Category Archives: Current affairs

In support of National Assessment Plan for Literacy and Numeracy (NAPLAN)

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I’m well aware I’m in the minority of parents who welcome today’s NAPLAN test. The majority of parents tremble at the prospect; some have openly denounced NAPLAN as nothing more than an exercise aimed at rating teacher’s performances to justify school funding and wage increases. Some say it unduly exposes children in Years 3, 5, 7 and 9 to stress – that life skills cannot be reliably measured using a series of standardised tests.

To them I say: would you rather your child’s first test be in Year 12? Or are you expecting them to be admitted into the University or Tafe of their choice based on a bunch of “feel-good” qualities that only you, as their parent, know of?

Some assert periodic assessment by the class teacher is enough to determine a child’s grasp of the “need-to-knows.” Bah! How do you know it is? I have a lovely tale for you.

There are 3 Year 3 classes in Amanda’s school. Since I get around quite a bit, I know parents whose kids are in the classes adjacent to Amanda’s. Those in the class next to mine have voiced their anxiety over their children not knowing how to tell the time, or gauge probability or even simple things like their 3 times table. One particularly concerned parent even went so far as to request a meeting with the class teacher, who assured her everything is fine. “The kids are only in Year 3,” she said.

“She might say that, but my kid doesn’t even know Year 2 work,” said the parent to me.

“And when your kid gets to Year 4, she won’t know Year 2 or 3 work either,” I said.

Those parents have every reason to fear NAPLAN and every reason to want to blame the system, citing GONSKI’s findings as reason for their child’s underperformance. If you ask me, by doing so, they take on the “poor me” victim mentality and abnegate their sacred duties as parents. But that’s just me.

Meanwhile, those in Amanda’s class are not just ready for NAPLAN, they’re actually looking forward to it. As I told Amanda when we started preparing back in January, “You will silently thank me when you see the NAPLAN test. Unlike the others, you will have no fear. You will cruise through it without breaking a sweat.”

Did Amanda willingly prepare for NAPLAN with me?

At first I had to threaten her, withhold privileges and offer up rewards in exchange for compliance but the day she aced a practise maths test, as the only one in her class (and I suspect all 3 classes) to get a perfect score, she came to me and said, “Thank you mama. You were right. I have nothing to fear now.”

Oh, and in case you think tests like NAPLAN only produce book-smart children, think again. Preparing for NAPLAN has taught Amanda discipline, perseverance, the need to read and understand a question before tackling it, it has primed her to think critically, to see how what she knows can be extrapolated to fit different scenarios.

Unlike in Asia, where it is all about memorising tables or facts, the Australia education system puts emphasis on knowledge application. Take maths for instance. Due to Mrs B and Mrs D’s stellar teaching of the current curriculum, Amanda can not only tell time but tell me how many hours and minutes there are until a particular time. She can convert hours into minutes and back into hours, if need be. Or divide a bag of 64 cookies among 4 people with ease. She can tell me how much change I should get from $10 if items purchased are $1.50 and $2.70. Or the probability that the items I’ve bought are one kind or another. She knows that ½ can be expressed as 2/4, 3/6, 4/8, 8/16 and an infinite number of fractions, and that they all mean exactly the same thing.

When it comes to English, she can easily write 2 to 3 pages in support of a particular argument, with a decent introduction, ending and 3 points in between. She can spot misspelled words, faulty grammar, provide correct punctuation. She comprehends syntax and semantics. What more can I, as the parent of an 8 year old, Year 3 student, ask for?

Since you don’t know my child, you may ask me, “How does all this help foster creativity? Independent thinking?”

I will answer you, “Look at that wonderful house you live in. Would you still be happy to live in it if it wasn’t built to safety standards? What are safety standards but a bunch of numbers calculated based on size of dwelling and strength of materials used? Yet, those numbers are necessary, aren’t they? Regardless of how wonderful the building looks, how eco-friendly the design is, how well it blends in with the environment, you wouldn’t want to live there for a second if you couldn’t be sure that the thing will hold its form without collapsing on you.”

“Same goes for the bridge you drove across this morning on your way to work. Or the medicines you took with your morning coffee. You want quantifiable facts in support of what you consume, because “feel-good” based on nothing solid is simply a con.”

The same, dear readers, goes for education. You want to be dead certain your child is on track for his or her Year; not just based on your personal bias because that’s playing a very dangerous game with your child’s future. He or she will not thank you when failing to get into the course or university of their choice. Of course, if you’ve been playing the anti-establishment, anti-system, anti-convention game so far, you can continue to do so by blaming the system, the establishment, convention and everyone around you.

However, since the dye has yet to be cast, I urge you to cast your view towards wider society where progress is made by mastering and building on the basics. Even if your child were to be as creative a person as Lady Gaga, for whom neither maths nor English is necessary, aren’t you the least bit concerned that he or she might be taken for a ride by his or her accountant or manager? Think about your various criticism’s of NAPLAN and broaden your perspective to take in ALL of your child’s future. You’ll realise that if you embrace orthodox schooling, embrace regular attendance, embrace standardised testing, and help your child prepare for these challenges, you have nothing to lose but everything to gain, in the form of a well-educated, well-rounded child.

Two sides to socialism (aka “If you have 2 cows, can I have 1?”)

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I’ll tell you 2 stories, both true. I once asked a friend if she would ever return to live in Malaysia. She said, “Why ever do that? Australia gives me so many benefits.”

At the time, this wonderful government was giving her both parenting payments and rent assistance. This came to about $1100 + a month. Today, she still receives the same payments, but gets around $1250 a month. The school kids bonus and any free money going around is extra. She also has a health care card, which subsidises the costs of medical consultation, medication, utilities and public transport.

To her credit, she was able to feed her family of 4 adults and 1 child from Monday to Friday on only $50 a week, whilst on weekends, she’d eat out. From her, I learnt quite a number of penny-pinching tricks (good ones too) so  in return, using what I’d gleaned from faithfully reading Money Magazine, I gave her some layman’s financial advice.

