Monday, December 19, 2011

A Fairly Nutty Christmas

Dear Santa,

I started out this year with a list about three pages long. In it were things ranging from an Emily who’d last more than a day on the job to a vacation of a lifetime somewhere far far away where the office had no means of getting in touch with me.

There was also a new phone and an iPad equivalent somewhere in that list. As was the wish that some people would just disappear from my life, thank you very much. Some clients, I can say with absolute certainty, just don’t deserve to be on your phone book.

Oh…and there was, if I recall, a mention of a man somewhere in that list. There always has been. Since like, 2006. *snigger*

As the year passed by though, that list got whittled down a fair bit, rather surprisingly. I don’t quite know if it was you reading my mind and pre-empting my wishlist or simply fate and good fortune working in my favour, but nonetheless, my list of about 56 items – give or take a few side notes for secondary, but nonetheless related wishes - is now down to just three.

Yup. You read that right. Just three. So ol’ Rudolf can stop working out at the gym now. *guffaw*

Mind you, they’re not silly, abstract things like world peace or a cure for cancer. Although I do constantly hope for both, they’re the kinda wishes only Donald Trump or the Ol’ Liz in Buckingham would throw your way. For the simple fact they have pretty much everything else. No. It’s easy peasy stuff, really. Nothing too silly. Or too demanding.

They are, in no particular order:

A decent year-end bonus

This is borne out of a need to replenish the Treasury after the multitude of holidays I’ve been fortunate to have gone on this year. San Francisco. The Maldives. Singapore. Thailand. Australia. Not the cheapest of destinations to head off to, as you’d probably agree. So anything in the five figure range would be greatly appreciated. The Chancellor of the Exchequer thanks you too. *guffaw*

A smaller waistline

Again. I blame those holidays. Cos holidays means time away from the gym. And the bike that admittedly goes nowhere. And with that, my only hope of counteracting my ginormous appetite for good food. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what those holidays did to me this year. Anything you could do to get me back into size 30 jeans would be ace.

Another office move

I know. This sounds a bit of an oddball wish. Especially when the office has only been at its new address for just a little over a year. Nonetheless, it’s on my list. For the plain reason that I simply LOATHE - with all my heart - the need to park my car a whole postal code away and take 20-minute rides either way to come and go from the office. It’s ridiculous. And an insanely complicated solution for what was never an issue if we had stayed at our old location.

So yeah. There you go, Santa. My wishlist for this year. It’d be great if I could have all three. But getting any one of those would still be a good thing for me.
And if you have some extra space on your sleigh…perhaps you could pop a VW Golf GTi into my Christmas stocking as well?

Just saying…..*grin*


Anyway. That’s all from me for now.

Yours truly,
Rpmnut.

Friday, December 02, 2011

Different, Yet The Same


Shed a tear when I saw this.

The gender combination may not be typical. But the feeling inside, is all the same.

Marriage. Truly something quite special. Even if neither one of you takes each other's names. *grin*

Monday, November 14, 2011

The Highland Escape

In the pre-independence days of Malaya, the British residents of the land often left the stifling heat of the lowlands and retreated to their ivory towers high above the clouds when a break from the hustle and bustle of the cities below was called for.

This gave birth to the highland stations, as they became known – with Frasers Hill, Cameron Highlands and Penang Hill quickly establishing themselves as the trifecta bastion of bourgeoisie escapism, allowing the British to enjoy the cool comforts of England right here in the Malayan peninsular when the need arose.

Much in the same way the Brits did back in the early 1900’s, present-day Malaysians (and obsessive Anglophiles for that matter) can do the same when a quick break from modern city life is needed - for a lot less of course, since an entourage of servants and valets is no longer required to make the journey to the heavens. All you need is a trusty steed of the four-wheeled variety and some willing friends to ride shotgun for the adventure.

And so it was that this Nut, JM and a few good friends headed up Cameron Highlands over the weekend - at the gracious invitation of the Cameron Highlands Resort - to re-live the decadent lifestyles of yesteryear in the lush, cool highlands, steeped in colonial influences.

