Wednesday, January 31, 2007
savior
Just a sudden revelation that struck me.Savior.
Written at 9:51 AM
0 comments
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
bloggers vs journalists
I was reading Wong Chun Wai's Sunday column about bloggers.Are bloggers and journalists really alike? True...both are similar in the sense that they publish news about events in the country. Yet, while journalists are restricted from publishing certain news, bloggers like Jeff Ooi are free to do so (until he got sued, that is). That is the key difference between the two. Bloggers are not subject to the ruling powers that control journalists from publishing things that are contrary to their interests. Bloggers do not have to worry about getting permits to blog every year, unlike newspapers which are required to renew their permit every year. Between publishing the truth that might piss the government off and keeping my job, of course I would choose the latter. That's where bloggers are so much more free to publish things that mainstream newspapers would otherwise shove in the closet. I'm not saying that bloggers publish the truth, necessarily. They're humans, too, and have their own versions of a story, which may or may not necessarily be true. All I'm saying is that bloggers are necessary for providing alternative versions of a story. Then we, the Malaysian public, can critically evaluate the versions provided (by both mainstream papers and bloggers), and decide for ourselves what's really going on in this country.But political bloggers, as opposed to teenage bloggers who write about their lifestyles and love lives, must realise that they cannot “print and be damned”.
Bloggers and journalists are alike even if the medium is different. They cannot claim that their right of expression has been denied when they are sued.
Many people who have been named in some blogs regard themselves as victims. Lives have been destroyed because of unsubstantiated reports on these blogs. The false news may be forgotten after a certain time but the damage has been done.
Is the government afraid of Malaysians exercising critical thought? They shouldn't be. After all, that's what they're trying to make us do, innit? As expressed through their aims in the National Education Blueprint 2006-2010.
However, just like rumors and gossip, blogs do have the power to unfairly hurt reputations. So, a blogger ought to be ethical enough not to publish untrue things that would destroy someone's reputation. Of course, most rumors have a grain of truth in them. Hence, an ethical blogger should publish both sides of the story, and let the reader judge the subject for themselves.Bloggers must be responsible enough to remove malicious postings from readers, some of whom use false names because they have an axe to grind. Surely, libellous and racist remarks have nothing to do with freedom of expression.
If newspaper editors can refuse to print such letters or e-mail from readers, bloggers should exercise such discretion.
This is my favorite part of the article. Let Malaysians think for themselves, and express what they think. After all, Malaysia belongs to her people, not just to her political leaders.Their blogging has made Malaysian democracy more meaningful although not everyone agrees with their views. They should not be regarded as dissenters because democracy is about tolerance.
They have been bold enough to bring up issues that mainstream newspapers have not done.
It is unfortunate that many Malaysians only look at the political scene in black and white.
It would be meaningless if Malaysians were to agree to everything our political leaders say. We would be doing a great disservice to the country’s leadership if we do not speak up.
Labels: activist
Written at 2:50 AM
0 comments
Sunday, January 28, 2007
poem: Death
Sometimes, fear strikes me with a dagger
sharp as a shard of diamond,
cold as ice
Cast in Death's shadow
as he passes by
with noiseless steps,
not with clanky chains,
Harder to prepare yourself,
to defend yourself with
an armor of air,
warm breath of life
that will reduce his sword
to a child's light sabre.
He had touched me once
with his bone fingers,
cold with slime,
gazed at me with black pits of darkness,
grinned at me like the corpse of a murderer.
I watched him strip flesh
pain so immense...
that screams brought no relief
to the tortured body,
I felt him breathe his rotten breath
upon the mind, soul, spirit,
they choked, struggled, flailed
for escape even as tiny as a keyhole.
I heard him laugh deafening echoes
loud as beating war drums,
unheard by the funeral-suited people
holding black briefcases on the street
in fast-forward motion.
I long to kill Death
but my limbs remain fettered by mortality,
so I can only make a wish
a wish upon a random star
shooting by in cold nonchalance,
that I will not see Death again...
Labels: poetry
Written at 3:32 AM
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Wednesday, January 24, 2007
beautiful blue bruising shoes
I'm supposed to read up stuff on globalization and do a soul-searching assignment on how my adolescence affected the person I am today. Instead, what do I do? I create a Southpark figure and blog about a pair of blue shoes.
And now, the story of a pair of beautiful blue bruising shoes. Earlier in the afternoon today, thanks to those shoes, I fell right in the middle of a crowded mamak place. While wearing a miniskirt at that. And in case anyone's wondering, no, I did not flash anyone. I fell in a sort of half salute, hitting my knee on the floor. Bam! Instead of receiving admiring gazes from the male population, I get a bruise as a result of my conformity to society's beauty ideals.