“Lose the credit card debt,” I told her. “Your credit card charges around 17% in interest. How long will it take you to pay off what you owe? What you’ve bought on the cards aren’t even income-generating assets and if they were, I wouldn’t bankroll them with cards if I were you.”

She wouldn’t listen and the debt kept piling up. Instead, she confessed to spending up to $400 a month on herself, my then-home and personal belongings serving as a real-life “Pin-interest” with which to decorate her own home. Using her first baby bonus she bought an old car with a 5-year loan attached, and with her next baby bonus, she took the family back to Malaysia for a month-long holiday. After that, she brought them back another 2 times, an average of once every two years.

“Why don’t you put the children in childcare and get a job to help out? At your level of wages, the taxes are negligible,” I advised.

You might say the same thing of me but there is no point I work outside the home since my husband already pays the taxes he does. I’ll have you know: for him to work those hours to pay these taxes, I do the bulk of all home duties and child rearing. In return, I receive no parenting payments, no rent assistance, no school kids bonus, and if I were to have another child, no baby bonus either. Since I’m out of the labour force, I’m also ineligible for the paid maternity scheme, single, childless folks Australia-wide have been seeing red over.

People often preach to me the value of work-life balance, of spending time with the family, but no one acknowledges that my husband is not just keeping me at home, but other mothers too. My friend’s husband works a regular 40-hour week. Mine works double that. Until last year, HRH was upgrading his skills (to pay even more tax in the future) so he didn’t have much time for us when not working.

Anyhow, a family member of hers told me, “She wants what you have, to be taken care of by a man, but married someone who can’t even care for himself.”

“What are you going to do in the event something happens to your husband? How much does his work insurance pay?”

“Sixty thousand.”

“That’s not enough to bring up children,” I said, out of concern. “What more with outstanding credit card bills.”

I tried to get her to put her finances in order and aim for self-sufficiency but that ultimately put a strain on our friendship. The way she sees it, I’m a FAT CAT because I live a much better life than her. She doesn’t see the sacrifices, the years of toil.

The flip side of the coin is story number 2. This other friend is like HRH, a surgeon. He isn’t HRH, because my stupid HRH is too much of a socialist, plus he always likes to take the opposing side just to rile me up. He says I look cute when pissed off.

Let’s return to story number 2. This conversation took place roughly a year ago, in my house.

“The country is heading down the drain under this government,” said this other friend.

“Why would you say that?” I asked.

“The government penalises you for working hard. People all point to me and say I’m rich and use that as an excuse to take my hard-earned money, but don’t see the 20 years I’ve put in to get to where I am. I had to work very hard to get into medicine, then very hard to get into surgical training, then very hard to stay in surgical training, then very hard to exit surgical training, then very hard to establish myself… when I could have skipped university, got myself drunk every night, found some interesting hobbies and gone on the dole.”

The truth is it doesn’t pay to be responsible.

We, stupid people, have mortgages, body corporate and council rates to pay (so we can fund our own old age), a flood levy to foot (so we can afford to clean up after another flood), the carbon tax to bear (God knows what’s that about), medibank levy and SURCHARGE taken before we even see a cent  of our wages (now no longer offset completely by the taking up of private health cover), private health insurance  to cough up (to reduce the strain on the public health system), flood insurance to protect buildings (to nullify dependence on public funds collected through the flood levy), and a raft of personal insurance policies (to prevent dependence on the government in the event of being sued, falling ill or being struck with disability) and FOR ALL THAT, we’re labelled SELFISH FAT CATS and targeted every time the public coffers run short.

“In hindsight, option 2 probably seems much better,” I said. “The interesting part is you have to provide care for the very people who accuse you of being a FAT CAT and you have to PAY for their care through taxes and various levies. And, none of them will ever hesitate to sue you, because you’re a FAT CAT and they are the “little guys.”

“That’s true.”

“Did HRH ever tell you about one of his consultants? He asked the guy why he drives such an old car. The consultant said he once treated someone, who subsequently tried to sue him, even though everything went well surgically, because the latter simply needed the money. ‘It’s not personal, doc,’ he said as he slapped him with a lawsuit.”

I’m not saying that all patients are ungrateful bogans. Many are very considerate and appreciative folk who bring sushi and fruits and whatever else they sell, as gifts, when coming for consults. But you will encounter those who think you should be taken to the cleaners simply because you are doing better than they are. You will also encounter many who feel ENTITLED to welfare payments because Australia is a supposedly rich nation and everyone, save them, is OBLIGED to help the underprivileged.

At any rate, I don’t see the need for more levies or more taxes. If, in managing the country’s finances, the government were even half as good as a regular housewife is at managing the family budget, they won’t have to keep slapping tax payers with more levies to fund projects.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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7 ways to change Malaysia (apart from voting in GE13)

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Presented with the opportunity, we must certainly exercise our constitutional right and privilege to vote. However, there are others things that we, as citizen Joes and Janes, can do to combat rampant corruption, escalating crime, rising living costs and declining education standards.

Based in Australia, where people are not only encouraged to speak up but to get actively involved in community affairs, I’ve come to view societal participation of the individual as key to effecting change.

I’m not suggesting that these simple measures will wipe out RM500billion worth of national debt or narrow the divide between the super rich and hardcore poor, but if everyone adopts them, change will be imminent, even if at times, very hard won.

1)  Stop paying bribes.

This came to me when a friend said, “Even if there is a change of government, so what? There will always be corruption because we’ll choose to pay coffee money instead of receiving a summons from a traffic officer.”

