Ini Malaysia, kah?

I was again at the new mamak restaurant I spoke about in previous post.

Halfway through my Naan Pisang, there were commotion outside the shoplots. The workers of the restaurant stood still at the entrance of the restaurant, staring out, and even the passerby began to gather. I got curious and went to have a look, too.

There were men shouting at each other. A Chinese young man was pointing a big pen knife, with the knife pushed out, at another man. There were some other men quarreling at the background, too. A security was seen trying to separate the men and calm down whoever he could. The second man then ran across the street to my restaurant side and picked up a brick on the floor and pointed it at the Chinese man direction, too. Surprise how odd/ dangerous tools were there when you least wanted them to be. I was gripping my phone tightly. My instinct told me to call the police. But I was too panic that I didn't know what to say if I did make the call. So I watched on.

The Chinese man was not threatened by the brick. In fact, he ran over to our side also, and his following shouting became loud and clear, hammering into my head, and cut my heart.

"Ini Malaysia! Ini Malaysia!"

For that moment, I stared at the Chinese man who was so mad that veins were seen bulging at his temple. There must have been something horrible happened between them, which I had no idea about. The foreigner must have felt wrongly judged, too, that's why he was (or had the audacity to be) equally pissed.

With that phrase ringing loudly in my ear, that moment was the loneliest time I have in Subang, despite the fact that I've been pretty lonely during most of the days since I've moved here. I felt what little joy left in me was sucked out by that heart-piercing statement.

Since I moved here, I tried very hard not to breathe a word about my loneliness which is depressing me, and focus on the little joy I have. But 9 months is quite unbearable for me now.

I screamed in my heart: I am a Malaysian too! But I feel like a foreigner none the less.

After a while, I went back to my Naan Pisang. And Teh Ais kurang manis. I almost cried over my dinner.


My Naan Pisang was prepared by a Bangladeshi.