Yes, I'm a miniskirt-wearing feminist. A woman's worth is a lot more than what she wears. Her garments are an expression of taste, much like how a man's car is an expression of his taste.
So, I thought that a pretty miniskirt would go well with those blue shoes. It did. But I got a bloody bruise because of those hard-to-walk-in shoes. Plus, I had to take a lift with my friend back to my place, instead of taking the bus. If I take the bus, I've to walk quite a distance to my house, which I didn't want to. Not in those shoes! Gender inequality. Sigh...How, you may ask? Most women's fashions restrict women's movement--corsets, high heels, platforms, pumps, wedges, push-up bras, miniskirts, fitting tops etc etc. Compare all those to a loose-fitting shirt and jeans/ khakis which guys usually wear. So, who goes out of the home going places, making social contacts with important people and cutting deals? Men. They don't have to worry about making sure their undies don't flash when they get out of the car, or think of how painful their feet are when shaking the hand of that CEO.
Next question: what am I, as a feminist, doing wearing those restrictive garments and shoes? Simple. Because I like the way they look on me. Why do I think they look nice? Because society tells me they do.
Next time, I'll just screw conformity and choose comfort over style. Anyone wants those shoes?
Labels: personal
Written at 1:16 AM
5 comments
Sunday, January 21, 2007
freedom of speech...or not?
The days are growing darker. I don't mean to sound like a paranoid nut running around shouting that the end of days is near with a gleam of insanity. But, looking at what's been happening--disastrous floods in Johor, killer winds in Europe, greater future destruction in Iraq, the growing conflict between Iran and the United States , and right in our beloved country--NSTP's defamation suit against Jeff Ooi (famous Malaysian blogger). OK, I think I'll stop now. It's getting too depressing listing those things down. There are two sides of the fence regarding Jeff Ooi's case: one side claims that it's a legitimate case while the other calls it an infringement on freedom of speech. Having read Jeff Ooi's various posts about NST, I wouldn't call them defamatory. Judge them for yourself. He basically called NST a profit-making company and labeled it UMNO-controlled. That's about as 'defamatory' as it gets. Whether Jeff Ooi deserves to be sued or not, however, isn't the heart of the matter. What really matters, down the road, is the consequences of this landmark case. Should he win, the online sphere is relatively safe from the intense censorship that pervades this country. Should he lose, Malaysian bloggers will have to start blogging with hesitant fingers. Complete freedom of speech only leads to anarchy. While most activists clamor for freedom of speech, we need to realize that not everything that can be said, should be said. A hatred-driven rhetoric against any particular race or religious group in this country will definitely create unrest. Should freedom of speech be guaranteed at the expense of national security and peace? The peace we live in may just be a superficial covering on top of a soup boiling with hidden hatred and intense dissatisfaction. But, that thin covering still manages to keep us from slaughtering each other for the sake of a supreme race or religion.True freedom exists with boundaries. Having said that though, I believe that the freedom of speech in Malaysia is curbed more for power plays, than for a true worry for national security. And this is precisely what worries me about Jeff Ooi's case. If he loses, the ruling people will gain even more power to solidify their position and destroy any voice of opposition, however small. The blogsphere is one of the only realms left in Malaysia that is relatively untouched by censorship. Jeff Ooi's loss however, would signify an invasion of that realm, thus making tight the ruling powers' grip upon the future of this nation. Knowledge is power. Without knowledge, people become nothing more than mindless robots obeying a single voice with no creative thought whatsoever. Jeff Ooi's loss would mean that a source of information (blogs) that is somewhat equal and free from being manipulated by any major ruling party, will be cut off soon. There will be no more space to express views that could possibly destroy the credibility of the ruling powers. There will be no more space to question the things that are being done to this nation. There will be no more space for intellectual growth.
There will be no more truth.
Labels: activist
Written at 1:47 AM
6 comments
Friday, January 19, 2007
miaow miaow!
