Everything you do is well thought-out, deliberate... Have you ever felt like just letting go... resting your mind, your soul? That is because I'm so confused. My mind weighs a ton, throbbing in every direction, trying to hold on to a semblance of normalcy. Though.... I'm failing miserably....
He maneuvered his way through the labyrinthine corridors, in search of a room that had been assigned to him by his college. It was dark and stuffy all around, and reeked of that 'laundry' smell that had seemed to settle itself into his every fibre. Students' hand-washed clothes hung like dead, stretched meat on sale at the night market at every available space. The smell was making his head throb.
When he finally reached his room, he pushed it open and was greeted by two Indian males. They acknowledged him with a mere nod and continued shoving things from a cardboard box into a wooden drawer that was provided. It then occurred to him that he had not brought anything at all. Not even the one thing that had seemed to matter the most before this. A sane mind...
He recalled something from a few days ago. He was stuck in a crowd of sweaty people, and some of those sweaty people waiting for the countdown to begin were his friends, except he suddenly found it hard to remember each and everyone of their names. Because they never mattered... and never would matter. An explosion of fireworks brightened up the dark sky, courting 'oohs' and 'aahs' from the eager crowd before it happened. The fireworks stopped abruptly. Everyone looked around in confusion, wondering what to feel about this when he plunged into a dreamlike state.
"WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!" a distant voice yelled.
It was in the dreamlike state that he saw two people running towards a green door nearby. Nobody in the crowd seemed to have noticed it, but by then, the crowd had already turned into useless mounds of meat before his eyes. Nothing else mattered then, except the two people who were running towards the door. He recognized one of them. Jacob, the quintessential cool guy that was in his class during secondary school, someone he'd tried to emulate during those years...
He ran in after them. A blinding blindness seemed to swallow the whole room up. The first thing he noticed in that brightly-lit room was the label, "Red Room", stuck atop another door. Jacob sat trembling at a desk, muttering, "I can't take this anymore... I can't......" He ignored Jacob and marched straight up towards a fat old lady sitting in the middle of the room.
"What place is this?" was his question.
"An institute for people inflicted by the Red Rose disease. In short, these people believe in things they see in movies, and then succumb to insanity when triggered. Different people come with different triggers."
Funnily, he never saw the other guy that also ran into the room. His mind flashed back to the present and soon, he found himself muttering to himself, completely detached now from whatever was going on around him. Have you ever felt like letting go from this social aspect of your life? You just want to be alone, not for a while, but maybe forever... You don't want to act like you care. Well, that's because you really don't...
He stumbled out into the corridor and felt his way around with the walls. Where he was headed to, he wasn't really sure but one thing was certain, he had been in that place before. When he finally reached the door to his destination, an old lady approached him and said, "But you did not exhibit any signs of the disease!" He looked up at the label and finally broke down.
"Not where it appears, but where it matters."
Choral Speaking
"Honk!Honk!Pon!Pon!Vrooooom!"
That grating noise in your ears
What do you know?
It's so common on Malaysian roads
Everyone thinks it's their 'grandfather's road!
"No where got"
What NOOO?
Just look at the way they're driving!
Queue-jumping, cutting across the lane with no thought whatsoever
And those aren't even the worst!
Everyone is always rushing off to somewhere, somehow
In the bank, frowns of concentration on faces
Murmurs of "Aiyo, why so slow one ah?" all over the places
While heads be scratched, and you'll get to hear, "Excuse me?"
And those who jump queue, they look to the front with blank expression
Because you know what?
It's our practice! We're the only ones pressed for time!
And then when maneovering our cars out of parking spaces later,
We curse, curse and curse
"Oops! Did an illegal U-turn."
"Ah loi, see got police or not?"
One gains on the car, and she gets off scot-free
That's why you see these Formula 1 racers on the road every day
Where else in the world will you get to see a whole gang of them on the road swearing at each other?
Think that's cute? You haven't heard better ones!