The Cameron Highlands Resort hosts an intimate gathering of family and friends every year to usher in the yuletide season, an event highlighted by the unveiling of the resort’s charming Christmas décor and lighting. The gathering this year was made even more memorable as one very special guest of the resort celebrated his birthday during the weekend escapade.

Acclaimed for his creations which adorn and accompany the most gorgeous of ladies down the catwalks of Paris, Milan and New York - that purveyor of fine footwear for women - Dato Jimmy Choo turned a year younger that evening amongst swooning fans of his work.

Over a span of three days, we relaxed over charming afternoon tea spreads, dined on delectable morsels of goodness in lush, elegant settings and treated ourselves to soothing spa treatments. The British themselves, I reckon, never had it so good back in their days.

We also took the chance to explore the nooks and crannies of this quaint highland station, in the process acquainting ourselves with the signature product of this place - tea. Cameron Highlands, for those not in the know, is the home of Boh and Cameronian tea. Its vast Sungai Palas plantation and visitor centre is located right in the heart of the hill station. Watching the intricacies and complexities of tea-making was quite an eye-opener.

Despite my new-found appreciation for tea, you certainly won't be seeing me give up my java just quite yet. *grin*

I can see why the Brits saw it fit to escape here every so often. The ability to walk and roam the place without soaking your clothes in sweat is quite simply, a priceless luxury. So is the ability to luxuriate and while away the day with nothing more than an open window in the middle of the afternoon and not have the room turn into an instant sauna. Twenty-five degrees Celcius is truly all the heat that one should have to handle in a lifetime. *grin*

As much as we enjoyed our journey back to the gracious, elegant colonial times though, eventually reality – and the need to get back to the job that pays the bills – beckoned. And so it was that after three short, but thoroughly enjoyable days, we left the cool comforts of the highlands and its yuletide charms for the big city.

That however, doesn’t mean that the yuletide spirit from the highlands didn’t follow us home.

These are going to look spectacular on NewK’s tree this year. *smirk*

I’m SO ready for Christmas!

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Pink Independence


Once again, the Pink Parade of Malaysia gets its 15 minutes of fame for all the wrong reasons.

The Seksualiti Merdeka debacle has dominated headlines for the past few weeks, and it really got me thinking about the community, issues of marginalisation and what I reckon has been a massive knee-jerk over-reaction resulting from this year’s planned festivities.

Seksualiti Merdeka, now in its fourth year, is intended to celebrate diversity as well as promote understanding and tolerance for the community. It is, in the words of the organisers, aimed at providing a safe space to dialogue and share information and knowledge on human rights during Seksualiti Merdeka’s events – notably the right to be who you are without fear of prosecution or marginalisation borne out of misinformed prejudices.

I applaud the objectives of the event. I truly do. But at the same time, as a gay Malaysian, I have some personal thoughts on the matter – chief amongst them was this : taken in context of the country we call home, was Seksualiti Merdeka 2011, and its associated hoopla, necessary?

At this point, I’d like to point out that my observations, thoughts and opinions contained herein are borne purely out of my experience as a man who happens to fancy other men, living in the big bad city of Kuala Lumpur after having been raised in a small town up north by a mother who studied in a convent and a father whose conservative ideals of family and sexuality were pretty much set in stone.

A combination which, by all accounts, should have resulted in my early, suicidal demise if popular media is to be believed. But I’m still here. And I’m still queer. And I’m going to share with you a few reasons why I think the gay agenda is best served quietly. Without the fireworks or taffeta. Or the marching band, for that matter.

Whilst you may not share these views - and I don't expect you to - I reckon it would serve as an interesting counterpoint to the current debates dominating the headlines in this country.

Did we really need to ‘Merdeka’ all over again?

Seksualiti Merdeka is based on a simple enough premise: that all Malaysians, regardless of gender preference or sexual orientation, are entitled to live and love without fear. Therefore, following this principle, the question that needs to be asked to justify the event is this : are we truly a community that is oppressed and constantly living in fear?

Try this little experiment for the sake of argument: One of these days, when time permits, seat yourself at a café in Bukit Bintang and observe the passing scenery. In a span of 30 minutes, count the number of “gays” you can spot. I can virtually guarantee that in less than a minute, you’ll spot one. And in all likelihood, you’ll spot a dozen or so more in the next few minutes. Half of them might even be walking alongside their partners or friends with similar inclinations.

