OCTOBER 31 — It is that time of the year again when horror hounds, casual moviegoers, and genre purists alike flock to screens big and small looking for their annual spooky season fix. 

As someone who lives for genre cinema, navigating the relentless wave of Halloween horror releases has always been a double-edged sword, which is to say that for every genuine, game changing surprise that leaves you buzzing, there’s also usually an uninspired chore of a film waiting to drag you down.

After wading through the countless horror flicks on offer during the past couple of weeks or so, let’s look at three distinctly different Halloween offerings hitting our home screens and streaming platforms, from a music themed entry in a long running found-footage franchise to an unhinged indie horror triumph, and a quiet, atmospheric creature feature that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

V/H/S/Mixtape

I have always looked forward to every new installment in the ongoing V/H/S anthology franchise. There is an inherent, pulp cinema joy in watching a fresh batch of genre directors unleash dirty, low budget found-footage short films, year after year. 

But nine films into the series, we finally hit a genuine dud in the bunch with V/H/S/Mixtape.

On paper, handing the reins over to a music-themed concept sounded like an inspired move. The talent pool attached here is undeniably impressive, featuring musical visionaries like Flying Lotus, shock-rock icons GWAR, Tobias Forge (frontman of Swedish doom/stoner icons Ghost), and Hip-Hop royalty RZA (of the Wu-Tang Clan). 

Even the non-musician filmmakers involved, like David Moreau (of MadS fame), are tasked with crafting music-centric nightmares.

I have always looked forward to every new installment in the ongoing V/H/S anthology franchise. — Picture via Instagram

Unfortunately, the final result is a monumental chore to sit through. What should have been a raucous, rollicking splatter fest instead devolves into a sluggish, repetitive collection of half-baked ideas that lack excitement, genuine scares, or visual bite. 

The sole saving grace of the entire package is RZA’s segment, Death Tone, which brings a welcome splash of stylized energy. 

Yet, that doesn’t say much about its actual quality. If you placed Death Tone into literally any of the previous eight V/H/S entries, it would easily rank as one of the weaker tracks on the tape.

Buddy

If V/H/S/Mixtape represents the fatigue of a franchise running out of steam, Buddy is the exact opposite. It is a film that is absolutely outstanding, fiercely energetic, and refreshingly original in both form and content.

The film cleverly presents itself as a bright, cheesy 90s children’s TV show a la Barney & Friends, complete with colourful set designs, cheerful kids, and annoyingly persistent earworm songs. 

But beneath the saccharine, nostalgic surface, director Casper Kelly slowly pulls the rug out from under you. 

As the young kids who are part of the show (and, of course, we as the viewers) gradually realise there is a menacing, deeply unhinged, and murderous side to the titular unicorn mascot, the sugar rush turns into absolute terror.

Where Buddy truly shines is how delightfully fresh its narrative trajectories become. Rather than settling for a simple “killer mascot” slasher trope, the film throws in surreal elements inspired by creepypasta Backrooms lore and blends them with a slight dash of David Cronenberg’s Videodrome. 

The result is a psychotic, media-bending nightmare that keeps you constantly on your toes. 

A complete blast to watch from start to finish, the film tops off its inventive narrative with a generous serving of gnarly, stomach churning practical gore effects that will leave genre fans grinning from ear to ear.

The Cycle

If you walk into The Cycle completely cold, without watching a single trailer or reading a synopsis, as I was fortunate enough to do, this Shudder original will sneak up and thoroughly impress you with its storytelling finesse, technical confidence, and patient execution.

Directed by Jordan Downey, the film kicks off like a gritty, grounded police procedural following an investigation into what looked like a series of murders in a desolate rural township. 

From there, the narrative ventures into territory that might feel somewhat familiar at first glance to seasoned horror fans. 

You can probably guess the slow-burn twist well before the third act arrives, but that predictability never detracts from the experience. 

Instead, the film expands and invents fascinating new lore surrounding the ancient creature at the heart of the story, elevating simple monster movie tropes into an atmospheric, mythic nightmare.

If you caught Downey’s brilliantly crafted, low budget medieval creature feature The Head Hunter back in 2018, you will know exactly what to expect stylistically. 

He excels at framing sparse, atmospheric landscapes with incredible visual discipline and letting silence do the heavy lifting. 

Paired with stellar creature design and tight sound engineering, The Cycle easily stands out as one of the finest genre entries of the year, and a perfect, slow-burn caper for your Halloween watchlist.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

OCTOBER 29 — As anything goes is the current ethos of Malaysian politics, mayhem post-GE16 — ostensibly before the end of 2027 — is inevitable.

A political vacuum precedes before a fragile minority government forms.

We, as a nation, are at the precipice of the great unknown.

Endless possibilities

Just in case you’ve been in a cave the last five months, all kinds have occurred.

In Johor, Barisan Nasional (BN) squared off with Pakatan Harapan and Perikatan Nasional (PN) — with Bersatu in its lines. 

Yet, towards the end of the campaign, PAS president Hadi Awang gathers his 11 candidates and announces the Islamists primary goal is Pakatan’s defeat and not their own victory. 

In the name of greater Malay unity. It literally rerouted PAS votes to Umno or forced their voters to stay home on July 11, election day. 

BN mauled all pretenders and won 48 of the 56 contests. Pakatan retained eight and PN lost everything, humiliating Bersatu president and former Johor MB Muhyiddin Yassin.

By Negeri Sembilan’s nomination day on July 18, PN reconstituted itself. Bersatu, rudely uninvited, was forced to compete solo. 

Bersatu’s splinters Wawasan Negara and Pejuang danced into the warm embrace of PN. BN set aside 11 seats for PN in a strategic partnership for polling on August 1. 

The BN-PN coalition, with 18 and seven wins respectively, hold a supermajority. Its excos currently do not administer the state, but that’s a completely different bizarre story.

Now for Melaka, BN and PN are in agreement, despite PN rendered the junior member allowed to contest only seven seats opposed to BN’s 21. Pakatan faces an uphill task.

Why, Batman, why is Gotham in mayhem?

Regardless of Melaka’s outcome, there are three reasons for grave uncertainties after the votes are cast at GE16.

Many forget that by the time Ismail Sabri Yaakob took over from Muhyiddin in 2021, the country was truly in a flux.

By early 2022, despite being in the federal government together, PN and BN had already battled in Melaka (November 2021) and Johor (March 2022). 

Mahathir Mohamad was still the Langkawi MP. Anwar the Port Dickson MP with his motley crew pressing a government unsure of itself. Ismail Sabri signed a MOU with Pakatan to guarantee the passage of the Budget.

Historians will tag that era as the first instance of parliamentary uncertainty inside the house — the prior 2020 transfer of prime minister post was conducted via a series of interviews in the palace, not in Parliament.  

The last will obviously be the Madani experiment advised by the palace following the hung Dewan Rakyat after GE15 in late 2022. The relative calm of the first two years has been followed by the chaotic relationship BN and Pakatan navigate in the present.

Wait for greater volatility after GE16.

In the last two state elections, PN gave in and ended up with the poor man’s share of the spoils. The strain inside PN — more so in dominant PAS — will be visible if on November 14, they get pittance from the state election. — Bernama file pic

Definitely maybe

The last six months have been a bunch of maybes from both PN and BN in their pursuit of unity. 

They did not manage to coalesce for Johor, and for Negeri and Melaka it is about PN accepting a minor role — 11 seats and 7 seats (or 35 per cent and 28 per cent of the available races) respectively to contest.  

Far more worrying is that the negotiations swallow up an inordinate amount of time. 

After Negeri, BN and PN had almost three months to shape an electorate pact for Melaka. 

The obvious explanation is that all sides play a game of chicken and wait till the hourglass almost runs out. See who flinches first. 

In the last two state elections, PN gave in and ended up with the poor man’s share of the spoils. The strain inside PN — more so in dominant PAS — will be visible if on November 14, they get pittance from the state election.

As such, when it comes to the general election, with PN and BN firmly set on sustaining their brands and opting for an electoral pact, the wheeling and dealing will ebb and flow till nomination day. With the usual characters to strut till the string breaks and party elders firefight.

PN has all parliamentary seats in Perlis, Kedah, Terengganu and Kelantan minus one, 39 seats. 

Using the “recontest what you have” principle that Umno assiduously drew in Negeri and Melaka, there will be only a single Umno candidate in those four states, which is Sungai Petani.

The focus here is not the final electoral pact formula they’ll commit to, but that they will do so grudgingly, which then lends itself thereafter to a series of internal protests and sabotages. 

Sulking is synonymous with our politicians. The situation won’t please neither PN nor BN.

There is no visible solution to this.

BN leaves PN as a junior member in the peninsula’s west and PN shuts out Umno in the conservative belt.

There’ll be complaints all across Semenanjung. Setting the tone for future betrayals.

KK prefers KL, not Newcastle

Second, the Borneo inclination

If BN emerges stronger than PN, it may cast aside PN if it has enough seats to form a government with Borneo parties and their 57 seats. 

If BN secures 60 seats from the 165 in Semenanjung, the temptation to bolt grows.  

Equally, PN can abandon BN. What is clearer, between the two, is Borneo’s multiculturalists prefer BN. PAS-controlled PN is an existentialist threat to the way of life in East Malaysia.

It is an electoral pact, it bears reminding. BN and PN MPs owe their allegiance to their chairmen, not to the pact. 

There is a romantic flavour to BN and East Malaysia tying the knot, reviving the old BN — in name, even if not in function — which East Malaysia has decades of experience with. 

If Borneo had to choose, it would be in this order: Renew partnership with Anwar Ibrahim’s Pakatan if he has the numbers, settle for the BN-only universe, and third, grudgingly get into bed with PN-BN with the belief BN can offset PAS’ overzealousness.

As you like it

Pakatan forming an electoral pact with Bersatu six years after the former both decimated its government and PKR’s leadership in 2020, means nothing is off the table in Malaysian politics. These strange days.

The message is crystal clear. Pakatan understands reforms are a priority but without power, reform is impossible in its estimation. 

Granted, the theory is full of holes, that’s the approach they’ve picked, the lesser of all evils — cynics point out that Pakatan is full of itself if it anoints itself as the objective good in this political play of hypocrisy.

And its credentials are thin, super thin, after it took back turncoats Kamaruddin Jaffar, Edmund Santhara and Steve Choong into PKR.  

Politicians can run out of parties and coalitions for the most absurd of reasons, usually cover for their personal unabashed self-interest, and within a reasonable time shift allegiance without the risk of censure or punishment.

The sticky reality all sides in Malaysian politics refuse to admit is that opportunism is the shared dogma across the aisle.  

Outcomes and only outcomes matter. Narratives, the messaging team can work on and the social media team pour out the graphics and videos, damn the lawsuits. Everything is after the fact to power.  

After election day

Which points to a free for all, immaterial of what type of electoral pacts are formed prior.

States can meander without administrations for lengthy durations, or change relationships as the 2021 supermajority BN Melaka government absorbed Pakatan two years after both became bosom buddies at the federal level. They parted company acrimoniously this year.

In an overly federalised country, the real power is in Putrajaya. The general election is a be all for our politics. 

State governments are malleable to whatever is the federal situation. And since all moves, even the diabolical ones, are kosher, nothing is done and dusted till a prime minister is sworn in. 

Expect absolute pandemonium as election results stream out and hypocrisy is the guiding light.

The great unknown is ahead.

OCTOBER 28 — Sometimes you have to embrace cliches.

A columnist getting cancer writing a book about it? Ah, how predictable, how mundane.

That didn’t stop me from writing one though.

I’ll let you know the writing part was easy.

What I did was dictate my book to my phone and thanks to the free Voice Memos on iOS it was not only recorded but with a click of a button, auto-transcribed.

Thus it took me just a week to “write” the book but the effort still took a toll on me physically; I was sick for two weeks after I was done.

The main reason I decided to talk my book into existing was to avoid straining my hands. I still need to work, after all.

What dictating a book, much like authors of yore used to do, adds to the writing process is a kind of rawness that bypasses any internal gatekeeper.

It was easier for me to just talk about the pain and have my phone capture my feelings than to sit at the keyboard, trying to squeeze them through my fingers.

While it does offer a rawer, more honest voice to the words it is hellish to edit.

The columnist documents her experience with cancer by dictating her manuscript to her phone in just one week.

I was dismayed to find that I had repeated anecdotes over different chapters (which had to be cut out) and too much segueing into unrelated topics.

Due to the messy lump of copy I had, it just felt like it was best for me to self-edit the manuscript instead of engaging editorial services.

It’s not something I would recommend to anyone; if you have the money and the contacts, get someone to look over your text, figure out what you might have missed or might need to omit.

As this is a book that does revolve around health matters I sent off a proof copy to three different healthcare professionals, two women with breast cancer experience and an old friend.

I hope the three healthcare people will not want to murder me after they are done.

At first I had intended it to be a very small endeavour. Finish the book, format the book, upload it to Amazon Kindle/Kobo/my Ko-fi website and if I could afford it, engage the services of a print-on-demand company for physical tomes.

The good news is I found out it will not be ruinous after all to print a small number of books.

The bad news is I have also found out I know nothing about formatting books.

Right now, I’m waiting for my printer to get back to me with a proper quote, the rest of my copy tasters to get back to me on any copy suggestions and my sanity to return from the war as the whole process has driven me quite mad.

But still it’s an exciting project and I’m glad to share it here, even if it’s also keeping me honest by forcing me to put it out instead of filing under “Maybe I’ll do this tomorrow.”

Look forward to it in November. Hopefully.

OCTOBER 26 — Not so fun fact: Our lives are often judged not by how we regularly live it but by its most extreme events.

There is a branch of statistics called Extreme Value Theory in which an extraordinarily high value overwhelmingly impacts the entire set of numbers, even shifting the average by a huge percentile.

A simple example is salaries. If you take the monthly pay of 100 junior staff in, say, an insurance company, any one of their wages will not substantially impact the average.

But if you add the salary of the CEO of the regional group into that set, suddenly this addition could mutate the average to an unrecognisable number.

It’s like adding JK Rowling’s earnings to the earnings of the average 10,000 authors just barely scraping to get by.

That’s extreme value — when one factor changes everything.

Ditto with school bullying and murders, not least the recent spate of tragic incidents.

Each one of those students in the news now for being the antagonist or culprit in a bullying or otherwise incident were living “normal” lives until something snapped in them and they went ahead and did something extreme.

Nurturing positive extremes

I’m not a huge fan of Tony Robbins but I do recall him saying something to the effect that our lives can change in an instant.

One meeting, one email, one speech, one tweet, one bad acquaintance, one special friend and our world can tilt on its axis.

The good news is that maybe we can learn to put ourselves in “places” where positive manifestations of EVT can occur.

This is why many good mentors counsel us to tinker, to try new things, to meet new people, to join new projects, to check out new places and so on. We just never know what can happen.

You could say it’s the epitome of “working smart”. Do enough new and unexpected things and, who knows, we could be struck by lightning (in a good way).

The bad news is we need to be even more vigilant about how casual, tiny and “inconsequential” encounters (physical, online, etc.) can affect people for the worse.

The sad thing about negative events in life is that it’s much easier for such events to bring about a tipping point and make individuals do crazy things.

That’s extreme value in real life.

If nothing else, maybe we all need to take a good hard look at the daily habits we take for granted. Both the healthy and unhealthy ones could produce major disruptions in our lives, some great and some terrible.

Candidates sit for the Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia examinations at school in Shah Alam on March 3, 2022. — Picture by Yusof Mat Isa

EVT and schools

Schools talk a lot about character and values, yet the places where students actually practise dealing with other human beings — the co-curricular activities, the clubs, the uniformed bodies — often remain underused for anything beyond trophies, discipline drills or attendance.

What if these were treated as spaces where kids learn, in real time, how to handle rejection without collapsing, how to disagree without turning it into a war, and how to cool down when anger shows up?

By doing so we’d be reducing the likelihood of terrible extreme events occurring.

Role-playing exercises sound almost too obvious, but they rarely happen systematically. Peer mentoring could give older students a reason to look out for the younger ones instead of simply ignoring them.

We spend most of our days inside the ordinary middle of the distribution. The problem is that almost nobody remembers us that way.

One extreme moment — a single reckless overtake, a humiliating afternoon that festers, a group chat that turns poisonous — can rewrite the story for everyone else and, more importantly, for the person who lived it.

Schools already know how to manufacture high-stakes extremes; they do it every exam season.

What they still underuse is the quieter machinery that might keep those extremes from turning violent: the clubs, the uniformed bodies, the unstructured hours where students actually practise not collapsing when things go wrong.

None of it guarantees safety. Extreme value never works that way. But the alternative is to keep treating emotional competence as something that can be postponed until after the next tragedy, then wonder why the numbers keep shifting so violently.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

OCTOBER 24 — Say what you want about James Gunn’s reign as the CEO of DC Studios, but you certainly can’t say that he’s been boring, that he hasn’t tried enough new things, or that he’s played things safe. 

In an era where comic book cinema has routinely felt like a corporate conveyor belt running on autopilot, Gunn’s tenure has at least injected an unpredictable, auteur-driven ambition into a studio that desperately needed a shot in the arm.

Sure, the distinctly average Supergirl might stand as the only real blip in his reign so far, a film that stumbled into the same safe, paint by numbers studio traps we’ve grown so weary of. 

But the arrival of the hugely refreshing Clayface is more than enough to make DC fans hope again. 

(From left) Welsh actor Tom Rhys Harries, English actor Naomi Ackie and English actor Max Minghella pose on the red carpet upon arrival to attend the European Premiere of ‘Clayface’ at Curzon Mayfair in London October 20, 2026. — AFP pic

It is a bold, uncompromising entry that proves there is still life left in comic book adaptations if you know how to break the mold.

I’ve always said that we’ve been nearing an absolute saturation point for superhero and comic book movies for a while now. Because let’s face it, there are only so many times we can slog through another standard superhero or supervillain origin story without starting to get bored out of our minds. 

We know the plot beats by heart, the tragic backstory, the lab accident or ancient artifact, the montage of discovering new powers, and the inevitable third-act CGI punch-fest in a ruined city square.

And I’ve also always maintained that Marvel’s smartest tactical move to sidestep this saturation point was making films that sat firmly outside the traditional superhero genre. 

Spider-Man: Homecoming wasn’t just a superhero flick, it was a John Hughes-style teen high school comedy that happened to feature Peter Parker. 

Spider-Man: Far From Home was essentially a rowdy European student trip movie wearing an MCU suit. By smuggling comic book icons into established, functional film genres, you give the audience a fresh reason to care.

It looks like Gunn has brought that exact same philosophy over to DC with Clayface. 

Yes, on paper, this is a supervillain origin story very much in the vein of Joker. But instead of cosplaying as a gritty, Martin Scorsese-homaging crime drama, Clayface is presented unabashedly as a full blown body horror flick. 

To prove they weren’t messing around, DC brought in a legit horror director to steer the ship; James Watkins, the British filmmaker behind modern genre standouts like Eden Lake, The Woman in Black, and the recent American remake of Speak No Evil. 

And who did they bring in to write the script? It’s Mike Flanagan, who’s responsible for recent horror favourites like The Haunting of Hill House, Midnight Mass, Oculus, Hush and Doctor Sleep.

Watkins brings a dark, deeply uncomfortable sense of psychological dread to the narrative, which centres on washed-up young actor Matt Hagen, whose fame and fortune was cruelly taken away from him in a tragic display of stupidity that could happen to even the best of us. 

Desperate to reclaim his good looks, stardom, and place in Hollywood, Hagen turns to an experimental, not-yet-approved-for-human-testing technology that promises to restore his face. 

Naturally, the side effects are grotesque, and Hagen’s mind degrades alongside his liquefying anatomy.

What makes the film work so remarkably well is its thematic DNA. I really enjoyed the movie’s brilliant blend of Obsession, The Substance, and Brian Yuzna’s 1989 cult classic Society. 

Like The Substance, it takes Hollywood’s toxic, ageist obsession with physical perfection and turns it into a gory, sickening farce. 

But it also channels the tragic, flesh-warping tragedy of David Cronenberg’s The Fly. 

Much like Jeff Goldblum’s Seth Brundle watching his own physical decay in horrified fascination, Hagen’s descent isn’t just a visual nightmare, it’s also a heartbreaking character study of a man losing his humanity and mind to his own vanity.

Visually, the film is a total triumph for practical and practical-adjacent genre fans. 

The yucky, gooey special effects deserve special praise here. The sheer texture of Hagen’s dripping, shifting, and melting flesh feels horribly tactile. 

It is the kind of skin-crawling, stomach-churning visual work, echoing Cronenberg’s finest biological horrors, that would absolutely belong in a hard R-rated horror flick, far away from the sanitised, plastic CG gloss we usually get in modern studio blockbusters. 

Every time Hagen tries to mold his face back into shape, the wet squelches and tearing tissue make you squirm in your seat.

If I had to rate it, Clayface is a solid 7 or 8 out of 10 movie, a gripping, tragic, and genuinely terrifying ride that takes a classic Batman villain and treats his tragedy with real genre reverence. 

By refusing to deliver a comfortable, toy commercial origin story and instead handing the reins to a seasoned horror director, DC has delivered one of the most delightful cinematic surprises of the year. 

It proves that when you stop treating comic book properties as rigid franchises and start treating them as versatile canvases for distinct genres, the multiplex can still be a thrilling place to be.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist. 

OCTOBER 22 — For 55 years, the Universities and University Colleges Act or AUKU has silenced our campuses. Most of the time with its sheer presence. Like the most vicious gangster, the trick is to stoke fear in the masses, the student masses, and let time tick on.

The irony of its demise, or at least the announcement of it, remains. For AUKU was shaped by the 1974 Baling demonstrations and the detention of a fiery student leader called Anwar Ibrahim.

A year later, the then education minister Mahathir Mohamad tightened the legislation to gag three generations of student leaders.

Half a century later, that same student leader, now prime minister, tells the PKR National Congress in Ayer Keroh on August 15 that it must go. A day later he went further, promising that AUKU would be fully repealed without any new law that restricts or suppresses student movements.

So, he’s not being misunderstood, he wants AUKU chucked into the ash heap of history.

However, this is still Malaysia. Wait for the fine print before ordering a round of celebratory teh tarik.

The ruse before the misdirection

Within hours of the announcement, the Higher Education Ministry was talking about what comes next.

Minister Zambry Kadir said a more comprehensive legal framework to replace AUKU was already in the Malaysian Higher Education Plan 2026-2035, under a “One Higher Education Act” agenda.

His argument being AUKU covers more than student autonomy as it is the parent act for how universities are established and governed.

Fair enough. Universities need a legal spine. But by mid-September, Zambry was saying the new act was still being drafted, and that some student matters were being handled through executive measures and existing procedures.

Executive measures. Existing procedures. Any former student activist will recognise those words.

They are how the old order survives legislative threats. By delaying the law, then diluting it before stripping it of any efficacy.

For 55 years, the Universities and University Colleges Act or AUKU has silenced our campuses. — Picture by Shafwan Zaidon

Madani reforms AUKU 1.0

My scepticism comes from recent experience. In March 2024, Parliament passed amendments meant to give student bodies more autonomy over their activities and finances.

The amended Section 15A let student councils raise funds and accept contributions, subject to prevailing regulations and written laws.

The qualifiers killed the measure. Rights organisation Aliran warned back then, if the university board’s power to make regulations was left unchecked, they’d stymie the students and their financial independence. One step forward, two steps back.

True enough, the amendment has moved slowly or not at all. It has been met with delays, or with conditions no student union could reasonably meet, as if administrators were buying time until the next minister arrived.

A year after the amendment, the Universiti Malaya Students’ Union was fighting a new policy forcing every club to appoint an adviser from the student affairs department and get its approval before booking venues.

This April, UM told student groups to get prior approval for campus forums, after organisers were exasperated that their anti-corruption event was jettisoned.

The law is no match for policemen with weapons blocking off access, following university administrator instructions.

A year without freedom, just like the year before

Look at how 2026 has gone for young Malaysians who speak up.

In April, three activists were arrested after waving “Tangkap Azam Baki” placards while the ex-MACC chief Azam Baki spoke at the World Trade Centre Kuala Lumpur.

They were Mandiri coordinators Hamdin Nordin and Fakrurrazzi Khairur Rijal, and Liga Mahasiswa activist Ahsanul Akmal Sulam. Amnesty International Malaysia called it part of an alarming pattern of penalising non-violent expression.

In Johor, UTM student leaders were investigated by police in August for asking the university to review its campus curfew. They didn’t burn anything down. They asked for a review.

Then there is Ummi Umairah Bakhit. At a Higher Education Ministry-backed youth summit, the UM student questioned public donations to Najib Razak in front of a panel with Khairy Jamaluddin, Amirudin Shari and Onn Hafiz Ghazi, calling the crowdfunding “the stupidest thing I’ve seen in my entire life”.

Online, some threatened her with expulsion and harassed her. To its credit, UM’s vice-chancellor confirmed that no disciplinary action had been taken against her.

But that isn’t the point. The worrying part is not that the university punished her. It didn’t.

The worrying part is that the country spent a week debating whether it should. A student said something sharp about a convicted former prime minister, and the first public reflex was to ask what her university would do to her.