More pictures of my beautiful baby! Now you can see her clearer, peering inquisitively at you. That's my room, by the way, in the first pic. A room that I recently moved in with my sister--which is originally my mum's room (the master bedroom). Why the sudden move? It's thanks to my 13-year-old brother who's undergoing a rite of passage, demanding that he be treated a man, dumping his stuffed toys...old relics from childhood, in MY room. My own room used to be somewhat neat. Well, at least, you can see the floor and bedcover. Now, the floor's perpetually covered with clothes while the bed's full of high school paraphernalia. Telling my sis to dump her things on HER side of the bed's no good. But well, I guess I've gotten used to living in a hurricane disaster zone. In the second picture, Zsa Zsa's sitting on my sister's Science textbook on my bed. Yes, she does sleep in my room. Mmm...this year seems to be getting along fine. New lecturers, old lecturers. Open-minded ones, insensitive ones. Shall not mention names...but there was one lecturer who said that children in single parent families are handicapped. Yup, that's the word he used. Handicapped. Go figure. Felt like shoving my academic transcript at him and pointing out my extremely high CGPA. Handicapped, indeed...
Written at 1:11 AM
4 comments
Thursday, January 18, 2007
soul-searching stuff
We were supposed to answer a few questions in my Interactive Psychology class. Some thought-provoking, soul-searching stuff.- What is your main or earliest memory of your father/ mother/ siblings?
- What connections do you see between how it felt to be in your family as a child and how you now feel in various social situations? What speculations do you have concerning the impact your family had then and the effect that these experiences continue to have on your current personality?
- List some of the ego defenses you use and examine how they might serve you better.
But, enough soul-searching. This blog isn't supposed to be filled with mushy warm fuzzy-feeling stuff. It's supposed to be filled with expressions of my activist/feminist side. Bring it on!
Written at 2:11 AM
0 comments
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
my baby Zsa Zsa!
Thought I'd post up some pix of my beautiful lovely baby--Zsa Zsa! Who, unfortunately, seems to have hurt her leg in the past several days. She disappeared for two days, then came back limping. My maid seems to take a savage joy at that...probably because Zsa Zsa has a reputation of jumping on the dining table and ripping the Gardenia bread to pieces. I love my baby Zsa Zsa. :P
Written at 12:14 AM
0 comments
Thursday, January 11, 2007
banned books
The media in Malaysia is rather restricted--I have known that much, due to issues like the furore that occurred when NST published a cartoon regarding the controversy over the Prophet Mohamed caricatures. As a result--it was almost closed down until it published a huge 'unreserved' apology on the front page, and was let off the hook. Then, there's also the Printing Presses and Publications Act 1984 which requires all print media to obtain permits and renew them annually. The Home Affairs minister can restrict or even ban a publication if he considers it to be "prejudicial to national interest". And once his mind's made up, the publication's a goner. It can't appeal in court or do anything whatsoever. Recently, the Internal Security Ministry ripped off an article Jinn--Born of Fire from the Economist magazine in Malaysia. The article was about Muslims in Somalia and Afghanistan who believe in jinns. And some women there apparently have used the services of jinns to find out if their husband will take a second wife (talk about paranoid!) While Muslims acknowledge the existence of jinns, they're prohibited from seeking their services. In another article A child of Bethlehem-No end of history, a two-sentence excerpt about Muslim and Christian women visiting a shrine related to the Virgin Mary was blanked out with black ink.Fine. I can handle all that. But when Internal Security starts banning books, it's starting to tread the fine line of treating Malaysians like children who cannot make intelligent intepretations of what they read, and safeguarding national peace. I don't agree with simply allowing any book whatsoever to be sold here. The pen is indeed mightier than the sword. The only thing required to start turning the wheels of political revolution is a few well-written words. But really, banning books like Spongebob Squarepants just doesn't make any sense! You figure it out. This is the list of books that were restricted from entering JB from Singapore. Most of these books are sex books. Guess they don't want Malaysians to turn into overnight Casanovas and Moulin Rouge courtesans. They don't want us reading about Osama or Mao either. Not to mention books about religion or God. And they really do have something against Salman Rushdie, for some reason. Too bad...I've already read Fury and will soon read Midnight's Children. What I don't get is why they want to ban Spongebob Squarepants! My brother has a theory: he says that Spongebob is too violent because he can take himself apart, eat his own hands etc.