If you feel corruption is endemic in society, then don’t be part of it. You can’t pay your way out of traffic infringements and around the bends in the law and then suddenly expect people to be honest mid-way through the food chain or at the top. If you want corruption gone, work within the framework of the law. Pay your summons; refuse to grease wheels to make them turn in your favour. If enough people put their hands back in their pockets, the bribe-taking folks will soon get the message they’ve to ask proper authorities for higher wages instead of moonlighting as toll collectors.

2)  Join your local neighbourhood watch (rukun tetanga). Know your neighbours. Watch out for each other.

Yes, it’s a dog eat dog world, but we can’t prosper, even if we can survive, alone. When you are friendly with the neighbours, they’ll watch your house for you and you for them. Someone will take in the mail when you are not around so you don’t alert the robbers to your absence. Someone will water the plants for you or feed the cat, so you won’t signal to low lives, “I’m not home. Come and rob me!”

By joining the neighbourhood watch and knowing your neighbours, you’ll know the faces that belong in your neighbourhood and those that don’t. Those that don’t, if not neighbour’s guests, are most likely thieves, robbers or similar scumbags.

3)  Call the police if you see suspicious behaviour.

This is common sense and they actually teach this in school, but how many pick up the phone if they see something untoward happening in the house next door? The old Chinese will say, “Less one problem is better than more one problem. Mind your own business.” Well, it will become your business sooner or later if you do nothing about it. I’m not asking you to be a vigilante or a cape and mask-wearing Marvel Comic Book hero; I’m asking you to exercise your civic duty as a concerned citizen. Pick up your handphone to record suspicious sightings when you are out and about to show to the police. Jot down car license plates of strange vehicles rounding your neighbourhood – they’re probably scoping out which house or person to rob. Police need tangible leads to work on. Be the eyes and ears that keep your area safe.

4)  Volunteer your time. Form Groups. Get involved.

Do you want to have greater say in your child’s education? Or perhaps have ideas to improve the education system? Apart from writing in to the papers to complain about the current system, ask your child’s school if you can spend some time volunteering in class. Get to know the current curriculum first, before tearing it down. If you still have reservations, join action groups to agitate the government for change. There is power in numbers. If none exists, consider forming your own group. Don’t have the time? Then you don’t have the time to complain either. Don’t be a backseat driver. Do something about your own complaints.

5)  Stamp out the money culture.

Sure, money makes the world go round, but did you know that overt materialism is also responsible for deforestation, poor air quality, poor water quality, corruption, blasé attitudes among the civil service…the list is pretty endless. And do you know why this is so? When everyone is focused on materialism, no one thinks that the new toys of today might end up in landfills of tomorrow, or the ink used to dye the perfect, must-have, pair of blue jeans might be polluting the drinking water of an impoverished riverside community somewhere…The desire for more money, more goods, just more of everything manifests as a money grab by everyone from the trash collector who demands his New Year ang pow all the way to the highest echelons of society who plunder the national coffers.

Ask yourself: are you contributing to the problem through conspicuous consumption?  

6) Vote with your feet.

Often, the price of essentials like flour, sugar, oil and salt, might go up a paltry couple of cents per litre or kilogram, but shopkeepers and restaurateurs see this as an excuse to raise prices across the board. If you think  a price hike is unjustified then don’t fuel demand. Use less, walk away, or find a substitute. If enough people react to price hikes by turning away, prices will come down to reflect a downturn in demand.

Similarly, there is no reason to tolerate shoddy treatment from your service providers or vendors. If they don’t value your business, take yours elsewhere.

How about rising petrol and toll costs? Car pool. It’d also help with the congestion on the road and protect you from would-be muggers who target drivers of single occupant vehicles.

7)  Enrol your child in a national type school.

As Chinese schools revert from teaching science and maths in English to Mandarin, another friend lamented the potential divide between those Chinese-educated and other Malaysians. As she rightly pointed out, people need language to communicate so how does only speaking a language not spoken by others, help national unity?

Even non-Chinese educated Chinese think and act differently to Chinese-educated Chinese. There may be a growing number of non-Chinese attending Chinese schools but they are still a minority. Unless Chinese schools halt the decision to return to teaching science and maths in Mandarin, I’d suggest you send your children to national type schools where they have better chance of picking up decent English and the official language of the country, Malay. Like it or not, Malay is the language used at all levels of government and their inability to read, write or express themselves adequately in the language won’t just make them aliens on home soil but also make them vulnerable to fraudsters who capitalise on this deficiency.

The bottom line is if you want a more caring, safer society, you are going to have to become involved. You are going to have to take a stand against corruption at all levels, not just the fat cats at the top of the tree. You are going to have to make yourself heard and visible somehow. If you keep saying, “I don’t want to get involved”, “It’s not my problem”, “I don’t want to court problems” then you have no one to blame for society’s decline but yourself.

P/s Do remember to vote on 5th May!

Dear Future Government of Malaysia.

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Dear Future Government of Malaysia,

I have no interest in politics or politicians. However, since Malaysia’s General Election is once more upon us, I see it fit, as a proud, if absent, daughter of the country, to share with you the average Malaysian’s dream for our beloved country.

Many might contend I am the wrong person to speak for the average Malaysian, since I live abroad, and have done so for close to 15 years, but believe you me, the human heart knows neither reason nor geography. Although Australia has graciously housed my family over the years, affording me the freedom of speech and expression you see here, a large part of me still hankers for the familiarity of roots, of home.

It’s true what they say about childhood: it’s the time of our lives when foundations are laid. In my childhood, I played hopscotch and  ”five stones” under trees raining red saga seeds, lost a couple of baby teeth munching on leathery keropok lekor, and every monsoon season, especially on the East Coast where I lived for 3 years, wondered if the Malay boys kicking football in the rain were going to catch anything more than a cold.

Thanks to the national-type schools I attended, I made many friends of different races who I’ve kept in contact with until today. My Malay friends in particular, are often surprised I not only still speak Malay but do so rather well, choosing to do so when communicating with them, even though we can all speak English. Given the persecutory policies that led to my being based in Australia and the generally tense state of affairs between Chinese and Malays, I’m glad our friendships have survived time and distance. It’s testament to the fact that regardless of race or religion, Malaysians have more in common with each other than we do with anyone else.