That reflex is what AUKU built, and repealing the Act is only the first step. It takes more to purge it from our system, our thinking process.

Prepare, it will be relentless

As I write, French students are blockading schools and marching in their hundreds of thousands.

More than 6,000 protesters have been arrested, most of them under 18. I can already hear the response in Putrajaya and in some newsrooms: see what freedom gets you.

I won’t water this down. Freer students will be more outspoken. They will criticise their vice-chancellors, the ministry, the government, the opposition, Bersama, and probably columnists like me.

Some of it will be rude, unfair, or wrong. That is what freedom looks like, and it is the reason to grant it.

The real problem is a strange national philosophy that says change can happen without upsetting anything or anyone.

On this view, reform should arrive sanitised, pre-approved and wrapped in a press statement. That belief has quietly defeated every AUKU reform so far, and it will defeat this one too unless we name it.

Litmus test

So here is the test for whatever replaces AUKU. Three things, none of them radical anywhere else in the democratic world.

First, students run their own elections. The administration has no role in vetting candidates, setting rules or counting votes.

Second, student unions own assets. Look at the Oxford Union, with its own building, rooms and hall, bought and run by students.

At a minimum, our unions need a bank account the university cannot freeze, control or close. Without money of its own, a union is just a eunuch.

Third, student activities need no university approval, as long as they break no law of the land.

None of these place students above the law. They are still bound by it. Anwar said so himself: existing criminal laws are enough to deal with any misconduct by student groups.

If they defame someone, the defamation laws apply. If they misuse union funds, they can be charged with criminal breach of trust. If they break the law at a protest, they can be arrested.

The only change is that they face these laws as ordinary citizens, not under a special statute designed to keep them quiet.

Here’s to being stronger

The present is not about calmer campuses; the present is about soulless campuses. Taking the doggedness of youth out of our youths in these facilities has largely neutered them.

It is horrifying to contemplate the students’ abilities to revolutionise Malaysia’s economy, society and politics when they leave these universities.

The repeal is 55 years too late. Much has been lost, time to take the manacles off.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

OCTOBER 21 — I walked past a motorcycle workshop the other day and saw it had chained the grates over the nearby drains.

Makes sense, I thought, and kept walking.

Years ago, someone had stolen the grate cover in front of my gate, which had my brother fall right into the drain in the dark.

Nothing was safe if it was made from metal in those days but now instead of plundering scrap metal, thieves are risking electrocution for a risky payload with a huge payoff.

I hear talk they’re trying to stop cable theft by increasing penalties but let me ask you this — when have penalties ever stopped people when the reward is bigger than the risk?

It makes me sad sometimes (or maybe I’ve just been successfully indoctrinated by all the anti-dadah propaganda of the 80s) that even with the huge penalties for drug trafficking, it still happens.

When you consider your life being worth less than money, it’s just tragic.

Snatch theft became less of a common incident in the Klang Valley when delivery services gained momentum.

Why steal a purse for uncertain returns when you could go around with your bike for fixed payments?

Now the delivery companies are beginning to reduce payouts, making delivery jobs a lot less enticing.

With so many delivery platforms and the existence of emails, becoming a dispatch rider for a company is no longer an option for young school leavers.

Why pay someone a set amount when you can probably contract a company to do the same, often for cheaper?

A Cable Theft Security Patrol is seen at the MRT Taman Naga Emas station in Bandar Tasik Selatan, Kuala Lumpur on April 11, 2026. — Picture by Sayuti Zainudin

Now people are willing to risk their lives to steal cables, likely backed by shady figures looking to rake in millions by recruiting the poor and desperate.

Yes, rail companies need to be smarter about securing their cables. Technology exists. Sensors, cameras, monitoring systems  — all that can be implemented.

Yet what rail companies cannot control is the socioeconomic factors that encourage the thefts.

I look at the videos of young people rampaging on the streets of Paris and see the derisive comments.

Yes, I do think it’s unfair that small business owners had their storefronts destroyed alongside large companies whose insurance will cover all the damage.

The solution is not increasing the policing or further oppressing the disenfranchised.

It is well-documented how lopsided the distribution of income has become and income disparity has only increased in recent years.

Now AI has not empowered anyone but the rich tech oligarchs making money from ridiculous overvaluations while many are losing their jobs.

Sometimes I sigh seeing the businessmen who are convinced that people like me can be replaced with a bot.

While it is important to snuff out these rogue agents targeting power and communication cables, disincentivizing theft by making easy money less attractive is the better strategy in the long run.

If you want people to make better choices, then make them available. Make crime, heists so unpalatable in comparison to a comfortable living situation.

Few people are more dangerous than the ones with nothing left to lose and that is something leaders everywhere should note, especially after the Paris riots.­

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

OCTOBER 17 — As critically acclaimed as Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu may have been throughout his career, I have always found his filmography to be something of a mixed bag. 

I quite liked his raw, multi-narrative debut Amores Perros, but his subsequent, heavily decorated works, films like 21 Grams, Babel, Biutiful, and especially the Oscar-sweeping Birdman, have always felt a bit too obviously like calculated Oscar-bait to me. 

They often struck me as arthouse films designed specifically for people who don’t actually watch or like arthouse films, which is really just a polite way of saying they are slickly packaged like high art rather than genuinely being one.

With that kind of track record, I obviously had major reservations walking into the cinema to watch his latest offering, Digger. 

Judging from the trailers and press rollouts, it was being aggressively marketed as the ultimate Oscar-bait vehicle for lead actor Tom Cruise, tailored to finally fetch him that elusive competitive Academy Award.

However, I am more than happy to be proven wrong by a film. 

And even though film critics have been pretty savage about Digger, very possibly the exact same ones who previously swooned over his self-important, prestige bait entries, colour me very impressed with this one.

Digger is decidedly not an arthouse film. Instead, it plays more like one of those savage, sprawling critiques and dark satires that a director at the absolute zenith of their industry powers can occasionally convince a major Hollywood studio to bankroll on a massive budget. 

It belongs to that rare, audacious strain of big budget studio subversion, think along the lines of Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove or Terry Gilliam’s Brazil.

The film centres on a desperate, megalomaniacal oil mogul (Tom Cruise) who spearheads a catastrophic, oil drilling venture in a bid to tap into the world’s last remaining major reserve somewhere in Alaska. 

Cruise is absolutely electric here, shedding his recent superheroic stuntman persona from the Mission Impossible films to tap into an erratic, wildly charismatic monster of capitalistic hubris. 

Think of his performance in Magnolia and you’re halfway there. Opposite him, Riz Ahmed provides a brilliant, jittery foil as an overworked lead engineer watching the entire operation collapse into utter madness.

Yet, as magnetic as Cruise and Ahmed are, the real star of the show is the world building craftsmanship and the sheer ingenuity of its visual language. 

The art direction and set design are staggering in scale, constructing a world that feels simultaneously grounded and strangely surreal. 

Inarritu and his production designers embrace a uniquely stylised visual palette. 

US actor Tom Cruise promotes the upcoming film ‘Digger’ during Warner Bros photocall at the Colosseum at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas April 14, 2026. — AFP pic

The sets possess a deliberately heightened, overtly theatrical quality, with dramatic lighting cues, exaggerated physical framing, and staging that feel grandly artificial in the most magnificent way possible. 

Paired with inventive cinematography that captures this staging with meticulous precision, Inarritu’s direction guides the madness with a relentless, biting focus that never lets up.

What elevates Digger even further, though, is how seamlessly its meta-cinematic tactics work to its advantage. 

Inarritu plays a fascinating game with perception, constantly tugging at the illusion of what is “real” within the world of the film and what is merely a grandly orchestrated illusion. 

Rather than feeling like a cheap, self-congratulatory gimmick, these meta flourishes serve to heighten the absurdity of the narrative. 

They strip away the traditional suspension of disbelief, forcing the audience to actively engage with the thematic machinery at play rather than passively consuming another big-budget disaster movie.

Adding further flavour to this chaotic tapestry is an exceptional lineup of supporting turns and surprise cameos that give the film its rich, chaotic energy. 

Leading the charge is a hilariously manic John Goodman as President Compson. Goodman steals every single frame he is in, delivering an unhinged, petulant performance as a finger-pointing, inept politician unraveling under pressure. 

Beyond Goodman’s scene stealing turn, every time the central narrative threatens to lock itself into a predictable groove, Inarritu pops in a memorable side character, from Sandra Hüller to Jesse Plemons, to throw a wrench into the machinery. 

These quick hit appearances are executed with sharp comedic precision, providing worthy, memorable foils for Cruise to bounce his energy off of.

Beneath the chaotic set-pieces, theatrical staging, meta commentary, and dark humour lie some very hard pills to swallow regarding humanity’s insatiable addiction to oil. 

It is deeply refreshing, and the mother of all ironies, to see our ecological hypocrisy so brutally called out inside a lavish, big budget major studio release.

While purists and prestige chasing critics might turn their noses up at its cynical, chaotic edge, Digger stands as Inarritu’s most wildly entertaining and genuinely biting work in years. 

It’s a fierce, visually breathtaking satire that proves when a director uses studio money to burn down studio conventions, the results can be glorious.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

OCTOBER 14 — In my local WhatsApp group a large number claim to have voted for Anwar Ibrahim in the last general election. They also cannot then and now, name the actual MP’s name, the name on the ballot.

It’s not Hulu Langat MP Sany Hamzan’s fault they were not bothered who’d be their representative in Dewan Rakyat.

Neither were the other candidates on their minds — Markiman Kobiran (formerly BN MP for Hulu Langat and now as Pejuang candidate who loses his deposit), Johan Abd Aziz (former assemblyman for Semenyih and soon to be Dusun Tua assemblyman), Mohd Radzi Abd Latif (Bersatu division chief) nor the two other invisible lads.

People go into general election polling booths to vote for who runs the country, this is important as next month is four years of Madani completed and the nation is firmly on a general election trajectory, even if it occurs at the end of 2027.

It also softens the impact of the Melaka election on the fates of the parties next year, in the general. This is not to say the count on November 14 is inconsequential.

In addition, the states have proven over the last six years, they can be extremely malleable to whoever administers Putrajaya.

When the federal government is at stake, the voters, even the least interested ones understand it is a choice among Barisan Nasional’s Zahid Hamidi, Perikatan Nasional’s Samsuri Mokhtar — or mistaken it to be Hadi Awang — and Pakatan Harapan’s Anwar Ibrahim.

Four years ago, on November 19, 2022, Malaysians headed to centres Semenanjung-wide with PN’s Muhyiddin Yassin, BN’s Ismail Sabri Yaakob and Anwar Ibrahim as their choices, the names on the ballot paper were just incidental.

The relegation of Mahathir Mohamad from the main pack was obvious and in hindsight explains how all Gerakan Tanah Air (GTA) candidates lost their deposit.

It’s a cruel game considering Mahathir’s name mattered a lot for voters in 2018 and gave Pakatan the edge to win.

Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim shares a light-hearted moment with traditional dancers after seeing off Egyptian President Abdel Fattah El-Sisi, who concluded his two-day state visit to Malaysia, at the Bunga Raya Complex, Kuala Lumpur International Airport (KLIA) in Sepang on October 10, 2026. — Bernama pic

False signals from state races

In November 2021, Melaka gave a resounding two-thirds majority win for BN over both PN and Pakatan. Twenty-one out of 28 seats. Five months later in Johor, BN again romped home with two-thirds (40 of the 56 seats). The signs were ominous for other pretenders.

Later in 2022, at the general election, BN failed to win a single parliamentary seat in Melaka and only nabbed five of the 26 in Johor.

A general election is a different beast.

Add and subtract

The next general election centres around the total number of viable candidates. It’s premature to say it ends up being BN in an undefined relationship with PAS unwilling to commit to one PM candidate versus Anwar.

The meaning of undefined is that BN and PN agree on dividing seats up somewhat, campaign together but with separate logos and have first right of refusal to each other once the seats are tallied.

The assumption is that neither PN nor BN possess enough seats on their own on election day to negotiate with Borneo parties and secure the required 112 seats to form government.

So, two rounds of deal-making. Between PN and BN based on their seat count, and thereafter with the Borneo bloc. PAS’ patience with BN in the state elections may not mean more of the same when it comes to the federal contest.

A collapse in the friendship is always on the cards.

Two maybes, one outsider and the incumbent

Both PN and BN rely on backroom deals rather than polling booths, and therefore prefer to have options open, for the chat later.

So, it’s a three-way. BN, PN and Pakatan, with Muhyiddin’s Bersatu filling up the role Mahathir’s GTA played in 2022.

Which returns us to the core issue.

While the strength of the BN and PN helping each other by not competing against each other is a superpower, the inability to agree on a prime minister candidate will become a super-doubt.

Remember, while PN and BN governed together for three years (2020-2022), they opted to compete against each other at the general election.

The closest thing to the current PN-BN electoral pact is the 2008 PKR-DAP-PAS pact. But there is a stark difference. PAS in the Nik Aziz Nik Mat era was happy to let Anwar be the standard bearer.  There is too much ambition inside the PN-BN universe to have a single election poster child.

The who

There will be a lot of noise, not the least online.

The shifts from 2022 are palpable.

BN has no Ismail Sabri Yaakob as a distraction. Zahid Hamidi is PM if BN gets the nod. He has baggage, excess baggage.

From the Littoral Combat Ship (LCS) no show saga of 15 years to the 47 corruption charges on hold because of a DNAA, Zahid may be too colourful to become prime minister.

He makes people pause and rethink.

Samsuri Mokhtar, chairs PN, but reports to PAS president Hadi. He constantly stalls to wait for blessings from Marang.

The gnasher from Larut Hamzah Zainudin, the leader of opposition and of the ragtag Wawasan Negara gang, cannot stay silent. Missteps from Samsuri will only embolden Hamzah.

Pakatan for all its foibles, and maybe because of its foibles has only one name.

Anwar has been prime minister for four years and that counts a lot. Secondly, he was not the incumbent in 2022. There is a certain power from being the national figurehead and automatically occupies space in the voters’ minds.

As much as the glow of PN-BN coming together, regardless of the conditions set, ups both coalitions’ chances, the no one PM candidate conundrum might haunt them.

The economy is performing well and next year Malaysia hosts the SEA Games. Voters might not be over enthused by Anwar by voting day but they may just be quite happy to stay in the present lane a little longer.

This is not cut and dry.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

OCTOBER 14 — I spent a night playing Magic: The Gathering (MTG) at a little gaming store that was just a short train ride away from me.

Adventurer's Hall is a few metres away from the Taman Bahagia station on the first floor of an unassuming shoplot, with a paper sign on the stairway door grille.

I was there only because Facebook showed me a post saying it was an all femme MTG night and after meeting the Mana Coven, an all female MTG group at a recent event, I was somewhat intrigued.

Also, I really needed to learn how to play the very popular MTG format, Commander.

MTG started out as a two-player game. The premise of it is that you are planewalkers or basically, wizards, duelling with spells and creatures, all this done via cards.

"Oh just like Harry Potter."

Please do not mention that franchise to me, especially now that JK Rowling has declared she will spend her earnings on her anti-trans activism.

Why couldn't she be like Enya who made her millions and now just shuts herself up in a literal castle with her cats and is blissfully not on social media?

Commander however is a different format — you play in groups of two to four people and the objective is to be the last planeswalker standing.

Tabletop gaming is now a lot more accessible than it used to be. — Picture by Erna Mahyuni

Harry Potter-rants aside I wasn't sure what I'd experience when I arrived at Adventurer's Hall but it was a very chill old kopitiam-vibe.

A menu with finger food, a couple of separate rooms with tables, a Warhammer display, Dungeons & Dragons books and of course a counter with MTG cards.

One random dude misunderstood the theme of the Commander session and thought the "Femme" thing was a Lord of the Rings reference.

He ended up joining another group to play boardgames so all's well that ends well.

My "pod" for the night as they call them apparently these days consisted of two other lovely women, one a Master's student and another who worked in tech.

They both absolutely trampled my deck but it was a good learning experience and I look forward to being stomped on as I continue learning MTG.

My current limitation for MTG is that I am strictly only buying or getting products from the newly-released Reality Fracture set because otherwise I will not be eating.

As many of you know, I really do love food.

Adventurer's Hall, I found out later, is run by a group of friends who all have day jobs but run it as a part-time endeavour (though one of them is going to make it his fulltime pursuit due to, well, reasons).

It has been nearly two decades since I stepped away from tabletop gaming, besides playing board games (that aren't Monopoly) and it's been interesting seeing how the hobby has expanded.

The commodification of trading card games might have somewhat contributed to the scene and the frenzy for Pokémon cards thanks to influencers.

At Adventurer's Hall, though, it was a bunch of people just having some fun either participating in roleplaying game sessions or card games.

It reminded me of two decades prior when I spent my nights hanging out at a game store, watching people paint Warhammer figures, play MTG (of course) and making friends.

One of those friends is now my housemate and colleague, and one of my dearest friends.

Quite a few of the people I met in those days are now my friends on Facebook too.

I don't want to revisit nostalgia by picking up MTG now; the game has changed, as have the players.

Just like before, though, I'll watch and learn, about people, about games, about life in general.

The MTG set Reality Fracture is about a wizard trying to remake the world and remove all suffering, but ends up creating more suffering as his new universe devours the old one.

It is a strange parallel to our current times where tech bros are trying to remake the world by replacing talent and thought with randomised word generators, claiming it will lead to prosperity for all.

While in reality, the forests are burning, our reservoirs are drying up, GPUs cost the same as cars or a house downpayment and the world as we know it is being gobbled up by private equity.

Anyway I'm not getting paid for this but you can check out the events at Adventurers' Hall on their very shiny website.

Maybe I'll see you there — I'll be the half-blind middle-aged woman squinting at the too-small text on her MTG cards.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

OCTOBER 13 — In various news reports, we are told the number of people suffering from mental health issues in Malaysia rises every year. 

For schizophrenia alone, the Health Ministry reported a few years ago that one in a hundred Malaysians are afflicted. 

As someone who spent the better part of 11 years caring for a mentally ill person, I can confirm that mental illness goes way beyond merely the person afflicted. 

It hits families and communities as well, and it hits them hard. With schizophrenia it’s especially tough. 

My late wife’s symptoms included paranoia, hearing voices and extremely erratic behaviour. For other patients there will be a myriad of other signs. 

However, there is only one thing worse than seeing someone you care about “disappear” into a haze of delusions and incoherency: Realising that very few people understand the stress and pain a caregiver goes through.

So I’d like to share some “inside information” below to provide some insight to the people who cross paths with these caregivers and their affected loved ones. 

Caregivers are tired 

According to the author, caregivers have been through so much frustration, sorrow and hopelessness that they’re usually one or two steps from tapping out. — Pexels.com pic

Can’t explain this. Even trying to elaborate drained me during those years.

If you have friends presently caring for a mentally ill family member, it helps to remember this. 

Caregivers have been through so much frustration, sorrow and hopelessness that they’re usually one or two steps from tapping out.

It helps to remember that whenever we interact with a caregiver about the one they’re caring for.

Caregivers are grateful

When my wife was still alive, many many people offered their help and support over the years. 

It doesn’t matter if these kind folks “understand” the situation or not. To a caregiver, this is precious: To know that there are people around to help “contain the blast” when it occurs. 

Because the thing about mental illnesses is that the future becomes utterly unpredictable and scary i.e. you can’t tell what the mentally ill person may do next.

I recall in 2017, I managed to get my wife a job as an Accounts Executive in a local educational institution. 

On the first day itself, HR complained to me that she refused to sign certain forms. On the second day, her supervisor called me to say that she is simply incapable of following orders and would, in fact, argue about almost everything.

I resigned on her behalf on the fourth day; and had to endure about a week’s worth of grievances and threats from both sides (my wife and the organisation involved).

I frankly do not know how I emotionally survived this incident (one of about three or four a year!) but I know that without the constant encouragement and moral support of many friends and extended family it would’ve been much worse.

Thus, the sheer unpredictability resulting from the illness is matched by the predictable goodness and compassion of people who care. And this helps a lot.

On this note, perhaps business leaders need to ask if our corporations are able to cope with the mentally disturbed. I suspect that we can’t. 

Malaysian companies can cater for the physically disabled, the very young, the very senior, the eccentric, people from other cultures, etc but the mentally ill? 

In fact, the high levels of office stress, bullying (both real and perceived), deadlines, workload, etc probably makes things worse.

Caregivers gradually get ‘mental treatment’ fatigue

In economics, there’s this concept or “law” known as diminishing marginal returns. 

Put technically, it refers to how the value or “enjoyment” of a certain good or amount earned falls over time. 

Quite simply, the very first nasi lemak you tasted probably scored at 10, but the 56th one you eat would get a 7 at best. 

Or, go back to the first RM100 you earned in your first job; it felt amazing, didn’t it? Now think about the last RM100 in your pay cheque, how many of us feel great about it? (Don’t all speak at once).

Something similar happens when it comes to treatments and therapies for our mentally ill loved ones. 

In the first year, the “rush” or drive to cure the person (and bring him or her back to “normal”) is frantic, determined, and almost obsessive. 

I can recall the one furious thought rushing through my head during the first one or two years: If only I get her to see this doctor, she takes the medicine, she gets well, we go back to status quo. Kow-teem!

After many years, caregivers usually have a change of heart.

Whenever people tell them of this treatment or this new doctor or this new “healing experience”, these caregivers can feel like the guy who’s been eating Big Macs for seven years i.e. long ago this was a tasty mouth-watering super-combo of a double meat patty packed with juicy veggies and tasty bread. But today? It’s just a burger.

Likewise many well-intentioned folks — especially those who have NOT been living or working with the mentally challenged — talk about “cures” like it’s the best thing since sliced bread and they cannot understand why the caregiver or the family seems way less enthusiastic than them. 

This is all the more pertinent when a majority of “psychotic” drugs primarily involve shutting down the patient’s brain. It’s entirely chemical; there is no soul care involved.

Furthermore (and worse), many people tend to judge and blame the caregiver for not “doing more” for the one affected. In a strange way, I’m not surprised.

If you’ve never sat with the person and listened for days and weeks to him or her talking about strange ghosts in the neighbour’s apartment, you will never understand how simply “getting the person to take his medicine” is anything but simple.

If you’ve never spent months seeing the person get upset because she saw a dying kitten on the road and concluding that the little cat will bring a deceased uncle back to life, you will never understand why it’s impossible to “just explain to her why popiah can’t cure cancer”.

Just in case my message isn’t clear: The absolute worst thing you can do to a caregiver is to blame him or her for the on-going condition of the mentally ill.

Even if you’re right, you’re wrong. The best antidote for such a nonchalant and judgmental attitude is, simply, to behave like a caregiver yourself.

• Dedicate some (or a lot of) time towards being with the patient 
• Listen to the patient. Talk to him or her.
• Live with and try to see the world through the eyes of the woman with bipolar-disorder, the man with schizophrenia, etc. 

People who’ve never lived or worked with the mentally challenged need to feel the frustration of being hit (time and time again) with the certainty that logic and reason no longer work. 

Then we may “get it” as to why long-term caregivers look at potential “cures” and “solutions” very differently from us.

The good news, though, is that whilst logic will not work with a mentally ill person, love does. 

A mentally challenged person still knows who loves them, and they still try hard to show others (especially the caregivers) they still love them. 

As a caregiver, I suspect nothing may be more important than showing whatever love you can and being with them. In the final analysis, this may be the only “cure” they need.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

OCTOBER 10 — The “oner” or the single, unbroken continuous shot, is hardly a new phenomenon in cinema. 

Film historians and cinephiles have been obsessing over the technique for decades, tracing its lineage back to masterworks like Alfred Hitchcock’s grand illusion in Rope or the legendary, pulse-pounding opening sequence of Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil.

In the modern era, the single-shot sequence has become the ultimate calling card for directors eager to flex their technical bravado. 

We’ve seen it elevated to breathtaking art in Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men, deployed with inventive kinetic energy in the iconic tracking shot from Episode 4 of Season One of True Detective, and used to quite astonishing effect in Sam Mendes’ 1917. 

But if I’m being completely honest, my absolute personal favourite remains that mind boggling, multi-storey stairway brawl in Tony Jaa’s Tom Yum Goong, a sequence of raw, unadulterated physical endurance that remains a high water mark for action filmmaking.

Attempting an entire feature length movie structured around the single-shot gimmick, however, is a much rarer and far more dangerous beast. 

Alexander Sokurov famously pulled it off without a single hidden edit in Russian Ark, Alejandro González Iñárritu rode the technique all the way to Oscar glory with Birdman (admittedly with clever hidden cuts) and genre cinema has dabbled in it via claustrophobic horror exercises like Silent House and its original Uruguayan predecessor, La Casa Muda. 

But using it for a relentless, heavy duty action franchise? That is a whole different level of madness.

Which brings us to One Last Shot, directed by James Nunn and starring the perpetually underrated action powerhouse Scott Adkins.

In ‘One Last Shot’, Adkins returns as Navy SEAL Jake Harris, who finds himself plunged into yet another high stakes, real time nightmare. — Screengrab via Facebook/Scott Adkins

This film marks the concluding chapter in what has turned out to be an astonishingly ambitious experiment in the world of Direct-To-Video (DTV) action cinema, a full trilogy of continuous, real-time “one-shot” action thrillers. 