| Well Woman's Sourcebook (Hardcover) |
| Beauty of Yixing Teapots (Hardcover) |
| The Heart of Tantric Sex (Paperback) |
| The missing page (Paperback) |
| No Money, No Honey! A Candid Look at Sex-for-Sale in Singapore |
| The SPG Rides Again |
| Women (Paperback) |
| Fashion Illustration Next (Paperback) |
| "Ransom" by Douglas Chua |
| Knife of Dreams (Wheel of Time (Hardcover)) - Robert Jordan |
| Things a Woman Should Know About Seduction (Paperback) |
| Revenge of the Sarong Party Girl by Jim Aitchison |
| The Private Life of Chairman Mao (Paperback) |
| Company to Company Teacher's Book (Paperback) |
| Poems & Prayers for Children (Hardcover) |
| Read-Aloud Children's Classics |
| 1001 Nights Without Sex: The Curse of the Single Girl |
| Composition (The Photographer's Guide To...) (Paperback) |
| Seduce: 100 Tips to Arouse (Hardcover) |
| Taking Chances (Paperback) |
| "Vogue" Make-up (Paperback) |
| Sexual Intelligence (Hardcover) |
| Filth (Paperback) - Irwing Welsh |
| Al-Qaeda: Casting a Shadow of Terror (Paperback) |
| Practice of Business Statistics (Hardcover) |
| A History of God (Paperback) |
| E-tales: The Best (and Worst) of Internet Humour (Hardcover) |
| Sexual Intelligence (Hardcover) |
| The Official Guide to the Sarong Party Girl |
| Memories of My Melancholy Whores (Hardcover) |
| Sea Sale: SpongeBob Squarepants |
| Counting Adventures Sound Activity Book, by Disney |
| Dora's Fiesta Adventure ActivePoint Book Set! |
| MUSIC FOR SLEEPY BABIES |
| Count On Me (Spongebob Square Pants) |
| The Wiggles Shop Wiggly Jukebox |
| Mao: A Life |
| Anatomy for the Artist: They Dynamics of Human Form |
| Feel: Robbie Williams (Hardcover) |
| Bits, Boobs and Blobs (Paperback) |
| Shalimar the Clown (Hardcover) |
| Atomised (Paperback) |
| Clubland (Paperback) |
| The Dirty Girls Social Club (Paperback) |
| Platform (Paperback) |
| Carolina Moon (Paperback) |
| Being Jordan (Paperback) |
| An Introduction to Islam (Introduction to Religion) |
| Sex Lives of the Famous Gays (Paperback) |
| The Dirty Girl's Joke Book 2: Provocative Puns and Laugh-a-minute Gags: Bk.2 (Paperback) |
| 10 Commandments of Pleasure: Erotic Keys to a Healthy Sexual Life |
| How to Talk to Your Child About Sex: It's Best to Start Early, But It's Never Too Late : a Step-by-Step Guide for Every Age |
| "FHM" True Stories 2 (Paperback) |
| Men ... the Insufferable Sex (Paperback) |
| The New Book of Massage (Paperback) |
| Divine Secrets of the Ya-ya Sisterhood (Paperback) |
| Lip Kisses (Paperback) |
| Lip Service (Paperback) |
| Little Book of the Kama Sutra (Paperback) |
| The Private Life of Chairman Mao (Paperback) |
| The Probability of God: A Simple Calculation That Proves the Ultimate Truth |
| Life on Earth: And Other Pieces (New Cambridge English Course) |
| Sex Lives of the Famous Gays (Paperback) |
| Mars and Venus in the Bedroom: A Guide to Lasting Romance and Passion |
| Snogs, Sex and Soulmates (Paperback) |
| The Malayan Trilogy: "Time for a Tiger", "Enemy in the Blanket", "Beds in the East" (Vintage Classics) |
| Scrapbook (Paperback) |
| Playboy (Paperback) |
| Sex Etiquette (Paperback) |
| The Best of "Drawn and Quarterly" (Paperback) |
| The Poor Bastard (Paperback) |
| It's a Good Life, If You Don't Weaken: A Picture Novella (Paperback) |
| Vernacular Drawings (Hardcover) |
| My New York Diary (Paperback) |
| Clyde Fans: Bk.1 (Hardcover) |
| Bra: A Thousand Years of Style, Support and Seduction (Hardcover) |
| Peoplewatching: The Desmond Morris Guide to Body Language (Paperback) |
| Step Across This Line: Collected Nonfiction 1992-2002 (Hardcover) |
| "Vogue" Beauty (Paperback) |
| Sex,Lies and Stereotypes: Challenging Views of Women, Men, and Relationships (Paperback) |
| Breastfeeding Your Baby: Revised Edition (Paperback) |
| Addicted to Love: The Kate Moss Story (Paperback) |
| Knife of Dreams (Wheel of Time (Paperback)) |
| Bin Laden: The Man Who Declared War On America |
| Dining with Terrorists (Paperback) |
| The Vagina Monologues (Paperback) |
| Midnight's Children (Paperback) |
| The Jaguar Smile: A Nicaraguan Journey (Paperback) |
| Midnight's Children (Everyman's Library Classics) (Hardcover) |
| Fury (Paperback) |
| Fury (Hardcover) |
| Fury (Paperback) |
| Fury (Modern Library) (Paperback) |
| Fury. (Paperback) |
| The Jaguar Smile: A Nicaraguan Journey (Paperback) |
| Midnight's Children (Modern Library (Paperback)) (Paperback) |