Outside of Malaysia, or at least in cyberspace, away from the racial polemics typifying Malaysia’s social and political landscape, we get on like a house on fire, united by concern over the same issues: increasing costs of living, declining personal safety, affordability of education for our young, welfare for the old and infirm. Over here, we’re all minorities, indistinguishable by the local population from one another. On the world stage, we are one among many Asian nations – something I hope voters think about when they arrive at the polling booths this 5th of May, for Malaysia’s General Election. Regardless of race or religion, we are all bound for the same destination. As a people, we can put our racial and religious differences aside and concentrate on the important issues at hand, or we can bend to the will of those who will use our differences against us and go backwards.

It is my fervent wish that one day, when I speak of Malaysia, I won’t have to qualify my statement with, “But I’m Chinese,” (actually, I’m Peranakan) or give my audience a synopsis of the many issues hindering our progress from third world nation to first. I want you, the future government of Malaysia, elected with the mandate of the people this General Election, to address these issues without resorting to blame or racial polemics. Restore the people’s faith in you. Roll up your sleeves and get the job done. Make good on your election promises, whatever they are. Let the peoples of other nations, who achieved independence when we did, see us as equals, worthy of their respect and (positive) attention.

Thank you.

 

 

 

 

Q & A with a Humanist.

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The firestorm of comments on By Estella Dot Com’s facebook page resulting from yesterday’s post has caused me to think critically about the objectives of my writing. Summarily, one reader, SL,  accused me of propagating nonsense because worse things happen to cows. SL claims to be an animal rights advocate. I told her I love animals but am not their champion. Unlike her, I haven’t given up on HUMANITY; I believe much harmony can be achieved across the mosaic of races that make up the face of humanity through OPEN and HONEST dialogue. This is what www.byestella.com is all about. This is what I am about. I write FOR people interested in people.

For once I will be both interviewee and interviewer. I conduct many impromptu interviews to write the stories I do, but it’s time I sat in the hot seat. Based on my heated exchange with SL, I feel the questions below need answering:

1) So why is your subject matter humans? Why not animals?

Obviously I am human. I embrace every aspect of being human – be it challenges of  finding fulfilment and overcoming frustrations, or making myself heard amongst a din of voices.  My special interest is human adaptation and environmental transplantation. Put simply: I’m a migrant from a long line of migrants. I want to know how people like myself can make an alien environment, home.

2) You write about home in many of your stories. Do you not think some might say your writings are based entirely on your own experiences?

They most certainly are based on my own experiences. All literary works are, to a large extent, biographical. The difference with a blog is that I openly and publicly stake an ownership to all opinions expressed. I make myself a lightning rod to public opinion instead of hiding behind a facade of made-up characters.

3) Wouldn’t it be better to lead a QUIET content life since you have THE MEANS to do so?

I believe privilege entails certain responsibilities. Having been raised in an environment in which racism is rife, and discovering ethnic and cultural heritage through unusual means as an adult, issues relating to the discrimination of people based on skincolour really irk me. For better or worse, multi-culturalism is the way of the future. To know what sort of a future this is, it doesn’t help to bury our heads in the sand and pretend there are no issues arising from the mingling of people. There are issues and there will always be.

Here’s a quote by Martin Niemöller which expresses most aptly why I speak out:

“First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a communist;
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a socialist;
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a trade unionist;
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
because I was not a Jew;
Then they came for me—
and there was no one left to speak out for me.”

4) But aren’t these generalisations though? Why can’t people all just get along?

Individuals may be as infinitely varied as the nuances of shades on a colour wheel, but in groups of people with the same background and upbringing, certain observable characteristics emerge. Hence when people tell me my observations are generalisations, I respond by telling them that generalisations are so called because they apply to an identifiable group of people. Are we all 100% different from each other? No. But the amount of difference is enough to cause deep-seated mistrust and make for testy relationships.

5) And you believe speaking about racial issues to be the key to overcoming that?

Certainly peaceful co-existence cannot exist in a vacuum of communication. For us to empathise with someone very different from ourselves, we must first understand them, and we cannot understand them unless there is dialogue. Many Asians are not in the habit of speaking out or up for themselves. Through my writings, I allow the western reader to know what and who we are. I’ve been told I give my fellow Asians abroad a sense of community; it’s a bond forged through the shared experience of being a perpetual visitor in someone else’s land.

6) Why do you say you’re a visitor? Aren’t you already home?

I once considered Malaysia my home but I was often told to “balik tong san” (go back to China) even though my family has been there since the days of Hang Li Po, the 1500s. I consider Australia my home, but as recently as yesterday, was told by SL, a white Australian, preaching tolerance and harmony, I can “go back to where I came from” if unhappy with the country. I’m happy with Australia; just unhappy with NAIVE, UTOPIAN, HYPOCRITES.

I’d like to point out to SL and others like her I have just as much a right to be here as you do.  Australia is a nation of migrants, built on the blood, sweat and tears of migrants. The only people who can claim ANCESTRAL ownership are the aboriginals.

7) But does racism exist in Australia? Why tar everyone with the same brush?

I’d ask you to trust me on this, but you don’t have to. Here’s an ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation) interview with prominent Sydney neurosurgeon, Charlie Teo, who touched on racism in his 2012 Australia Day address. Here’s his interview with the Herald Sun, claiming racism is very much alive in Australia:

Here’s the tail-end of a recent racial rant by a white person in Sydney captured on video. NO bystanders stepped in to stop his verbal attack on a group of Asian tourists. Here’s an article on the “subterranean” nature of racism in Australia. The title says it all: Noisy bigots drown out silent bias. The author includes some interesting statistics on the matter.