Starting with 2021’s One Shot and followed by 2024’s One More Shot, Nunn and Adkins have quietly been revolutionising low budget action filmmaking under the radar, proving that you don’t need a two hundred million dollar Hollywood budget to execute jaw dropping physical choreography and shootouts that make perfect geographical sense.

In One Last Shot, Adkins returns as Navy SEAL Jake Harris, who finds himself plunged into yet another high stakes, real time nightmare. 

The movies in this trilogy continue right after the other, so a quick watch of the previous one (or just its ending) would help put things in context easier for the audience, but even without any prior knowledge, you will still be fine.

The premise is as lean and functional as any good action movie should be. 

Harris must navigate a lockdown facility crawling with heavily armed mercenaries to extract a high value target before time runs out. 

There is no time wasted on lengthy exposition or complex subplots, the narrative engine turns on, the camera locks onto Harris, and the film simply never lets go of your throat.

If I had to rank the trilogy, I would say that the second entry, One More Shot, remains the high point of the franchise. 

That film hit an almost magical sweet spot where the geography of its airport setting, the pacing of the shootouts, and the seamless nature of its digital hidden cuts aligned perfectly to create a non-stop adrenaline rush. 

One Last Shot doesn’t quite surpass the sheer kinetic perfection of its predecessor, occasionally feeling slightly more constrained by its location, which is basically some sort of a giant mansion, which of course cannot even compare with the vastness of an airport.

However, that is a minor nitpick in what is still a deeply impressive technical achievement. 

What Nunn and Adkins accomplish here on a fraction of a studio budget is nothing short of a miracle. 

Without the safety net of traditional editing to cut away to a stunt double or hide a missed punch, every throw, reload, and tactical sweep has to be executed with razor sharp precision, and that is where the cleverness of the directing and camera placement choices truly shine.

Adkins, as one would expect from a DTV action star of his stature, delivers a bone crunching, intensely physical performance that leaves you exhausted just by watching him clear a hallway. 

Meanwhile, Nunn’s camera glides, ducks, and weaves through the crossfire like an invisible active participant in the firefight. An elegant ballet of violence, if one can call it that.

In an era where mainstream theatrical blockbusters routinely rely on choppy, seizure inducing fast cuts and lazy CGI to fake action intensity, One Last Shot stands as a triumphant testament to geometric awareness, awesome physical choreography, and sheer directorial willpower. 

It brings a groundbreaking DTV trilogy to a satisfying close, proving once again that the most exciting action cinema is often happening far away from the traditional Hollywood studio system.

OCTOBER 8 — Is PKR desperate, a desperado, or just doing the Despacito?

Maybe too busy on the political dance floor to notice the music was cut aeons ago.

Hard to say reading their disco moves.

From the outside, it looks like the party has gone loco.

Kamarudin Jaffar, Steven Choong and Edmund Santhara have been reinstated as members.

As of September 27, thanks to the central leadership council.

If those names don't ring a bell, that's absolutely fine.

Not exactly giants of contemporary Malaysian politics.

Their claim to fame is infamy.

Kamarudin and Edmund Santhara walked out in the Sheraton Move of February 2020, which brought down the Pakatan Harapan government duly elected less than two years earlier.

Choong followed a year later, propping up Muhyiddin Yassin as an "independent" while keeping a seat PKR had won for him.

And now all three are back, in the warm motherly embrace of the party.

What the fish!

Some will deem it a pragmatic act by a prime minister taking intermittent sniper fire.

I call it a party bereft of ideas and now has undeniably hurt its own chances at GE16.

The unfanciful observation disquiets all: has PKR slid closer to Umno or Bersatu, truly worshippers of Machiavellian machinations, bent on seats therefore power over principles.

The author argues that PKR’s decision to readmit former members linked to the Sheraton Move undermines the party’s principles and risks alienating voters ahead of GE16. — Picture by Sayuti Zainudin

Buying players past sell-by dates

Glance at their CVs and one risks being duped.

Kamarudin is an old hand.

He has been in politics since the 1970s, worked with Anwar in ABIM, went to Umno, then rose through PAS after Reformasi to become its secretary-general.

He won five general elections: four in Tumpat and then Bandar Tun Razak in 2018.

Santhara was a corporate man before he was a politician, as CEO of Masterskills.

He ran as an independent in 2013 at Hulu Selangor and lost badly, then joined PKR and rose quickly to deputy treasurer.

He won Segamat for the party in 2018 and later served as deputy minister under both Muhyiddin and Ismail Sabri.

Choong worked the ground in Johor, lost Tebrau in 2013 and won it in 2018.

On paper, three people with experience.

In reality, the opposite holds.

Kamarudin lost Bandar Tun Razak in 2022 as a Perikatan Nasional candidate.

Santhara did not even contest GE15.

Choong ran for DUN Puteri Wangsa in 2022 under Parti Bangsa Malaysia and lost his deposit.

Kamaruddin can say he brings political nous as a former PAS national leader.

But his era appears over.

He turns 75 next month.

He can't win in Kelantan, despite four prior victories there because this time he has to overcome his old party, PAS.

Cynically, one dare suggest he won four times because he was a PAS candidate.

And, he may win in Kuala Lumpur using the PKR logo at Bandar Tun Razak, but that would be PKR endowing him a gift rather than him lifting the party.

Edmund Santhara is unknown outside his residence which many feel is New Zealand and Steven Choong brings rigour but not glamour.

So, what is the point?

Et tu, Brute?

The central issue remains, how does PKR forgive those who tried to bring it down?

Tian Chua I can process.

He is a genuine Reformasi veteran whose falling-out with the leadership — primarily Anwar — led him down the wrong road, all the way to contesting against his own party.

He did not sell out to the party’s enemies in the aftermath.

He is a one-party man.

These three are different.

Anwar, of all people, should be furious with Kamarudin, a fellow ABIM man who treated the struggle as a stepping stone for himself and spited Anwar.

Are PKR members the better from these readmissions?

That they experienced trying years after the 2020 ouster, thanks to these frogs’ greed, and now are expected to change their minds and work with them heading to GE16?

It’s insane.

It stupefies.

Alarmingly, so few in the leadership questioned it, objected, or told Anwar that a party without principles is not a party but an election-winning machine.

It also sets a precedent.

Why wouldn't more politicians change colours with the season, when opportunities absent of principles are presented to them, if PKR has shown it will forgive them later?

Then there is the money.

All three signed PKR's 2018 bond, which makes elected representatives liable for RM10 million if they jump ship.

PKR is in court right now pursuing Edmund Santhara and Kamarudin for that sum.

The party spuriously argues the bond is a separate matter, even if the gentlemen are readmitted as members.

Eh?

You demand RM10 million from these men in court, who ostensibly prefer not to pay, and then turn around to the members and remind them they are priceless leaders?

When secretary-general Fuziah Salleh sits across from them, does she ask about their latest party work, or about the payment outstanding?

The heat is on

The push factors are evident.

Rafizi Ramli and Nik Nazmi have left to lead Parti Bersama Malaysia.

Former Subang MP Wong Chen has joined them.

I suspect former Petaling Jaya MP Lee Chean Chung is just waiting for the right moment to say he has done the same.

Nurul Izzah Anwar tried to resign as deputy president and was talked into an open-ended leave instead.

The people expected to lead PKR's next generation are leaving.

However, do the older faces change the party's fortunes?

Here is another scenario.

If Bersama keeps losing deposits, as it did in Johor, will PKR quickly reopen the door to Rafizi, Nik Nazmi and Wong too?

After all, PKR is a party with selective amnesia.

At the PKR National Congress in Melaka on August 15, Anwar apologised and pleaded: otai-otai, baliklah.

Return to the path of the struggle.

I doubt many delegates in that hall pictured this as the outcome.

So, who's next?

Azmin Ali?

The almost forgotten, voters

There is one thing almost nobody in PKR seems to be asking: what will ordinary voters make of this, and how will they vote?

Will the return of Kamarudin and Santhara warm anyone's heart?

More likely, voters under 40 won't recognise them.

What they already believe is that no party has principles.

They have watched Umno in Negeri Sembilan and PAS cutting Bersatu loose, and concluded that every party is the same, chasing short-term returns.

Now PKR looks the same too, willing to take back those who lied to it and betrayed it.

If PKR is not careful, voters at GE16 will treat the ballot like a roll of the dice, picking randomly, since it’s becoming impossible to tell the parties apart.

That’s undesirable, for PKR and Pakatan Harapan.

* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.

OCTOBER 7 — “You want to save the world, but you don’t want it to change.” — Ultron to the Avengers

KL’s skyline of late looks funky. It’s like the city is situated 20,000 feet above sea-level. Looks like heaven... but smells like hell.

The haze is like purgatory veiled in dry ice. And purgatory in Christian teaching is that place where souls are cleansed and refined (for, literally, heaven’s sake).

Is there something our unenviable air quality readings can teach us as a nation? As a region? Can the haze, uh, cleanse us of anything?

Imagine a mega-sensei checking the pulse of our region. What would he be listening for other than the haze? What would he be concerned about apart from the immediate symptom?

My guess is he wouldn’t be pumped up about simply removing the smoke and pollution from the skies — he’d also want to ensure the land as a whole is clean.

I’m thinking this sensei would say that South-East Asia is suffering from over-consumption, over-construction, over-everything.

The haze is like an elemental dump-site taking flight. It’s our trash thrown back at us.

Because we all know the forest fires are tied to economics and cost-cutting measures performed in near-indifference to anything else.

Kuala Lumpur’s skyline is shrouded in haze as air quality deteriorates across parts of the region. — Picture by Sayuti Zainudin

Industrial-scale agricultural burning – primarily for palm oil and pulpwood production in Sumatra and Kalimantan, Indonesia – uses cheap and fast practices to clear land.

When coupled with extremely dry weather, voilà, our cities look like Genting Highlands in the evening.

Can we blame the Indonesian farmers? Sure we can. But in the end we mustn’t ignore the overall greed of society which has led to this.

We now know that the haze is correlated with a rise in cardiac arrests, asthma cases and so on (see note 1) so, well, this is yet another example of how corporate and/or governmental prioritisation of money-making extracts a toll from the people.

TLDR: The lack of care for the environment is killing us.

The haze is yet another symptom of capitalism which extols income and revenue at the expense of its human subjects. And this time the region, instead of merely families and communities, suffers.

The Jubilee proposal

In the Bible – particularly the book of Leviticus chapter 25 – the Jubilee was proposed as a once in 50-year event in which, for an entire year, the land lies fallow.

All debts are cancelled, prisoners set free. It was like a socio-political reset. Most importantly – in the context of the haze – it was also an economic and environmental time-out.

Let the land, the air, the animals and Nature as a whole take a break.

Quit worrying about GDP and just consume what’s already produced. No need to bother with “Customer Experience”; muse instead on “Imagine the Land as Customer”.

Rest. Relax. Chillax.

Of course, capitalism knows no year-long Jubilees (and, sadly, there is no evidence the Jubilee was ever implemented in history). It only understands two-week work-from-hotel vacations.

Essentially, the haze reminds us that economics isn’t everything

Recall in 2010 that an Icelandic volcano blew up, and 95,000 flights were grounded? Many travellers lamented their fate on TripAdvisor, but let’s face it: It’s not every day that Mama Earth tells the hubris-soaked humans to stop whatever they’re doing and just be.

“You want to fly to London? Nope. Not gonna happen. Ash-cloud. You can row there if you wish”.

Maybe Ultron wasn’t entirely wrong. We often don’t want real change, so now our cities, the very region north and north-east of Kalimantan, look like Everest base-camp at dawn.

Note 1: The key study for haze and cardiac arrests is Ho, Andrew Fu Wah, et al. “Air quality and the risk of out-of-hospital cardiac arrest in Singapore (PAROS): a time series analysis.” The Lancet Public Health 7.11 (2022): e932-e941. For asthma it’s Kulkarni, Anagh, et al. “Short-Term Exposure to PM2. 5 and Emergency Department Visits for Asthma and Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease.” JAMA Network Open 9.9 (2026): e2636306.

* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.

OCTOBER 7 — I am an unabashed Pokémon fan.

While I don’t watch the cartoons as they’re not for me (that’s OK, kids deserve kids’ media), I do enjoy the video games and keep up with the franchise.

What I do find annoying is other adults who treat the franchise like a gold mine.

Today while I was at work I saw online adults queuing at the Ombak KLCC Pokémon popup to buy the latest Pokémon trading card drop.

These aren’t fans.

They’re grown adults who probably don’t even know how to play Pokémon but are hoping to resell the cards for profit.

In the old days, kids could just stop by the local game store or LGS as they’re called and buy a random pack.

Nowadays to even get a chance at buying packs, they have to try and pre-order sets because otherwise they will end up paying ridiculous prices.

Right now, the average pack of a US pack of Pokémon cards in Malaysia is RM70 to RM100 ringgit for a pack with fewer than 10 cards.

Pokémon trading cards have become increasingly sought after by collectors and speculators, making it harder for children to buy packs at affordable prices. — Pexels pic

It’s not just Pokémon.

The other day I passed by a Beyblade competition.

If you haven’t heard of Beyblade, it’s something like spinning tops or gasing but with plastic devices that look like jagged yo-yos.

There were kids and adults both playing and spectating, which I think is healthy and wholesome.

Less wholesome is adults buying up all of Toys R Us’ Beyblade stock to resell.

It upsets me because many kids into things like Pokémon or Beyblades either save up or hope to be gifted them during birthdays or as rewards.

When these things that are specifically made for children become entirely inaccessible to them because of adult greed, it’s reprehensible.

I do think the only solution to the current Pokémon card madness is to sell only to children because adults cannot be trusted not to try and make a buck.

Recently I’ve picked up Magic: The Gathering (MTG) after attending an event promoting it.

Like other trading card games, there is the gambling element in opening random packs but these days, you can play with your friends without spending money by using “proxy” cards.

Basically you look up good decks and then make or print cards to stand in for them, and play with your friends as though you have said cards.

Magic these days is also more flexible a game than it used to be. There is a “Pauper” format where rare or expensive/hard to get cards are disallowed, instead you make a deck from the cheapest, most common cards available.

There will always be speculators who are obsessed with card values and trying to get obnoxious sums via auctions but you can play your games without making it about expendable income.

To be able to afford to game in times like ours, I trade in my Nintendo Switch games after I’ve finished them for in-store credit at CEX.

I was excited to get the latest Fire Emblem game in the mail, without needing to spend more money but I’ll probably only get to play it when I go on a long break at the end of the year.

Thing is, people like me, adults, we have options.

Kids don’t.

Some things like Roblox and Pokémon cards really should just be for children and not wannabe speculators.

I personally can’t wait for the Pokémon card market to crash or at least normalise so we can see kids playing the games like they should, instead of being mind warped into acts of real violence.

That’s a whole other story to think about some other time.

In the meantime I will be mulling over whether I should sell my priciest MTG pulls…to bankroll more pulls.

* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.

OCT 3 — For the longest time, when it comes to the sheer scale and spectacle of cinematic blockbusters, local moviegoers have almost instinctively looked toward Hollywood to deliver the goods.

European cinema, for all its artistic pedigree, has very rarely made a dent in our local multiplexes on a blockbuster scale.

At most, Asian audiences seeking high budget escapism have turned to Korean or Japanese hits, or looked back fondly at the glory days of Hong Kong action cinema in the 1980s and 1990s.

When blockbusters from Mainland China do manage to reach our shores, they usually arrive tightly wrapped in specific, predictable packages: sweeping Wu Xia epics or explosive crime thrillers.

But contemporary Chinese cinema has quietly expanded its palette far beyond martial arts and urban shootouts.

The huge success of the Ne Zha films have made people realise that there’s more to Chinese blockbusters than just kung fu movies.

Lately, two distinct Chinese blockbusters have been gaining serious traction across Malaysian social media, Once Upon A Time In The Middle East, which has so far grossed around US$341 million (RM1.39 billion) worldwide and opened in local cinemas roughly two weeks ago, and Vanishing Point, which bagged around US$81 million worldwide but which most Malaysians have recently caught and championed on Netflix.

Together, they offer a fascinating look at how Chinese big budget filmmaking is evolving.

‘Once Upon A Time In The Middle East’

On almost every technical level, Once Upon A Time In The Middle East has all the hallmarks of a sprawling, multi-million-dollar Hollywood war drama.

It features sweeping visuals, terrifyingly visceral combat sequences, and a razor sharp sense of geography during its high stakes military set-pieces.

It is an impressively professional technical feat, boasting crisp cinematography and sound design that holds its own against any Western counterpart.

What makes the film so utterly refreshing, however, is its perspective.

Rather than serving as another platform for Western heroism, the film offers a perspective that is slyly anti-American and fiercely empathetic toward the local civilian population.

Even though the narrative carefully avoids explicitly naming the specific Middle Eastern nation it is set in, the historical and political parallels to the invasion of Iraq are unmistakable.

By centering the human cost of foreign intervention through the eyes of local citizens caught in the crossfire, the film flips the standard Hollywood military trope on its head.

Yet, it never forgets its duties as an Asian blockbuster.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

It knows exactly when to lean into a healthy dose of earnest, sweeping melodrama, the kind of unabashed emotional conviction that Asian audiences genuinely love and connect with, and the film is generously peppered with these moments.

It is a thrilling, deeply human piece of action cinema that proves blockbuster scale doesn’t have to come at the expense of local perspective.

‘Vanishing Point’

If Once Upon A Time In The Middle East demonstrates how to handle large-scale military thrills, Vanishing Point proves that Chinese cinema can be just as formidable when executing taut, high concept suspense.

Twisty thrillers, honest emotional resonance, and sharp social commentary very rarely collide smoothly in a single film.

Too often, a director will sacrifice character logic for the sake of a cheap plot twist, or bury the narrative momentum beneath heavy handed moralising.

Yet, Vanishing Point manages to balance all three elements quite beautifully.

Beginning as a seemingly straightforward procedural about the mysterious disappearance of a child from a housing block, the film gradually peels back its layers to expose a web of institutional compromise, class anxiety, societal pressure and personal regret.

The twists are genuinely earned, deriving their power not from cheap shock value, but from the tragic flaws of its characters.

What elevates the film beyond a standard crime thriller is its emotional honesty.

The characters feel lived in, grounded by a narrative that takes time to let its quiet moments breathe amid the mystery.

It delivers the propulsive, binge worthy thrill of a top tier mystery while sneaking in a subtle, incisive critique of contemporary social pressures.

Both Once Upon A Time In The Middle East and Vanishing Point serve as potent reminders that the global blockbuster landscape is shifting.

Whether tackling high stakes war zone politics on the big screen or delivering intricate, emotionally grounded suspense to streaming audiences worldwide, these two releases showcase a film industry operating at the peak of its commercial and technical powers.

Hollywood may still hold the traditional crown for box-office scale, but these two films show exactly how it’s done.

OCTOBER 1 — Kuala Pilah police arrested two 16-year-olds last week after a 14-year-old junior was found lifeless lying on his hostel bed. The Education Ministry orders an audit.

This is not the first, and unfortunately the column fears, not the last of deaths in government school hostels. How to forget Zara Qairina Mahathir’s tragic death in Sabah in July 2025?

It might be time to change one policy. That our government schools should be day schools only. Which means in stages closing government school hostels.

The government is far more competent in facilitating learning during the day than trying to do that and raise children into adults without parents.

Sticking to core competencies might be best for all, most certainly in the field of public education.

Education provider

The primary objective of government education is to provide the best possible instruction to all citizens who avail it. Use the funds to serve the most, best.

When the ministry provides housing, it takes on an additional and unnecessary burden which evidence grows, hurts the larger goal.

This differs with universities as the students are adults when they arrive. But in secondary and primary school hostels, they are adolescents. Age 15 and 20 can seem separated by a galaxy.

It’s foolish to assume that school hostels are merely beds and catering. The state replaces the parent effectively.

And parenting is all-consuming and ever-changing.

The author argues that repeated tragedies in school hostels justify a fundamental rethink of boarding education, with government focusing on day schools and family-based care. — Pexels pic

Parents commonly speak about the complicated challenges of raising children in the 21st century. Imagine the state being asked to care for many children with far reduced resources, definitely in the attention department.

Further, It distracts from the more achievable goals of classroom education and extracts unfairly a chunk of the joint education fund to run hostels. From the five million students in primary and secondary schools nationwide, there are approximately less than 200,000 students in hostels — or one in 25.

Even a poorly run hostel system is expensive. Even each convict costs over RM12,000 in our prisons annually. 

The government should get out of the business of running hostels for those yet to be adults. It is ill-equipped to run them as evidence mounts.

Bullying times a gazillion

All schools experience bullying. It’s inevitable. However, when the students live in school, the harms are compounded. 

The guy who torments a timid freshman at recess, dines across the hall and bunks with a motley crew in a dorm room next to the scared boy. The permutations are endless on how it ends poorly.

Which is the opposite to realities in a day school, where the culprit and victim go home. 

There is physical separation even if limited respite in the Internet Age. At home, there are family members to draw support from or to confide in if it becomes unbearable. 

In the hostel model, families are absent and the kids are grouped into little Lord of the Flies kingdoms.

Adolescence is a time of strong emotions and a lack of restraint. Very quickly the law of the jungle descends upon hostel occupants.

The prime minister himself as a hostel student will know first hand about all the things that can go wrong in these institutions.

The no-opt out situation

Defenders of the status quo will claim more good than bad emerge from the hostel experience. 

Firstly, fatalities do not mean there are no other misdeeds inside the compound. 

Mortality is the extreme and only reflects a larger dysfunction within the grounds.

The actual total number of victims is countless, and they thereafter live with the pain of hostel life throughout the remainder of their lives. 

Second, the premier full-board schools, including MRSM seek continuity. That is completely natural but the government should disentangle. 

These schools and their main sponsors, if they choose to persist, can become private institutions. 

Then admission is the private decision by families and not tied to taxpayers.  International schools have full-board but the students are self-selecting and the fees ensure resources are spent to provide comprehensive care and safety for the students. 

The old boarding schools can graduate and level with international schools when they are fee paying.

Finally, necessity. There are hostel schools to cater for kids from small and rural communities. In both West and East Malaysia.

Two things. Malaysia is not the only country with this predicament and second, a child grows up more stable with a family rather than away on his own.

Wise to look at Australia, which is considerably larger with a litany of remote communities. There are options.

Eye in the sky

Consider, long-distance education, community instructors, mobile teachers and now the great boon of AI driven sessions. 

All of these are in sync with the shifting education field and ask to balance learning with mental health.

Whether Iban, Orang Asli, Dusun or Bajau children, the inconvenience of learning from one’s own village is a pittance compared to the myriad of mistakes which can occur when a 10-year-old lives 60 kilometres away from mom and dad. 

Today, a Starlink account can do the trick.

Our ministry with decades of experience may want to lift itself up to display agility and adeptness in overcoming physical limitations when it comes to education.

After all, the ministry prides itself in two years of Covid-19 where all Malaysians were learning from home most of the time and still sustained the national grade average.

It will also remember five of the seven students from Pos Tohoi in 2015 who died in the jungle from dehydration and hunger after fleeing their school hostel, trying to find a way home. They were between the ages of seven and 11.

Burn down the mission

Currently, Mara Corporation which governs the MRSM campuses thinks it has cracked the code by posting former military and police officers to act as wardens and cites the massive drop in bullying in the pilot programme. It’s quite naïve.

A hostel for adolescents is not purely about control, it is asked to nurture those inside. 

Men who used to be in uniform may excel in some respects but may be quite wanting in others. 

Do not forget the government releases continued information that the state of mental health among our young is less than desirable. The solution is likely closer to more parenting rather than absent parents.

There is a long queue of issues unanswered but there is enough here for those in the upper management rooms to discuss a different way of doing things. 

A structural shift takes longer but has every chance to improve rather than one more audit or report.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 30 — The only thing I can enjoy without reservation on TikTok is recipe videos.

“Here’s the best way of reheating pizza.”

“Yes, you can make butter mochi in your air fryer.”

“Check out this instant ramen hack!”

Almost everything else on social media pretends to be imparting knowledge but inevitably ends with “If you’d like to know more, link below/in my bio!”

I’m tired.

As the internet becomes so saturated with asks for follows, likes, subscriptions and DMs, it makes me miss the early days of the internet when people were making silly MySpace pages just to play their favourite songs.

Now the internet is just full of aggressive monetisation and “content creating” and while I respect the hustle, I would like my eyeballs to not be assailed with advertising 24-7.

I read about how in China there have been reports of people being unable to call emergency services because advertisements made it impossible to press the button.

Bring back the BlackBerries.

Bring back the legislation.

The author argues that modern life has become too focused on monetisation, consumption and profit at the expense of people’s well-being. — Picture by Yusof Isa

I think companies and individuals need to rethink how we make money and perhaps build some regulation around it all.

Instagram has become the site to monetise by peddling false narratives and overblown personalities.

Threads and Twitter (I still can’t call it X) are now half-full of AI-written wannabe Reddit posts that give themselves away in the first sentence.