| Shame (Paperback) |
| Shame (Paperback) |
| Step Across This Line (Paperback) |
| Salman Rushdie and the Third World: Myths of the Nation (Hardcover) |
| Shalimar the Clown (Hardcover) |
| Step Across This Line: Collected Non-fiction 1992-2002 (Hardcover) |
| Step Across This Line: Collected Nonfiction 1992-2002 |
| Midnight's Children (Paperback) |
| The Swimming-pool Library (Paperback) |
| The Best Sex Positions Ever (Hardcover) |
| Sex in Every City: How to Talk Dirty in Every Language (Paperback) |
| Bali Style (Hardcover) |
| Making Globalization Work (Hardcover) |
Written at 11:59 PM
0 comments
Monday, January 08, 2007
a request for prayer
Thought I would post about this, since this is a matter that is close to my heart. My friend's dad has cancer. I'd appreciate it a lot if anyone who reads this post will say a prayer for him--that God will heal and restore him to complete health, as he is meant to be. And also pray that God will strengthen my friend and carry her through this dark period. I know what it's like having a father dying of cancer. And the darkness that sweeps after death. I pray that she will not experience it.Thank you very much for your prayers.
Written at 9:50 PM
0 comments
work work work
Am I stretching myself too thin again? I'll be teaching 9 hours a week--more than my usual 4.5 hours. Extra cash, of course. Then, there's my abnormal research paper to start serious work on, as I intend to publish it this year. Not to mention start actively searching for internship opportunities, scholarships, good postgrad schools I can apply to for a master's in counseling. Also, writing better fiction pieces and try to get them published in Silverfish, which means lotsa editing work and getting objective critiques. Have sent off my recent story Raped...Or Not? to AWAM. Fingers crossed, the editor will select it to be included in a book that AWAM plans to publish called Young Women Speak Out.Work work work.
Good to be back in business. :-)
Written at 3:16 AM
0 comments
Saturday, January 06, 2007
short story: raped...or not?
Raped...Or Not?
"Could you tell everyone to go away? Please?"
A pleading voice, wet with tears.
Her mother stepped forward, as if she longed to run forward and hug her precious daughter sitting on the bed, face covered by a black curtain of hair. But, she hesitated and turned her back, closing the door behind her quietly.
Eve closed her eyes tight, trying to wrap the painful memories into a black garbage bag and throw it into an imaginary incinerator. But the images and hateful echoes continued to pound her relentlessly. Events backtracking at lightning speed like a tape on rewind. Her friends wearing false masks of concern, offering roses of sympathy embedded with sharp thorns of blame.
"Oh gosh, Eve! Are you all right? I just don't know what to say...he seemed like such a nice guy. Not the sicko type who goes around raping girls."
"Eve, how could this happen to you? Why on earth did you follow him back to his place? You should have figured what a bastard he is!"
"Oh, Eve...I'm so sorry this happened. Just remember that you can always count on me. And please promise me you'll stay away from alcohol. See where drinking landed you!"
The policeman sneering at her with an upturned lip, voice dripping with derision. "What were you doing in his house so late at night, eh? Wearing such a short skirt, too. Just asking for it."
The neighbors staring at her with a mixture of disgust and self-righteousness, as if she deserved the cruel rape--violation of her body, ripping of mind and spirit.
And the worst of all, her own mother joining the rest of the stone-throwing crowd. She had hugged her daughter the moment the story spilled out from her lips. When she composed herself, however, the soft pointed statements flowed in a torrent.
"Eve, I'm not blaming you or anything...but, this could have been avoided--if you only took my advice and not gone to his place alone, after drinking alcohol, at that."
You know how guys are--always thinking with their brain downstairs. You should have prepared yourself. Avoid such situations. Guys can't control themselves. It's the girl who draws the line. But I'm not blaming you. He still shouldn't have done it. And he's going to get it in court. He'll be lucky if he gets near a girl for the next 20 years!"
Another hug. Fiercer this time, with a vengeance.
