Regrets

On Boxing Day, we attended a Malay wedding. It was at a place called Kampong Medan near the glitzy Sunway Lagoon Resort. In 2001, this little place was the place of a racial tragedy where marginalised part of societies acted out their frustrations against each other, sparked off by a funeral, a wedding and a misunderstanding over a broken lorry window. The result: six people dead and scores of others seriously wounded and a broken trust in the racial harmony that took more than 3o years to rebuild after the horrific May 13th incident in 1969.

 However, two weeks ago, Kampong Medan was a cheerful, noisy place with many Malay weddings, parties and open houses going on. Our friend's wedding was in one of the councils' hall. It was a big affair and though not high budget, it was well-organised by relatives and friends.

All through my life, I had always enjoyed Malay weddings. I love the bersanding when one and all can admire the gorgeously dressed bride and groom. I love the bunga telor in which something so humble as an egg can be so prettily packaged and decorated. Somehow the egg always tastes better than usual. And the door gifts are always so attractively done up no matter how simple its content. This wedding was no different. As often, we were the minority of non-Malays and because of that everyone, hosts and their guests too, tried to make us feel extra-welcomed. I noticed that all the non-Malays were given an additional door gift.

Most memorable was this Malay wedding we attended in a small isolated kampong in Langkawi. We were served endless sumptuous servings of curry chicken, mutton rendang, satan vegetables and colour kueys. As we were leaving, I notice that the other guests were just sharing a bowl of curry with one piece of chicken and  vegetables at each table. It then dawned upon me how poor these people were and how hospital and generous they had been to us because we were not Malays, and really guests in their village.

 In those days, during the wedding season in Langkawi which is usually the schools holidays and after the harvest, I would often see guests going to weddings, carrying with them a gift in a plastic bag. Out of curiosity, I asked what they were giving. It turned out to be two katis of rice or two katis of sugar! Gifts that will definitely be put to good use in the months after when the next harvest season is a long way off.

Yesterday morning, I woke up to a nightmare come true. Two nights ago, my husband was going on about what the Chinese papers said about the use of the word 'Allah' and the court ruling. I shut him up unceremoniously, saying that we shouldn't make a big issue out of the whole thing now that the ruling has been made.  The truth is, I felt uncomfortable about it even though for weeks, we'd been praying in Church for a favourable ruling.   A sense of foreboding that some quarters will not let things rest, I guess. And now it has come true. Many Malaysians of all races and religions are devastated at the bomb attacks at the churches. Something so fragile, so priceless, so precious has once again been shattered. 

Once again, the Agents of Division, of Disorder, of Hatred had scored a victory in Malaysia. But now that the harmony and peace has been severely disrupted and threatened, we pray for the rise of the Defenders of Peace, Tolerance, Humanity and Justice in Malaysia.

Sometimes God works in strange ways and makes good things come out of bad. Of course Marx may regard it as a form of dialectism.