“No, ibu. Not chickens, I am a cat,” Alright, I told her, she could be a cat for now. So, it is basically a game where me, the huge over weight crocodile, would be stretching myself between the sofa and the arm chair in the living room and Safra the so called “cat” with her auntie would attempt to escape from me and run across to the television cabinet which in this game is their “safe house”. The game went on for a while with me, pretending to be too sloppy and slow to catch any of them. Until at one point, where I almost pull her left foot, Safra the cat, sensed herself in danger. As I was just about to catch her again, she stopped me with her toughest 4-year old voice. She actually called for a negotiation. “Okay ibu, macam ni lah kita main ( let’s play it this way). Afa pun jadi buaya dengan ibu, pastu kita tangkap Ida.( I also become a crocodile  and we pursue Aunt Ida together).

I just laughed in disbelief. Smart kid! If you can’t beat them, just join them, right, Safra?

This is part of my documentation for Safra.

Yes, I have tweeted it, updated my Facebook status on this, checked-in our dating spots on Foursquare, just like any other New Age technophile. So the only wise thing to do next is to blog about it.

He is a lovely smart English guy who loves cooking, his four horses and ME. I can’t ask for more. But here is the catch. He is in the United Kingdom whereas yours gorgeously is in Kuala Lumpur. So, what can I say? Long-distance relationship it is! (Hereinafter referred to as LDR)

Not that we are not aware of such prospect. Being the geek that I am, I was Googling for researches and tips on LDR discreetly, from the Boyfriend, in order to console my heart that this can work. I did not know what got into my head that night, when the Boyfriend raised his doubts about having such relationship with me, I mustered enough courage to say this to him, ” It is not everyday, that I meet a person who can make me happy, so when I meet one who does, I think this relationship deserves a chance”.

He agreed and the rest is history. But I can’t really say the rest is history. We are in this LDR for less than a month.

We skype religiously and send each other photo snaps of our days via our Iphones. I showed him my new office, he showed me the blue bruise he got from being kicked by his horse.

The time difference can be tricky sometimes but we got better with our GMT skills, ” So, talk to you at 9.30 pm my time?” To which he efficiently answered, “Sure, that is my tea time,”

So, what are the wonderful things about LDR so far?

1). On a philosophical level, by the time your relationship reaches its 6 months, I bet you could be the next Zen Guru. You learn to manage your expectations and cope with the distance by having greater trust and patience with your loved one. It is not E-A-S-Y, but it is worth it.

2). You are not entrapped in the socially expected traditions of dating. Hell, you can be having romantic conversations with him online with your pajama bottom and all he sees is your pretty face. Less pressure for getting ready for dates, right? And every time your Boyfriend or Girlfriend annoys you, you can just literally pull the plug.

3). You learn to appreciate the relationship better too. I can’t speak for all LDR couples, but as for me and The Boyfriend, we know this will be difficult and we know we could give each other a break by just letting one another go and well, date someone else. It was an informed choice from the start. But we are willing to invest in such risk because we know how much the other person mean to us. And similarly like getting the best career in life or any other personal achievements, you appreciate these achievements more if you earn it the hard way.

But of course, LDR , is not a mere romantic notion, I also believe we have to be realistic about it. According to this study, it is important for LDR couples to set ground-rules in their relationship in order to sustain it; regularity of communication, stance on dating with third parties or how regular should they be in the same city. These steps to me, is also about building trust. At the end of the day, you can be in the same city, country or continent with your loved one and still have grave suspicions about him if you don’t trust him or her enough.

My inner critic (with the face of Beyonce , body of Adrianna Lima and brains of Amy Farrah Fowler ) continued to caution me, “Have you not suffered enough in your past relationship(s)? Why are you doing this to yourself? Long Distance is dreadful!” In between munching my crackers with hummus, I reassured her,

” Chill woman, this one is different!” Crunch!