You must have taken the KTM at least once(or everyday, in which case sigh) in your life
"Yeah, that never-on-time KTM"
And when it does come, boy, is there big drama when everyone tries to squeeze in at once
"Hey dumbnut let people go 1st la!" "Don't bang my face with your bag, stupid!"
Once inside, you see old ladies with heavy bags standing while the youngsters remain comfortably seated
Stop at the KL Sentra station, take the monorail to Bukit Bintang to enjoy a wonderful arrays of colors
"What colors? "
"Eh, you Malaysian ka? Din hear lalamui lalazai before meh?"
You accidentally lay your eyes on them even a second they'll say something about your mother
Uneducated bunch you think but leave them alone
Because do you know the average number of books a Malaysian read in one year is a meagre two(whisper)
Yes, two!
"Eh, don't talk so bad about us la. We got good things also what. KLCC leh?" "Where else you want to find so delicious punya nasi lemak? You think overseas got ah?"
"Got"
"Where got"
"KFC Combo leh"
"And don't forget you know, we can tahan other races, not like some countries."
" Talk so much, you don't love your country meh?"
We don't?
We say, MALAYSIA BOLEH!"
That grating noise in your ears
What do you know?
It's so common on Malaysian roads
Everyone thinks it's their 'grandfather's road!
"No where got"
What NOOO?
Just look at the way they're driving!
Queue-jumping, cutting across the lane with no thought whatsoever
And those aren't even the worst!
Everyone is always rushing off to somewhere, somehow
In the bank, frowns of concentration on faces
Murmurs of "Aiyo, why so slow one ah?" all over the places
While heads be scratched, and you'll get to hear, "Excuse me?"
And those who jump queue, they look to the front with blank expression
Because you know what?
It's our practice! We're the only ones pressed for time!
And then when maneovering our cars out of parking spaces later,
We curse, curse and curse
"Oops! Did an illegal U-turn."
"Ah loi, see got police or not?"
One gains on the car, and she gets off scot-free
That's why you see these Formula 1 racers on the road every day
Where else in the world will you get to see a whole gang of them on the road swearing at each other?
Think that's cute? You haven't heard better ones!
You must have taken the KTM at least once(or everyday, in which case sigh) in your life
"Yeah, that never-on-time KTM"
And when it does come, boy, is there big drama when everyone tries to squeeze in at once
"Hey dumbnut let people go 1st la!" "Don't bang my face with your bag, stupid!"
Once inside, you see old ladies with heavy bags standing while the youngsters remain comfortably seated
Stop at the KL Sentra station, take the monorail to Bukit Bintang to enjoy a wonderful arrays of colors
"What colors? "
"Eh, you Malaysian ka? Din hear lalamui lalazai before meh?"
You accidentally lay your eyes on them even a second they'll say something about your mother
Uneducated bunch you think but leave them alone
Because do you know the average number of books a Malaysian read in one year is a meagre two(whisper)
Yes, two!
"Eh, don't talk so bad about us la. We got good things also what. KLCC leh?" "Where else you want to find so delicious punya nasi lemak? You think overseas got ah?"
"Got"
"Where got"
"KFC Combo leh"
"And don't forget you know, we can tahan other races, not like some countries."
" Talk so much, you don't love your country meh?"
We don't?
We say, MALAYSIA BOLEH!"
Malaysia - The Nation Through Our Years
I woke up with a start, as an all-too-familar shrill ringing pierced the silence of the morning. Groaning, I turned off the alarm, trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes at the same time. It was Friday morning, but for some reason, I wasn't experiencing the elation Friday mornings always brought with them. A sullen mood prevailed as I went about my daily morning rituals.
"You look so down today," a Malay classmate known for her gregarious ways asked in a concerned manner. I shrugged, as if the problem pressing down on my chest could be shrugged off as several other classmate started surrounding me. To my horror, a solitary tear streamed down my face. It wasn't unexpected, as I'd been bottling them up for some time now. "It just had to happen right here huh?" I thought bitterly as sobs started racking my body. It was a rhetorical question, as I knew exactly the reason. The source of all this depression was coming home today....