The images and voices swirled in an unintelligible mess, the echoes getting louder and louder while the mock caring faces melted into jeering monsters. Recognizable monsters that made her feel exposed even in her thick woolen sweater and baggy pants. Lust dripping from their licentious mouths as they stripped her naked with their leers. A strong desire to pull on more clothes swept over her. Anything to stop them from lusting after her. Then, the images washed away in a sea of alcohol.
A familiar scene began to descend. A luxurious leather sofa appeared with two figures: a woman and a man. The woman was resting her head upon the man's head, her hand holding a glass of wine. A gentle peace. Then, the man's body started to clamber atop her. Hands and feet began to kick at him. The glass fell to the floor, staining the carpet red.
"Stop! No! NO! NO!!!" Eve screamed. She grabbed a paperweight and threw it against the mirror, shattering it. Falling to her knees, Eve began to sob. A teardrop fell onto a piece of glass. She picked up the wet shard and pressed it lightly onto her palm, increasing the pressure till blood began to flow. She felt the warm relief of pain wash over. Cleansing and pure. Sharp as the sea breeze. The glass hovered above her wrist. It stayed there.
A small kernel of determination appeared from the wreckage of her spirit. She could not roll over and die. He had to pay for what he did to her. That bastard deserved to rot in jail! The shard of glass flew from her hand. Quickly and neatly, she pulled a tissue from the tissue box and held it against her bleeding palm. Then, she groomed herself, put on sober clothing, and looked in the mirror--a young woman dressed in conservative navy blue, as composed as a rape victim could be, stared back. One would have to look very closely to see the glistening teardrops that clung to her lashes like liquid crystal.
Knocking on the door, Eve waited for her lawyer, Mr. Kumar, to welcome her in. An oldish-looking man with graying hair opened the door and clasped her hands warmly. His office was small; furnished with two chairs and a rather large desk that took up most of the space. Filing cabinets filled the rest of the room, leaving little space for movement. Eve felt slightly claustrophobic, as if the room might crash upon her in a heap of metal and plastic any time soon.
"Do sit down, Eve," he said, beckoning her to a chair.
Taking a notebook and pencil, he sat opposite her. Concern furrowed his bushy eyebrows. "I must warn you that this can be quite traumatic. What I'll do is act the part of the prosecutor. What that means is that I'll be a total bastard and rip your character to pieces. It's almost like being raped all over again. Except this time, it's a lot worse because I'll make you feel as if you deserved every bit of it."
A shadow of fear passed over Eve's face. She spoke with as much muster as she could. "I'm ready."
"Right. Let's begin."
He switched on a tape recorder. "Test...test..."
When he looked at her again, the warm friendly demeanor had disappeared, replaced by a cold steely glint. "What were you doing prior to the rape?"
"I was at Zouk Club, just hanging out with my friends and Rob. Then, my friends left. Rob and I didn't want to say goodbye so soon. So, we decided to go for a drink at his apartment in Tropicana."
"At what time did you enter his place?"
"About 1 am."
"Why would you go to a man's house so late at night?"
"I've been dating him for three months. I didn't see anything wrong with it. It was just for a drink and some chitchat."
"What was your condition when you went to his place?"
"Condition? I'm afraid I don't understand."
"I meant...were you drunk or sober at the time of entrance?"
"I wasn't that drunk. Had a couple of drinks at the club. But, that's it. I was still in control of myself."
"Then, why did you go back to Rob's place with him? Didn't it occur to you that it was not a very wise thing to do?"
"I know this man! Or at least, I thought I did. We were so close to each other! He'd always treated me well before. How was I to know that he'd rape me?!"
"Are you sure that you did not foresee this? Can you tell me for certain that you did not expect to have sex with that man? Why else would you want to go to his place at one in the morning? You just had drinks beforehand. If you'd wanted more drinks, why didn't you just stay at the club with him?"
"Because I just wanted to be alone with him, OK?" Eve said, clenching her fist.
"And why would you want to be alone with him?" the lawyer asked softly. "What do two people usually do alone, together? Hmmm...?"
"I did not want to have sex with him, I swear. All I wanted was just to talk to him, and some other things. I never wanted to go that far with him."
"What happened exactly in his apartment, Miss Chang?"
"We had a few drinks--just a little whiskey and some wine. We were just talking and drinking. Then, he started to kiss me..."
The memories flooded back in a crash of colors. Images of her cuddling up with him, cradled in the comfort of his arms, warmer than the embers of a burning fire. Lights dimmed, glowing softly like the gentle love they shared. He began to kiss her. Passion fueled by alcohol bursting from the intimate locking of lips. Hands roaming over bare shoulders...then wandering towards her breasts. Stop. It was too fast. She did not want it yet. So, she pushed his hands away and started to get up.
