I went to the clinic again today. This time I was referred to the senior dentist. I wasn’t exactly worried. Some folks in the town had told me he is well-known. I’m still wearing off the sedatives, had an onigiri when I got back, made porridge…Onigiri is another story altogether. I will save it for later.
I don’t know dude, it is really hard. I don’t know whether this is just emotional or is it just pure seething rage, could it even be, like everybody points out. It is my OWN DAMN PROBLEM, because it ain’t them wiping their own arses.
Mental!
It is impossible. To write in Malaysia today, it is impossible. This world is not possible. Feels like a psychological warfare of the Khmer rouge, and this funny virus going around…Jesus. I am honestly, honest to God. Not bloody bothered. I don’t think many people are too.
It hurts now my jaw, just a partial of my face. Feels swollen, in pain…so I got up and swallowed the resistance I was prescribed. It is bearable again. SO at the clinic earlier today, I underwent an hour plus of a follow-up procedure. I liked my dentist, the same as how all English teachers should be liked.
He was spot on. His first question was, “so your mummy is Chinese?” and that released me into an ease. I love Malaysia, you make me say it.
The whole procedure was nuts, I had nothing to do on the reclined chair. There’s an air that passes by when we are in such close proximity with someone, I guess my dentist and I were just that, Malaysians.
Every time I drifted away, I heard his voice, “girl…girl..” and what do ya know, he sings! The stereo had us going on some Ed Sheeran and Ronan Keating….’When You Say Noting at All’….what a song to play at the dentist, hey! That’s another story altogether. I will save it for later.
People say. Your friends…I suppose. They say, you wrote because you loved writing. That’s quite beautiful, really. I just happen to belong in a generation of hate. I’m sure you saw it happening, what unfolded in Hong Kong and now Mainland China, they say India is providing earthern cup these days. My mum smuggled some back home from her holiday trip to Agra.
I don’t want to paint anymore, do you get it? Please do. I just hang about with a half-ass German having a Korean beauty problem, and I simply don’t want to paint no more a few odd weeks after that.
Mental!
I told this guy (he was cute at first sight, I must say). I told him, I have dreams. I could probably carry me a baby one day. This is huge alright, men don’t get this. What do you guys know anyways! There’s a women’s march happening in KL soon…and it is this guy from your University who is pulling together a band of men to be behind it. Ok, ok…I love Malaysia.
SO I told this guy, he was cute. He is looking good, and he is staying patient with me. He is probably not sincere and at least him and I know, we love Malaysia even if I could bet in a hundred million years that he does not know you and you don’t give a damn (probably).
I read an excerpt of your play in the Faculty some time ago, and it was disturbing to me. I belong to that isolated society. It was easy being there, there weren’t any fancy dreams of not making babies and saving the planet.
I don’t know, man….it is getting harder everyday. Every decision to be made. Every morning, to get up and stay awake. Maybe god is a woman.
Mental!
I love Malaysia.
*this piece is written in memory of K.S. Maniam, a leading figure in the Malaysian academic and literary scene. Maniam passed away on the 19th February 2020, at the University Malaya Medical Centre (UMMC, Kuala Lumpur). Maniam wrote extensively during the pre and post Independence period of my country of birth, Malaysia.
NINA 
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