Not even aware of what was happening anymore, I experienced a temporary flashback amidst the worry-wrought voices of my classmates. "Merdeka today lah, don't be so sad....." The voice sounded like it came from far away.
The canteen was teeming with students, either jostling with the others for seats or queuing up for their food. I had just finished devouring a packet of my perennial favourite, nasi lemak and quickly scrambled out of my seat. Having informed my friends of my early departure, I virtually dashed all the way to the public phone located outside the staffroom and slipped a 50 cent coin into the slot. I dialled home. My grandma picked up the phone in the middle of the second ring. I cut in before she could say anything, "Nikki got the scholarship mah?" My heart pounded to a point where I thought it'd actually burst through my ribcage.
"Yeah lah, she got it! And country is India!" She went on blabbing about how people said India was a good place for medical students but I'd tuned out. I was gripped by a sudden palpable sense of loss. So, my younger sister from whom I'd never been apart for more than a week was going to leave for India after doing her Cambridge A-levels in a college in Sepang for a year and a half . To study medicine. Reality sank in. She was only coming back every Friday, and only on weekends would I get to revel in her company...
The years in which Nikki and I grew up together spanned three states. We were both born in Johor, or to be more exact, Tangkak, to a sales executive and a housewife in their mid- twenties. Our early childhood was riddled with trips to our maternal grandfather's durian orchard. That aside, it was what everyone would call a typical childhood. We argued a lot, yes, but those childish arguments were far outnumbered by the happy times we had spent with each other. It was during those years we learned the pleasure of friendship, as a strong sense of camaraderie always dominated in the kampong that was Tangkak, our hometown up to this very day. The fact we lived between the Malays and the Indians also helped. Hence, the existence of a real melting pot for cultures smack bang in the middle of the proverbial nowhere, in Malaysia.
I recall a certain event still very much vivid in my mind. It happened at night, on the 31st of August in the year 1994. The seven of us (Nikki, I and the others, the walking definition of the phrase racial harmony) were playing like monkeys(in my father's words) in front of our house that night, drenched in sweat. We were chasing each other around, after getting bored of singeing the grass around us with matches under the watchful eyes of our parents, as they chatted with the neighbours in broken Malay. Then, the first fireworks exploded in the sky. We stopped running around to look up at the sky, now pinpricked with a myriad of colours. A second round of fireworks burst into the sky like flora blooming in the spring and we found ourselves cheering and screaming at the sudden burst of colours that surrounded us. "Hari ni Hari Merdeka!" Siti, the youngest of us all yelled. And we stood, transfixed by the beauty of it all. The typical children of Malaysia, abdicated of all responsiblities, standing under the night sky on a very special day to the nation as a whole.
All good things come to an end, however as our parents dropped us a bombshell in the beginning of the year 1996 by announcing we would be moving to Melaka, due to the nature of our father's job. An ominous atmosphere presided as Nikki and I spilled out hearts' contents about the move to each other. That year, we celebrated Merdeka Day without the flare we were used to. The few years after were then spent on navigating the historical waters of Melaka, and we came to love Melaka, especially the Portuguese settlement by the seaside. How can I ever forget how pleasant the breeze ruffling our hair was, whenever we were having yet another evening meal in an open-air seafood restaurant there? And the white tourists! It was quite an experience for Nikki and me as we hadn't seen many whites during our years in Johor.
The years went by in a blur and we moved to Kuala Lumpur in the year 2000. Howdy, city life! How easy was it to fit in and learn the ways of the city people, having been tainted by the progress of a nation, slowly forgetting our roots and identity. Fast forward to the year 2007, I felt like I was on the outside, looking in, when Nikki and I were sitting in the mamak stall near our house, sipping our glasses of iced Milo. It was the night after my embarrassing crying fest at school. The mamak stall was practically alive with the sounds of the Malays, Indians and the Chinese. "Ah ne! Satu milo ais!" "Dua nasi lemak!" "Mari kira!"
