to always have an inquiring nature, but discretion is also a valuable virtue to be learnt. Rudeness and arrogance will not only get you nowhere, but you also run the risk of people misinterpreting you and assuming things about you which are far from the truth. And yet you never listen to what we say. You ask for our opinions, but you become impatient and furious with us when our opinions differ from your solution.

Continued here.

This is something I wrote for The Star last week. I don’t know if it ever saw print, but in any case, here it is in it’s entirety. As always, comments are more than welcome.

TWO CENTS’ FROM AN ORDINARY MALAYSIAN
by: Ganaesh Devaraj

This is just a humble comment from an ordinary Malaysian. I am not a politician, nor do I aspire to be one. I am not a political enthusiast, and intellectual discussions about the intricacies of politics in this country will only serve to confuse me further. But I felt that I had to write this piece, even though it might appear simplistic in the end. It’s something that I feel I have to do, as a Malaysian and as someone who loves and values peace.

I am scared, and I don’t think I have ever been this scared my entire life. I have done some bad things in the past, but thankfully, they remain within the realms of mistakes that people are bound to make in their lifetimes. But this fear, the fear that I have within me now, is of something that I have no control of. I can only stand and watch while events unfold, and see the consequences of what a few of my fellow countrymen are doing, not out of rational thought, but out of ignorance and stupidity.

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This is an article that I wrote for my university newspaper/newsletter. It started with a random sentence, and become a 700-word-plus article 45 minutes later. I decided to post it here because I thought it would be a tribute of sorts, considering that the 31st of this month is Independence Day, and all that. It also seemed like an article that needed feedback from people, namely my dear readers that visit this blog.

AN IDENTITY CRISIS? REALLY?

by Ganaesh A/L Devaraj

I am not an Indian. A pretty bold statement, don’t you think? Imagine the problems I would face if I ever decided to say it out loud, to a crowd of Indians, no less. Imagine the stigma, the insults. Sometimes, the temptation to just get up on stage and shout it out is so great that I have to silently pinch myself to snap back to reality. I could be branded as someone who thinks he’s too good for his own race. My mother once told me to stop acting like a “black-assed white man”. Rest assured, I’m not here to offend anybody, merely to point out an element which is already prevalent in our society. So, back to the statement. Is it racist? Am I denying my cultural identity by saying such a statement?

When I was growing up, my best friend was a Malay boy. My neighbours were Chinese, and my babysitter was Indian. Her son married a Malay woman. I usually spent my weekends playing at my friend’s house. He was Chinese. I had friends from all walks of life, and from all different races. Back then, it wasn’t really a big deal. Of course, you could put it down as childish ignorance, but let me ask you something. If it wasn’t a big deal then, why is it a matter of life and death now?

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My father presents a dilemma in my life. To talk with him means to take all my principles and my beliefs and put them in the corner and listen to his explanation about whatever he feels like talking. To say what I feel about something means to incur his wrath. This has been the way I communicate with my father for the past few years, ever since I took the initiative to say what I mean. Obviously, this has not been very beneficial in our relationship. Calls home would be spent mostly talking to my mom, and conversations with my father would revolve around money and studies. This is normal among many families, apparently. 

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We tend to look at our lives using only one set of rules; our own. What we say, what we do. Our relationships, romantic or otherwise, we observe and evaluate them in what is essentially a one-sided affair. It’s not wrong in any sense. After all, everyone has a different set of beliefs and principles. What we see and feel and experience is entirely up to us to interpret, and if someone enquires our opinion about something, we express it. It is their choice to accept or deny it. So when a situation presents itself, requiring us to look at it from another angle, or from someone else’s eyes, often times we are surprised by what we find. Often times, we are shocked or even humbled, that the things we perceive to be true and irrefutable, is in fact, refutable.

Continued here.