We have become a subscription-based society and I’m tired of it.

Instead of paying Microsoft to back up my files in the cloud, I now have two backup folders — one on a laptop, another on a portable drive.

I’m glad I got my 4TB drive months ago before prices skyrocketed; the same drive I bought is now almost twice the price.

October is around the corner which means it’s also Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

I think plenty of people are aware it exists; I would rather people be aware of free or more affordable screenings for it, whether for women or men.

There’s little awareness about the challenges for those with dense breasts, where mammograms might not be sufficient.

Screening for the BRCA and similar genes is also not as common here, likely because it’s expensive.

I’m rather tired of all the superficial “pink-washing” where companies peddle tickets to events and merchandise, claiming they will donate not all, but some of the proceeds to worthwhile organisations.

This is Malaysia — how do I know the worthwhile organisation isn’t some nepobaby’s trust fund?

If companies wish to donate money just donate it instead of asking the public to subsidise said donations by increasing their profits.

I’m not going to pretend I don’t occasionally do self-promoting things — like crowdfunding to literally save my life and my Ko-fi and TNG links are still floating around on the internet, because who doesn’t like money?

Yet it is tiresome to see the internet becoming just one gigantic pay-per-view.

I guess things had already started going downhill when clicks became internet currency, views and followers became measures of worth and it was always about riling up the internet with the freshest clickbait.

But we are also living in a world where honest toil doesn’t mean an easy honest living.

I dread the day when snatch thefts again become common because it’s no longer more profitable to earn a legal wage delivering food than grabbing handbags.

The older I get the more I see that working hard is overrated.

Sure, getting good at skills, human interaction and such should be encouraged. Effort is not the problem here.

It’s when people are working multiple jobs to pay rent and feed their children, and getting MEF stalwarts to agree to paying living wages leads to them clutching their pearls because they’d have to buy one fewer Mercedes this year, that you wonder how any of this is right or just.

Everyone should get to eat. Everyone should have a place to call home. Children, whatever age, should be able to go to school and be children without having to choose between starvation and future upward mobility.

I’m glad I didn’t get more conservative as I got older. If I were any more “woke” I wouldn’t be sleeping.

It shouldn’t be radical to think that everyone deserves a dignified life with their needs met but for now the only choice some people have is to monetise their faces, voices and personalities for as long as they are good enough products for the masses to consume.

The only way we can escape this commodification of our attention is to turn away, put down that phone, sit on the grass...for as long as we can afford to.

Because otherwise we will remain hostage to a world that is built on trapping our eyeballs in a neverending loop of mass consumption.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 30 — I was in Megah Rise mall (at Taman Megah) over the weekend and it got me thinking: Do the people who brought their pets to the mall look happier than those who did not? (And no this isn’t a promo for Heart of the Beast; somehow I have no interest in seeing Brad Pitt do death-defying stuff in the company of an Alsatian.)

I’ve heard of the term “pet parenting” before but my mind ends up being blown when I see how some folks treat and love their Toy Poodles and Maltese dogs. 

The first time I saw puppies in baby prams, I was like, “Whoah, now that’s both cute and disorienting at the same time.” 

It’s one thing to see folks treat their pet dogs like human children; it’s quite another to see the animals behave better than kids (!).

Really makes you think if in future society will have to cater more to pets than to children. 

The author suggests that pets may increasingly take the place of children as more couples embrace pet parenting. — Unsplash pic

Because there are so many reasons why more and more couples are opting to own Golden Retrievers instead of having kids. 

Your Shih-Tzu isn’t going to demand much more from you other than food and the occasional walk. 

It won’t need to enter Sunway University, fight with you about allowance, inherit your anxieties about the world and, worst of all, willfully abandon you after a fight or two. 

Best of all, your in-laws aren’t going to hover over you about how you raise Daisy and you’ll get minimal (and only fun) questions about Buddy during Chinese New Year.

Even the language many people use already suggests that the Corgi is less a pet and more of a family member. 

I thought only people in the West refer to themselves as Mummy and Daddy when talking to their pets but I was 200 per cent wrong on this score.

Day in, day out a Maltese simply cannot resist greeting you with enthusiasm practically every time it sees you. 

I also know a few people for whom the death of a pet can be very crushing. 

I still recall the movie Notes on a Scandal where Judi Dench’s character lost it after her cat died and Cate Blanchett didn’t seem to care, triggering the chaos in the narrative which followed. 

With falling fertility, increasing number of condominiums, greater focus on careers and, sadly, rising domestic problems, it is entirely possible that pets will take the place of children in a more and more literal sense. 

The next time I see a Pomeranian in a pram at Megah Rise, I won’t just think “cute.” 

I’ll wonder if that’s the future arriving on four legs.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 26 — I’ve never been much of a gamer. While die-hard video game purists spent decades complaining about fidelity to source material and whether this or that is canon or not, I’ve always approached video game adaptations from a purely cinematic perspective. 

And as a film fan, I think it’s safe to say that I am one of those rare people who actually loved the original Resident Evil film franchise spearheaded by Paul W.S. Anderson.

Love might even be too light a word to be used as I can be found guilty of singing his praises for what must have been more than a decade, on every platform imaginable. 

Why? Well, and here I go again with my championing of Anderson’s Resident Evil movies, for all the critical snobbery aimed at those movies, Anderson’s six-film cycle possessed genuine artistic merits and high-minded visual ambitions.

More specifically, his work fits squarely into the realm of “expressive esoterica,” a concept famously coined by film critic Andrew Sarris to describe cinema that prioritises formal visual abstraction and smart editing rhythms over traditional narrative mechanics. 

Entries like Resident Evil: Afterlife and Resident Evil: Retribution are particularly breathtaking in this regard.

Anderson crafted some of the most beautiful, purely formalist uses of CGI and slow-motion photography ever produced within a major Hollywood studio in these films, turning pulp action into mesmerising, avant-garde digital ballet.

So, walking into this latest cinematic reboot, I knew things were going to be radically different. 

The author argues that Zach Cregger’s ‘Resident Evil’ succeeds by combining claustrophobic horror, dark humour and video-game-inspired POV filmmaking into a confident new direction for the franchise. — Picture courtesy of Sony Pictures

With director Zach Cregger taking the reins, I was more than prepared for a complete pivot in style, and that was fine by me. 

Having been thoroughly impressed by Cregger’s work on Barbarian and Weapons, I was eager to see how his distinct directorial voice would handle the umbrella of biological horror, pun absolutely intended.

Cregger takes this new Resident Evil in a far more straightforward narrative direction than Anderson’s surreal, dream logic aesthetics. 

Rather than assembling a tactical ensemble team, the film stays relentlessly anchored to its single main protagonist, Bryan Hodukavich (brilliantly played by Austin Abrams, who was also in Weapons).

By keeping the narrative strictly centred on Bryan’s lone journey through the nightmare-riddled town of Raccoon City, Cregger turns the film into a claustrophobic character study of survival. 

Abrams brings a frantic, deeply sympathetic vulnerability to Bryan, making his every move through the sprawling labyrinth feel terrifyingly immediate.

Instead of sprawling, sterile glass corridors and hyper-stylised digital trickery, Cregger places an absolute premium on brilliantly executed suspense set-pieces that build dread through meticulous spatial awareness and exquisite timing. 

What makes the film glide so effortlessly, however, is Cregger’s by-now trademark injection of humour into the proceedings. 

Just when the claustrophobia threatens to become suffocating, Cregger drops in moments of pitch-black, situational comedy through Bryan’s bewildered reactions. 

It releases the pressure without ever undercutting the genuine threat of the biological horrors lurking in the dark, keeping the narrative momentum going and the audience thoroughly entertained throughout its runtime.

Yet, despite taking a more straightforward narrative route, Cregger hasn’t completely abandoned video game grammar. 

There are many parts of the movie where the POV camera style makes it feel as if we’re playing the game ourselves, which is helped immensely by the film’s sole focus on Bryan. 

By making Bryan our point of entry into the film, the audience not only assumes Bryan’s point of view, but also kind of becomes a player in this Resident Evil video game, thanks to the passages in the film where the POV camera style takes over.

This subjective visual approach immediately recalls that of another brilliant video game adaptation, the Japanese film Exit 8, which was on my list of favourite genre films last year. 

Much like how Exit 8 used a tight, claustrophobic POV to trap the viewer inside an endless, uncanny subway corridor, Cregger uses this perspective to heighten the audience’s disorientation and vulnerability. 

We are forced to look down narrow, unlit hallways through Bryan’s flashlight beam, where every turn of the camera carries an agonising sense of anticipation.

Ultimately, this new entry proves that Cregger is no one hit wonder. It firmly cements his reputation as modern horror’s brightest new star director. 

His rapid, uncompromising rise in the industry directly mirrors that of Jordan Peele (of Get Out, Us and Nope fame), a filmmaker who transitioned seamlessly from comedy roots into crafting masterclasses in contemporary horror. 

Cregger understands that horror works best when the director respects the craft of the set-piece, and with Resident Evil, he delivers a tense, thrilling, and supremely confident ride that marks an exciting new chapter for the franchise.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 24 — The Melaka election is a go. Questions abound if polling day, predicted for late October, witnesses the death-knell of progressive politics in the federation.

After two state elections where the relentless race-baiters won without breaking a sweat, Melaka is the most serious test before the general election.

Subterfuge Central till filing day

What happens between now and nomination day? A lot of talking, which means a lot of catering.

Interspersed with random percentage numbers issued by participants to sum up hours of the days spent discussing how to while munching karipap. “We are 70 per cent closer to an agreement, after eight days of ups and downs of 5 per cent.”

This time — thank the heavens! — the permutations are vastly reduced.

In one corner, Barisan Nasional (BN) and Perikatan Nasional (PN) attempt to grow the partnership.

From the indirect friendship in Johor (July 11), which thereafter elevated itself into a formal no-contest pact at Negeri Sembilan (August 1), the next stage demands advances if Muafakat 2.0 is to be realised.

A general view of the Melaka State Legislative Assembly entrance in Melaka on September 22, 2026. — Bernama pic

Hardly straightforward.

If PAS-led PN naively believed BN after two easy elections due to religious votes would concede more seats to them, in order to guarantee another sure win in Melaka, they have since been disabused of the notion.

BN Melaka has complete autonomy according to party president Zahid Hamidi to agree on terms with all suitors. Chief Minister Ab Rauf Yusoh can play hardball and he will.

For the party, Pahang, Melaka and Johor are strongholds relative to their other outposts, and will not risk losing them or destabilising the state leadership.

And key to that is to prioritise Umno Melaka over any other obligations regardless of states won.

Ab Rauf is adamant to contest all 21 seats BN won in 2021. While Anwar Ibrahim was able to strongarm Pakatan partners in 2023 to release held seats in Penang, Selangor and Negeri Sembilan to Umno, to maintain Madani unity, the Umno president is both reluctant and incapable to force Umno warlords to accommodate the “bigger picture”.

Umno’s reticence causes friction in PN. PAS together with its soulmate Parti Wawasan Negara, under Umno’s terms, contest only in seven seats. Add the reality that four of those are DAP held, they’d rather let Gerakan lose not too badly in them. Three seats for PAS and Wawasan to share belittles them both.

Yet, PAS have said Malay unity trumps seat share. But after doing their bit in Johor and Negeri Sembilan, they’d expect Umno to do more giving than just taking.

Can Akmal Saleh, Umno Youth chief, state exco and PAS fan, sway his party?

In the unlikely scenario the seat negotiations hit a wall, the fallout turns into an avalanche.

In the other corner, Pakatan Harapan is trying hard to prove the adage “In politics, there are no permanent friends and no permanent enemies—only permanent interests.”

Six years after the calamitous breakup which ended Pakatan’s first federal government and ushered in Bersatu-led PN, Muhyiddin Yassin’s boys are sitting down with Anwar’s boys.

There is a simple reason why both – battered in the last few months – are willing to set aside the past.

Politics does not reward losers and Pakatan feels a win, however it arrives, can turn a corner with an expected general election in 2027. Bersatu is desperate for any uplift.

Media scrutiny is immense after Muhyiddin had four charges against him in his corruption trial downgraded into DNAA (discharge not amounting to an acquittal) on September 15.

The only faction which may hold back a Pakatan-Bersatu reunion is DAP. The Machiavellian stratagem risks estranging its base supporters.

Any slip-up by Pakatan, Bersama aims to benefit from on voting day. Eyes are on their 15 announced races.

But all the preps to nomination day will be coloured by developments next door in Negeri Sembilan.  Which asks what is Muafakat 2.0 in terms of our realpolitik?

It’s a national proposition played out in state contests. If Negeri Sembilan is so quickly plagued by a series of indecisions and its government associated with that national proposition — Malay unity as raison d’être and the precursor of stability — then it casts doubt on its viability.

The switch could be from identity politics to the safer choice despite its contradictions — which is Pakatan Harapan.

Funnily, BN used to be the safer choice, in the minds of the people.

The campaign

The pacts determine the campaign and even more the outcomes.

If BN-PN walk side by side, victory is probable.

Pakatan does not want that. A three- or four-way state election is far more palatable.

Understanding that how people gang up in the two to three weeks based on short-term arrangements made in meeting rooms decide the election, rather than how the various parties and coalitions campaign should ring alarm bells.

The parties are talking their way to put voters in a spot, in a first-past-the-post system.

A BN-PN compact only means two very distinct groups share their votes despite antithetical views on government and policy-making.

Again, the trend where ideas, spending and organisation take a backseat to plain stacking among majoritarian parties is a threat to our democratic health.

However, Pakatan makes its own bed.

The hard choices are on the table and if it chooses expediency over principles time and time again, it ends up looking like its opponents.

Bersatu is not the way forward. But fear can force those in decline, even if that decline is not terminal, to abandon reason.

Melaka 2026, where the party negotiators determine the outcome rather than the voters.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 23 —  When I think about the theory of multiverses, I wonder if there was an “other me” who didn’t survive the year.

Right now, though, Musliha, the woman I’ve mentioned before in past columns, has been told there is nothing more the public healthcare system can do for her.

She has young children who face the possibility of losing their mother. A husband who has done his best with limited resources.

This shouldn’t be anyone’s story.

If you can send her a spare ringgit or two so she can at least eat without having to worry about where the money will come from, you can donate to her here.

I wonder in the other universes if the other Ernas were championing other people.

It is beyond me to eradicate cancer (it isn’t just one disease, it’s multiple different ailments, which the AI bros don’t understand, alongside how to be good humans).

Maybe I can’t save people like Musliha but perhaps reading this will remind you to get checked.

Maybe you’ll drag or cajole that stubborn family member or friend to a check-up.

Maybe you’ll stop telling yourself your aches, your constant tiredness and lacklustre mood is just the tiresome business of life.

With cancer it’s a race and once it gets ahead trying to catch it, beat it and tell it to get out of your life becomes an even twistier, harder slog.

There are things just as bad, maybe worse than cancer so really, you shouldn’t live a life revolving around trying not to get it.

I think being a cancer patient has taught me to let go of things such as the weight of expectations and needing to prove myself to anyone.

Why spend an hour or more spiralling about things that haven’t happened or outcomes that did not favour me?

Life is ephemeral, sometimes full of discomfort, and it is, beyond anything, still a gift.

Which is why I think you should be prioritising your own health and stop telling me to not eat doughnuts.

Speaking of doughnuts, I am very annoyed that the queue at I’m Donut? is still ridiculous and I would rather have a good burger than waste two to three hours of my life for the sweet pastries.

Not that I would refuse a box coming my way; I just do not want to annoy my joints and legs to line up by 8.30am as I have heard some people do.

Life is too short to chase doughnuts, sweetheart.

I’ve heard that IKN is now swamped and people are filling up public hospitals out of desperation.

The solution is not selling people insurance. It’s about prioritising health in every aspect of our daily lives at a policy level.

Our kids are stunted. Our incomes depressed. We cannot budget or “ubah gaya hidup” ourselves out of systemic policy failures.

So instead of mocking the fat Malaysian you see walking past you or feel proud that you’re not the one lining up for a sweet drink or dessert, remember this — cancer does not care about how virtuously you live your life.

What you should care about is that we do not have enough healthcare professionals or hospitals, that current insurance standards means most policies exclude people who would most benefit from it.

Moralising or judging doesn’t help you; it just hardens your heart in a world where we need it to be softer.

Yet as dark as this world may seem now, with creeping inflation, people asking talking Magic 8 Balls to answer their emails for them and billionaires gorging themselves with money, it is more important than ever to preserve our minds and souls.

Hold on to those things that no one can take from you, that essence of humanity.

And if you need to, have a doughnut (that you don’t have to queue two hours for).

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 23 — “Never ever hire anyone with a Grade Point Average of 4.0” ~ Tom Peters

Let’s be real. For most Asian kids to do well in school, it usually means that s/he has developed a certain habit of mind: memorisation.

Unless all the Sekolah Rendah Kebangsaan and Sekolah Menengah Kebangsaan have undergone a (literally) mind-blowing revolution, how Malaysian teachers educate students today wouldn’t be that different from how they did back when the Form 3 exam was known as SRP.

A teacher and students are seen during class at Sekolah Menengah Kebangsaan Jalan Kebun. — Picture by Sayuti Zainudin

Memorisation, in fact, is an apt symbol for our attitude towards formal education i.e. it’s safe and it’s effective. How can there be a downside?

That’s why millions of Malaysians use the method.

Likewise, “scoring well in school” is seen as the non-negotiable trajectory all parents want their kids to be on. If our kids do well in school, it’s good for morale, it promises a bright future — what could possibly be wrong with that?

But, ay, there’s the rub.

As anyone who’s ever thought hard about learning knows, memorisation isn’t merely an inferior way to learn — it also prevents us from adopting something better.

It’s like, if you’ve been using a QWERTY keyboard all your life, suddenly being asked to use the DVORAK or COLEMAK format is going to be torture.

Or, if you’ve been reading slooooow-ly, line by line, for the past 30 years, attempting to speed read is going to make your eyes feel like popping out.

Ditto with memorisation.

The method forces and freezes (?) your mind to react in a particular way on cue. It’s a form of mental behaviourism.

Remember Pavlov and his dog? Pavlov saw that his dogs would drool each time he brought them food.

Then he noticed that his mutts would salivate by the mere sight of him entering the room even without food. It’s conditioning, and this is what the education system (at least the Malaysian one) does to students.

It’s like, each time Form 5-ers see the word “exam” or “learn” or “education”, they go into “how many pages of which topic do I have to upload into my memory before downloading into an exam answer sheet?” mode (see note 1).

And that’s just, uh, sub-par. Memorisation inhibits holistic and authentic learning.

It’s also counter to teamwork and co-operation (surely one of the most important skills in modern corporations).

This is why management guru Tom Peters declared in public that students scoring CGPA 4.0 shouldn’t be hired because that usually suggests they’ve been using a very restricted kind of learning and are inflexible when it comes to “real world” issues.

So how do we get kids off memorisation and rote-learning entirely?

This is really a separate question but here’s one option to think about: Open book exams.

In one stroke, the need to commit large chunks of textbook pages to our internal RAM is out the window.

Students, all of a sudden, won’t have this “hammer” available anymore to treat everything like a nail.

Hence, they’ll be forced to trawl their internal toolbox for something else, for something better.

Note 1: Strictly speaking, there is nothing wrong with conditioning itself. Nicol David is blessedly “conditioned” to trash her opponents in squash. Alas, I think Malaysian kids — especially those who excel — are “conditioned” to memorise.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 19 — Some auteurs, like Takashi Miike, Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Michal Winterbottom, are effortlessly prolific, churning out a new feature every couple of years with factory-like regularity. 

Some directors, like Hong Sang-soo, who’s made 35 films in 30 years, are even beyond prolific. And then there are directors like Na Hong-jin.

Ever since his breakthrough with 2008’s The Chaser, Na has taken his own sweet time between projects. 

While The Chaser established his mastery over the gritty Korean thriller and The Yellow Sea pushed that kinetic violence to near-unbearable extremes with bigger set-pieces, it was 2016’s The Wailing that solidified him as a modern master. 

That film, a terrifying, hallucinatory masterpiece of supernatural dread and rural paranoia, remains my absolute favorite of his work. 

Now, a full decade later, Na has finally returned with Hope, a film that is as utterly unhinged as it is technically extraordinary.

On paper, Hope arrives with a massive reputation, billed as having the biggest budget in Korean cinematic history at a reported US$40 million (RM163 million). 

But let’s put that into perspective for a second. In the bloated ecosystem of contemporary Hollywood, US$40 million is practically pocket change. 

It’s what American studios spend on a mid-tier studio comedy, a couple of superhero reshoots, or marketing campaigns alone. 

Yet, what Na Hong-jin manages to wring out of that price tag puts US$200 million Western blockbusters to absolute shame.

The author argues that Na Hong-jin’s ‘Hope’ sacrifices narrative depth for extraordinary action craftsmanship, delivering a technically audacious, if flawed, showcase of pure genre filmmaking. — Plus M Entertainment pic

Unsurprisingly, critical reactions out of its early screenings have been intensely divided. 

This is a true “love it or hate it” movie in the purest sense. If you walk into the cinema expecting a complex, intricate narrative with layered plot twists, political allegory, or heavy emotional subtext, this film is simply not for you.

In terms of pure narrative, Hope is, quite frankly, a “nothing” film.

Set in Port Hope, an isolated Korean seaside village near the Demilitarized Zone, the story kicks off when local police officers investigate a series of mysterious attacks on livestock. 

That single incident quickly spirals into a relentless, nightmare siege against an unknown, terrifying alien entity lurking in the surrounding wilderness. 

And... that is essentially it. 

The plot doesn’t branch out into multi-layered investigative detours or deep character backstories. It is a straight line of pure, visceral survival from start to finish.

Where Hope becomes an absolute “everything” film, however, is in its pure action craftsmanship.

Much like George Miller’s Mad Max: Fury Road, Na treats narrative merely as an ignition key to start a two-hour plus engine of kinetic mayhem. 

If you have any experience with making films, or even a passing appreciation for the mechanics of cinema, you will spend the entire runtime marvelling at the sheer technical achievements on display here. 

Working alongside legendary cinematographer Hong Kyung-pyo (The Wailing, Parasite), and his longtime editor Kim Sun-min, Na constructs set-pieces that feel like they shouldn’t logically exist.

The editing, in particular, is a masterclass. In an era where fast cuts are often used to hide cheap stunt work, the rhythm of Hope’s editing is astonishingly precise. 

Every cut carries physical momentum, every transition makes absolute sense despite the chaotic mood, and the audio design works in tandem with the visual cuts to create a sensory assault that leaves you breathless. 

Long tracking shots weave seamlessly into fast reaction cuts, building a sense of escalating panic that never sacrifices spatial clarity.

That said, the film isn’t entirely without its stumbles. For one, the visual effects are a notable letdown. 

Despite the record-breaking domestic budget, the film’s CGI unfortunately looks pretty cheap and distracting. 

When the alien threats move out of the murky shadows and into full view, the digital rendering lacks the weight and texture of the practical sets surrounding it, creating a frustrating clash between top tier physical filmmaking and undercooked VFX.

Even more distracting, though, is a sudden, jarring shift towards the end. 

Right when the film should be barreling toward a clean, visceral finish, it stumbles into lore-building territory. 

A giant alien ship suddenly crashes to Earth, and out of nowhere, the alien dialogue becomes subtitled when it was previously completely incomprehensible. 

Hints of backstory are abruptly dumped on the audience in what is clearly a move to set up a sequel should the box office numbers justify it. 

I get the business rationale behind franchise building, but if Na had just kept this one minimalist, lean, and all-action all the way to the end, it would have been absolute perfection.

As the polarising reactions have proved, Hope will unfortunately alienate casual moviegoers who prioritise script density, seamless CGI, and elaborate exposition over raw visual storytelling. 

But for those of us who appreciate genre cinema elevated to the level of pure, unadulterated craft, Na Hong-jin has delivered an audacious, heart pounding triumph that proves why he is still worth waiting a decade for.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPT 17 — As if on cue for Malaysia Day, Umno’s General Assembly last weekend produced a furore over faith and sincerity in a divisive time. 

Sepang division chief Noorazli Said took the pulpit to assure members that party president Zahid Hamidi was clever in his dealings with Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim and Pakatan Harapan.

Almost no one pays attention to a minor division chief’s political sermon with no national presence, so Noorazli does the predictable, he opts for a salacious joke to wrap his point.

Poor decision, considering the party is in religious frenzy to up its credential among Muslim population parties with the intention to benefit from communalism and equally to lead the community.

Umno wants to gain from PAS’ base support but ultimately it wants to rule the said congregation.

In the middle of all of that, priest and nun gags are unnecessary distractions. They are tirelessly trying to show that Muslim unity is the holy grail of national power while lifting up the multiculturalism that they also defend.  

Noorazli’s faux pas invited much criticism.

I’ll pass on the religious examination, but I do have much to add to the apology — or non-apology the situation has produced.

For within it lies the question of sincerity, and the political communication dominant in the country.

Umno members gather for the opening of the 2026 Umno General Assembly at the World Trade Centre Kuala Lumpur on September 11, 2026. — Picture by Sayuti Zainudin

Sorry seems to be the easiest word

In the Internet age where immediacy is imminent, apologies are never far away.

