Beautiful Malaysia

KL continues to surprise me.

A few nights ago, I went to a gay men's bar in a popular KL shopping complex. If you didn't know someone who knew it was there, you probably wouldn't find it. This was the first time I had gone clubbing in a highly Melayu joint since the old Base days. Just like the old underground R&B haunt, this one was badly ventilated, packed to the brim and open way past the 3 am curfew. Only difference is, this one doesn't chase same sex couples off the dance floor.

The most amazing thing about this place was the confirmation of something that should no longer surprise me, knowing what I know. 80% of the men there were extremely straight looking middle-aged Melayu males. Read: you wouldn't even think the thought of having another man crossed their minds if you bumped into them in the streets. In fact, I am sure some of them at least have wives and children.

And unlike the previous place I wrote about, the men in this joint were definitely on the lookout for some recreational entertainment. They weren't podium dancers. They were observers from the side, looking for a nice young gay boy to have some fun with.

So, for all you smug marrieds, especially if you are Malay, think again before you belittle gay people for their "eccentricities". And if you think being homosexual is strictly a Western evil, think again. Judging from what I saw, it ain't something we imported, honey. It's been here and been done.

And to all Malay women, here's a piece of advice. If you don't already have a good gay male friend, get one. It's the only way you may even come close to knowing if your husband really is straight.

Oh, and by the way, apparently, this place is also a favourite for our young female Melayu artistes to celebrate their birthdays.

Aren't we an amazing nation?

National Happiness

Last night, over dinner, my sister told me that there is a new economic model being lobbied for on the global scene. The Gross National Happiness Index. It seems wise folks have come to realise that chasing the almighty dollar has not resulted in people living better, more quality lives. And the first country to adopt it as their central development philosophy : Bhutan.

Judging from the number of those I have encountered of late who dream of retiring early into a life of less commerce and more soulful endeavours, I am not surprised at this new turn in global economics. In my course of work, I meet a lot of people. Working professionals who range the capability spectrum from dodo to genius. People who are chronic job hoppers and those who still believe in cradle-to-grave employment. Those who have made it and those who will never.

The most consistent thread I find running through those under 40 is that almost everyone expresses a desire to quit the salaried position. And it ain't like these folks are aspiring toward entrepreneurial greatness either. Everyone wants to become a consultant of some sorts. Read: work two to three days a week and be there for my son's taekwondo belt exams. And these are the men talking.

Someone else told me that according to our census data, close to 80% of our population is aged 40 and under. Translated, this means our nation's near future definitively lies in the decisions to be taken by the generations transitioning into government and power. Not those who are already there. Although this sounds like a logical given, it's more than that.

Today, urban Malaysia is suffering the teething problems of a newly developed economy. Thirty-somethings brought up with the post-colonial deferential beliefs of their parents are being confronted with a very different adult reality.

Men are like kids in a candy store. They are discovering that their peers don't expect them to remain with one woman for the rest of their lives. And women are discovering they don't need to depend on men for their livelihoods. Even those who have made a career out of making marriage a source of income realise it is disposable. And replaceable by another. Just like any other job.

The upshot is that children in their formative years today will face similar family dynamics as their Western peers. They miss their parents every day, they get used to the maids as companions, the office is a bad word and meetings are occasions that run into the wee hours of the evening.

As they grow up they will discover that their parents were not monogamous, and that meetings are also another word for describing social encounters.

Imagine what their Gross National Happiness Index will consist of when they come of age.

Personally, I look forward to seeing our young 'uns mature. To some extent, I've concluded that our current generation will probably not add up to snuff in the larger scheme of things. It's the curse of being the transitional segment, the in-between who bridge the post-colonials and the New Malaysia.

It's our children who will define us. So care for them well. Because unlike other times and old adages, this new generation growing up needs more than lip service to help them define what this nation will ultimately stand for.

As for me, if things don't work out I might just check out Bhutan.

Unwedding San Francisco

I've thought about this one for a while and I finally decided what the heck. You can walk away now if you like but this is my blog and I'm going to say what I want.

So, to those of you queasily heterosexual sorts, be warned. This post contains gay material.

I am not sure if George Bush Jr has a dog, but if he does, it most certainly stands a better chance of winning the elections than the incumbent. Because if I've ever seen a tail wag a President, recent events have certainly proven it can be done.

A few days ago, news was all over the Internet about how gay marriages in San Francisco, the mecca of gay love, have been annulled.

I stand amazed.

How does something become legal, create a landmark impact on a community, and then get wiped out overnight? Beyond the issue of right and wrong, beneath the conservative rhetoric and the burning Bibles, how do you say "love each other till death do you part", and ten seconds later say "ahem, but can you do it in private?"

If it doesn't smack of desparation to secure fence-sitting votes, I don't know what does.

Thing is, if I was a gay person living in San Francisco, what would I do? Imagine if I were married. Getting married alone would have meant I had to take that brave step of outing myself publicly. I would also perhaps have spent a nice bundle of money on caterers, a dress and some nice shoes, a wedding cake, hey maybe even a honeymoon.

What do I tell all these people who went to my wedding when I bump into them in the streets now? Hi, I'm so-and-so. You know such-and-such, don't you? My ex-wife, but actually we're still in love. Very much so. Just don't tell Bush. He's not supposed to know. And how are you?

So what happens now? Do all the gay married San Francisco couples become automatically divorced?

Imagine if that happened here. And the Selangor MB suddenly declared all marriages of title holders null and void. Woo hoo! I swear, the A-list parties would become a whole different ball game. Instantly, all Datins cease to exist. As do Puan Sris and Toh Puans. But let's not be sexist. Boys, Rafidah Aziz and Sharizat would be swinging singles!