The fact is racism is everywhere because people allow their ignorance of those different to themselves to dictate their behaviour. To say ANIMALS have it worse and we should just disregard issues arising from the meshing of peoples and cultures is to say that doctors shouldn’t save people because we are all going to die anyway.

8) Do you just write about racism or can I expect to read about other issues on www.byestella.com?

I write human life stories with a significant cultural bent to them. If you trawl through my over 200 posts, you’ll see I often write about the clash between East and West. It’s NOT all about racism, but about DIFFERENCE. Why this particular theme?

Difference feels like sand in your shoes. You want to get rid of the irritation because it keeps rubbing against you, but human difference is something that cannot be eradicated, only managed. Wherever you go, you are going to come across differences arising from race and culture. There are few certainties in life but that is a given. Those differences will only become more pronounced with increased globalisation, and feel more personal, with intermarriage and subsequent reproduction.

9) What is your ultimate aim for www.byestella.com?

It is perhaps overreaching for me to say this but I’d like to leave my daughter, Amanda, a more racially tolerant world. I’d like my readers to go away knowing more about “others” or at least “people like me” than when they first happened upon my blog. I’d also like for them to pick up on that thread of humanism running through stories, to view similarity in people through the lense of difference. 

Should we educate girls even if some just end up housewives?

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A much younger cousin of mine was going to attend Melbourne University. To my surprise, she chose instead to study at a local college in Malaysia, even though her parents can well afford to send her to Melbourne University. Because this is the age of facebook and myspace, and because she was, quite literally, in diapers when I last saw her, I asked her publicly why the change of heart.  She explained she’s still going to Melbourne University, except instead of going there directly, going to have her credits transferred over, which to my knowledge is impossible as Melbourne University does not admit transfer students into its programmes, unless the university transferred from belongs to the prestigious Group of 8.

An older cousin responded to my remark, saying, “Perhaps she’s being considerate of her parents.”

That may be true because for a Malaysian, it costs on average RM300 k for a 3 year arts or commerce degree, RM650 k for  4 year engineering degree and well over RM1 million for a  5 year medical degree in Australia. To many, that’s an amount saved over a lifetime.

“But she’s an only child,” came my reply. “Her parents can afford it.”

Besides, it’s not like we can take that money to see Gow Wong Yeh,  Lord of the Underworld. We’ve got to spend it somehow and why not on our children’s education, if our own retirement is assured?

“Not everyone is so ambitious.” He cited one of his friends who became a housewife straight after earning her engineering degree, which to me implied her education was a waste. 

As anyone of you will know, he might as well be referring to me. I make no bones about it: I’m an educated woman who stays home. I’m friends with other educated women who also stay home. In today’s very expensive world, most women have to work but we are a very fortunate exception. We are John Howard’s “Doctors’ Wives” - that demographic of EDUCATED, OPINIONATED  women who swept Australia’s second longest serving Prime Minister into power and kept him there for 11 years 267 days.

I said, “Just because a woman goes on to become a housewife doesn’t mean her education’s wasted or is less ambitious than someone who works full time. Look at our Rosmah. Would you not say she’s a very ambitious woman? Yet her official designation is as the wife of our PM. Now that is surely a very powerful position, perhaps best appreciated by someone with a good education and plenty of ambition. On a less grandiose scale, there’s me, for example. My fellow surgeons and doctors wives are all university graduates. Some have multiple degrees to their name. Yet, most of us choose to be supportive spouses by putting our own careers on hold. Are we any less ambitious? Is our education wasted just because we don’t earn a wage? I don’t think so. Socially, when you are of a particular level, you’ll find that the wives of your peers also tend to be of that level. As a woman, if I were to be inadequately educated I’d feel very small beside the spouses of my husband’s counterparts.”

It isn’t just functions and outings you’ll be seeing your spouse’s colleagues’ wives at, members of the same profession, for some mysterious reason, all tend to live in the same area and send their children to the same schools. They visit the same supermarkets, dine at the same restaurants, go on the same type of holidays. Think of all these highly educated, very opinionated women talking to each other. One tries to engage me in talk about state and national politics every time I enter my local health food store.  Another has just introduced the concept of volunteering to children in Amanda’s school.

Unconnected to this conversation between cousins, a friend of mine said, “In Malaysia, they see the raising of children as the work of Indonesian maids, babysitters and other family members. When I went to the market, people were surprised to see me tagging my children along. Many children there don’t know their mothers. Their mother is that Indonesian lady who swaddles them, wipes their runny noses…cares for them.”

This explains why Malaysians, indeed most Asians, are of the opinion that educating a girl just to be a housewife is a waste. It’s a waste because someone uneducated can do the same job. But ask yourself this: is the scope of housewife-ing limited to domestic drudgery? Why then do working mothers want to leave their children with maids who speak English or send them to childcare centres where they will receive appropriate developmental support?

When you educate a girl, future housewife or Prime Minister, you are educating an entire family. You are not just educating 1 generation, but many generations to come, for the effect of education is not just residual but cumulative. Take Wang Leehom’s paternal grandmother for example: a 90 something year old university graduate who helps her famous grandson pen those love songs I adore. Was her education a waste? To hint at a wasted education just because a woman has no career to show for it is to belittle our contribution to our families and the communities we live in and to underestimate the REAL value of women everywhere, doctors’ wives or not.

 

Stop the shooting of strays, support Noah’s Ark (NANAS).

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A quick question: would you help or shoot a homeless person? This seems like a no-brainer, the answer obvious even to the most simple-minded among us, but why is it all right then to shoot stray dogs like they do in Malaysia?

Given what happened to my mother yesterday – she was knocked to the ground by 2 of the 20 strays she regularly feeds, now requiring surgery to repair a broken leg – you might think that I’d argue for the culling of stray dogs. But such villainy couldn’t be further from my mind for my mother brought me up believing that, “people who are incapable of loving animals are incapable of loving other human beings.”