They’d be pretty hard to miss. You’ll first notice the perfectly styled hair, with just the right hint of product in it. Then you’ll quickly catch a glimpse of his unusually fashionable take on casual wear, draped over his gym-toned body. In his right hand, he’ll have an iPhone4, suitably blinged up with a snazzy cover case. In his left, a leather folio bound iPad. And in all likelihood, he’ll walk right up to his car, a stylish city runabout – perhaps even a Mini Cooper, valet parked - and drive away, wind in the hair and all.

Whilst I openly admit that this may not be representative of the average homosexual in this country, Mr. Mini Cooper here represents 100% of the gay community that I happen to know. Even if they don’t happen to own a Mini Cooper or dress in fancy designer wear, none of them appear in any way to be victims of a hateful society. They live thriving, successful lives within a social network - and often, net worth - comparable to, if not better than many a straight man’s.

They may not be making out in public with their partners or going apeshit with public displays of affection, but that’s something even heterosexual couples refrain from in this country.

So call me blind or perhaps a bit presumptuous, but from where I stand, this simply doesn’t seem like a community living on the brink of fear. So what are we declaring “Merdeka” from exactly?

Prejudices and opinions - the truth of the matter is, we all have them. And we’ll never be rid of them

Seksualiti Merdeka aims to rid Malaysia of the prejudices that give rise to homophobia and hate through workshops and forums for discussions. Laudable, no doubt, but I’d be the first to admit that even as a gay man, I have committed my fair share of sins when it comes to acting out my prejudices - as I am almost certain you have as well. Especially when such prejudices relate to stereotypes associated with certain races here in Malaysia.

*Cue civil service jokes*
*Cue Cheras Engrund jokes*
*Cue ‘unsaid’ HR policies that exclude UiTM graduates*


At the end of the day, everyone’s a little bit racist. We just don’t make it a point to champion those feelings or start committing hate crimes because of it. And we certainly don’t find the urge to run two-week long seminars on tolerance and acceptance in public because of it. So long as those feelings and thoughts aren't provoked into overdrive, it often remains in the background and fades into prejudicial white noise.

Therefore, if “closeted racism”, as I’ve come to term it, is widely accepted as a mere attribute of a person in possession of a mildly inappropriate sense of humour, the question that begs to be asked in my mind is this - why then do we categorize non-aggressive, closeted homophobia any differently?

But it’s gay rights! It’s different!

Fact is, it isn’t. Homophobia, at the heart of it, is no different from racism or any other prejudices you care to mention.

You can’t make everyone love the fact that you screw other guys.

You can’t force people to accept the fact that you’d rather stick your wand into another blokes’ behind than have a beautiful wife, 2.5 kids, a Golden Retriever and a Volvo estate in the driveway.

And you certainly can’t expect everyone to understand why you’d rather spend your life with another member of the same sex.

But fundamentally, this really is no different from how you can’t expect everyone to understand why you prefer coffee to tea, BMW’s to Audis or one’s preference for TRX instead of Bodypump.

It’s all the same emotion, just wrapped up in a different package. Except these days, we seem to pay a whole lotta attention to the packaging, forgetting that inside, it’s the very same thing – the very same source of combustible material that fuels issues as diverse as immigration controls, naturalisation, racial profiling, education policies, affirmative action and the like.

So no, it’s not any different. And it’s not a problem unique to the LGBT community.

But it still reeks of prejudice. And prejudice has no place in modern society! I should be able to express who I am unequivocally!

Prejudice is a rather unfortunate side effect of having opinions. And expressing it is just another human right which cannot be denied. The right to expression, it must be remembered, is a two-way street. If you expect to have an unequivocal right to say what you think, be prepared to accept the fact that others have the right to challenge your thoughts, even if it reeks of prejudice.

Case in point: We often have negative things to say about the presence of foreign workers in our neighbourhoods, even when the workers themselves have not really done anything wrong. And we’re almost unanimously vocal in expressing discontent when we talk about the persistent menace that is the ubiquitous Mat Rempit, drag-racing their “Kapcai” bikes on the streets of Kuala Lumpur. This despite the fact that they too, are merely exercising their inherent right to express themselves through their admittedly dangerous antics.