Can’t wait to see him soon!

http://everythingisanimated.tumblr.com/

Youth, Revolution and Rock & Roll

When I first arrived at the Tahrir Square; I was greeted by two of the Revolution’s key feature; young people and loud music. The strong and significant presence of young people in the square added more ambiences to the refreshing atmosphere that change has arrived.  It is uplifting to see youths of many colours and backgrounds stood together on the square either, to participate in the on-going events run by various political parties and civil society groups, or to guard all the entry checkpoints to the square. This is to ensure that no one who entered the square would carry with them weapons and create disturbance. “It is necessary,” said Heba, my Egyptian friend. “If anyone starts creating trouble in the square, it will give ample opportunity for the Military to strike and take over the square.” As well as invalidate the revolution, I told myself. The youthful face front-lining the revolution is also indicative of the active and vibrant social media scene in Cairo. For example, it is quite rare to hear anyone from my new circle of Egyptian friends who does not have a Twitter account. Apparently, social media is also an effective conduit for the spread and sharing of music in the cyber space during the revolution. Songs by El General from Tunisia or Ramy Essam from Egypt surpassed conventional restrictions and borders, thanks to the internet. In fact, without Youtube.com or Facebook.com, I might not even be able to get in touch or connected with the musicians in Cairo.

As I entered the Square on my first day, a rock song boomed throughout the square, coming from a hidden speaker on one of the stages.  It was a tune by Mohamed Mounir entitled “Ezay” or “How”. 

I can’t find a reason to love you, and my sincerity doesn’t even count/How can I keep your head high when you keep forcing me to bow my head down?

How can you leave me this weak / why aren’t you standing by my side? / When I have dedicated my entire life to not catch a glimpse of fear in your eyes (to protect you)

The crowd started cheering and singing to the lyrics of the song. I could see how music fuelled the spirit of the revolution on the Square. It is then, a common strategy among the groups on the square to keep the public interest and attention enflamed; the leftist, the liberals or the religious Ikhwanul Muslim, would offer musical intermission during their political speeches or debates. I sat on the dusty pavement of the square, ignoring the trickle of sweats down my neck as my ears feasted on the “sonic koshary” contributed by the numerous loud speakers. My only frustration during that time was the inability to distinguish one song from the other since I don’t understand a single Arabic word.

I remembered passing the Ikhwanul Muslim (Muslim Brotherhood)’s stage and listened to Ramy Essam’s “Erhal” (Leave) for the first time. Ramy Essam is one of the most celebrated musicians to come out of the Arab Spring. Although he had struggled as a musician for 7 years, his breakthrough opportunity arrived with the country’s deafening call for Mubarak’s exit. “I saw how my songs change the people’s mood during the uprising and I know I have to continue doing this” He said firmly. I get a taste of his cult following, two nights later. I asked his permission to be on the stage to film his performance in Tahrir and he gladly agreed.  Ramy Essam’s tunes are catchy and accessible; the making of evergreen songs that will be on the repeat playlist of every Egyptian revolutionaries. But watching him performed live before thousands of people was exhilarating, to say the least. The moment of truth came when I climbed the high wooden steps and stood on the stage. I watched the ocean of passionate faces underneath it, mesmerized by the magnetic charm and influence this one young musician has on the whole crowd. As I watched the audience sang to the chorus of “The Donkey and His Foal” (which were originally a poem by Ahmed Fouad Negm), I felt both dizzy and excited:

The Foal said to the Donkey  ”Father, give me the cart. You are old and now it is my turn”/The Donkey coughed hard and the passengers were surprised/ “It isn’t about health, son,” the donkey said. “Even the bridle is too big for you. Don’t be greedy, or the passengers will rise up”.

But Ramy is not the only “audio rebel” to be born out of the revolution.  There are other contemporary musicians or bands in Cairo who have been rebelling against the regime and conservatism even before the revolution and suffered from social and legal censorship.  Mark Levine in his book, “Heavy Metal Islam”, attributed a segment to the Metalheads in Cairo and their struggle against discrimination and censorship. Legal and social censorship is apparently more severe before the Revolution. The democratisation process in Cairo prior to the revolution is actually providing a safer and open climate for music to flourish. “Now, we can just plug anywhere and sing,” said Noor, another young musician who is involved in five different bands in the city.