When asked about the incident with the strays, my mother said, “It’s NOT their fault. I don’t blame them. I’d already fed them in the morning but they were so excited to see me coming home that they charged down the road after me.”

The 2 dogs involved – “young men” my mother called them – were rough-housing with each other and being dogs, didn’t understand that you have to be careful around brittled-boned old ladies. She believes it wasn’t their intention to hurt her.

“I think they knew they did something wrong because they came around after that and put their heads down low near the gate, as if to say sorry,” she said.

As for informing family, she said, “Don’t tell them. They’ll say (in Cantonese) ‘Good deeds have no good reward.’ They don’t love dogs the way I do. Those strays give me a lot of joy.”

She buys 20 kg bags of Science Diet dog food from her vet, a supporter of Noah’s Ark, a sanctuary for strays started by Raymund Wee in Singapore in 1995, which has since relocated to Pekan Nanas in Johor, Malaysia, to feed what she calls her, “four-legged god sons and god daughters.”

Not all are strays. Some belong to her neighbours; people who neither feed, neuter, de-worm or buy dog licenses to keep their dogs. Unfortunately there are many such people out there who claim to love animals, their pets at any rate, but deem the paltry yearly license-fee that will keep their dogs safe from council-appointed dog shooters, unnecessary.

Noah Ark’s has been lobbying the government of Malaysia to amend its laws on stray dogs. As already mentioned, under prevailing legislation, all dogs spotted without licenses are shot dead by council workers appointed to carry out the gruesome task. In Australia, strays are rounded up and sent to the RSPCA where they will be cleaned, fed, spayed, and put up for adoption; putting down an animal only being a last resort.

So the next time a family member or a friend wants to get a pet, ask them, “How about a stray dog?”

Strays may have already passed the “cute stage” but so do a lot of human beings and we don’t shoot them! They make more loyal, devoted, easy-to-care-for pets than thousands of dollars to buy and maintain pedigrees, some of which still end up on the road when their owners tire of them. Many strays make excellent guard dogs and almost none are choosy about their food (more than you can say for human beings).

If forking out for a pedigree, ask yourself, “Will I ALWAYS care for this animal?”

If there is a chance that the answer may be No, don’t risk allowing another dog to end up on the road as certain death awaits it at the hands of dog shooters. To support the provision of a humane retirement for strays – cats, dogs and the rest of Old Macdonald’s farm – please make a donation to Noah’s Ark. Noah’s Ark also welcomes the sponsorship of individual animals in their care.

P/s Noah’s Ark didn’t ask me to write this and no, I haven’t received money to do so.

 

 

 

My Malaysia: arrival in the country.

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Our Air Asia plane arrives on schedule. Because of HRH’s gall bladder surgery 4 days earlier (he was the patient instead of the surgeon), I forbid him to touch any of our hand luggage. Since we are at the front in business class, we are the first to alight from the aircraft. We follow our exemplary head air stewardess, who attended to our needs well throughout the trip, down the metal stairs, across the tarmac, into the building. There she bids us a fond farewell.

While HRH relieves himself in the loo, I keep a look out for our big black bag holding all our clothes and gifts for various family members. I, who have never lifted weights, manage to drag the thing off the conveyor belt. God bless my back. Now, to use the loo.

HRH waits with the big black bag, as I, laden with all our smaller pieces, lead Amanda into the nearest women’s room. It is surprisingly clean. And there’s toilet paper too!

Washing my hands, I take a look at my un-made-up reflection; I look like what the cat dragged in! Well, there is nothing I can do about this as all my make up is with HRH in the big black bag outside. We exit the toilet, ignore duty free (some, but not all things are cheaper than Oz) and proceed to the passport check-point. There are few others ahead of us so we seen immediately.

“Good morning. How are ya?” I say to the counter lady, employing some of my Aussie charm.

She returns my smile and chops our passports with deft hands.

We proceed on to the customs, but seeing no one there, we sail right through.

“God bless Malaysia,” I say with a cheeky smile.

“Aiyah. Like that people can brings drugs into the country,” exclaims HRH.

With me pulling our big black bag and carrying 3 pieces of hand luggage, we amble into the arrival lounge. HRH cranes his neck for his sister.

“Do you have her phone number?” I ask him.

“No,” he says, craning his head further. He starts to pace outside while I take a seat with Amanda.

“Does she know we are here?” I ask HRH.

“She should know. You wrote to her, didn’t you?”

At 4.30 am you can barely recall the day of the week, much less what you wrote to whom. HRH reluctantly takes a seat next to me and we observe the ebb and flow of passengers and those there to greet them for the next 10 minutes.

HRH’s sister saunters up to us. After exchanging greetings, she leads us to her car. Between she and I, we manage to get the big black bag into the car. HRH piles into the front passenger seat. We climb in at the back. So far so good.

At that hour, the only lights visible are from street-lamps and other motorists. As we approach KL city, close to an hour later, a thin sliver of light appears on the horizon, bathing the surrounding steel and concrete jungle in a greyish glow.

We are now blocks from the Intercontinental Hotel, Kuala Lumpur, where we will spend all of today and some of tomorrow to spare my parents from having to accomodate us so early in the morning. HRH’s sister pulls into the Intercontinental’s driveway and while they wait in the car, I go in to enquire about our room.

I tell hotel staff attending to me about HRH’s surgery, hoping to find a compassionate soul willing to allow us into our RM488 room early.

“The earliest we can let you check in is at 10 am, ma’am,” says one of the men at the front desk.

“How much to check in now?” It’s almost 6 am.

He taps into his keyboard. “Half a day’s rate,” he says.

I report this back to HRH, still seated in the car with his sister.

“We’ll wait,” he says. “It’s not worth paying 50% extra for 4 hours.”

I return to the front desk to deliver HRH’s decision.

“Come back at 9.30 am,” says the same man. “We’ll have your room ready for you by then.”