When mistakes are quickly and widely known, remorse and guilt follow as relentlessly.

In a different time, Umno division chiefs are less worried about how minorities react to their jokes. State media filters content, curates comprehension accompanied by messaging, and clarifies to the people like they are children. 

Not now, not in this market. 

Grandparents born around World War Two are remembered by grandchildren worried about their own elderly care in 2040. Between the dead and aging, is the Malaysian public setting the tone. 

This is who Noorazli and all other politicians face.

The Umno Sepang chief issued an apology on September 14, 2026. Two days after his assembly exhortation. The reactions were not to his liking because 16 hours later he posted a follow-up which was a bit rebuttal, remonstration and disgust.

There are dimensions in both statements worth examining.

In the initial output, he outlined that the controversial bit was just an analogy, and if it hurt anyone, he apologises. And promised to be careful next time.

Many accused him of being insincere. I’d accuse him of not actually delivering an apology since he prefaced it with “if I hurt anyone, then I’m sorry.” Which sounds a lot like, “I don’t want to upset you, the people who can vote for me and the party, so if an apology will make you feel better, then I will let you have an apology, so you feel better.”

It appears Noorazli was expecting for his effort to be praised, not ridiculed by so many. Which made him release his tirade about no one being in the position to judge sincerity. Political determinations should not evaluate his words.

Except, there is one thing. Did he actually apologise?

Not marking him out, or just his party. Even Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim in July apologised for his “illegal temples” reference. Years back he made derogatory statements about Indians.

https://www.malaymail.com/news/opinion/2023/12/28/anwars-tanjung-malim-k-gaffe/109500

And currently, Zahid himself has been cast as a tad offensive speaking publicly about Umno Wanita Chief Noraini Ahmad’s slimmed down figure and ageing.

A good time to ask ourselves in a time where it is so super easy to say sorry, dissect its purpose.

All apologies

When we say sorry, it’s not about us. It is about the person, community, party or minority the apology is directed to.

Recriminations can continue for a duration depending on the harm, the intention and reactions from the aggrieved.

At times, apologies require repetition due to the scale of the affront.

In a few cases, apologies are never accepted. That’s just how it goes.

I have yet to hear a Malaysian politician say sorry without qualification.

That is where the sincerity sits. Contrition is about regret, humility and restitution.

There are no rules to apologies. As in when a group or person apologises, the affected have to find it in themselves to accept the apology. As I said, apologies are about those hurt. Those who hurt are not owed a positive reaction.

Noorazli’s situation is bad, extremely bad in the Malaysian context. It’s a gaffe. It may not have the longstanding effects of things like forest fires, land clearing, or voter fraud or failing schools, but it is visceral. 

A large assembly asked to laugh about examples which do not apply to those in the hall but do to many outside the trade centre.

When apologies are whole and not put out with technicalities, they do sound more sincere. When they are made in person, rather than in a social media post, they carry more weight.

This is a federation with a deep harrowing past, often buried.

The Internet unearths them one by one, and there is nothing those in power can do.

What is in their hands are choices. Either deflect, feign ignorance or water them down — which appear increasingly foolish as the machines gather momentum — or find the courage to confront them and own the past. And when mistakes and errors were made, acknowledge them and apologise.

Apologies do not solve the past, they shape the future.

They certainly are not quid pro quo.

SEPT 16 — There was a time when social media wouldn’t stop showing me videos of foreigners coming to Malaysia and praising it to the skies.

I do think it’s important that we broaden our views and appreciate the perspectives these visitors give us.

Then we have videos from a creator who said she had never encountered as much racism as she had in Malaysia.

Her views matter too.

I think the time for romanticising living overseas is over; for many the doors have closed shut, and even if they did open they would find not lands of milk and honey but ones of suspicion and doubt.

It is strange that Malaysians complain when they are turned back from South Korea and Australia because of supposed racism but at the same time are so horrid to foreign workers and migrants here.

But perhaps it shows how in some ways we are just human, easily susceptible to xenophobia and colourism.

Yet one of the few things I clung to during the pandemic was how Malaysians came together to try and keep each other alive.

Malaysians helped feed and shelter foreign workers abandoned by their employers, shared tips on how to get vaccine slots, used the internet to signal for help and to find those signals.

All we had was each other and in the end, that is still all we really have, if we choose to remember.

Sixty-three years Malaysia has existed, and I have spent maybe more than a decade doing my best to remind people that Malaysia is more than one state or one people.

Facebook has also reminded me that I have stayed in this rental for over 17 years, longer than any house I have lived in all my life.

I moved to Selangor when I was 18, but before that I had brief stints in London and Manila, so yes, I have lived in West Malaysia longer than I ever have in Sabah.

So in many ways I have become a Petaling Jaya person now; I don’t ever want to leave. 

Yet as the doors and gates of this crumbling house rot around me I have to think about some day finding a new nest and hope I do not have to sell a kidney to afford it.

Some days I scan iProperty and laugh at the sheer audacity of the listing prices. 

”This would be perfect for those looking to remodel into your dream house,” and it’s a picture of an abandoned-looking house with mold all over the walls, and “spacious garden” being full of debris and overgrown weeds.

How much for this wondrous gem in the heart of PJ? RM2 million, apparently.

I have lived in an old, decaying house long enough to be able to recognise one by sight and I often pass many old houses with “For Sale/Rent” signs and immediately wonder if the roof had been waterproofed lately.

Speaking of old, decaying houses, Kuala Lumpur as it is now is dazzling and clean in ways that it wasn’t when I first moved here.

Sixty-three years Malaysia has existed, and I have spent maybe more than a decade doing my best to remind people that Malaysia is more than one state or one people. — Picture by Yusof Mat Isa

One night I stared at KL Tower in the distance, looking almost small and frail next to the towering buildings that surrounded it, with even the EQ hotel seeming to dwarf it.

Sometimes the things that happen in this country make me deeply unhappy.

Yet I know I would be just as miserable to be too far away from it, its comforts and the casual knowing that people I cared about were a phone call or train ride away.

We deserve better, I feel.

We deserve transparency. Politics that does not involve a new bogeyman of the week. 

We deserve equality and prosperity for all, instead of being told our lives and our skills are worth less than a lying chatbot.

Yet I think too many of us think too much about this country being one that we deserve, but too little about being Malaysians who would embody the people of this ideal country.

We must reflect that good, that peace, that generosity in resources that we seek in this land we call ours.

I hope as more Malaysia Days come, our hearts do not harden, our courage does not falter, our dreams not be allowed to die.

Let us always dare to dream of a better Malaysia.

Happy Malaysia Day. 

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 15 — There is the official group: Family, office, old classmates who still pretend the Form 5 reunion is happening. Everyone is in it. Birthdays get a sticker. Political links get communally ridiculed. Lunch photos are shared. Blah blah blah.

Then there is the other group which consists of the same people — minus one. Sometimes minus two.

Given a name so bland it could pass as a logistics chat, and immediately put to its real use: Talking about the person who is not there.

If this sounds familiar, congratulations. You have either built one of these groups, sat inside one, or — the more interesting fate — you are the missing name.

The unofficial supplement WhatsApp facilitates and certainly did not invent: Gossip. It merely removed the last inconvenience.

A brief history of gossip

Once upon a time you needed a corridor, a kopi-o, a lowered voice. Now you need a few ticks, a contact list and hopefully people’s generally acquiescence with being involuntarily added to a group.

But going even further back, gossip may have begun with hands; primates nurturing alliances by grooming: time-consuming, one-to-one, limited by how many backs you can scratch before sunset.

Robin Dunbar’s argument, now a kind of origin myth in this field, is that language arrived as cheaper grooming I.e. talk let us service several relationships at once.

And what did we talk about? In sampled conversations, social topics — who did what to whom — take up around two-thirds of the airtime.

Gossip, in this telling, is not a later “corruption” of speech, it may be why speech was worth evolving in the first place.

The WhatsApp icon is seen on a smartphone in this undated image. — AFP pic

Gossip tracks reputations. It flags free-riders and serves as a release valve for felt injustices.

It teaches the unwritten rules faster than any official briefing. Baumeister et al treated it as a manual for group life: how we learn what “we” will and will not tolerate (see note 1).

Gossip gathers norms and it bonds the people doing the gathering. Experiments show pairs who trade talk about absent others often leave more aligned, and sometimes more cooperative.

The research does not baptise the WhatsApp splinter group. It only explains why the habit feels so old.

We did not invent talking about the missing person. We inherited it, then gave it a group name bland enough to look like logistics.

Back to WhatsApp groups (minus one)

What is striking is not that people complain about each other. People have always done that.

What is fresh is the architecture. The main group remains the public face of belonging. The side group is the disavowed extra — the place where the actual judgments and “real talk” live.

Call it the unofficial supplement of friendship: The official chat says we are close. The unofficial one decides who is allowed to be close enough.

Why bother? Because talking about someone who cannot answer back is strangely bonding. Shared irritation is cheaper than shared vulnerability. You do not have to risk a fight. You just add everyone except them and let the comments do the work.

There is also a little power in it, right? As in, who gets to create the smaller room? Who decides the guest list?

For people who feel slightly ignored in the big group, the splinter chat is a promotion. Suddenly they are curators of the real conversation.

Finally, perhaps the most humbling aspect of this entire phenomenon. Always remember: There is almost certainly a group of your friends which— for whatever reason — doesn’t include you.

Note 1: Two helpful works on gossip include Dunbar, R. I. M. (1996). Grooming, gossip and the evolution of language. Harvard University Press and Baumeister, R. F., Zhang, L., & Vohs, K. D. (2004). Gossip as cultural learning. Review of General Psychology, 8(2), 111–121.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPT 12 — It’s always nice to see a filmmaker return to their trashy, low-budget roots after a stint with the major studios. 

For the better part of a decade, Adam Wingard has been somewhat lost inside the corporate machinery of Hollywood’s franchise industrial complex. 

While his Godzilla vs. Kong entries were undeniably slick, big budget spectacles (and a whole lot of fun in their own special ways), they inevitably lacked the mean-spirited ingenuity, efficiency, and blood-soaked thrill of his early work.

Which is why Onslaught, which opened in Malaysian cinemas just last week, feels like such a breath of fresh air, especially when released just as the summer movie season ends. 

Stripping away the CGI giant monsters, Wingard goes down and dirty again with a modestly budgeted, lean and mean genre entry. 

It is clearly Wingard going back to making the exact type of films that made his name in the first place — sturdy, efficient, and wonderfully gory siege cinema — cut from the exact same cloth as You’re Next and The Guest.

In fact, comparing Onslaught directly to The Guest reveals just how much Wingard thrives when he operates within self-imposed boundaries. 

The Guest succeeded because it took a simple, archetypal narrative, that of the mysterious stranger invading a family home, and injected it with relentless John Carpenter-esque dread, retro 1980s neon-soaked aesthetics, and a deliciously unhinged performance from Dan Stevens.

Onslaught functions on a very similar frequency. Swap out the quiet suburban house for an isolated, run down trailer park, and swap out Dan Stevens' super soldier for a trio of escaped, genetically modified super soldiers, and you have a film that plays almost like a disguised remake, reboot or even a sequel to The Guest.

Official posters for Adam Wingard’s action thriller ‘Onslaught’, starring Adria Arjona as former army sniper Celeste. — Picture via A24

Like all good siege films, Onslaught is an unabashed love letter to Carpenter, specifically his eternal classics Assault on Precinct 13 and Escape From New York, with a healthy dose of James Cameron’s The Terminator thrown into the mix for good measure. 

Wingard captures that precise 70s/80s genre cadence — an isolated setting, a ticking clock, and an unstoppable force pounding at the gates — with perfect ease.

Where The Guest had Dan Stevens effortlessly charming and terrifying us in equal measure, Onslaught hands the emotional heavy lifting to Adria Arjona. 

Fresh off impressive turns in Andor and Blink Twice, Arjona is a total badass lead here, and will remind Wingard fans of the similarly badass lead performance by Sharni Vinson in You’re Next. 

She plays Celeste, a former Army sniper trying to keep her life together, with a raw, grounded physicality that makes every tactical manoeuvre and brutal exchange feel earned.

Having said that, Stevens isn't left out of the fun. Reuniting with Wingard 12 years after The Guest, Stevens flips his role from mysterious anti-hero to outright villain. 

He has an absolute blast chewing the scenery as the wild, mad scientist figure behind the super soldier project, and I loved every second of his performance. 

It’s the kind of uninhibited, gleeful work that reminds you why genre cinema can be so much fun when actors completely commit to the bit.

Yet, amid all the flying limbs and bullet riddled walls, the film's most delightful surprise is young Blake Kennedy as Celeste's daughter, Daisy. 

Instead of playing the typical screaming child who exists purely to be rescued in most movies, Daisy is written and played as a proper, polite little lady. 

Her pristine manners in the middle of absolute carnage inject a subtle, quirky and pitch-perfect element of comedy into the proceedings, giving the tension room to breathe.

If I had to complain about at least one thing, it would have to be the final stretch. 

Onslaught builds up such a fantastic momentum during its first two acts that the final battle between Celeste and the last surviving super soldier didn't feel quite as epic or brutally difficult as what some fans might expect from a true final boss fight. 

Some might even call it anti-climactic, that’s how underwhelming that final boss fight was. 

Were parts of it censored because of extreme violence? It could be, but I can only find out once the film is out on digital, so as of now, it’s a wee bit underwhelming for my gore loving tastes. But that’s just me nitpicking.

Overall, Onslaught is a very solid piece of genre entertainment, especially during that remarkably exciting buildup, that proves Wingard is still at his absolute best when he forgets the studio green screens and goes back to basics.

SEPT 10 — It’s an oxymoron when people claim it is only through Umno and PN coming together — for the nation but first Melaka — that political tranquillity, economic dynamism and social justice will prevail.

This is not to negate the present electoral mathematics, which guarantees victory for Umno and PN in the state the size of Hulu Selangor. 

But to say their win will likely turn the precursor to a greater nation is premature. To begin with, they believe in a country which prioritises some Malaysians, and not so much other Malaysians.

This column asserts any short-term gain by Umno and PN together tends to also unravel in record time. Splendidly, the past six years in Melaka exemplifies the toxicity of the Umno-PN relationship.

It is easy to forget the shenanigans in the historical city, as events have sped past and its excrements swept under the Dataran Pahlawan turf. Melaka Hilir deserves better.

The second smallest state is rife with instability. Here’s the painful recap.

Time after time

In 2018, Pakatan Harapan formed the first non-Barisan Nasional (previously Alliance) government under Amanah’s Adly Zahari.

It was an uneventful period, which bodes well for the first alternative government.

National events victimised Melaka, initially, but so much thereafter was the state’s own undoing.

The shocking resignation of Mahathir Mohamad in February 2020, not only forced a change of federal government but also paved the way for state switches.

In Melaka, two from Bersatu quit the government, unsurprising considering Muhyiddin Yassin with the majority of the party plus Umno and PAS, stormed to national power. 

The shocker was two Pakatan reps, excos no less, quit the coalition. Norhizam Hassan Baktee (DAP-Pengkalan Batu) and Jailani Khamis (PKR-Rembia) were rewarded with them keeping their old exco positions.

This file picture shows the Melaka State Legislative Assembly building in Ayer Keroh. The state is preparing for another election following years of political uncertainty. — Picture by Shafwan Zaidon

Umno’s Sulaiman Ali was picked by the party to be chief minister.

Now it must mean everything’s hunky-dory. With this correction.

The dastardly DAP was removed from running Melaka. They were still the bogeyman, and there was hardly any public rancour towards ex-Adun Norhizam.  

Umno, Bersatu and PAS together in power to make Melaka great again was the spin. After 500 years, finally a Malay coalition to run the old kingdom.

Yet, the honeymoon only lasted 19 months.

Umno does it to itself — with no DAP DNA footprint.

When the government switch occurred, among the Umno Aduns was Idris Haron who led the state for five years (2013-2018) before the GE14 debacle. Now with Umno back helming Melaka, the naïve likely conclude Idris would act as mentor to Sulaiman. After all, Idris had institutional knowledge and a chance to raise Umno’s bar.

That they’d have monthly tea with French macarons.

Fat chance!

Instead, Idris led one other Umno rep Nor Azman Hassan, along with Bersatu’s Noor Effandi Ahmad and yes, that name again, Norhizam to withdraw support for the Umno Melaka government.

Apparently, they felt after Umno saved Melaka from Pakatan in 2020, they needed to save Umno from Umno.  

Sulaiman is forced to go to the polls.

Here’s the rub, after almost two years with PN running the state, Umno were disinclined to contest with them. Idris, sacked by Umno, contests as a PKR candidate — difficult to defend PKR in these instances. He duly loses.

The voters, rather than punish BN for being a flake, akin to the tantrums of a spoilt six-year-old, gift the coalition 21 wins. 

While Idris goes the other way — Umno to PKR — unsuccessfully, Jailani the 2020 defector goes the opposite direction. The ex-PKR dude by then was a reformed Umno leader. He defends Rembia for BN-Umno and wins.

Sulaiman now, yes now, gets to have his time to govern. With a two-thirds majority made purely of just BN — 18 Umno, 2 MCA and 1 MIC. This is actual bliss. No preservatives, just original content. 

Surely, surely, it will be plain sailing to 2026.

Not so.

Sixteen months later, Sulaiman resigns for a myriad of reasons, including his health. He was 56. On March 31, 2023, Melaka Umno chief Ab Rauf Yusoh is sworn in as chief minister.

Pompeii or Krakatoa

In hindsight, Melaka seems to represent best the turbulence and chaos of Malay-costumed unity initiatives and Umno’s own self-destructiveness.

But before the parties, let’s grade the Melaka voters.  They appear to be goldfishes — with very short term memory. 

The past vanishes as they are divided into two camps; those obsessed with Malay unity and therefore wilfully ignore all pressing misdeeds and disorganisation, and the other, abjectly disappointed with Pakatan’s inability to purchase enough reforms.

Though I might want to add in this Merdeka festivities, those who demand change should introspectively ask themselves how much they are willing to change too. 

This one-way street thinking and feigning innocence as whining victims risk turning stale. All of Malaysia must reform, including ourselves.

To the parties then, firstly, Umno.

It is a chaotic organisation bent on victory rather than principle.

Consider this, Umno President Zahid Hamidi has asked Ab Rauf to choose his mates for the upcoming state election.

Zahid will let Ab Rauf get on with getting the best possible result for Umno.

A decision to work together based on who gets to govern is predatory. It is about mining the voters, rather than presenting ideas for the voters to choose. It reduces elections to merely identity rather than ability or intent.

Because, wait for this, as Umno and PN march forward to nomination day, PAS will likely name Jailani.

It is difficult to keep up with Melaka bits but shortly after winning for Umno, Jailani gets suspended by the party.

He now joins PAS. Umno mulls wanting to sue him for RM100 million. Nothing comes of it.

The past three years, PAS has a seat in the Melaka assembly, thanks to Jailani. It’s unlikely they’d abandon him. Umno is adamant to contest all 21 races it won in 2021 which includes Jailani’s Rembia.

There is a more than outside chance that Jailani will now contest for his third party in three consequent Rembia elections and win it. Election Commission officers would have to check their records. 

The curiosities aside, in spite of just a few years ago wanting to bankrupt Jailani, through this turn of events, Umno’s full machinery may have to campaign for Jailani.

That’s how irresponsible things may play out in the state and voters are going to completely look away and just stick to the unity efforts, whatever that means.

If and when Umno and PN win in Melaka with all that has preceded, it marks the end of political innocence and forebodes the collapse of sensible democratic ideals.

SEPT 9 — Much as I am loathe to admit it, it feels like my 40s are now separated by “BC/AC” or Before Cancer/After Cancer.

A pandemic, a new major war and a cancer diagnosis are not what I wanted to experience in the fourth decade of my life and now my fifty-something years loom ever closer.

Right now I feel a strange peace.

Now, I’m not about to proclaim that I have reached enlightenment or that I am a candidate for sainthood.

It’s far more mundane than that.

As I continue to spring clean my house, throwing away broken and un-giftable things, I find things I have no recollection of buying, no memory of why I wanted them in the first place.

Besides things I have also let go of something I think most people should learn to — an attachment to outcomes.

Or as Doris Day sang, que sera sera.

I think most people are unhappy because their life or even their sense of self does not conform to very specific notions.

Desire, I think, is a healthy thing and that desire is behind some of the most beautiful things we have but too much of it, twists those things into hideous transmogrifications.

We want what we want; over analyzing desire is a pointless exercise.

Yet I understand that for people in great pain or suffering, such as those living in countries at war, it cannot be easy or perhaps possible to live in a detachment to outcomes.

When you live in conflict, all you can hope for is for that conflict to end, and for you to survive until you see the fulfilment of that hope.

For those not in crisis it is a privilege then to be able to sit with yourself, to be able to look back on your past, your thoughts, your actions and release your emotional ties to them.

I sit on this computer and think, ah, my life has been beautiful. Today there has been occasion for joy. Tomorrow holds promise of more joy.

There is no joy in holding onto my sadness or my grievances and I do not know, but I can hope my cancer remains gone and that tomorrow I don’t get run over by a careless Malaysian driver.

I watched the Chiikawa movie again last week but only to collect the special merch from a screening.

The character I find most endearing in the franchise is Usagi, the rabbit-like creature who will suddenly burst into song or verse and somehow in the past few weeks I have accumulated quite a few mini Usagis.

When Usagi isn’t rapping or happily stuffing its face with food, it is content to just lie around, seeming aimless in its relaxation.

Yet Usagi is also brave, unashamed about expressing itself creatively, also a skilled hunter and diligent in skill-acquiring.

Like Chiikawa’s Usagi, I would like to live in the moment and care only for the things that matter. — Screengrab via YouTube

Containing multitudes, indeed.

So I’d rather like to be Usagi — being silly, prone to not taking myself too seriously, not caring to prove anything to anyone (besides myself)... isn’t that a nice state of being?

Before I go off and do some necessary laying about (I volunteered to do far too much writing), I hope that you too find something, some thought that can sustain you in this mad world we live in.

And if all else fails, lie down and let your mind be still and empty, thinking of nothing besides what would be nice for breakfast.

I suggest nasi lemak.

SEPTEMBER 5 — It is no secret that Hollywood is currently suffering from a severe case of acute franchise exhaustion. 

We live in a cinematic landscape dominated by board approved IP, multi-phase universe building, and an unrelenting, assembly line brand of nostalgia that usually feels more like a cold corporate strategy than actual art. 

Which is why walking into the cinema expecting the worst, only to walk out genuinely affected by the craft on display, remains one of the purest joys of a film lover.

I’ve been a bit busy the past few weeks, but as usual I’ll always try to cram a few movies into my schedule, even if sometimes that means I’ll be catching them a bit later than the usual movie crowd. 

On paper, Spider-Man: Brand New Day and David Robert Mitchell’s The End Of Oak Street have very little in common. 

Yet both films manage to stand out in a remarkably crowded summer season by daring to prioritise atmosphere, character, and genuine cinematic craft over mere spectacle.

Spider-Man: Brand New Day

When it comes to everyone’s favourite neighbourhood web slinger, audiences have been treated to a dizzying array of iterations over the last two decades. 

We’ve had the excellently operatic Sam Raimi years, the misplaced gritty reboot energy of the Marc Webb films, and the multiverse-hopping, Easter egg heavy extravaganzas that defined Tom Holland’s initial trilogy.

Which brings us to Spider-Man: Brand New Day, and I am happy to report that this is, without a doubt, my favourite Tom Holland Spider-Man film so far.

The author argues that ‘Spider-Man: Brand New Day’ shows superhero cinema can still feel fresh when character, emotion and filmmaking craft take precedence over franchise spectacle. — Screengrab via YouTube/Sony

Directed with a surprisingly restrained, character driven focus by Destin Daniel Cretton (of Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings fame, but more crucially of indie dramas like Just Mercy and Short Term 12), the movie strips away the multi-versal crutches and team up gimmicks of No Way Home. What we are left with is a story that feels intensely personal.

Having been erased from the memories of everyone he loves, Peter Parker finds himself completely isolated in a cold, vast New York City, a young man hiding from the world in a tiny, depressing apartment.

By stripping away the universe saving stakes, the film pivots from being a typical superhero movie to a remarkably tender, melancholic coming of age story. 

We watch Peter process grief, loneliness, and the harsh realisation that growing up often means making choices that hurt.

Holland gives his finest performance in the suit to date, playing Peter not as the wide-eyed kid eager to join the Avengers, but as a worn-down young adult navigating the messy, unglamorous realities of adulthood. 

It is a grounding, deeply emotional entry that proves superhero cinema can still hit hard when it focuses on the human underneath the mask.

The End Of Oak Street

If Brand New Day succeeds by shrinking its scale, David Robert Mitchell’s The End Of Oak Street succeeds by taking a high concept premise and treating it with skilful cinematic elegance.

Mitchell, who previously proved his mastery of dread and spatial awareness with It Follows and the delightfully bizarre noir Under the Silver Lake, takes a major leap into big budget studio territory here. 