"You have no idea how much I've missed home, Jie," Nikki said, leaning forward. "But I have to go to India in two more years, I'm really scared!" Trust me, I knew how scared she was, judging by the expression on her face when she signed the contract with 'Kerajaan Malaysia' a few weeks ago for the scholarship. I responded jokingly, "Take it easy, sis. You're doing us proud. You're doing Malaysia proud." She went on, "But you have no idea! Imagine, it's India for five years! Oh I'm going to miss Malaysia so much. You're really lucky, you know?" At that moment, a spectacular array of fireworks exploded in the sky. The people around us started letting out deafening yells of "MERDEKA!" but funnily, my mind wasn't on it. I was too busy looking up at the fireworks display and for a fleeting second, I swore I saw us up there. The childhood 'gang', the melting pot for cultures, there it was, a picture of brilliance in the sky. It was truly a magical moment. Nikki jolted me out of it by screaming to be heard above the ruckus, "Here's to the nation's fiftieth birthday!" And we clinked glasses.
Note:This story is dedicated to the best sister in the world, Nikki in light of her leaving for India to do medicine in the year 2009 under a JPA scholarship program.
The Joys Of Merdeka
It is really just another one of those days you feel on top of the world, as you jabber away with your friends at a mamak stall, sipping from a glass of iced milo. Kneaded in the scene is the proverbial people from all walks of life, all with their own color and stories to tell. Tales of daily gaffes and troubles invade the air. They are the typical anak Malaysia, all united under the palings of living in Malaysia and the things brought with it. And it is at that particular mamak stall they revel in the true sense of the word merdeka.
Susan Glaspell's Trifles
Explain how Susan Glaspell highlights the plight of women and the attitude of men towards women during her time in “Trifles”.
One of Susan Glaspell’s most famous works, a one-act play called Trifles (which was later adapted into the short story, A Jury Of Her Peers) deals mainly with issues of the womankind that are rampant even among society today, especially in India and most Middle East countries, where women are still being regarded as second-class citizens. That the author chose to highlight this sort of issues showcases undertones of her feelings, and a rather sarcastic view of the way women are treated, because we can see that the women have somewhat ‘triumphed’ over the men in the play, despite being scoffed at and looked down upon by the latter. Examples of ways the men put the women down in the play are as follow. “Well, can you beat the women! Held for murder and worryin' about her preserves,” uttered by the sheriff. “ and “Well, women are used to worrying over trifles,” by Hale. Moving on to the synopsis of the play…
The play begins with Mr. Hale, a neighboring farmer, and his wife, Mrs. Hale; a sheriff, Mr. Peters, and his wife; and the county attorney, Mr. Henderson walking into the Wrights’ farm house to look for clues on the murder of Mr. Wright the previous day. Mr. Hale proceeds to describe what has happened upon his arrival at the farm house, that he has found Mr. Wright dead with a rope slipped around his head and Mrs. Wright rocking in her chair, with an unsettling and almost-palpable serenity. They then come upon the untidy kitchen and the men begin dissing the women over worrying about trifles before moving upstairs to investigate the scene. A while later, the men come back down to find the women discussing what they deem trivial matters and laugh at them, much to the women’s embarrassment. After the men have gone outside to the barn, the women finally come upon a clue as to why Mr. Wright has been murdered, in the form of a bird cage that has been tampered with, and the bird itself, which neck has been wrung. The play ends with the women concealing the dead bird from the men to prevent Mrs. Wright from being found out.