Politicising the personal through music

During the three days spent in Tahrir square; talking or observing the lively atmosphere on the ground, I realized that the power of music as a political tool in the revolution does not rely merely on the musician’s inherent desire to make music for the mass, but rather, there is a great void in the democratisation process that needs to be filled by art and music. That great void is represented by a great mixture of personal sentimentalities and sentiments that could be effectively captured and deciphered by music and art. During a brief falafel fix with Moustaffa, a theatre playwright and artist, he shared how his “Paint Freedom” campaign helped him dealt with his brother’s imprisonment. He went around Cairo, initially, asking the public to produce art work dedicated to his brother’s cause. The campaign, which started off as a personal reconciliation with his anger and sadness over what happened to his brother turned into a bigger public agenda for change. If multi-talented people like Moustaffa seek refuge from the horror of the regime’s suppression through art, what’s more the people on the street, who waited anxiously for the country to undergo meaningful and substantial change after the revolution; Wouldn’t they need music in order to refuel their spirit, prepare for the next action or seek temporary comfort from the harsh reality? Similarly, Noor immersed himself in music to deal with his father’s imprisonment. He is also reluctant to associate his political awareness or activism with his identity and involvement in music. His musical and socio-political activism served different purposes in his life, but nevertheless, in the public realm, it represents a cohesive representation of courage and the desire to resist the oppressors for his listeners or fans.  As explained by Alenke-Berber Kesovan (2004), this music ritual between the musician and his or her followers which she beautifully described as a “love affair”, if applied in the appropriate context and at the right time, could easily be a strong threat to the State’s status quo.

These were some of the reflections I gathered as I walked down the Tahrir Square for one final time, digesting the images of people with cardboard displays of witty cartoons, street children selling tissues while singing to the chorus of “Erhal”, a young child carried on the shoulder of his father while holding a hangman’s noose or the cheering crowd on the night I stood on the stage.  We don’t have to compose a sonnet or pain another Guernica; we just have to have the courage to express ourselves or inspire the others to do the same.

The musicians and artist’s contribution in the Bersih 2.0 Rally is just as equally important as their counterparts in the Arab Spring. When the creative sector of the rakyat battalion is willing to resist the powers that be with the rest of the society and produced works that are inspired by the 709 resistance, then maybe, their work could be the most influential catalyst for greater interest, comfort and solidarity from the rest of the country to be part of this call for change.

Shazeera Ahmad Zawawi can’t thank her friends, the audio rebels and people in Cairo enough for making her fieldwork an enlightening and meaningful journey. She also dedicate this piece to the musicians, playwrights, artists, film makers and the rest of Malaysians who made Bersih 2.0 possible.

The  Union Guy and me started off as comrades. Supporters for a better country, a better tomorrow, a  yet to be seen reformasi. Then we fell in love, got married and have a kid. Then, I fell out of love and our relationship went downhill. It was a bumpy ride from the start but  it was not his fault. I was never comfortable with the idea of a relationship and I never knew when I can ever be comfortable with it.

Maybe when I am no longer sick. Just maybe.

But we moved on well, I believe. In different directions. He rediscovered love and I am happy for him. I  rediscovered my lost soul  but lost  my  heart along the way. Everytime I meet a man I like, I questioned my feelings. Its a habit that ruin my chance to have a relationship but I just need to be sure about how I feel. I can’t afford to get hurt all over again. If only I can sterile myself from any feelings or thoughts on  love except for whenever  my daughter is concerned. “Bring me love”, Bukowski might begged. But I would beg differently-  “Take away love from me”.

Sometimes, we need to accept that a person  can’t really  play multiple roles in our  lives  because they are meant to play only one role  after all. If only we realize this sooner. If only.

Safra with her ibu's buddies

Last night, I received a sad news from a former colleague. Apparently, the owner of  Menara Tun Razak or Menara Tradewinds as it is known now, plans  to demolish the building to make way for the development of a new commercial centre. The menara is indeed old and was poorly maintained. It is inevitable that the building must finally go.