Fundamentally, therefore, there is little to differentiate between expressing one’s prejudicial remarks about Mat Rempits and some religious reformist proclaiming that homosexuals are doomed to hell. It’s prejudice, no doubt about it. But it is also his right to express his opinions. What you choose to do with such opinions is, however, entirely your call. Just remember that for every action, there will always be an equal and opposite reaction.

Freedom of expression therefore, should be exercised with a modicum of discretion. Simply put – the need to temper freedom of expression with a dash of morality, common sense and common decency is not a uniquely “gay” issue.

If you fan a fire, you better have an extinguisher at hand

I think everyone will agree that we live in a rather conservative state. This is a country, after all, where even normal, loving straight couples can be arrested for “close proximity” because the law provides for it. And where making out in public, even amongst “normal” heterosexual couples, is frowned upon. Expecting that a country like this was ready to openly and publically acknowledge the Pink Parade and its associated same-gender displays of affection was simply asking too much too soon.

Having been pushed into the limelight by the unequivocal ban by the authorities, and the resulting support Seksualiti Merdeka garnered from Non-Governmental Organisations, it was only a matter of time before every political party in the country latched onto the issue and capitalised on it for their own benefit in an attempt to galvanise support from their respective electorates - in the process turning what was a relatively low key event into what was eventually termed by the media as “a free sex party”.

Was this right? Most definitely not.

But was it expected? Why of course, yes. Expecting anything less would’ve been naïve. Plain and simple.

Now will someone PLEASE get Lil’ Miss Diva off the stage! I will choose my own spokesperson, thank you very much.

In all honesty, I have always had reservations with regards to the person(s) chosen to ‘showcase’ my identity and rights as a gay man here in Malaysia.

Performances by drag queens almost always feature prominently on the event schedule of Seksualiti Merdeka - as a statement of intent of sorts, that the community is “fabulous and proud of its quirkiness”. Not that I have anything against drag queens, but as amusing as these acts are, I simply do not think what they are on stage represents me, or for that matter, what being gay is about, at least in my books.

Their highlighted presence at events of this nature doesn’t do anything to quell the prejudice against the community, especially when such prejudice is principally fuelled by media-derived stereotypes that portray every gay man as cross-dressing freaks with an incessant appetite for filthy sex and every lesbian as a woman with a strange proclivity to dress as a man.

The fight for acceptance and tolerance is not won by emphasising our differences and then blowing it out of proportion just to get a reaction – as a test of sorts to push boundaries and see how much society can take before it caves. It is not won by shoving the gay agenda down the throats of everyone within sight. It is won, I reckon, by proving to naysayers that at the end of the day, save for our choice of partners for life, homosexuals are really no different from the average straight bloke or lass strolling the streets of Kuala Lumpur.

We have jobs. We have family. We have responsibilities. We don’t walk around in dresses all day. We too want to be loved. And we want to grow old with someone daring enough to stick around for the journey.

We are different, certainly - but I’d like to believe that there are more similarities between heterosexuals and homosexuals than there are differences. And that’s where the journey to acceptance starts.

Traitor! But you’re a gay man too!

Don’t get me wrong. I have always been proud of my sexuality. But on the same token, I’ve also never let myself be defined by it. I am a man who is gay, not a gay man.

I am out. I am proud. But I don’t see the need to scream it out loud at every opportunity. Nor do I expect any form of third-party affirmation that what I am is right or wrong. I simply do not need it. If someone doesn’t accept me for who I am, I ignore them and move on. There are simply greater battles to be won.

What about the marginalisation and prejudice that LGBT’s face from the evil, prejudicial and oppressive “system”?

Am I, as a homosexual living in Malaysia, marginalised? Am I the recipient of constant abuse arising from the prejudices of a tyrannical, unaccepting society? Is it truly impossible to live and love without fear in this country?

To answer these questions, let’s simply consider the facts:

I have friends whom I love and accept me for who I am, despite the fact that they know I bat for the Pink Parade.

I have family who, despite my attempts at coming out, still don’t believe that I am gay but love me nonetheless.

I have a well-paying job which I love dearly - where my performance is determined purely by my abilities, and not hindered in any way by my sexuality.