I don't know which of those prospects are more frightening. And at this late hour, I am feign to even attempt guessing whether the men or the women vying for one of them would be more terrified.

Of course, Bush is fortunate. At least in America, most gay people marry their own kind. With the exception I suppose of the New Jersey Governor (he should consider living here, really). If he were President of Malaysia, he'd have a far more complicated situation on his hands. He'd have the likes of all our closeted Fairy Gayfathers confused as to whether they should divorce their wives. Not that they would see it as a necessarily bad thing, judging from their track records. Amicable separation was probably on the cards anyway.

All this makes me want to vote. Only thing is, I'd have to be an American. And where would the fun be in that? At least here, our twin towers are still standing.

AFUNDI ZAHID

This is not a post about how awesome the latest winner of Akademi Fantasia is. Although yes, I did spend some of my AFUNDIs on him.

Consider for a moment, the choices Malaysia had. A girl from Putrajaya with a pretty powerful voice, an amazingly talented singer from Sarawak whose chords sound like they emanate from a slimmer, slicker entity, a self-possessed rapper, a village girl with a penchant for folksy singers, a pretty boy with a pretty voice and little self-confidence, and the class clown.

If you've been following the whole season, you'll know what I mean. This boy who won is known as "sempoi" - simple. Not the stupid kind, stupid. But the laid-back sort who can hang out at the mamak till three, shooting the breeze with you and cracking silly jokes. He's silly but otherwise fairly understated, a prankster, a take-it-as-it-comes guy who at one point looked like he was ready to pack up and go home.

He's not glamorous like last year's winner, Vince. No mixed blood or good looks operating here. Just plain ol' Melayu city boy sillies with a village heart. And the ability to take whatever the Akademi threw him with gusto and a sporting smile.

Oh, and don't forget his Daddy. Week after week, there he was, in anything orange. The man must have acquired half a new wardrobe by now. One week I daresay he even dragged half his kedai kopi buddies with him. Really, if his son was the underdog at the start, he's the real sideshow. And sure proof that Daddies can swing them AFUNDIs too.

Half the KL gals would never date Zahid. Not even now. At least, not the Misha Omar sorts. They like the bling bling and the mixed bloods. But vote for him they did, with all his Melayu plainness and everything.

In the end, what won him hearts was perhaps just that. The boy has heart and a whole lot of it. And he can sing too, not too badly.

I hope he spends the prize money well. And treats his family nice after this. Because if there ever was someone who got somewhere because of his family, it was him.

Godspeed Zahid. You've just been launched into superspace.

And to all you men out there who keep telling me it ain't all about the looks, I know. So too, apparently, do a lot of Malaysian women.

Sex And The City

Goddamn, it's been too long. And it ain't been because I had nothing to say. I did. I just didn't say it. Because I was too tired, because work got the better of me, because some of my staff resigned for jobs with better pay, because I was too busy figuring out whether or not I still wanted to stay in my current workplace or look for something else.

Because of all that, the shutters have stayed shut for a while. In fact, for a while I wondered whether this blog was dead. I even started thinking of an appropriate send-off.

Then, something got the better of me. I had tea with a couple of old friends while skivving off work on the pretext of networking and the conversation just took too interesting a turn to keep to myself. It's that same old devil again, except this time he seems to have multiplied.

Apparently, word in town is that there is a new Klan of the triple K kind - Khairy, Kalimullah and Kamaludin. The plan - national domination of GLC companies. The battleship of choice - ECM Libra. And the sacrificial pawn - Hishamuddin.

Apparently.

I don't know how true it all is, although from where I sit, frankly it all seems too clear.

I also have it on dubious authority that someone didn't show up for work for two whole days after he was passed over for the Khazanah COO's position.

Which goes back to my fundamental reason for questioning some people's readiness to govern - and I use this term loosely. If you are not mature enough to accept that the best man does sometimes win, how can you recognise what is good? If you don't know how the farmer feels, how can you drive policies that will improve his life? If you've never read Mangga and Joran, how do you expect to understand the soul of the Malay youth who outnumber us urbanites? The Mat Rempiks and Abang Masjid, the Mat Dispatch and the Pak Tani.

I don't know them, and I don't pretend to. But if I needed to, I would roll up the cuffs of my baju melayu, trade the gold brocade samping in for a kain pelekat and go hang out in a village for six months or so. Listen to the pulse of these people's lives. Eat from the same plate. Sip tea from the same kedai kopi's rickety table. Maybe even figure out how to fix it.

Not declare that we're on an all-out search for Oxbridge-bred boys to run the ramshackle companies we've been saddled with in the Daim aftermath. Look where it got us the first time. And you still think it will work. In one fell swoop you've alienated those who have the most to gain from being nice to you. The Bumi entrepreneurs with little education and lots of drive, the Jaguh Kampungs whose motivation to do good is to still lift his family's name out of the village and into Wangsa Maju.

Honey, the first rule of sex is that you don't pull out all the stops if you want to keep them coming back for more. Heck, that's the first rule of anything - a movie, a stage performance, a novel, a career, stardom, infamy.

I used to worry about this young man we've all been gifted with. Now I've moved on. If his Triumvirate keeps propelling themselves forward the way they have been of late, they're bound to get stuck in a rut. After all, there's a reason wheels are round and not three-sided.

Phewh! That felt just like good sex on a moody Saturday afternoon with angry Miles Davis playing.

It leaves me spent and on fire at the same damned time.