Menara Tun Razak and I have a special bond that started off more than seven years ago. I reaffirmed my live-long passion, fall in and out of love and learned some of the toughest but meaningful lessons about life on the 28th ,29th ,30th and quite recently, 21st  floor of the building. Those floors are the headquarters of the Human Rights Commission of Malaysia (SUHAKAM), my first and former employer. Hence, to a larger extent, the demolition of the building also represents the elimination of my personal as well as the general public’s collective memory that transcends the four occupied floors. The building not only witnessed significant events that shape or  challenge human rights movement or advocacy in the country, it also held a notorious reputation unbecoming to the entrepreneurial and corporate nature of Jalan Raja Laut. I remembered some of the impromptu or planned public rallies or assemblies held on the ground floor of the building. People working in the vicinity of the building start to huddle up in panic seeing a group of people led by a leader with a haler, convened in the alley, chanting slogans that are anything but discount or sales related. Then, the officers and some of the human rights commissioners would go down to offer hospitality that bordered solidarity most of the time. The brief engagement left an impact not only on the officers and the commissioners. Most of the time, I regarded those momentous events as an indirect human rights education for the curious bystanders or on-lookers  on how the Commission plays its roles in the public realm.  After a while, the people in Menara Tun Razak got used to the ideas of having people assembling in large number at the building’s compound. A pakcik who is a regular in the building would remark casually when he saw these assemblies, “Ni mesti pegi SUHAKAM ni”.

I also remember the victims of human rights abuses; ordinary members of the society who lost hope in the system and needed someone to listen to them. These people had gone up this very building to have their stories unfolded, explained and understood. As these troubled souls left the building, they left the ghost of their despair and turmoil behind, enriching the collective memories of the place even more. Sad to say, the collapse of the menara would left these precious documentation of SUHAKAM’s past in a meaningless commercial vacuum dictate by money and power.

At a personal level, I learned the true meaning of comradeship and professionalism in that very building. I had some of the biggest debates and even reflections on human rights problems on the 30th floor. And when we, the officers became beaten idealists, consumed by our own frustration or anger over a day’s work, we would head down to Level 3 of the menara and try to dilute our pain and anger with a dose of great coffee by Ibrahim, the best coffee maker in the world. I will always remember the smell of white coffee, the pleasant company of understanding colleagues and the unnerving conversation about life and work before we departed for home.

Before I left the Commission, my grandmother passed away. I recalled sitting facing the main road on one of the seats at the

Professionalism at work...zzzzzz

entrance of the menara, drying away my tears after attending her funeral and heading upstairs to resume work as usual. That melancholic silent bond I had with the place where I worked, learned and grew up solidified my appreciation of the place. I believed some of my ghosts of the past are roaming around the building too, now perhaps, anxious with their future fate, at the hands of development.

Last but not least, I remembered clearly how on my last day there, I brought along my daughter, Safra to the office. She had known the place since she was 6 months and still in her stroller. In short, she was there, experiencing some of her ibu’s attachment to the place.  We visited my office for the last time; I held her small hands tightly as we inhaled the familiar smell of hard work, joy and even pain that I sensed floating in the air. “SUHAKAM”, I told Safra. “SUHAKAM”, she repeated.

This short memoir of Menara Tun Razak is dedicated to Safra Rafzan , Lee Pei Hsi, Zety Mazwani, K.Simon and the rest of the SUHAKAM staff. To Ibrahim, the delightful coffee you make will be sorely missed.

And when I see the number of people that read my blog   or  even took the time to contact me personally to let me know how they feel about my writings,  those were the moments that made my day. Some of the stories in this blog are very personal, written with flowing tears or broken heart(s), while the rest are tributes to my greatest passion in life: people. Human rights, politics…yeah, those are my cup of tea, but without my unexpected encounters or conversations with people in my life, none of the things I wrote will even appear here.

I am not sure if I will continue to write here but I will definitely post snippets of things I cherish  here. Do join me in those short rides because I could be lonely.

See you on the other side and Happy New Year!