The core theme of the play is the subservient role women play in the patriarchal society, in which women are treated as mere slaves. The men in the play are clearly opinionated that a woman’s role is confined to the kitchen solely. Even the women cannot seem to reject the stereotype that has been imposed upon them, as indicated by Mrs Peters words, “She said she wanted an apron. Funny thing to want, for there isn't much to get you dirty in jail, goodness knows. But I suppose just to make her feel more natural.” This further underlines how deeply entrenched the role of women in the society is. The fact that the County Attorney has mentioned that Mrs. Wright is not much of a housekeeper after saying condescendingly, “And yet, for all their worries, what would we do without the ladies?” also corroborates my point. The male chauvinism clearly pronounced in that statement, implies that women are only objects subjected to keep the house clean (and other menial tasks) at all times. It has probably never occurred to him during that time women are equally capable. They could easily be men’s intellectual counterparts, given the right opportunities which during that time are unfortunately, second to none.
The plights of the women in the play are not too hard to identify. The men speak to them as inferiors, and jeer at them endlessly for their fuss over what they consider trifles. The men attribute this to their gender, and are almost disgusting in their sexism in which they consider it to be an essential characteristic of the female gender, to worry over trifles and whatnots. Hence, the arrogance with which the men in the play speak to the women. This behavior leads us into thinking men of that time are wrapped in their own shell of self-importance, failing to notice that they’re stifling the opposite sex.
It is rather obvious the women in the play are voiceless. Their opinions are not sought, and the men treat them rudely, almost as if they’re only there for entertainment purposes, or to feed their own egos. The stark dramatic irony here is that in the end, it is the women who have found out the motive for the murder of Mr. Wright, even though it seems as if the men are the ones doing most of the job (or made to seem like that by the men themselves). They portray the women as dumb, in the sense they cannot do nothing much other than worrying over the small things so much so they have not even bothered to consult them, believing if they couldn’t solve the mystery, there is no way the women can.
It also seems that the women are not even allowed to defend themselves, as indicated by the conversation on page 10 and 11. Mrs. Hale has jumped to the defense of Mrs. Wright housekeeping skills by saying sarcastically that “men’s hands aren’t as clean as they might be” and it is immediately shot down by the County Attorney as something said only because she is ‘loyal to her sex’ and ‘friends with Mrs. Wright, implying that it is baseless, chiefly because it’s an explanation offered by a woman. Also, Mrs. Wright is right away held culpable for the less-than-cheerful state the place is in and the implication that Mr. Wright might have had something to do with it is too, dismissed by the County Attorney with his own explanation about the possibility that the couple did not get on well.
According to Mrs. Hale, Mrs. Wright ‘used to wear pretty clothes and be lively, when she was Minnie Foster, one of the town girls singing in the choir’30 years ago and that she has changed after marriage. Mrs. Wright is also described as ‘kind of like a bird herself -- real sweet and pretty, but kind of timid and -- fluttery.’ It is apparent she is a prisoner in the institution of marriage, as is the norm at that time, where husbands are leaders of the family and the wives are expected to respect and obey them at all times. Feminism at that time is not yet a big movement, therefore most women living during that period are unaware and continue to let themselves be treated that way. This is obvious in the way Mrs. Wright is suppressed by her husband, who has stopped her from ever singing again and even killing her bird in a show of power. She is not even allowed to socialize much, living a rather lonely life.
Sadly, despite the advancement of technologies and education levels, the attitude of men towards women hasn’t changed much. Job and education opportunities aside, women are still being made fun of because of their tendency to worry about the small things. This attitude towards women is ridiculed in Susan’s play, who has the women emerge as ‘winners’ in the end, thanks to their attention to detail. Small, apparently trivial matters can help unravel a mystery, and the men’s failure to realize this makes them the butt of the joke in the play, especially after the way they’ve patronized the women.
Personal Response To Amy Foster
Amy Foster
Joseph Conrad, deemed by many critics as one of the greatest novelists in the English language, was a Polish novelist. Drawing upon his various life experiences, he had written many works, one of them being the short story ‘Amy Foster’, in which one of the characters Yanko Goorall is a reflection of himself in quite a number of ways, which would be discussed later on in my essay. My essay would also discuss some other areas, namely the synopsis, the characterization, the plot and so on and so for.