I have colleagues who treat me with respect and acknowledge my achievements despite my sexuality.

I live in a quiet, safe suburb of the city with a desirable postal code - home to more than a handful of fellow gay men.

I hang out in public places with my friends, both gay and straight, without ever being the victim of marginalisation, abuse or prejudice.

And most importantly, I have a person whom I adore and share my life with, whose very presence shows that even in an ultra-conservative society like Malaysia, loving another man and sharing your life with him is entirely possible.


So the short answer to that question is no. I don’t need Seksualiti Merdeka to pick a fight for me. For I am already living and loving without fear.

So what, just keep calm and carry on?

I’m a big fan of human rights. I’m a big fan of the ability to live without fear. I am an even bigger fan of being able to love without fear.

But at the end of the day, I am 20% optimist, 80% realist. And erring on the side of realism leads me to this conclusion: That you can support the gay cause without supporting every event. That the gay agenda is a huge canvass on which Seksualiti Merdeka is merely a part of. And it’s a canvass that has the luxury of time to develop into a masterpiece we can all be proud of. We will not be burnt at the stake en masse tomorrow, I verily believe.

Having one event banned by a conservative government simply isn’t the end of the world or the death of gay rights. Rome, after all, wasn’t built in a day.

And in relation to the constant headline grabbing debates spiralling out of control as days go by, I reckon a piece of advice the QueenMother gave me years ago would be hugely relevant :

“The more you scream, the less people listen. And the less they listen, the less likely you’ll get what you want”

I reckon in context of the events in the past few weeks, never has that phrase been more apt.

This post also appears on the Malaysian Insider

Monday, November 07, 2011

Betting on Emily, Part Deux

What do you mean she's still at her desk?

Let me first state the obvious. I hate losing. Especially bets.

I’m a bit Singaporean that way, I’ll shamefully admit. The infamous “Kiasu” mindset. Though thankfully it doesn’t always rear its ugly head. I’m usually quite happy pottering about, minding my own business, lost in the pretty pink Commonweatlh of Nations that exists in my head.

Just don’t ever put money on the table when you hand me a challenge. Cos that’s a sure fire way to tempt the Singlish-Speaking-Green Eyed Monster out of hibernation.

Case in point : The last time someone bet 50 bucks that I would never fit into a size 30 jeans, I didn’t just take up the sodding challenge. I bloody turned anorexic. And went from a size 46 to a size 29. Just because I could. Nuff said.

But I digress....

So as luck would have it, HR found me another Emily late last month. I've been assured by HR that she's a keeper. This guarantee, I have no doubt, came about as a result of my less-than-enthusiastic review of their candidate-hunting abilities the last time they tried to shove a candidate my way. She was on the job for less than three whole days. To say that I was disappointed would be putting it mildly.

Gleaming references from a large firm downtown. The only firm she’s ever worked with since she was 22, apparently. And she’s pushing 35 now, mind.

Nonetheless, when news broke that she accepted the offer from the firm, I downplayed any hope of this candidate staying for longer than 72 hours. History has thought me well after all. But my fellow colleague, HY, wasn’t so sure. He reckoned this one might well last a little longer, seeing that she:

(1) didn’t graduate from a local university;
(2) had more than a cursory ability to communicate in English; and
(3) didn’t have that “lights are on but no-one’s home” look during the interview.


I on the other hand, argued that:

(1) she still looked for all the world like a civil servant, complete with the obligatory explosion-of-colour baju kurung. All she needed was a name tag to complete the look;
(2) she had a copy of Kosmo! on her desk the first day she reported for work; and
(3) she had that "deer-in-the-headlights" look when I said I needed her to fetch me a latte. Nods of comprehension only came about when I said I needed "kopi". *groan*


My expectations were pretty dismal, in other words. But HY wouldn't have any of it. He bet 100 bucks that she'd still be at her desk come end of the month. I doubled the bet. History was on my side.

EmilyFour, as I’ve now come to call her, reported for duty on Monday last week.

I’m rather perversely disappointed to note that she was still at her desk on Friday when I left the office.

Dammit.

I say it again. I hate losing bets.

Time to really go all Miranda on her, I reckon....*snigger*