Before she could walk even a few steps, she was tackled from behind. Screams of protests rang uselessly in the now dark, sinister apartment.
"No, no..." Eve began sobbing. But the images refused to melt away, filling her mind with a nightmarish vividness.
Strong hands ripping at her thin silk blouse, pushing her miniskirt roughly up to her waist. "No, Rob...please, don't do this..."
Cries received by ears deaf to everything else but the call for the fulfillment of his vicious desires. Pink panties ripped off with such animal hunger. She had tried to get away, push him off. Anything to stop the desecration of her body. But, her limbs failed to exercise the anger and desperation within her, weakened by the toxic alcohol coursing through her body.
The pain, harsh and cruel like the piercing of nails, spread through her loins like wildfire. She was being burned. Ripped apart. Scourged by whips of cruelty. This was not sex. It was violence of the highest order. A murder of the mind, soul, and spirit...
Eve opened her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I never wanted to have sex with him. I did not give him consent. I was raped. It was against my will."
"Are you sure you did not give him consent? Isn't it possible that you could have consented, but was too drunk to remember it?" the lawyer continued, cold-heartedly.
"I know I didn't, all right?" Eve answered, heatedly. "I did not pass out. I know what happened. That bastard raped me!"
"Did you or did you not want to have sexual contact with him?"
"Well, no. Not really..."
"Answer the question, Miss Chang."
"I just wanted to make out. Not to have sex."
"And how much alcohol did you consume?"
"Not that much...maybe several shots of whiskey, vodka. Some wine."
"Were you able to walk steadily in a straight line?"
"No. But I could still control myself!"
"Would you have gone back to his house alone so late at night had you been sober?"
"I...well...no, I guess not."
"What were you wearing?"
"A silk blouse, and...and a miniskirt."
"Would you agree that those garments arouse a normal man?"
"Well, yes...but that doesn't give him any right to..."
"Then, how can you blame a man for his lack of control with such provocative clothing? You say that you did not consent to sex. Yet, all of your actions indicate consent. You wore a miniskirt. You allowed him to kiss and fondle you. You went back alone to his apartment at one in the morning. You consumed a lot of alcohol, knowing full well that it greatly lowers inhibitions. You didn't seem to resist, as you don’t show any noticeable injuries. How can you say you were raped when all signs show that you wanted to have sex?"
Her shoulders sagged, head bowed in defeat. "I didn't," she whispered. "I was raped..."
"Yes. Yes, you were," Mr. Kumar said, in a sudden kind tone. He touched her shoulder briefly. "I know you were, Eve. And it wasn't your fault in any way. You shouldn't be blamed for it any more than a rich man should be blamed for someone robbing him. I was just preparing you for court. This is how nasty they'll be. You need to be ready."
When Eve walked out of the office, she picked up a newspaper from the waiting room. Splashed on the front page was a picture of her beside the picture of another young woman. The headlines read: Clubber and Church-Goer Raped! Scanning through the article, Eve found herself getting angry. The article detailed two rapes: hers and that of another young woman who was raped on her way back from church, by a stranger in a dark alley. Lurid descriptions of Eve's clothing and drunken behavior were emphasized, in contrast to the other woman's many church activities.
Throwing the paper away in disgust, she went to the nearest coffee outlet and ordered a cappuccino. As she sipped her beverage, she overheard snatches of conversation amidst the whirr of the coffee machine, discussing the front-page news.
"Poor girl...such a God-fearing person. She doesn't deserve this."
"How terrible...being raped after church."
"Sicko should be locked up. Going around raping innocent church girls."
"Not her fault. How could she have foreseen this? Been using the same route from church for several months without anything happening."
"Raped? Hah! Drunk and had sex, and she calls it rape? Girls these days..."
"Miniskirt...she's practically asking for it!"
"What else do you expect a normal man to do? Hell, I'd want to have sex too if she came over so late at night."
"Stupid woman. If she didn't wanna have sex, why on earth did she go to his place? She should have expected this!"
On and on the voices went...disparaging her while empathizing with the other. She tried to shut her ears, but the sneers just grew louder. Sneers that turned to curses. Harlot of
Was she really raped? Did she somehow consent to it, without remembering that she did? Eve clutched her head with both hands.
"I was raped," she said, softly. "I was raped. I was raped."
"I WAS RAPED!" she screamed.
Silence. Everyone turned to look at her. Eve opened her eyes, noted the stares with a mixture of fear and hate, grabbed her purse, and ran.