The narrative setup — a quiet, suburban 1980s cul-de-sac suddenly torn from reality — could easily have devolved into a messy, CGI-heavy creature feature. Instead, Mitchell delivers a masterclass in tension.

What makes The End Of Oak Street work so well is its brilliant synthesis of influences. 

On one hand, Mitchell leans heavily into the cozy, golden-hued 80s nostalgia of Steven Spielberg and his iconic Amblin imprint. 

The neighbourhood feels lived-in, the suburban kids on their bicycles feel authentic, and the score hits all the right emotional chords. 

But where lesser filmmakers would settle for cheap nostalgia bait, Mitchell weaponises that sense of comfort.

He injects the narrative with his signature, slow burn suspense. Using fluid tracking shots and incredible set-piece construction, he slowly ratchets up the dread until the suburban haven becomes a playground of survival. 

The thrill of the set-pieces doesn’t come from relentless action, but from Mitchell’s expert pacing, knowing exactly when to hold a frame, when to hide the danger in the background, and when to let loose. 

It is a gorgeous, thrilling piece of genre filmmaking that hits the rare, sweet spot between nostalgic warmth and edge-of-your-seat horror.

It is easy to get cynical about mainstream cinema these days, especially when multiplexes are routinely flooded with uninspired studio products. 

Yet, both Spider-Man: Brand New Day and The End Of Oak Street serve as vital reminders of what happens when talented directors are allowed to bring a distinct visual language and emotional weight to large scale genre cinema.

Whether you are looking for a grounded, intimate study on maturity or an impeccably crafted, thrilling ride through 80s suburbia, both films offer a glorious night out at the movies.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 3 — Farewell to the real McCoy. The doctor who never stopped worrying about the bomb and kept detesting it.

Ronald McCoy’s extraordinary journey ended on September 1, 2026. He did many things, among them founded with global colleagues an organisation which won the Nobel Peace Prize a decade ago. 

He was 96-years-old, epitomised service and love for humanity. As a former schoolboy cricketer, he’d be quite delighted to declare it an inning.

The life of this doctor who delivered so many of my countrymen is a Malaysian story. Both the journey and his thinking.

My own experiences with Dr McCoy were limited but three stand out. Coffee and chat while preparing his citation in 2004, the actual night to honour him and the brief encounter at a city motel reception area.

I did not realise the coffee was over 20 years ago.

The Victoria Institution Old Boys’ Association committee asked me to meet the man selected as Victorian of the Year in 2004, to prep his citation. 

I had seen Dr McCoy at alumni events but sitting down and talking to the man about his life was an honour. 

He was like the first recipient, Siew Nim Chee in 2002, who kept links to the school and its alumni even after their schooling days were over. (Siew, the first Malaysian Cornell University graduate contributed a portion of his salary to the school throughout his working years)

Calmly, he retraced his years in Pasar Road and how the war interrupted his adolescence. 

From student he turned into a 13-year-old who worked for the Federated Engineering Company. The factory is now where Fraser’s Business Park is situated, just behind the Chan Sow Lin LRT station. 

He worked side by side with his father during the war, and since the plant made noodles, his mom would give them curry in a flask, so that they could have curry mee.

The war ended, but his regret about the atomic bombs used to accelerate Japan’s surrender was a preoccupation which never gave way. 

In secondary school he stayed true to the school ethos, to show character on the field, in the classroom and stay a gentleman. He was school captain at the VI.

His headmaster Frederick Daniel read out on August 5, 1949, this about McCoy. “In the history of the VI, no other boy had ever been school Captain and Rodger Scholar in the same year or had combined successfully academic study and other school activities.”

Ronald McCoy was 74, when old boys from all years, gathered in Hilton Petaling Jaya to honour him in 2004. 

McCoy addressed the boys as he would have more than half a century ago as head boy. 

It was a forthright manner of speaking he possessed, filled with purpose always. It was what he was championing rather than about himself. His self-effacing exterior always makes people ask, who is that man?

Neither politician nor billionaire. But a man born to serve.

In Universiti Malaya he studied medicine on a university scholarship and government bursary. He repaid that debt and some more.

Ronald McCoy was 74, when old boys from all years, gathered in Hilton Petaling Jaya to honour him in 2004. — Picture by Shafwan Zaidon

In the obstetrics and gynaecology department at KL Hospital, Assunta and Pantai Medical Centre for 40 years. He retired in 1996 after making 20,000 deliveries.

This is plenty but his natural tendency to want to do more benefitted Malaysia and the world further. A past president of the Malaysian Medical Association, he desired universal coverage and equitable access for all through various committees for decades.

He served on various non-medical NGOs to champion transparency, free speech and art.

Which moves us to his participation in the quest to free mankind from the horrors of nuclear annihilation. 

He founded the local chapter of International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear War in 1987; the organisation won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1985 and he went on to become its co-president.

Now, all of these were part of the tribute to be read at the dinner in 2004. The post and telegraph department draughtsman’s son was 74 then.

These events are supposed to be tail ends turned into tall tales in retiree gardens.

He wrote new chapters thereafter. There’s ageing well, and ageing gracefully, and the McCoy option of doing it magnificently.

Our lad founded The International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN) in 2007. He tirelessly contributed to it and with 470 organisations signed up to it, and in 2017 it was given the Nobel Peace Prize.

There is trouble when the CV is too prodigious or celebrated. The man gets lost in the text.

On July 11, 2011, I found myself, with tens of people somewhat trapped inside one of the many cheap hotels on Jalan Pudu facing the bus terminal. There were no check-ins, everyone was fleeing police firing tear gas at protesters. 

It was Bersih II and people were running helter-skelter. Dr McCoy was standing amidst the people with a handkerchief covering his mouth.

He was not too internationalised to forget that he was with his people.

The fights to get things right are small and big, and no one is too big for a fight, is what I think when I think about Ronald McCoy.

He always attended alumni dinners, I remember the last one I attended. There is a tradition to mark the generations attending the event. 

The emcee begins with calling out all the students of the VI from the 1940s. Only Dr McCoy stood up, to heartfelt ovations from those present. 

In every sense, he’s never stopped being school captain, only that the campus grew larger, and larger, without him forgetting that we are all individuals equally loved. 

He was not only delivering babies nor stopped doing so in 1996. Malaysians, whether we know it or not, stand on the shoulders of giants. 

This Malaysian focussed on doing rather than fretting about identity. And for that, all of us are wiser.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

SEPTEMBER 2 — No one tells you about the survivor’s guilt after being declared cancer-free.

“You should be happy,” people tell me.

I am grateful, yes.

Yet each time I see or hear about someone who wasn’t as fortunate it eats at me.

The woman who I terrorised the zakat office for last year, Musliha, is in worse shape since the last time I wrote about her.

She is hospitalised, the cancer spreading to her arm, the chemotherapy and the medication she was previously taking not working.

Her tumour now leaks blood, her mouth full of sores and she has even had to have a blood transfusion.

While zakat did approve some funding for her medical costs, she cannot work and relies entirely on her husband’s meagre salary.

So if you can help ease her burden in any way, please donate to her here.

On Threads I saw her show diapers being full of blood, diapers she uses to absorb the blood from her wounds.

Perhaps some of you wonder why I keep bringing up her situation.

Aren’t there so many people out there I could also champion? 

If I could clone as many Ernas to advocate for every single person that needs it, I would.

One of the main reasons I decided to get treatment for my cancer was my knowledge of how bad it can get when not treated.

It wasn’t long ago I had declared in a column that if I was diagnosed with cancer, I wouldn’t bother getting treated.

But knowing what I do now, about the suffering untreated cancer patients endure, I decided that I had to try and brave chemo and all that comes with it.

It is only sheer luck and different circumstances that separate my cancer outcome and Musliha’s.

If there was a way for me to wave some wand to make her cancer go away, I would.

Because I am not a faith healer, just a very strident journalist, this is what I can do for her and maybe, just maybe writing this will convince some other woman to get checked.

Yes, it is unfair that money and access to aid and newer treatments make so much difference for cancer survivability.

The least any of us can do is ease, in any way, the burden for someone else.

Yeah, maybe you can’t pay for Musliha’s meds.

But you can help buy her a meal, subsidise a day’s worth of diapers and dressings and as someone who had been in her shoes, even the barest amount of help matters.

When I was still getting Ko-fi donations I would cry into my food and drink, as maudlin as it sounds.

I thought then well, someone cares enough that I stick around so I will keep trying. 

Even when everything tasted like metal and the smell of curries made me nauseous I would eat as much as I could keep down.

Now here I am begging at a keyboard again for someone who I never even spoke to in real life, who I watched from a far (like a creepy weirdo) in the daycare ward. 

I do it because of that guilt of recognising oh God that could have been me.

It could be you. It could be your loved one.

Pain and illness will come to us all unbidden, no matter how saintly a life we try to live because cancer is a dice roll our cells throw every millisecond — we just don’t realise it.

That was the most fascinating fact I learned in the past few weeks; most of us get cancer without realising but minor cancers that our bodies’ immune system deal with swiftly, while we live unaware.

What my cancer did for me (though I would rather not have had it) was remind me that each day, even when it sucks, is a gift.

Though my joint stiffness has been a right pain, I am glad I can walk without a cane... that my food doesn’t taste of metal and blood, that no one can tell I was ever sick and my hair has grown out dark, thick and stubborn.

And I ponder again Thomas Merton’s Prayer.

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

I hope that when I finally walk through that last door on this journey of life, I can say that I did my best to live those words.

Hopefully, you will all have a few more decades left to get sick of me.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUGUST 30 — Back in 2001, I had to go to KLIA every weekend and I always used the same taxi driver.

When I recall his skills (as he used to pick me up before picking up my other colleagues), my mind is quietly blown: He was able to drive to any house on any street within a 10-mile radius of SS2 — this would be considered a superpower nowadays.

Alas, today, we have Waze. Such a useful ubiquitous tool on the road which, unfortunately, has removed directional memories from every Malaysian.

God forbid the app shuts down when we’re about to go to some wedding party at some restaurant we’ve never been to before located “somewhere between TRX and the American embassy” (!).

On (rare) occasions, my taxi driver had to (very briefly) consult a (physical) map but, seriously, how many modern urbanites know how to read a map other than Google Maps nowadays?

Today we are inundated with tools that don’t just save time, but quietly teach people they no longer need any underlying skill.

TLDR: We increasingly can’t live without products which make us “dumber”.

Today we are inundated with tools that don’t just save time, but quietly teach people they no longer need any underlying skill. — Picture by Yusof Isa

Take Google Translate which has done more harm than any other tool in cancelling language classes.

Because why bother taking time to learn Vietnamese and Spanish words and grammar when you can speak your own language into the phone and have your speech auto-translated when you’re visiting Hanoi or Madrid?

Likewise, A.I.-fitted phone cameras which have destroyed the craft of photography from the average user; the “auto-adjust” function removes any motivation for us to ask how many changes in saturation, vibrance, contrast, etc can really help our photos.

Don’t even get me started on university students who can no longer write proper essays since DeepSeek and Gemini can do the job for them within minutes.

Or even TED talks and TikTok videos which reduce complicated topics (which have sharpened scholars for decades) to 15 and, uh, 2 minutes respectively.

Imagine someone who’s studied psychology for more than a decade being “lectured” by some dude who saw an Insta reel on ADHD; anyone who’s ever cut their teeth studying a subject can immediately identify the pseudo-knowledge coming a mile away.

The issue here isn’t just about technology making life more convenient or easier. It’s about people using tools in a way which makes them believe they no longer have to spend serious time and effort learning certain things.

Or, worse, this is the story of modern contraptions making people believe they’re much smarter than they are.

Netflix rows, YouTube autoplay, TikTok’s For You page don’t merely just suggest; they potentially replace taste formation.

You stop hunting, stop sitting with a difficult album or a slow film, stop building the “private canon” that used to be how people became interesting.

I remember first listening to musicians like Def Leppard and Debussy and asking myself why I enjoyed the music. I doubt I always got a “right” or wise answer but at least in the past I never liked a song simply because it’s been played two billion times on Spotify.

Needless to say, when we spend time listening — really listening — to albums like Hysteria or classics like Claire de Lune, something inside us changes and grows, a process essentially short-circuited with infinite Spotify “smart shuffles”.

Malaysians should also be more concerned about institutions which award post-graduate and doctoral qualifications to students who can barely speak the language in which their dissertations are written.

Or about MBA courses which are meant to elevate business thinking and effectiveness of would-be directors and managers but end up creating a class of folks who are experts at yapping non-stop and Tai-Chi-ing problems away.

And need I mention some educational organisations whose staff go around claiming that people from certain ethnicities can fly?

In all the above educational examples the outcomes are students who believe they have come out “smarter” but, you know, could be quite the opposite.

Finally, with all due respect to Christopher Nolan, there’s a case that The Odyssey, whilst smashing box-office records (becoming the highest grossing R-rated movie ever), nevertheless dumbed down a literary classic.

Instead of Homer’s “the man of many turns” (liar, flatterer, inventor of the Trojan Horse, sex slave to a sorceress, etc... basically a figure you simultaneously admire and distrust) audiences around the world were cheering for a guilt-racked veteran who’s nothing more than a Greek version of a remorseful action hero.

The real product today isn’t convenience. It’s the feeling that we already know the way — even when we couldn’t find the restaurant, the word (or ourselves?) without the app.

And even when we leave the cinema sure we’ve met Odysseus when all we’ve really met is a stripped-down Hollywood version of, uh, Nobody (see note 1).

Note 1: That’s how he identified himself when the Cyclops asked him his name. Check out the original story to find out why.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUGUST 27 — More sugar than usual, so watch that glucose count.

It’s the Merdeka season! It justifies the overenthusiasm — not an obesity death march.

Therefore, time for over-the-top patriotism and flag-draping. Tinged with unhealthy clicks of selfies.

Today, the objectives are transparent like the embellishments which accompany. That Malaysia is fine, and it’s wonderful, being Malaysian.

And no, I’ve not lost my marbles riding the night bus home from the train station.

We have our problems, some intractable with morbid possibilities, but I started this column with a clear intention, to celebrate the country as it kicks off its annual festival which carries on to Malaysia Day.

I’ve made a mental note to mentally sledgehammer myself if I turn inexplicably into Melancholy Street. My ward said I’m prone to do so. He has a point, rah-rah Malaysia then.

According to the author, Malaysia inches with every Merdeka to a stronger identity despite the best efforts of agitators. — Bernama pic

There is a huge point, a critical distance being crossed without us caring enough about it. 

It’s now 69 years and needs no apology. Malaysia has been an experiment for 69 years. I understand my brothers and sisters from across the pond beg to differ and point to MA63. 

Can we not worry about the terminologies and philosophical preponderances about the six years differential and leave it for another day? 

To agree at least a test was initiated and we’ve been bound to it ever since, and our collective futures are at stake dependent on durability. So yes, each year means more.

Sixty-nine matters because it is 31 years closer to a hundred, which is a gargantuan milestone, therefore converts further a concept into a constant. Malaysia as a constant.

When we are 100 years old, Malaysia ceases to be a fanciful idea but a nation with identity and facts, whether it likes it or not. In age parlance, no more a teenager or young adult but clearly ensconced as an adult.

Adulthood is difficult to attain for countries in the modern world.

The Soviet Union was artificial and ended after 74 years — dead tsars’ fiefs rolled into a centrally planned economy powered by military might. 

The weight of scale and global overreach eventually undid it. Europe’s Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia met similar disentanglements for different reasons. 

But if dissecting former Western colonies is more instructive, in Africa, The Mali Federation split into Senegal and, well, Mali, and Sudan and Somalia lost parts transformed into South Sudan and Somaliland. 

Or even closer, Pakistan lost East Pakistan (Bangladesh) inside 25 years, and the closest and most poignant, Malaysia lost — dumped/severed/mutually split/painfully exited — Singapore within two unified years in 1965.

Countries are constructs, if I am allowed to meander into the grey zone. They take work.

They also are rewarded by staying together longer. How, over time, a country despite itself, its contradictions, demographic lopsidedness or its geopolitical impossibilities takes root. 

That a seed in an orchard appears unimpressive, but as time passes begins to tower over all, eventually offers cover and protection from the elements, and provides nourishment to its people.

While wealth, a manageable population and culture contribute immensely, time is indispensable.

A country then forms an identity and without realisation finds itself distinct from other countries.

An excellent example of developed identity through nationhood dwarfing geography and culture, is that Malaysians are glad to be different from Indonesians. 

We are happy they are Indonesians, our neighbours, and us Malaysians.

While some academics speak about the people of the archipelago being indistinguishable, a clear consciousness has developed over time and separates the respective sides of the Anglo-Dutch Treaty (1824) line, in our hearts and minds.

Nations are permanently imperfect and require time to come to terms with being a nation. 

The United States still had slavery four score and seven years after declaring certain truths to be self-evident, such as that all men are created equal. 

The gains of reconstruction did not remind the government it was wrong to intern more than a hundred thousand ethnic Japanese with American citizenship 72 years later. 

If nations are judged by their mistakes only, few escape judgement.

The strange present

When the British departed, a collection of migrants with natives kept apart by colonial practices read as a precursor to disaster. Not to mention a communist insurgency manned primarily by one ethnicity was still in play.

It could have easily unravelled. 

But here we are. All of us. You and I.

Yet more remains, in the tasks to be accomplished.

Observing the current climate, social and physical, it invites more suspicion than faith, to decide the country’s prognosis.

The last two state elections were a cry for race unity to overwhelm a shrinking minority population’s threat. The alarmists scream about every election being one closer to the country’s ethnic majority being dispossessed

To casual external onlookers, it does not reassure.

But, consider the wider cultural separation among the people, all 33 races, stretched and separated by the world’s largest sea, the sheer lack of prolonged discord is a testament to the people.

That allowed the space, they live amicably with each other, and often thrive together. 

If only the politicians left the people alone for a bit to get on with being with each other. They do it seamlessly without antagonists lurking. 

They do not need agents to remind them about the prevailing differences. The citizens need a different type of reminder that we’ve successfully kept going for 69 years, and next year, 70.

This Merdeka

To remind people that the more festive they are, the more they contribute to Malaysia.

The US was not announced here by accident. Being a younger nation and scant culture and history, it focussed on outward expressions of patriotism.

From 4th of July to Superbowl, whether a school drum camp or just another professional sports match, the national anthem along with flag displays are synonymous. There’s no such thing as too much America in the daily lives of Americans.

Imitation is indeed the sincerest form of flattery and Malaysia needs the colours out. Cheesy and overdone are not rebuttals but tributes.

Malaysia inches with every Merdeka to a stronger identity despite the best efforts of agitators.

Sixty-nine and counting. Count with me.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUGUST 26 — I wonder if Japanese people get tired of the way they're perceived by some, not as people but curiosities, like exotic animals.

Some stereotypes are true — that there is an enduring love and adoption of cuteness in Japan.

Take the success of the recent Chiikawa movie.

While the rest of the world was filling seats for Spider-Man, cinemas were packed for the Chiikawa movie and its adorable 2D animation.

Despite its dark undertones I liked it enough to watch it twice.

We admire Japan for its history, culture, cuisine and speed running its way into developed nation status.

The kawaii or cuteness obsession in Japan is something very uniquely Japanese and I like that they just lean into it, with cute mascots everywhere.

Unsurprisingly a Japanese university, the University of Hiroshima, actually conducted a study, The Power of Kawaii: Viewing Cute Images Promotes a Careful Behavior and Narrows Attentional Focus, in 2012.

It looked at the performance of university students and how viewing cute baby animal pictures affected their efficacy at a fine motor dexterity task.

Interestingly, efficiency rose to 44 per cent after looking at cuties, only 12 per cent after looking at grown animals, and normal objects only saw an improvement of one per cent.

Chiikawa, Pokémon, Hello Kitty, Rilakkuma... Japan has a formula of churning out adorable characters like South Korea churns out pop idols, both very lucrative.

The 'Chiikawa' movie is testament to Japan's love for adorable creatures. — Picture via Facebook/MediaLink

The closest Malaysia has come to something similar is probably in how popular the Upin and Ipin animated series is in Indonesia.

I think there is a big hole in our local creative scene as far as creating IP with mass appeal.

As Merdeka Day and Malaysia Day come nearer we are still very much a nation preoccupied with our differences instead of what we share.

It doesn't help that we keep getting the same old people using the same rhetoric about not wanting to share... because it works.

Malaysians are still far too easily baited with racial and religious sentiment and the notion of a Bangsa Malaysia seems more like a populist fantasy than an achievable reality.

With many of us preoccupied with just cari makan, there are too few storytellers and bards to sing our hopes, to weave our dreams and help us imagine a better narrative than the same old, same old colours of hate.

Nagano (a pen name), the illustrator of Chiikawa, did not envision the series to be a massive success.

It wasn't some workshopped, market researched phenomenon but an illustrator daydreaming about being a soft, cute animal in this harsh, cruel world.

Her daydreams have created an adorable, though frightening, world where even being an adorable furry being can't save you from the horrors of monsters and needing to pay the rent.

Yet those simple tales of little friends just enjoying the small joys of life, whether they be sharing noodles or wearing matching pyjamas, are a reminder that we all need a little lightness of being, no matter how heavy the world gets.

I hope Malaysians learn to dream again, to tell more stories and sing songs to make us remember that even in a world full of monsters we can all learn to find, and share, happiness in this place we call home.

Selamat Hari Merdeka. Selamat Hari Malaysia.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUGUST 23 — Stinky tofu lets out an awful stench but for many people it tastes awesome.

Our king of fruits gives Westerners the impression they’re eating smelly socks but tell that to the hordes of folks throwing their money away for Musang King.

Ayam gepuk’s sambal can sometimes leave patrons with anaesthetised lips, sweating buckets and (later on) severe sore throat but when Ming Chun’s Gepuklah opened recently, the street basically ran out of parking lots.

Ditto, with Stephen Chow movies. There are so many things which are sub-par by modern-day film-making standards, yet his movies win big.

Watch any of his blockbusters since the turn of the century and you’ll know what I mean.

Nobody can watch The Mermaid or CJ7 or the latest Kungfu Soccer and suggest that anyone in the cast should be nominated for an acting award.

Oftentimes the acting comes across as something out of a primary school project with the kids simply doing what their teacher told them to do (with quick glances at the audience to check if they’re doing the right thing).

In Kung Fu Soccer, lead actress Xiaofei Zhang more or less shouts and pouts for the entire movie and everyone else is essentially one-dimensional.

We are worlds away from seeing a Meryl Streep or Gary Oldman performance here.

A YouTube screengrab of a scene from ‘Kungfu Soccer’ trailer.

And yes, I’m aware that Yuen Wah won a Golden Horse Award for Best Supporting Actor in Kung Fu Hustle (playing an aged tai-chi master joining the first against triads), but this is something as mysterious as tai-chi itself.

I’ve watched his performance numerous times — a performance which includes lying face down on the ground and burying his head with the soil from broken flower pots around him — and I can only conclude that it was a sort of honorary award.

Chow’s script is chock full of cheesy moments, dad jokes and childish gags which would probably bore the average Comedy Club fan to tears.

For example, in Kung Fu Soccer there’s a scene when a guy is thrown on the floor and his head gets stuck in a pot. This blind lady tries to smash the pot open without knowing that another guy has already removed the pot from the guy’s head.

The result is half a dozen instances of the dude being smashed on the head with bigger and more brutal items while the lady doing the smashing keeps asking if the pot is broken or not.

That’s just frickin’ stupid… but I and the rest of the audience were laughing like we’ve never laughed before.

And don’t even get me started on the CGI. I’m positive no Hollywood director or producer would be caught dead using the sorts of “animation” Chow uses in his films.

Hollywood CGI seeks to make the unbelievable believable; Stephen Chow’s “CGI” practically screams “This part of the movie is super-fake, everyone knows it and everyone will love it”.

It’s slapstick gone overboard, making even Naked Gun look sensible.

This is truly the magic of Stephen Chow’s movies. The acting is torrid, the script is cheesy, the CGI is (literally) a joke — but we can’t get enough of the movie.

I left Kung Fu Soccer telling myself the film rivalled The Odyssey and Spiderman: Brand New Day (hell yeah, I said it).

Chow is no Nolan but you’ll never watch Tenet or Interstellar and laugh and cry without entirely being sure why you’re so moved.

Kung Fu Soccer’s story will never match Homer’s epic tales but nobody will watch this show about a team of quirky and super-powerful women football players and not notice that there are timeless themes of growth, love, self-discovery, friendship, forgiveness, etc. all of which are found in every major literary narrative.

Finally, Kung Fu Soccer’s animation can never hold a candle to what Marvel Studios can produce but, amazingly, the movie doesn’t require “world-class” special effects to make the story work.

To end with yet another food analogy, you know how sometimes the best Hokkien mee stalls can be found in some 40-year-old alley or under a century-old tree next to a busy street?

And the noodles and sauce are so good precisely because you’re eating within humble settings and not, say, inside a 5-star hotel?

 * This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.

AUGUST 20 — What’s most dangerous?

