Blog Entry – 6th March 2017, 2am -

 Blog Entry – 6th March 2017, 2am

Thoughts I had about a month ago while setting up my art show at the Museum Gallery Tuanku Fauziah, USM

This post was written in the early hours after a long and frustrating day. It's a snapshot of my inner world during the setup of my art show at MGTF—USM in 2017, a time of personal reflection and growing concern for the state of public institutions.

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It was half past midnight when I finally got home after a long day at the MGTF–USM, having achieved very little in terms of curating my work. The captions alone were tedious—if not downright boring. My bad, I suppose.

Frustrated, I escaped to Ah Huat’s shop to work the feelings out. Sometimes, a bottle—or two—of red wine with an old friend can do wonders. Ah Huat was in a similar mood and said, “Screw it all, let’s unscrew a bottle.” So we did.

I told him about what was going on at the Museum. The tensions among staff, the passive-aggressive atmosphere, the lack of initiative—it was disheartening. Day in and day out, I watched a workplace more occupied with blasting YouTube videos or loud radio than fostering creativity. Often, the office was practically empty. It’s sad when one can’t voice concerns simply because one isn't officially part of the staff. I’ve been a squatter there for over ten years—writing my blog, listening to satsangs, curating my thoughts with good music. But I am still an outsider, a ghost in the system.

It’s disheartening to see the Museum—an institution that should be bursting with creativity and inspiration—descending into disuse. MGTF has the potential to become a vibrant learning space, a beacon of culture and education for students and the public alike. But as it stands, it’s becoming a dead weight. Very few people visit. Very little happens. Very little changes.

Sometimes I feel—though I hesitate to generalize—that among civil servants, especially the Malay staff I've encountered, there is a disturbing lack of work ethic. I’ve worked under and alongside people of all races in this country, and I say this not with malice but with painful honesty: too often there is more pride in the position than in the performance. With higher rank comes greater ego, not greater responsibility. The sense of duty and professionalism is missing; many seem to expect payment merely for holding a post, not for fulfilling it.

It took me ten years to get my two children naturalized as Malaysian citizens. One of my nephews—with four children, the eldest now twenty—is still waiting for the same. Bureaucracy is often run by petty tyrants with little compassion, treating people as paper forms instead of human beings. Immigration, the post office, the registry—all are dominated by inefficiency and cold indifference.

I remember the Malays I grew up with—soft-spoken, warm, caring people. Muslims who took their duties seriously and with humility. The postman on his bicycle, mailbag swinging from his handlebars, always with a big smile and a heartfelt assalamualaikum. There was human connection then. People knew each other. There was kindness in service. A simple, “How can I help you?” was the norm—not the angry, dismissive “What do you want?!” we often get today, accompanied by looks that could kill a horse.

Maybe it’s the times. Maybe people are too burdened now, too distracted to notice the small things—like eye contact or a genuine smile. Maybe a smile costs extra these days.

Still, I hold hope. I pray that the Malays will one day rise above this materialistic, self-serving, and self-glorifying phase. I pray we remember the values of our ancestors: to be humane, to care, and to serve not only with professionalism but with heart.

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A moment of fatigue turned into a reflection on culture, duty, and the quiet erosion of kindness. As always, I write not to condemn, but to awaken.