To begin, we must first examine the ‘relations’ between the writer and one of the characters in the story, Yanko Goorall. What is significant in terms of what has inspired Conrad to flesh out such a character and how some of Yanko’s experiences in England still hold true in society today. As is known, both Conrad and Yanko are Polish living in England(the most apparent similarity), hence the shared pains of alienation. It’s not difficult to see how said problem is still around, albeit in a less violent and physical manner. In today’s world, it is called racism. I call it fear of the unknown and less familiar.
Let’s have a look at the story again. Amy Foster begins when a friend of the doctor’s visits him. They ride past a dull-looking girl on the horse and the doctor begins telling this friend a story. Of how Amy Foster has always been the quiet, unassuming girl working for the Smiths. Later on, the doctor proceeds to talk about Yanko, an America-bound Polish man who got shipwrecked on the shores of Kent, England. After a long torturous experience of being handled and dealt with like a madman, he is saved by Mr Swaffer and later, falls in love with Amy Foster. They get married against all odds and have a son. Months after, Yanko falls ill and Amy Foster, frightened when he babbles in his native language deliriously, flees with their son. Turns out, he was only asking for water. He dies of a heart failure.
From there, we know that the narrator is a friend of the doctor’s but why did Conrad write from this point of view? One of the reasons might be because Conrad wanted to make his presence less felt in the story. It brings more realism into the story as readers start identifying and relating with the narrator, not the biased writer. Also, another thing worth noticing is, had Conrad employed a first person(Yanko) or an omniscient point of view, there would be a lot of self-conflict, self pity and hatred-at-the-world going on. These lend biasness to the story and lessen its credibility.
Now, we’ll go over the setting of the story. First published in the year 1901, we can assume the story is set a century before. An online scour has revealed that a few years later, the Aliens Act was passed to restrict the migration of particular ‘undesirable’ groups, including the Polish. This showcases the undercurrent of the type of racism going on in England before the act was passed. Therefore, we now know the story is reflective of the thinking of the people during the time it is set in.
There are two characters in the story worth analysing, namely Yanko and Amy. Yanko starts off as the ambitious man heading for America to make fortunes. However, luck and circumstances do not heed his hopes and he ends up living a miserable life. Yanko impresses as a somewhat good-hearted man, since on the surface, he does not seem to hold any serious grudges against those who have severely mistreated him. This in turn echoes a passive(or very complacent) personality. He doesn’t try to take charge of his life at all, in the sense he goes along with the flow and leave things as they are. Amy is rather similar to him in this manner. Only difference is that while Yanko who has seemed a really ambitious person at first, what with his determination in going to America and all, Amy has been described from the beginning as such person. Even her physical features reflect her passive personality. Quoting the narrator, “ I had the time to see her dull face, red, not with a mantling blush, but as if her flat cheeks had been vigorously slapped, and to take in the squat figure, the scanty, dusty brown hair drawn into a tight knot at the back of the head. She looked quite young. With a distinct catch in her breath, her voice sounded low and timid.”
That Amy Foster is a closed plot is characterative of the tone of the story. An open-ended one usually signifies hope. Hope for a pitiful character to completely transform his life, a space telling of futures full of possibilities for any of the characters(for example, the short story Arriving by KS Maniam). Delving into the tone of the story, there’s no doubt Amy Foster’s is one of seriousness, woe and misery. There isn’t even one hint of bliss to be detected. It is so assumed Conrad was trying to paint a very sad picture of how it feels to be an outsider by making readers really sympathise with Yanko.
To conclude, the one strength of the story I found is its diction. Conrad succeeded in pulling on the reader’s heartstrings by his creative use of words. Take, for example, the very last sentence in the story, “And looking at him I seemed to see again the other one - the father, cast out mysteriously by the sea to perish in the supreme disaster of loneliness and despair." Notice the imagery employed.
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