A. Handle uranium in a reactor without gloves

B. Evening strolls on the Korean DMZ after hours without permission

C. Navigate an oil-tanker with an American flag through the Strait of Hormuz

D. Affix a Malaysian flag on a pole, balcony, wall, rooftop, fence, pillar, floor, ceiling or staircase

D probably gets a bunch of votes in a Malaysian Internet poll.

In our independence month, nothing is straightforward and our flag turns into Kryptonite very quickly.

A Nepalese guard and an office lady bear testament to this in Johor’s Kulai this week as they continue their four-day remand in a police station over their complicity in the astonishing act of erroneous display of a set of flags — Jalur Gemilang and Johor state flag — at their factory grounds. Astonishing binds itself to this situation since a common act turns into jail time.

Not a first — flag faux pas and in Johor followed by police detention — in January a Chinese national was apprehended.

For this latest Kulai folly, the local municipality took it upon themselves to shut down the plant. What other monstrosities may be in motion inside the factory, the council must have felt, if they were impudent with the national and state symbols?

The police and Kulai Municipal Council were probably reluctant players drawn into a national political drama. When the pressure spiked, they were forced to act.

Flags of our fathers

National symbols in a newish country are always rife for controversy. Not that older countries are not subject to these controversies, but they are less inclined to go nuclear about the matter.

Let’s examine some album covers from the United States.

The 1971 Sly & the Family Stone’s There’s A Riot Goin’ On album switched the canton into a black background with white stars, and Outkast’s Stankonia in 2000 paraded a black and white flag with the artists posing in front in colour.

These were not isolated nor unintended. They were on covers sold in stores and then exhibited in homes.

They were controversial and invited scrutiny and debate, upsetting a whole bunch of people.

The counter argument is that a confident, well-informed, diverse and self-assured country doesn’t overreact. Strife and discord won’t follow every instance the flag is altered.

Also, getting mortified and trying to put out a small kitchen fire by blowing up the restaurant with a Tomahawk missile is an overkill.

Where Malaysia falls in the secure with our own symbols index must be answered by us.

Saya Anak Malaysia

Sudirman Haji Arshad, the late music legend, used to don the flag as a costume for his performances.

Also, over the years, this time of the year, Malaysians from all walks of life have experimented with the flag on their attire, accessories and vehicles.

These parades of our flags bring people together.

While disgust over flag misuse has grounds, it might be necessary to remind the offended that all Malaysians get to determine if they took umbrage. Not just them because they stand menacingly.

The amazing thing about a national symbol, like a flag, is it belongs equally to all citizens. Young and old, male and female, north, south, east, west of the territories and certainly rich and poor.

To create a separation between people and their flag is unconscionable.

Realise that flags empower the masses.

This is not a generally expressive country. The vast majority struggle to speak about their feelings to close friends.

To speak about their country, and their feelings about it, is even harder.

The easiest way to shut up a group of Malaysians is to ask them to speak publicly in turn. The podium may just as well be the guillotine.

But with a flag, in moments of unadulterated ecstasy, they just have to hold on to it — or drape it, lift it, pass it from person to person.

People do not need words in these moments.

Very few objects are as cathartic as national flags.

A trader displays a collection of Jalur Gemilang ribbons she sells online, in Kampung Paya Senang. — Bernama pic

The flag game

It occurred without warning. Over the years it’s become cyclical. Certainly persistent.

Initially, it was just political posturing. A political tactic to prove “some of us have dishonest feelings about Malaysia”.

Wrong flags — whether upside down, the AI generated digital version or poorly copied — are lightning rods.

Those who want to appear more dedicated to the country jump on it. They virtue signal to the moon and back. And therefore, the defenders of the federation have the moral authority to act.

The thing about choosing to appear to protect the country from the “vicious” is that others cannot condemn these “patriots” for their “commitment”.

Political opponents, in and out of government, get caught up in it.

To make distinctions or explain the mistakes render them inconsistent and with less patriotism. Or worse, weak.

It balloons, and now all on the political stage are upset.

Which then means all the government agencies must follow the will of the political establishment.

They start to lock people up.

Twenty-nine stories both ways

Ten days to Merdeka eve and I cannot see a flag on the balcony of any unit opposite my building, and on my own block.

So, it appears in many parts of Cheras.

They can be infrequently spotted along a long row of shophouses. I can understand the hesitance.

When there have been that many episodes of everyday citizens punished severely for flag “errors”, as far as human nature goes, it is better just to forego the process. Why risk being in a jail cell over the holidays?

While government ministries, agencies and bodies can budget private contractors to deck their facilities, they are perfunctory exercises in the eyes of the public.

The private citizens’ public displays of Jalur Gemilang hold more weight, always.

For it’s from the heart.

Somehow, to score cheap political points and sow mistrust among voters, these political actors have robbed the masses of their joy, their relationship with their own symbol. Doubt has crept in. Caution dominates.

That’s the real tragedy of the current conundrum.

These agents seek patriotism like rituals of obedience rather than acts of love.

If they succeed, our own grip over our own national flag loosens. And moves us closer to state approval and formal oversight in regard to the use of Jalur Gemilang. Estranging people from their own personal piece of Malaysia.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUGUST 19 — I get it. It’s hard to be in the F&B business with the overhead, cash-strapped customers and delivery platforms taking a huge chunk out of your earnings.

When I was very ill, GrabFood kept me fed when I couldn’t even walk without a cane.

Yet now I’m weaning myself off most food delivery services as the price is too hard to justify.

With the marked-up prices, ingredient rationing and cost-cutting, Grab, ShopeeFood and the like are more occasional treats.

Why order my favourite shio pan on a food delivery app when I can walk 15 minutes to a nearby bakery? 

Yet I might still be using the apps more often if it wasn’t for the listings being hard to tell apart. 

Many stores are using AI-generated pictures for their food so I don’t actually know what I’ll be getting.

I know that even menus can be misleading in restaurants, with that decadent-looking bowl of ramen in the menu turning up on your plate as a mass of stringy noodles, while you play “hunt for the meat.”

At least menus look appetising; the images on Grab are just revolting.

Why are the colours so radioactive?

Why is cheese dripping everywhere on everything and looking like sewer overruns?

Much as we like making fun of “American cheese” for not being real cheese, it still looks better than the terrifying, neon yellow goop in GrabFood ads.

Why would I order something that looks like it came out of the pages of Swamp Thing?

The author argues that pervasive AI-generated food imagery is misleading, unappetising and emblematic of a wider push to adopt AI where it adds little value.

I’m making it a point not to eat anywhere that uses AI imagery pervasively whether on Grab or anywhere else.

There’s a big and popular food chain that has the money to hire artists or photographers for its food but no, they instead use the same radioactive orange/piss-yellow graphics on food listings and even merch.

Despite being criticised for it, the chain does not seem to care so long as the queues remain long (as they were last weekend in a mall I frequent.)

Some days I despair at the constant bombardment and messaging to “adopt AI” but tell me, for what?

Outside of work (my column is 100 per cent written by me, no AI proofreading/brainstorming/editing going on here) where AI summaries are a new tedium, I see no reason to use AI.

A friend of mine, a writer and editor, was recently approached about joining a platform that would let readers use AI to query your book.

What madness is this now?

I do not want to ask ChatGPT about a book while I’m reading it; I have eyes. 

Going back to disgusting AI pictures — there needs to be a ban on AI for food advertisements because it’s just outright misleading.

It’s great that I’m saving money by almost never ordering food now, but I fear that at this rate I’ll be going through my own personal AI psychosis from all the hideous graphics that are just everywhere.

Even trying to use DuckDuckGo instead of Google to avoid useless AI search guides has not been great.

I’ve been forced to go back to Google because DuckDuckGo’s search results are full of “dead” sites, created by bots, with articles populated entirely by AI writing. 

At least on Thursday I’ll be watching the Chiikawa movie, where I’ll be watching cute, animated mascots try to survive a disaster island scenario.

Before that I’ll make sure to walk to Dou Dou Bake and enjoy the sight and smells of human-made, doughy artistry.

With the haze making even my old cat cough up her lungs, it will be a challenge but nothing a mask can’t sort out.

Now if only I could wear a mask that would make AI food adverts invisible.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUG 16 — Mrs K, in her 80s, was in a coma.

One of her sons, BB, who had not seen her in about a decade, refused to return his siblings’ calls and messages regarding his mum.

Two weeks ago, I met up with BB (for some reason he agreed to see me but not his siblings). I told him about his mum. 

As her house was barely a mile away, I said, “Let’s both go see her.” 

He said no.

I said, “C’mon man, she doesn’t have much time. If it’s a matter of nerves, I’m happy to walk into the house with you and accompany you to see her, it won’t take more than a few minutes.”

He said no.

I asked if this was about guilt and shame? He said, “No, maybe it’s about pride.”

I said, “What’s there to be proud about? She isn’t even conscious and wouldn’t even know you’re in the house.

“Don’t you want to see the woman who gave birth to you, raised you, took care of you, etc?”

He said, “No. I don’t ever want to see her again.” 

I asked about 10 times, again and again. BB kept saying no.

Mrs K died the very night after my chat with BB. A mutual friend speculated that perhaps she was “waiting” for her son to go and say goodbye to her and when he made it clear a final farewell wasn’t on his to-do list, she left.

‘Dead to me’

I only wish this was some isolated incident. However, my experience and conversations over the past two years or so suggests it isn’t. 

When we start paying attention, we realise that perhaps 20-30 per cent of our circle of extended family, friends, colleagues, etc have estranged family members who don’t want to have anything to do with their folks. 

There are so many grown-ups who want to have absolutely nothing to do with their parents that I told a few people like me with young kids that if our teenage children are still talking to us when they reach their 40s we probably deserve some badge of honour.

Some adult children don’t want to return messages or answer calls from their parents, let alone have a meal with their mums and/or dads. 

Most of these individuals have even blocked their parents’ numbers and refuse to let their parents know where they live.

In some extreme cases, like the case of my friend BB, they won’t even visit their terminally ill mother or father and won’t be caught dead (pun intended) attending their parents’ funerals. 

One person blocked his mum out of his life after a very heated argument where the mum said some crazy hurtful things to him.  — Unsplash Picture

In the very worst cases, I know of one or two individuals who have outright “boasted” about how they ignore condolence messages and how “my attendance doesn’t make a damn difference to anyone, least of all me”.

How does it come to this point?

In my conversations with such folks, the #1 reason is a sense of extreme betrayal or hurt which they cannot forgive. 

One person blocked his mum out of his life after a very heated argument where the mum said some crazy hurtful things to him. 

Another even took her ageing mother to court after her father died because she was unhappy with the share of the inheritance and blamed her mum for “influencing” him to give her (the daughter) less than she felt she deserved. 

My friend BB blames his mum for his marriage failures. 

Another friend has been complaining about favouritism (by her dad towards her older sisters) practically since early childhood years so once she began work overseas, she decided that ghosting her dad was the natural thing to do. 

In other cases the problem begins with one parent; but when the other parent doesn’t defend the child then both become private enemies #1.

Another very popular reason is the LGBQT factor and in such cases, sadly, the relationship-cutting began with the parents. 

An acquaintance from Kajang told me his parents threw him out of the house when they found out he was gay. 

Finally, there are terrible cases of physical (and surely criminal) child abuse by parents. I have no words.

Keeping the door open

I hope nobody reads this article as a judgmental one. Like some people have reminded me, I often don’t know what the family background is, what was actually said or done, what incidents have occurred and so on.

Far be it for me to add more layers of condemnation upon situations already mired in resentment and hatred.

If nothing else, I hope this can spark a deeper conversation, both among those who are still on good terms and talking with their parents and those who (literally) couldn’t care less if their mum or dad has died.

Ultimately, let’s all agree when a child refuses to connect anymore with her parents that’s not exactly something to “celebrate” and some critical conversations are necessary for healing, for hope, for openness, for a less hurtful future.

There are many occasions to extend olive branches, to reach out. Reconciliation is always possible if the heart is willing to try. 

Keep the door open because hope may yet walk through?

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUGUST 13 — “You call yourself a Victorian?”

It was jammed down our throats from seniors, teachers and probably the school gardener throughout our freshman year until we’d wake up in the middle of our sleep, unable to answer but filled with a sense of expectation.

And get on the 6.15am Foh Hup Omnibus Company ride from Cheras to school. Alight at the old ENE Building and trudge through the squatter colony and up past Stadium Negara. To school.

It’s right next to the second highest building in the world, for those unacquainted with the Victoria Institution’s location.  

For those equally unacquainted with the school discipline enforced, I can sum it up. 

It was plenty and I experienced the whole menu through the years. Students had to slip into lines before quarter past seven or get held back by a prefect at the front gate. 

Whether the student was dropped by a government vehicle courtesy of his high-ranking father, or just the riff raff unfortunate to miss the bus, everyone late was held back.

And the truly late — guilty! — run twice around the school which is not a small campus before heading to class. Yes, I got a lot of cardio done in the morning through the years.

To be more than you were. 

This was the tone set throughout my secondary school years in a school fixated with symbolism and traditions.

An aerial shot of Victoria Institution in Kuala Lumpur. The author argues that schools build character not through grades alone, but through traditions, discipline and expectations that foster confidence, integrity and civic responsibility. — YouTube screengrab

The VI Way

It’s Founder’s Day tomorrow, 133 years ago Mrs WH Treacher, the Selangor resident’s wife, walked along with a line of city elders, those who raised the funds for the Queen’s Jubilee, to the selected site by the Klang River. 

A stone was laid and classes began the following year.

Thirty-six years later, thanks to persistent flooding, the school moved up to Petaling Hill in 1929.

Talking about that school, it is something I never tire of doing.

It gives me the opportunity to delve into how expectations can be a good, and even a great thing, when exercised with wisdom and care.

There was hardly anything phenomenally special about the boys even if they arrived from their primary schools with good grades or sporting excellence. Hardly.

It was expectations which drove us forward. So that we lift ourselves and meet the expectations, in the classroom, on the fields and in manners.

Being 12 is scary. If I am to take liberties, so was being 13 and 14. Right up to fifty and beyond.

So, when the whole environment at school was about expectations and standards we are all naturally demanded to meet — of course many of us failed to match it — it gave us a springboard.

There’s a word to describe what comes out when the expectations are managed rather than laid on the shoulders of the young like a boulder. Confidence.

And if the younger student is unsure of himself or questions his own temperament, he only needs to look up to senior students. They exude confidence.

Since they took the journey before and excelled, or at least in our eyes it appears they did, we feel we can too. 

Only years later when we sit with super seniors did we learn about their shenanigans. That they too were petrified young boys in their time and naturally did many naughty things.   

Yes, to the elephant in the room, there was ragging. Not intended as displays of power and control but as rites of passage. 

For, the ultimate goal was to build deep camaraderie within the student population.

Yet, as I consider my schooling with the hindsight of time, more than setting the tone, expectations, the occasional excellence, the most sought after or better phrased the large umbrella where all of these sit, is character development.

To be a person who more often than not says what he means and means what he says. 

To set examples rather than wait for them. To be disappointed with oneself when acting poorly rather than waiting for others to prove your guilt. 

Don’t expect a medal for doing the right thing. Don’t sell people down the river for a quick gain.

And one day after seven years, the school coughed me out and asked me to carry on with my adventures elsewhere.

The green, green grass of Bangi and beyond

This is not a “my school is better than yours” segment. Rather, an observation that a large majority of our schools do not have a cultural framework which emphasises discipline and civic duty. 

There may be individuals in the form of teachers, sports coaches and senior students who turn into Mr Miyagi and do their bit. 

A great headmaster can do wonders. But without a larger tradition or culture to house the effort or to embolden the actors, the impact is restricted. 

And the school products are then passed on to tertiary institutions. 

What I did learn quickly in the public universities system, attending Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia, a large number of students arrived with the grades but not necessarily the confidence or character.

It nurtured a defensiveness which permeated life on campus. People fought for positions and not to elevate the general body. 

Beat people down with ad hominem attacks and CV presentation rather than with argumentation. 

But worse, not expect more from themselves, to keep themselves in check. To understand excellence without finesse is sad. 

No amount of success will compensate for a lack of basic manners.

Many hold key positions in the public and private sector today but whether they expect more of themselves, I suspect very much. The defensiveness is too imprinted in them, and the fear of losing face.

So, nothing is rocket science. Nurture never is. But it has to be present.

Unfortunately, too many of our schools are run badly, and parents are taking the manufactured grades through examination gaming as proof of quality. 

I fear a few technocrats are nodding in the back and are ready to introduce Character Building 101 with two instruction hours per week. Ace the course, they say.

Character development is a tad bit more complicated. A good place to start is to imbue kids with traditions and expectations to meet through examples delivered.

My pal Azam Aziz believed in that. He poured in time, money and effort to the school through the alumni over the years without waiting for encouragement or acknowledgement. A year ahead in school, he was miles ahead in terms of personality.

He’d hate the nonsense dominating Malaysia these days, devoid of a sense of honour and decency. Azam died early this year.

As for me, I’m still unsure about the effect of the VI project on me. I’ll let people call me what they want.

But Happy Birthday, Victoria Institution. If it stays true to traditions, it’ll remain much taller than the building next door. Be yet wiser.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUG 12 — Fighting inertia has been a daily battle.

I already work from bed but the temptation to never leave it at all is always present and so I make myself go out, walk for far too long and, when possible, find a good pastry.

Last week I was attending an event at a hotel that was somehow central and yet remote, not very accessible if you rely on public transport and which needed me to take multiple trains and a bus to get there.

There was also far too much walking.

Sure, I could have just taken a Grab straight there but why would I pay RM30-50? I’d rather buy coffee or a good croissant.

Part of my very roundabout journey to get there (Google Maps has become rather useless public transport guidance-wise these days) was getting to the Semantan MRT and taking a bus.

This particular bus first did a circuit of Bukit Damansara before coming back to Semantan MRT.

I found it mildly amusing.

Yet a woman, whose Touch N Go card had insufficient credit, who had to get off the bus earlier, managed to get back on when the bus returned to the station but at a slightly different stop. 

Good for her.

To get to my destination I had to take the bus to Arte Hotel and then leg it another 15 minutes. 

At least I got to stop at Lacher Patisserie at The Met, which makes a divine cempedak flan.

It has the right amount of flakiness and a base of real cempedak pulp, not flavoured cream, but if I ever feel a craving I’ll take the MRT to the bakery’s outlet on Jalan Conlay instead.

Yet a woman, whose Touch N Go card had insufficient credit, who had to get off the bus earlier, managed to get back on when the bus returned to the station but at a slightly different stop. — SoyaCincau pic

Though I enjoyed my brief stop, it bothered me a lot that this particular spot in KL—despite a neighbouring conference and exhibition centre, as well as Matrade—was nowhere near enough for good transit.

It dawned on me then that this area had been designed by, and for, people who have always been driven around. Not driving, driven.

If you are not the one driving, you have little care for what you see on the way so long as you are taken to the destination. 

For some reason there aren’t even enough street lights at night despite a nearby many-starred hotel and being billed a metropolis, of all things.

Yet regretfully I will be returning to the area, just for The Met because apparently there is a very good fine dining Indian restaurant called Jhol.

Perhaps I will write about it next week.

This week I will wonder why, in this sprawling capital of this flawed and lovely country we call home, we have decided to still make some places just too annoying a destination — unless you are perhaps a little mad and really want some cempedak flan.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUGUST 9 — There’s a joke about how lecturers in Malaysia today aren’t lecturers anymore — we’re basically administrators who happen to teach classes. 

Lecturers are also counsellors, confidants, immigration liaisons, “priests” (as students often confess their sins to us), stand-in parents, translators, complaints department officers, messengers for parents who can’t talk to their kids, care-givers, anger management therapists, citizen law enforcers, accidental “motivational” speakers, marketing executives, lobbyists, fall guys, parent relations officers – you name it.

The Malaysian Quality Agency (MQA) documentation and accreditation process in itself already demands practically an entire department with hundreds of hours required in manpower and meetings (see note 1). 

Some universities have a specialised centralised team. Others? Uh, just ask the lecturers to do all the work lor!

Likewise, there is an asymmetry when it comes to the academic and marketing departments i.e. in many campuses you’ll see lecturers doing “marketing” work but not the other way round. 

You’ll find lecturers helping out in student recruitment events but you won’t see marketing executives, uh, taking over academic-related duties.

But the care-giver role is especially critical.

Once, many years ago, a lecturer drove me home through a storm when I was stuck after class. 

Another ensured I ate before a late-night study grind. David Graeber argued that society undervalues roles rooted in care, yet they’re what keep us human (see note 2). 

In Malaysia’s diverse lecture halls, this rings true, especially for foreign students navigating a new world.

The author argues that Malaysian lecturers increasingly shoulder administrative, emotional and caregiving burdens far beyond teaching, making their often-invisible support essential to students. — Picture by Miera Zulyana

Take the thousands who flock here for affordable, quality education — Chinese, Indonesians, Africans, those from the Middle East, etc. 

They arrive with big dreams but also big hurdles: language barriers, culture shock, homesickness, immigration problems, sub-par university on-boarding, confusing course-selection procedures, etc.

Every new semester, my colleagues and I need to answer the desperate questions of hundreds of students from China, all semi-panicking about why their selected courses aren’t approved yet, will their attendance be affected, how to submit assignments, when will holidays begin, is there a “Certificate of Study” given so they can show the authorities back home, etc. 

Now imagine those who fly in late. We have to deal with all of them, answering their questions using Google Translator, giving them assurances we can’t really give, and so on. 

I believe these moments reflect Graeber’s point: Caring work isn’t just functional — it’s transformative, building environments where people flourish.

Malaysia’s education hub status magnifies this issue.

Lecturers are cultural and institutional guides, make-shift uncles and aunties to help students, many of whom are well and truly lost procedurally, culturally and academically. 

As if that isn’t enough, we’re also quasi-priests to students who somehow have many “sins” to confess. “Sir, I know I wasn’t supposed to do X but because of Y I had to choose Z which led me to X and…”

I’ve heard of a colleague hosting a potluck so foreign students can swap dishes and stories, easing their isolation. It’s not in their contracts, but it fosters belonging. 

Many lecturers aren’t chasing prestige or pay — they’re fueled by passion to see these students get through college in one piece and with their love of learning intact. 

That’s the caring ethos Graeber championed: work that matters because it lifts others up.

Do I have to mention that all this isn’t easy?

Picture a lecturer juggling packed classes, research deadlines, and endless paperwork, yet still finding time for a struggling student. 

It’s late nights, quiet sacrifices — exhausting stuff. Caring roles demand resilience, often without fanfare. 

For foreign students, that extra effort — a kind word, an hour of guidance — can shift their entire experience. One lecturer’s patience might mean a homesick student sticks it out instead of booking a flight home.

As for being the fall guy, it doesn’t take a genius to see that in many cases the institution will seek to avoid problems with their customers (i.e. the students) and top management, as we all know, is very apt at defending itself. 

So when a problem occurs and the client and leaders cannot be faulted, who do you imagine will get the rap?

Next time you walk by a lecture hall, look past the slides and exams. Lecturers are Malaysia’s unsung Crisis Officers and Absorbers, shaping minds and lives — especially for those far from home. They don’t get medals, but their impact ripples. 

In a country like Malaysia betting big on education, lecturers are the ones ensuring no student gets left behind, to the point that offering care — and any other form of assistance — is the real backbone of learning.

Note 1: I don’t mean to denigrate the importance of the MQA but it’s worth repeating that as at 2024 (the last time I was involved in the process) the agency still required departments to submit CD-ROMs for new program applications. This is part of the oversight for academic quality — let that sink in.

Note 2: David Graeber’s posthumous book, The Ultimate Hidden Truth of the World: Essays, published in November 2024 by Farrar, Straus and Giroux argued that co-operation and caring are fundamental to an anthropology of freedom from coercive structures and authoritarianism.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUGUST 6 — I’ve been walking around disoriented these past days. Mostly in traipses to rid persistent cliches chucked into conversations online and in-person about the Negeri Sembilan election, which ostensibly rolls into Johor before landing flat in last year’s Sabah polls. 

Al, a very old friend from a far more innocent time, told me that perhaps I assume too much about what people need. 

People by large are perfectly comfortable in the equations they hold even if those suppositions do not pass muster under scrutiny. 

Which was a clarion call. I had to break it down to the basics. 

It’s not that the “self-declared” progressives lost so comprehensively the past month.

It was the air of inevitability leading to the result. That nothing was going to avert the obvious. 

Where do we begin this then, this autopsy?

DAP are staring down the barrel

They have a congress on August 16 but it’s a bit pointless. The make-up of the delegation already presupposes the outcome. 

They want to determine Pakatan Harapan’s efficacy to their cause when they have an existential crisis at hand. Talk about deciding how to decorate the home to impress disgruntled neighbours when the house is on fire.  

Malaysian voters listen to political leaders during the state election campaign, as debates over identity, representation and communal politics take centre stage. — Bernama pic

BN has, mostly utilising the power of incumbency, throughout 60 years marked DAP via its leadership of Chinese communalism as a threat to the Malay community.

Was it unfair? Grossly. But that’s how the cards were handed out. 

The party was blessed with a buffer period, between 2007 through its participation in Bersih through to early stages of the Madani government, say 2024, to reinvent itself. 