I erupt into a burst of terima kasihs (thank yous). Perhaps unaccustomed to such a display of gratitude from house guests, the man blushes and says, “Just come here at 9.30 am. I’ll make sure it’s ready. We’ll put a rush job on it.”

I go back to the car to relay this news to HRH. Then I return to enjoy one of the plush couches in anticipation of our check in. As soon as my behind comes in contact with the sofa, I am offered a bottle of mineral water by an attentive staff. HRH, his sister and Amanda emerge minutes later with our big black bag. I take our big black bag to the counter to be kept until check-in.

“We can deliver it straight to your room,” the bell-hop informs me in Malay.

I return to HRH, Amanda and his sister, seated on various arms of a circular, custom-made-of-course, couch. HRH’s sister, a professional, is soon telling us about her latest foray into the world of Multi Level Marketing (MLM).

“We are part of a very good group,” she says. “We have a very effective leader.”

“Don’t tell me about it,” says HRH. “Your sister-in-law was in this last time.”

“10 years ago,” I say, “The person who recruited me said the same thing; he left within a month to pursue other business opportunities.”

“Oh, our branch is different,” HRH’s sister says. “We aim to build a passive income, to be financially independent.”

“That’s what the people who recruited me said too. 10 years on, they still have day jobs, are still trying to build a passive income and be financially independent.”

“Maybe it’s because they didn’t have a system,” she says.

“They had a system all right. They had 2-hour presentation, tapes to give out to strangers, conferences, motivational speeches…I even became an executive, if only for a month. At the end, I put all the material outside the door and told my recruiter’s recruiter to get them or else they’d be binned.”

“All this MLM is like snake oil,” asserts HRH. “So much goes into giving the 6 layers of commission so what do consumers really get for their money? When you join these organisations, only those at the top benefit. Look at your second cousin, she’s been with various MLMs for years. Has she gotten anywhere? Is she financially independent?”

“You can do this in Malaysia but not Australia,” I say. “Aussies stress the importance of work-life balance, spending time with their families, enjoying their leisure time. Only the very rich have maids.”

When I was growing up, almost every Tom, Dick and Harry had an Indonesian or Filipino maid. Today, only those with an income above RM5k (AUD1.8k at the current exchange rate of 3.2) is allowed to employ one. Indonesian maids are available from RM 800 per month (AUD250), as of 2013, whilst Filipino maids, RM1800 (AUD562.50).

“Everyone thinks that Aussies are rich but the average Aussie only earns AUD50k. A significant chunk goes to the tax department,” I add. On top of which, foreign domestics are barred from entering Oz, to protect the local labour market. After all, if one can hire a full-time maid for AUD562.50 a month, who would pay AUD20 an hour for a cleaner or AUD25 for a nanny? Even the kid who babysits Amanda while I go swimming every Friday gets AUD10 (RM32) an hour. She gets more working at Macdonalds.

“Malaysians are more willing to strive for a better future,” HRH sister says. “I will make establish my business before coming over.” She plans to move to Oz.

“Malaysians have no choice,” I say, aware that this is too hard a topic to broach on an empty stomach, especially at 7 am. “They have no one to care for them if they are out of a job, become disabled, or lose everything through the death of a breadwinner, or divorce.”

A week on, the Malaysian government will announce the disbursement of BRIM, a one-off payment of RM500 for households earning less than RM3000.

In Oz, the government gives around AUD1340 (RM4288) every 4 weeks to each non-working, single parents with one child under the age of 5. It reduces thereafter until the child turns 8. After that it gets cancelled altogether. Some manage to get government housing. At any rate, extra payments are available for households earning less than AUD90k per annum (it tapers off around AUD80k) to help with the cost of raising children. Low-income households also receive subsidies towards their rent, bus and rail travel, gas and electricity bills and pharmaceutical purchases.

In Malaysia, people will say, “It’s just too bad. Who asked you not to be born in the right family?” Malaysians, I am to be reminded later, equate financial hardship with laziness, poor choices, immorality…mostly with laziness. Therefore hardship, where most are concerned, is justified. “You can’t fail to get ahead if you try hard enough” is the motto around here.

“Good luck with your endeavour,” I say to HRH’s sister. “Aussies live long enough as it is. The average woman lives until 86, the average man 81. With a combined income of AUD1800 from the government in the form of a pension, none of the oldies can afford the pills you are peddling, no matter how good you say it is for them. They can barely afford to eat as it is.”

Glancing at her watch, HRH’s sister offers to take us to breakfast.

TBC

 

 

 

 

 

Life: the long and short of it.

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Like most Australians, I came across news of Dame Elizabeth Murdoch’s death yesterday. Flipping over to page 2 of the Brisbane Times to read the cover story – a short tribute to this remarkable wife, mother and philanthropist – a mum from school I was having coffee with remarked that she was saddened by the news.

“But at least she lived a very full life,” I said. “In her time on earth, she achieved so much, helped so many through the gifting of her time, person and patronage of various charities. If I could do even a tenth, I’d consider my time here very well spent.”

The other mum nodded. “Yes, she did a lot of good. She even outlived 1 of her 4 children.”

“Chinese are extremely fatalistic. We believe that life is predestined before birth; how long, how much, how well a life you will lead, has already been decided beforehand. Dame Elizabeth was extremely fortunate to have been given her life.”

“It also depends on what you do with it, isn’t it?”

“That’s true. Having a very long life is meaningless if you only live for yourself. Quality of life is important too. She had a sharp mind until the end. What’s the use in living if your body is but a shell?”

“You see some of those people who don’t exercise, smoke and drink and yet live until a 100. Some others who take care of themselves get taken away too soon.”

“I know the kind you are talking about.” I told her about Dr. Richard Teo, multimillionaire plastic surgeon, felled by lung cancer at the age of 40. “He went to the doctor thinking he had a slipped disc from working out 6 days a week when really, he had cancer.”