Five years later, the court made its decision. Rob was found not guilty while the man who raped the church-going woman was found guilty. In fact, he was given the maximum imprisonment term and fine.
~
Eve walks slowly among the tombstones, half-covered with weeds and grass. She stops in front of one. The breeze whispers softly among the trees. Eve reflects on the past two years since the eventful court decision.
After the court decision, Eve lay on her bed for days, angry and depressed. Most, including her friends and family, seemed to treat the rape as a non-event. They hardly used the word rape, and referred to the rape as an incident, like a minor scratch on the car bumper. Sometimes, she asked herself: was she wrong for going to her boyfriend's place alone at night, expecting him to respect her all the same and stop when she would say 'No' to sex? The answer came in the dark, sad and true. She was not wrong. But, society thought she was, sticking responsibility on her like blood. No matter how hard she washed her hands, the blood would not disappear.
Occasionally, Eve wondered about the other woman--the church-goer who was raped as well. She imagined the sympathy pouring in like rain. Nightmares about her rapist would haunt her. But unlike Eve, she would be woken in the arms of loved ones, soothing her with comforting voices. Anger at the injustice of it all threatened to consume her--ravage her to ashes of hopelessness and grief. Eve thought she had lost the war. Now, looking back, she realized that she had only lost the battle. From the wells of her despair emerged a small, strong voice within her.
"Get up."
Eve listened. The darkness that threatened to overwhelm her retreated at the sound of her desperate prayers. Her friends and family generally left her to continue living like normal. Only Mr. Kumar had a semblance of what she was facing, and was always there to lend a sympathetic shoulder and a sincere listening ear. Soon, she became brave enough to face the world once more.
A few months later, Eve set up a support group for date rape survivors. The support group soon grew, attracting hundreds of women. Mr. Kumar was an invaluable hand, providing legal services to the women pro bono. They began lobbying for a reform in the legal process, trying to shift the burden of proof from the victim to the accused. They also constantly raised awareness about the realities of date rape.
Despite their intense efforts however, the mentality of Malaysian society towards rape remained the same. The victim's dress was always mentioned in newspapers while the courts still placed the burden of proof upon the victim. Many still thought that victims held some responsibility for rape. Date rape was rarely mentioned in newspapers, perpetuating the stereotype that rapists were strangers to victims. Convictions were low and most rapes went unreported. The worst blow for Eve was when Mr. Kumar died. For a moment, she felt truly alone.
"They're not listening, Kumar," she whispers as she kneels in front of the engraved tombstone. "They hear, but they do not listen. They have eyes, but they do not see."
Eve kisses a white rose she holds in her hand, and places it on Mr. Kumar's grave. The leaves of the surrounding trees rustle as she gets up and walks away.
Written at 3:07 AM
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blog reopened!
I hereby announce the reopening of my blog.Cheers!
It's been lying at the back of the dusty closet for too long. Way too long...so, have decided to revive this blog. Write more--be it fiction, critiques on Malaysian issues, human rights, feminism etc etc etc.
The New Year started off very unexpectedly. Took me quite by surprise...a full new experience. Mmm...is it a symbol of things to come? I love surprises. Will this year be as eventful as the last? Only time will tell.
For now, I'm just enjoying my last two days before I start classes again. Shall be taking World Religion and History of Western Civilization. Just watched the miniseries: Rise of Hitler. Fascinating movie. It paints the human side of Hitler, though it is careful not to glorify him at the same time. Gets me in the right mood to study history. Although I have always abhorred history, I realize now that it is quite a fascinating subject to study. What we're really studying is tales of old...stories that humans tell to their offspring. Stories that shape their minds, who in turn craft their own stories. Are we studying fact? Or myth? Some might argue for objective truth--that there really was a war that happened. End of story. Questions of what, where, and how are perhaps easier to answer. But when it comes to why, or even who--that's when the storyteller's (or history writer) personal motivations bleed into the telling of the story.
Religion would be another interesting subject. At this point, I know that Jesus Christ is the one true God. Despite the many apparent contradictions and paradoxes in the Bible, nothing will ever shake me from my conviction. Will that bias my study of other religions? Most probably. But then, I'm not studying religion to seek the truth--since I already know what the truth is. My interest in other religions is largely academic. Would be very interesting to find out what is it about religion (Christianity and Islam in particular) that drive them to the point of self-sacrifice rather than deny their God. What fire does religion consume her followers with such passion that they're willing to kill others to enlighten them with the 'truth'?