It falsely assumed, the second time in government was vindication of its strategy. To stubbornly hold on to Chinese support by being Chinese first, and gather a sliver of votes from Malay-based partners, to prevail. 

The past 15 years, the successes, were supposed to be political cover as the party Malaysianised. It never did. It is a Chinese-first party, which is why it will lose handsomely in the general election but stay clear of losing its deposit — there’ll always be 12.5 per cent communal votes. 

Their separate but equal pillar, they never realised, can boomerang back. Perikatan Nasional minus Bersatu and Barisan Nasional – with the inconsequential MCA and MIC – play the same game. Communalism first. 

How DAP wasted the gift of 15 years.

To bring Hew Kuan Yau or Superman Hew to campaign in Negeri Sembilan. Ten years after he voluntarily stepped out of DAP for his divisive communal politics, he continues to campaign for the party. Certainly cherished by the party. 

Park and picnic on a railway track, even the late KTM Komuter can kill you.

PN-BN worked a formula out

The rumblings about the Negeri Sembilan exco numbers and choice of mentri besar in less than transparent fashion does not reduce one principle adhered to by all participants — communalism before differences. 

This was in the kitchen awhile before it got to the dinner table.

In September 2023, Mahathir Mohamad became PAS’ advisor. He abandoned the Pejuang and Pergerakan Tanah Air coalition, which crashed and burned along with him at the general election in November 2022. 

It would be unsurprising to find out his fingerprints are present on the blueprint in play. More so convinced to learn that Pejuang was co-opted into PN together with the expected entry of Hamzah Zainudin’s Parti Wawasan Negara.

Wawasan stayed out of Johor in order to avoid unnecessary rifts, and entered the fray once Bersatu’s fate was sealed in Johor. 

Pejuang did not want to underperform and stayed out of Negeri Sembilan. You can bet your last ringgit Pejuang will be in the PN candidate list for Melaka. 

The formula is overly plain.

There is enough power to share among those committed to the movement is the core message.

But always, always, sort out DAP and its hangaround Pakatan before dividing the spoils among current partners inside the new grand coalition.

The message’s consistency is aided by the message’s simplicity.  

Is it wrong, communalism?

My answer is my life’s work. However, I’m negligible. 

Thirty-four million Malaysians, twenty-one million of them voters, get to decide the country’s path.

In these past two state elections, they have delivered clear verdicts.

Democracy proponents cannot decry the people’s democratic choices, however they arrive at their opinions. It is theirs to hold as is the vote to cast. 

Yet, people who celebrate majoritarianism ought to be careful. All those in the majority, will belatedly realise their more personal issues or beliefs are constantly in the minority. Nations are groups of minorities misled to believe most people agree with them on most things. 

But the larger failing, as a nation, is if communalism dominates who do we blame?

Both sides, definitely. Yet, the demographic realities press the need to change harder on one side. The other side only wins. 

Wait out the storm

This appears to be the only strategy from PKR which chairs Pakatan. 

Which is indistinguishable from DAP’s “work harder with the same principles” strategy. 

Something has to give. Or all of them can prepare for life out of power. 

It might shock but a sizeable number of voters edging to PN-BN presently do not subscribe to the conservative slant of the leaders. They nevertheless think most leaders on both sides are far removed from them.

But as I mentioned, one side has a super-clear value proposition, and the other waits.  

They are borderline to commit the cardinal sin of elections, to wait for the pendulum to swing back. It may gravitate back as a guillotine to end the misery of the serial losers’ necks.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUG 5 — Media people are a judgy bunch.

It comes with the job. A journalist with poor judgement won’t be a journalist for long.

So when I saw another newspaper post screencaps of Hospital Kuala Lumpur’s urinals overflowing with bodily waste, my first thought was that the sub-editor or whoever was posting the article lacked taste.

Yet isn’t that our job as journalists? To decide what is relevant, and to make the relevant interesting?

I am very grateful for the public healthcare system.

Let us not, however, pretend our public hospitals aren’t full of biohazards.

I’d managed the entire time, with cancer, before my surgery to not catch more than a very brief fever but it took just one night being warded in HKL to be down with a nasty throat infection.

The toilet in the HKL women’s daycare ward is the stuff of germaphobe’s nightmares, with puddles of water everywhere, some even ankle high.

For some reason (I suspect budget cuts) there was no soap. 

Of course the smell I most associate with Malaysian public hospitals was everywhere; the ammonia-laced odour of urine.

The first thing I noticed when I visited a Singapore hospital was how clean it smelled. Not even the toilets smelled of wee.

Of course we can play the whole blame game or hand wringing melodrama but the reality is that our hospitals are full, our cleaners overworked, the hospitals underfunded.

There was a game I used to play a few decades ago called Theme Hospital.

It was all about, unsurprisingly, designing hospitals.

The consequences of poor choices would include your patients throwing up in the corridors, and if you did not hire enough janitors, your hospitals, and the game, would quickly become a nightmare.

The author argues that public hospitals should be assessed through informed reporting that examines underlying problems. — Picture by Raymond Manuel

I wish the articles we see about our public healthcare system were better than “oh look this is bad”, quotes from some analyst, hand wringing and then few things change unless an election is around the corner.

The problem is the whole structure of government and how things are run. are far too opaque.

Everyone should be able to know or find out from easily accessible sources the structure of everything, not just our public hospitals.

Don’t tell me to ask AI as due to there not being accessible public records there is nothing the robots actually know about this.

Disclaimer: For the purpose of this article (and because some overly optimistic person will insist on it) I checked with LLMs and none of them gave me the correct number of currently serving oncologists, nor which public hospital actually has them on-site.

You cannot fix a structure that is not properly documented, nor can you attend to the rot until you can properly gauge what or where it is.

What I’m trying to say is that right now more people need to have an understanding of how the system works before it can actually be fixed.

We can’t rely on the politicians for that because for too many of them, the extent of their knowledge is knowing that even in a pandemic they will be given access to the VIP wards.

I guess it’s up to us, the keepers of record, whether journalists or bloggers, to learn how to tell stories again because some stories need telling. 

In truth I’ve been dealing with my own existential crisis and wondering if life has any meaning anymore.

Then I read about that Times journalist who wrote about the Fifa debacle, read Sarah Kendzior (my current favourite columnist) and how she stubbornly keeps pushing out books and her newsletter, and I remember the many writers who still keep me reading and writing, and hoping.

Our public hospitals are imperfect, true, but we’re lucky to have them but we need, also, to fight for them and sometimes that fight is not better served by screenshots of a urinal.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

AUG 4 — “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” — Edmund Burke

There was a time this senior director of a college I was working in demanded that a subordinate surrender his learning management system password (to the director) so said director could modify a certain student's marks. 

When the subordinate refused (as there were simply no grounds to do so), the director yelled at the top of his voice, “GIVE IT TO ME NOW... OR ELSE!”.

All credit to my colleague for not budging. The director yelled a few more times and, facing a gentle wall, eventually backed down. 

The student failed and had to drop out; ipso facto the institution couldn’t collect any more fees from said student for the following semester (that’s why the director was mad at my colleague for failing said student).

Does the story sound familiar? I bet it does. Sadly, other similar stories don’t always have the same happy ending. 

Bullying is profitable. Period. 

Platforms like Linked-In are awash with articles and comments and AI-generated graphics on corporate bullying. 

It almost seems to be the theme of the year; many big companies are falling over themselves publicly condemning bullying in the workplace and affirming the importance of respect and care and openness. 

As per my opening story, in most cases there is no mystery to why corporate bullying occurs and why it persists. 

The reason why some office heads keep treating their subordinates like trash  is rooted in factors we don’t need a Sherlock or some PhD in Psychology to ascertain: It’s because it makes the company money.

That’s it. It’s cold capitalism, plain and simple.

The reason why some heads can gaslight, scream, shout and threaten their staff is because such behaviour "gets things done" and keeps his/her KPI numbers up. Period.

It is not uncommon to see instances whereby some senior director will walk into a particular department, stand in the middle of it and, like some imperial herald, shout at the top of his or her voice to demand some answer or call out a person’s name. 

The author argues that workplace bullying persists because intimidation is often rewarded when it boosts profits and delivers results, despite companies’ public commitments to respect and care. — magnific.com pic

The reason why some HRs refuse to investigate, let alone discipline, certain corporate bullies is because the big bosses have told them to stand down — and the reason for that is because said bullies have made a lot of cash for the bosses.

Sure, there are some cases in which a bully has been suspended and probably even fired. But, at least in my experience, this only occurs if there are no serious drawbacks or consequences to said person departing the company OR if the publicity is already so bad, the organisation has to pull the plug.

This is probably why it’s critical that bullying behaviour be recorded; testimonies and statements are much harder to obtain and lack the fire it takes to ignore the court of public opinion.

Hopefully, after July of last year things will be easier. That month Malaysia officially criminalised workplace bullying and harassment through amendments to the Penal Code (Act A1750) and Criminal Procedure Code. 

This historic legal reform elevates severe psychological abuse (see note 1), digital harassment, and doxxing from internal human resources issues to criminal offence.

I don’t know much about doxxing but psychological abuse and harassment are pretty common stuff in our workplaces. The only thing sadder than seeing it happen in our offices is seeing the victims accept it and sometimes— tragically — even feel guilty for letting their departments down.

What solutions are there?

We all know that ultimately the end of corporate bullying must begin from the top. Is revenue more important than destroying the mental health of the people who work for us? Can we use forms of patience, respect, cooperation and dialogue instead of "old-fashioned" authoritarianism, oppression and abrasiveness? 

Will the CHRO have the courage to clamp down on bullying cases even if her C-Suite counterparts are pressuring her to "let it go" because, oh, this particular director is critical to the organisation?

Sadly, in the case of workplace bullying, Edmund Burke’s quote stands true. We must have the strength to take up his challenge.

Note 1: A small unpopular caveat here. In the same way that not all instances of a parent scolding or disciplining their kids cannot be equated with child abuse, we cannot declare every instance of harshness or anger by the boss as acts of bullying.

I recall a Stephen Covey seminar where it was said that we cannot talk our way out of a problem we behave ourselves into. I guess it’s the same for corporate bullying? 

If we behave like bullies, people will know. They just know — or at least the matured ones will know. And no amount of superficial "apologies" or sweet-talk (or even a nice bonus) will change that. 

Likewise, when a boss truly respects and cares for his/her staff, that is also known, recognised and affirmed.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

JULY 30 — “Be a proper Malaysian, possess the right amount of racism”  is the Negeri Sembilan campaign in a nutshell. 

What that means in the sane world, no one really knows. But that’s what’s on sale in the state, oversaturated with traditions —  which no one can talk about too much, less falling on the wrong side of the acceptable interpretation. 

But the selling has gone thermonuclear. 

When all is done and dusted, certificates should be issued for all, winners and losers. For the ability to take cognitive dissonance to the edges of the galaxy within every participant’s stump speech is beyond comprehension.

What is not talked about and operates in the fringes which may ultimately decide the success or lack thereof for Pakatan Harapan is how disappointed are its voters. Which translates to them not so much voting for the other side but not turning up on August 1. Let’s explore before we deplore this election devoid of substance. 

DAP The Impossible

The same side of NO DAP, is the pond Barisan Nasional and Perikatan Nasional swim in. 

PN are unashamed to bash DAP to the rafters. Which then of course leads them to rhetorical genius lines like how half the country has a back-up country, but not the Malays. They could have copied it wholesale from anti-migrant posters in Jawi from the 1940s. 

Their enthusiasm gets the better of them, like in the case of Kedah Mentri Besar Sanusi Nor who trips into the race bait unwittingly in the zeal of his speechmaking. 

By the way he rampages through with anti-DAP language, he’d have been absolutely miserable in the seven years PAS shared meals with DAP in the Pakatan Rakyat years (2008-2015). 

He backtracks on his language, saying how multicultural he is. I half expect him to talk about how being a good old boy from Sik and then to boarding school in Sungai Petani, he was unable to form meaningful friendships with those who look different from him. 

But thank the heavens, he had the great opportunity to share lecture halls with minorities during his Universiti Sains Malaysia days. 

Listen, I am OK with Sanusi being partial to people completely because of their DNA. He’s not alone on this. I prefer him all guns blazing rather than dishing out canned lines about how wonderful it is to be all together in this great united colours of Benetton. He is funnier at his provocative best. 

On the same token, it’s quite the torture to hear from PAS’ supporters wing, Gerakan and MIPP and Wawasan minorities explaining how Sanusi and those who feel home is not the same for all of us, actually means well. 

How about the new BFF?

BN, led by deputy president Mohamad Hasan, are completely against over the top racism. They won’t flog minorities but a proper scolding is necessary. So that they know real peace and harmony can only be achieved by unequivocal Malay leadership, primarily by Umno. 

The minor leaguers, at times referred to as MIC and MCA, prefer elegant silence, and as they did in Johor, collect their dues in the form of state seats on Saturday. 

Umno also conveniently leaves out the productive years it continues to experience in federal government with DAP, and that their grip on power in Perak is due to DAP assemblymen.

The overall summary from PN and BN, is that DAP through strategic vote canvassing, competency and track record in locations like Penang and Selangor may win. In an election. 

This is unacceptable. All minorities must play a dutiful secondary role because this is what BN and PN can live with. 

That’s it. The whole campaign. Fear the DAP. 

I have a bucket of issues with DAP. But I am fairly certain they are still Malaysians and deserve respect and civility. Certainly not attacks grounded in irrational fears. Again, DAP chooses the ethnic path but it is not grounds for ritual lynchings online. 

Whether or not the running down of multiculturalism persists after the elections, that is really in the hands of voters, both those who stomach haters and those who’ve lost the love.  — Bernama file pic

Too blue, not that blue

Those infirmed Pakatan folks. 

They won’t vote because those they believed in came astronomically short. By not voting they hand the results to those who want to reverse even the minimums achieved. A cruel twist of fate.

It’s horrendous, the mood of traditional Pakatan voters but they remain unmoved and ensconced in melancholy.

They, the pretend reformists, underperform, like Portugal at the World Cup. 

The reform they expected never materialised and on days they cannot tell the sides apart. 

Enuff said.

The constancy of power

The unfortunate part about being in a state is that there are no gap years. Unlike taking a year off from work to raise a kid or get a degree, governments are permanent concerns. It is not like since the options are unpalatable we skip a few years of having a government in charge. 

PN and BN stoke up their bases. Many on the fence slide to them since they feel not tugged in any other direction. 

Pakatan doubles down, saying nothing is quite that bad under them. They need time to get this to the finishing line they insist. 

It’s fluff in campaign language. 

Whether N9 has come too soon after Johor, the results on August 1 will be a major marker for when the general elections are to be held.  

Whether or not the running down of multiculturalism persists after the elections, that is really in the hands of voters, both those who stomach haters and those who’ve lost the love. 

From the standpoint of democracy, it is absolute shambles. Almost 70, Malaysia can do better than divide and rule.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

JULY 29 — “You watched Odyssey twice, right? You should watch Kokuho.”

Watching a film about, of all things, the Japanese art of kabuki was not on my to-do list but I was intrigued enough by the recommendation to buy a ticket last night.

It was either go last night or sneak into the back of a theatre with my work laptop because July 29 is the last date of its screening in Malaysia.

There wasn’t enough time for me to read up on the movie.

Even in the last minutes before the movie started at 8.50pm I was sending work emails and assignments so all I had managed to find out was that the two lead actors trained for 18 months in kabuki.

Ryo Yoshizawa and Ryusei Yokohama are phenomenal in their roles as almost-brothers, always-rivals vying for both a place in the spotlight and the favour of their master.

Kokuho’s premise of a yakuza’s son trying to break into the world of kabuki is fantastical but while the script is flawed, the pace meandering, it is a very beautiful film.

I found the kabuki set pieces enthralling; such gorgeous costuming, elaborate stages, full-bodied traditional musicians and shot in such a way that you felt yourself also transported into a kabuki theatre.

Having just finished the game Guardians of Azuma, where the protagonist is a shrine dancer, I found myself being able to appreciate the dancing in Kokuho as well as the sound of Japanese instruments.

I recognised the sound of taiko, Japanese percussion, and the hand movements, the way the dancers moved bearing fans in yukata.

Right now I’m playing another Japan-designed game — Persona 5 Royal.

At various loading screens it keeps showing me the phrase, “Take your time.”

'Kokuho' is captivating in many ways due to how much visible effort has been put into its creation. — Media Castle/Kokuho film pic

The beauty of Kokuho is, when you think about it, created precisely by the creators taking their time.

Without the lead actors being convincing kabuki performers, the film would not have worked.

Yet we live in an age where we are sold the notion of speeding things up and instant gratification.

The best things take time, like dry-aged steaks and intricate dances, yet I go online and my eyes are assaulted constantly by hideous AI-generated flyers or graphics.

My friends on Facebook have to deal with my terrorising them whenever they post any AI-generated imagery so I see a lot less of it on my feed, which I think is the point.

Three hours is a long time to sit in the cinema and at times I did think Kokuho’s director was a bit overindulgent.

It is a particular affliction of Japanese cinema where, for some reason, you will be made to stare at a clump of trees, perhaps a sandy bank or some other random Nature spot until the director decides to advance the plot.

I still found that time a good break from the mundanity of the outside world.

Whether I’m chasing shadows in Persona 5 Royal, watching elaborately made up actors performing kabuki or trying not to fall asleep reading language textbooks, I understand now that I cannot rush time, nor can I really ever know how much of it I truly possess.

We trade time for money, then use it to buy more time but we would be happier when we are not worrying about either.

For art is best savoured in both its making and experiencing.

In a world obsessed with ChatGPT perhaps we might all be better off learning about kabuki.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

JULY 23 — Kitty Genovese comes to mind reading the news about Velmurugan, female J and male D at the Appeals Court yesterday. Sadness also prevails on days like these. 

Three of them denied the right to be Malaysian despite being born here, raised here.

Velmurugan endures the ignominy of his entire extended family having Mykad minus him. His wife and kids are Malaysians. Because his late mum’s documentation was inconclusive and by extension his too, the 38-year-old lives without a country to call his own. 

Female J’s Indonesian mum’s whereabouts are unknown. As are male D’s Filipino mum’s. J is 30 years of age, while D is two years younger. Both have Malaysian fathers proven by DNA tests. 

There are lengthy explanations involving the Constitution, the policies of the National Registration Department (NRD) and documentation trails, not to mention that in the case of J and D, Indonesia and Philippines have confirmed their non-origin from the two republics. 

Visitors walk past the MyKad and JPN signage at the National Registration Department (JPN) in Putrajaya, September 23, 2025. — Picture by Raymond Manuel

Every party involved in the determination of the trio’s fates have presented reasons why they cannot let it happen. To let them become Malaysians. Conditions are not met, the curt riposte. Their hands are tied, they'd claim. 

Segue to a distressing old incident

Miss Genovese’s rape and murder in 1964 did not only horrify New York City, it inspired psychologists John Darley and Bibb Latané to define bystander effect and diffusion of responsibility. 

Perpetrator Winston Moseley stabbed her after 3am just outside her residence. Someone screamed nearby and he retreated. 

But when nothing transpired he returned and assaulted her sexually before killing her. Start to end was 35 minutes and no one intervened.

There were many people around but each of them from their units felt someone else would step in. 

Someone else will save the lady’s life. No one did. Because everyone was expecting someone to do something. That’s the bystander effect. If others can help, let’s just wait and see “these others” help. 

Since there are so many potential helpers, so many with the capacity to aid, the responsibility is diffused to the many. 

If you were the only person in a dark alley and witnessed one individual attacking another person you are likely to get involved. 

But if the same attack played out in a large crowded hall, many look at each other for action. The onus to act is organically distributed to those present, and inaction may prevail. 

We humans tend to look to each other, hoping one of us is better enough to act. 

Not that we do not recognise evil but feel others can fight the devil for us. 

In the Genovese case, after the initial media furore and the far-reaching impact it had as a teaching tool, detractors pointed out that saying 38 people failed to act was faulty.

Thirty-eight people were within earshot in the residential area but it was in the wee hours and a fair number were asleep. Those who woke up may have been uncertain what was transpiring outside. 

The rebuttal was that conditions restricted the number of people we can reasonably expect to react. Early hours, in the dark and doubt shrouded the situation. 

No one told us

The fates which befell Velmurugan, female J and male D, has struck many stateless Malaysians. By many, it goes to the thousands. 

If all the members of Parliament — Dewan Rakyat and Senate — the senior judges of Malaysia, and the Cabinet were made to sit in a hall and a short video of the lives of the stateless was played, hardly anyone would feel indifferent about the pain, isolation and emotional turmoil lived by the victims. 

Stateless people are victims regardless of their own complicity in their circumstances. 

Most might squirm in their seats. 

Some may cry. 

Those people with power, those who decide where the country goes, they’d be affected by the anguish just like regular folks. 

Despite the horrendous space called the Internet comment sections, Malaysians are kind. The potential for kindness here is world class even if politicians seek to trigger many to hate. 

Maybe like the night Genovese died, many Malaysians today are unaware. 

They are asleep, unsure what is happening in the courts, hear the noise but cannot decipher the what, who, when, why and how? 

They do not fear to act, they just do not know. Perhaps. 

But the focus is on the powerful in the country. Those who decide. 

In the case of the trio, all branches of government would have been approached — their MPs, the various ministers including the prime minister, and the courts. 

Those approached most assuredly point to the limitations.   

But they forget, while they lament their own limitations, a killing continues. 

The three of them — and all home-born stateless folks — die a little every day. 

It’s female J and male D, for the court wanted to protect them. I am fairly confident J and D do not feel altogether protected. 

Those in their lives, their bosses, their locality, most would be cognisant of their predicaments. J and D live the stigma wherever they are.  

Every opportunity they let go because of a situation they did nothing to be in, chips away their life force. 

This situation is an excellent example to illustrate why the progressives bleed support in the elections around the country. 

Their opponents care less about these individuals, even if they have sympathy for these victims. Their voters do not factor here because they are not progressive voters. 

For the home minister and the prime minister, the self-declared progressives, them cowering behind valid excuses do not bode well. Their voters are disappointed. 

When you are a progressive, it helps to behave progressively. 

It was impossible for the trio, Velmurugan, J and D to be saved under the conservatives when they led the country. But when they cannot be saved by the progressives in charge today, the grief crescendos into an almighty wail to silence the banshees.  

I feel ashamed and I am a nobody. It is about time those who are somebody step up before they have no power to save even themselves. 

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.

JULY 22  — Being told I need to be on medication (Tamoxifen) for the next 5-10 years was a bit daunting.

Even with a daily reminder, I still slip up and miss a dose or two every other month so I understand now why doctors fuss about medication compliance.

My hormone blockers would cost me nearly RM200 a month but are, fortunately, covered under our public healthcare system.

Last week though, the entire process of procuring them was somewhat maddening though I don't blame the doctors and nurses who are doing their best.

A typical oncology follow-up goes like this:

1. Arrive at the hospital at least half-an-hour before your appointment.

2. Surrender your appointment book to the counter, placing it in the little box with the time of your appointment on it.

3. Wait for 20-40 minutes for your name to be called for you to get a number.

4. Wait up to an hour for the payment counter to call you to prepay your admission fee (currently RM5).

5. Wait for your number to be called to finally see the doctor.

6. If blessedly you have no alarming symptoms, you get pushed out the door and now you need to get the appointment desk to give you a date for the next appointment.

7. Wait again to be called and given your appointment book back.

8. With your appointment book, bring it along to the pharmacy with your prescription slip (which your doctor should have given you) and then wait for your medication.

9. Be grateful you pay nearly nothing except half a day gone.

I used to be really judgemental seeing some patients bring along multiple family members when going to the hospital but I get it now.

A cancer follow-up may only cost RM5 in Malaysia's public healthcare system, but it can still take half a day, multiple queues, and plenty of patience. — Picture by Shafwan Zaidon

Looking at some of the older patients (like one uncle who spent most of the morning with his walker looking a little dazed), I think they would forget halfway what they were supposed to do next. 

Heck, I forgot halfway I was supposed to get my appointment from the counter because when I was still at the specialist building, whichever oncologist I was seeing would give me my appointment on the spot. 

I already get funny stares when I'm sitting down in the waiting room because without my bald head, I look fairly able-bodied.

It's not like I can wear a sign around my neck that says "If you make me stand for too long, I'm not going to be able to leave my bed for the rest of the day."

Every hospital visit feels like a trial and speaking of trials I recently watched Christopher Nolan's take on The Odyssey. Twice.

There's a moment in the movie where a torn sail flutters in the wind and it got me thinking about how sometimes, life is like this — that sometimes, you must wait for favourable winds.

You take from a story your own meaning and the movie was a good reminder to me that I need to let go of the illusion of control; there is a time to fight and there is a time to wait for a change in weather.

All I can do in my situation is show up to my appointments and tell the stories for those who do not understand what it's like.

A fix for the entire inefficient process at the hospital could be as simple as signs explaining the processes, no need for AI promises or some other high-tech solution.

It feels sometimes in Malaysia, we are all trapped like Odysseus' crew, looking for a captain to steer us in the right direction.

All we can do now is hope the boat is strong enough to survive the choppy waves and unexpected storms, trusting that soon we'll find land again. 

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.