I’VE learnt to live with a little dirt in my life. I know, it’s taken me a good six decades to learn this, but better late than never.

You see, I’ve always been a bit of a stickler when it comes to cleanliness. Some people call it OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder) but I hate this association, however much people make it a hip and modern weakness, excusing themselves and blaming everything they do on this malady.

How I’ve changed was due to an unfortunate fall at home last November. Home accidents are the bane of all older folk, who tend to rush through the stuff they do because they feel time is running out on them, forgetting that their reflexes and physical abilities are not what they used to be.

In my haste to complete cleaning house and mopping the floor, which I do every other day, so that I could go for a nice cuppa and some wantan mee, I slipped and broke my wrist.

What followed were months of my right hand being in a cast that left my whole being thoroughly handicapped. I could not even perform the simplest tasks like bathing and doing the dishes. What’s worse, I was unable to drive out for my beloved cuppa as I could not turn the ignition key even with my good left hand.

To cut a long pathetic story short, in the subsequent months, I came to realise how a little dirt in my life would have saved everyone a lot of trouble, from my poor harried wife who now had to take care of me on top of her busy work schedule; to a very good friend who now had to chauffeur me daily for my cuppa.

The torrent of (unsolicited) advice from well-meaning relatives and acquaintances can be summed up in these words: “Aiyoo, what’s a little dirt in your life? Why clean so often?”

Wise words, and it is a sorry fellow who does not heed them especially when he has chalked up six decades of plodding through life and learning so much about everything and yet not knowing when something is worth learning.

Which actually brings me to the point of this article. Malaysia is a land of plenty. There’s so much to be thankful for that I sometimes thank the good Lord that my grandfather made the extra effort to travel a bit further from China to come here instead of stopping at Hong Kong and settling there.

God knows how my parents, my children and I would have coped in those pigeon hole-sized abodes on the colony but that’s another horror musing for another day.

The tapestry of life in Malaysia is so colourful and rich that I’m surprised we have sunk so low in the world’s rankings in terms of the best places to live.

And don’t get me started on our placing in the world’s corruption index ranking.

How did that even happen? We have the best of cultures, languages and heritage. Our nation is blessed with so many natural resources and the food here is so yummy we crave it the moment we set foot on another continent.

And yet, these past few years have shown how much damage has been done to us by our fellow Malaysians, those bad, bad politicians who think nothing of selling their soul for personal gain and pitting us against one another by conjuring bogeymen out of the other races.

I grew up with friends of all races; my best buddy in primary school was Malay and we hung out together every weekend. Our parents often shared the food they cooked and festivities were a time of visits and laughter.

It could be just me but these days I don’t see the interracial camaraderie (maybe it exists, I do pray I’m wrong). I see only suspicion between the races and, more worryingly for this senior citizen, a widening gulf between the younger generations of the different races.

I sense anger, disappointment and disillusionment. Not overwhelmingly so, but still enough to make me worry for Malaysia. I hear stories of how parents are encouraging their offspring to go overseas to seek their fortunes. How desperate this call must be, for which parent wants to be alone in their old age?

Sadly, this disillusionment is not a recent development and, as always, our politicians are to blame. In their bid to stay in power, they will play the race card, much to the general public’s dismay. Slowly but surely, when something wrong is repeated often enough times, the lie becomes probable, then accepted as fact.

Imagined fears take root in insecure minds, prodded by selfish individuals with twisted agendas.

In my younger days, whenever Negaraku was played, whether at school or on the television, we (whether friends, siblings or just strangers in the vicinity) would stand up in respect. The image of my late mum beaming with approval whenever she saw me doing it is etched in memory.

A few years ago, something that I witnessed shocked me to the core. I was at a cinema and this was before the first movement control order took hold. It must have been a youth-oriented movie (my memory fails me here) and there were rows and rows of youngsters.

When the national anthem was played prior to the screening, a majority of them refused to stand. What? Why?

I remember asking myself. It is lack of moral lessons at school? Poor upbringing? Why the anger? In my heart, however, the answer was clear. When youths with full distinctions are denied opportunities, where can love reside among the rest with less than stellar potential? When young malleable minds are told they are not welcome in their place of birth, where can they place their loyalties?  

I hear those Merdeka songs and see those unity advertisements but they are forgotten the next day, turning up only sporadically during festivals. The rest of the time, sadly, the animosity seems to fester, like a cancer eating the nation, slowly, subtly but surely from within.

Our politicians cannot escape from the full blame of propagating this rot.

The ideal state of Malaysia – where everyone is at peace with one another, prosperity is equally shared, every race cheers the other on, there is no discrimination –  may be just a dream for now (except perhaps when a badminton or football game is on).

Thankfully, Malaysians have not stopped aspiring to it. We come out in strength to protest when there is a clarion call, tear gas be damned; and we cast our votes with optimism, scorching sun, rain or fake MC in hand.

We shake our heads at the musical chairs being played at the federal or state-level politics but we cling on to the hope, however tenuous for now, that things will get better. Will it?

I am an optimist. Malaysia will prevail, however much its seams are torn and tattered. We cannot avoid a bit of dirt in our lives. However much we desire otherwise, we may have to learn to live with the dirty politics and the scourge of betrayals. It’s just the nature of our politics, sad it may be.

Yes, the high price the country pays may set us back years in development, a terrible exchange rate for the ringgit, and a poor ranking in the corruption index.

But I console myself that it’s just a little bit of dirt in our lives. Being a citizen in this country is still the most awesome thing to have or be. Just don’t let too much dirt accumulate that we can’t differentiate the beauty anymore from the filth. Seriously, who wants to live in a dump?

To our youth, I ask that you rise above the disillusionment and the disappointment. Look around you and reach out to each other with the hand of friendship. We are born Malaysians and we will die Malaysians. Whatever its failings, it is home. – October 13, 2021.

* Fong Leong Ming works at The Malaysian Insight.