Another mum joined in our conversation and I reiterated the insights we’d gathered so far. She said, “The Irish have a saying, ‘He who is born to hang has no fear of drowning.’”

“Even from within a family of long-lived persons, not everyone lives until a hundred. There was this man in China, who according to the New York Post, lived until 256. I wonder how many of his descendants lived past 100,” I said.

“No, it can’t be,” said the second mum, shaking her head.

“Sure it can. He was a master at the Science of Adaptogenesis. He practised Qi Gong. Qing government records show he was congratulated by them (the Qing government, then ruling China) on his 150th and 200th birthdays. The New Post captured a picture of him. He died looking like a 60 year old in the 1930s.”

“Maybe it’s a bunch of men with the same name,” said the first mum.

“I believe it’s true because traditionally no two names within the family are the same.” Chinese don’t have the tradition of naming a son after his father or grandfather. In fact, we believe naming the child after a parent will shorten the life of the parent. Ideally, names shouldn’t even sound similar. I continued, “Every male (and to a lesser extent female) has a generation name. The generation name is unique to that generation of a family. It comes from a family’s special poem. No two characters are the same. So outsiders, at a glance, can see who is related to whom and within the family, everyone knows which generation of the family the person comes from. Of course, this one-child policy business has changed all that in China. But among overseas Chinese, many of those with a Chinese name have one character which is used for all members of that generation.”

“How very organised you all are,” said mum number 2.

People also used to have a battalion of children, so I suppose it was a practical necessity.

“I too believe that life is predestined,” said mum 1. “Given your genes, there is just so long that you can live.”

“My mum had breast cancer and even though doctors botched up her treatment, she’s lived past the 5 year mark. They should study why this woman is still alive,” said mum 2.

“Well, you know there are survival statistics. Your mum is one of the lucky ones to live beyond what is common for someone with her illness. It’s been known to happen. That’s why I said it’s already written,” I said.

It’s the same message I convey to my ageing mother, who vexes herself frequently, and may I add unnecessarily, over every possible harbinger of death: illness, murder, accidents… You can be vigilant against disease that may lead to death, you can spend your time on the lookout for people and situations that may hasten your death, but ultimately, you can’t cheat or deny death. Its a given.

Death is not the absence of life. It’s the ending of life. So make the most of your time left. Let the petty and small-minded be (message to self about a certain cyber STALKER named Wendy). Live fully, live well, with purpose, and your time here will be well spent.

 

 

 

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The price of empathy: Aussie employers vs Chinese employers.

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After dinner at Sardine Tin, a French-Italian-Spanish fusion place on Southbank last night, my family of 3 wandered down the road, trying to kill some time before the start of Daniel Craig’s latest outing as James Bond in Skyfall. Since we’re locals to Southbank, Amanda was well aware we’d soon come across Movenpick of Switzerland, that renown ice-creamery. Thus, in the manner of all children, she asked us to stop for a scoop or three.

“But I’m still full from dinner,” protested her father, the King.

“You know she’ll keep at this until she gets what she wants,” I said to him. “We might as well get her a scoop,” I reasoned.

“Get a banana split then.” His Royal Highness was probably counting the banana from the split as fruit instead of desert; the mental tricks we play on ourselves.

I went up to the counter to place our order. There was only a 20-something year old girl with a professional camera snapping the wide array of ice creams on offer, and her boyfriend, about the same age, both speaking in Mandarin. They were ahead of me, so I stood patiently, waiting my turn. From their conversation, it was clear they couldn’t read the ice cream labels, much less understand what the words stood for.

Being my usual helpful self, I told them the ice cream they were pointing at was blueberry mixed with cream. “It’s delicious,” I said. “They all are.”

“Oh, you speak Mandarin?” said the boyfriend.

“Most certainly. I am a Chinese person,” I said. Why does it surprise everyone?

“How much a serve with a cone?” he asked the lady serving us.

“$10.95,” she said, from across the other side of the counter.

“It’s delicious,” I repeated, hoping they’d get a move on so that I can place my order.

“But it’s very expensive,” said the boyfriend.

“This is Movenpick of Switzerland, a very famous ice cream brand.”

“Yes, I know, we have it in Taiwan too. It’s cheap over there.”

“Everything is expensive in Australia,” I said to him, remembering the shock I had at paying $7 for fried rice at a cheap eats restaurant in Clayton when I first joined His Royal Highness.

That same fried rice is now $10, still considered a cheap eat. Basically, any meal for one less than $15 is cheap by Australian standards. The typical Aussie spends $40 to $50 per person dining out. That might buy a decent steak with fries, a glass of regular house wine, perhaps that non-obligatory tip at a more high-end place.

“I’m looking for a room too. I just arrived in Australia,” said the boyfriend.

“Go on the internet to find one,” I said. “Expect to pay good money, especially in this area.”

Rents start from $300 per room per week, in my area. If you pay anything less than this, don’t expect too much, or for the landlord to maintain your place; it’s below market price for a reason.

Thanking me for my help, the boyfriend allowed me to cut ahead of him to order my banana split since he and his girlfriend still couldn’t decide on paying $10.95 for an ice cream. At my table, I recounted the conversation to His Royal Highness.

“Australia is now more expensive than Europe thanks to the flooding of cheap imports from  East Europe,” said His Royal Highness.

My good friends Paul and Tania, having toured most of Europe after their eight-month stay in the UK, said the same thing. “You can get asparagus for a pound, meat for a pound, ham for a pound…What do we get for a dollar over here? Nothing!”

Australian cities are fast becoming the most expensive places in the world to live in; the bulk of living costs made up by the price of housing. Even to visit costs an arm and a leg, unless scrounging off unwitting hosts. That’s because our wages are high. Labour cost is high, so goods and services are also expensive.

“But there is no doubt we treat workers very well here,” I said to His Royal Highness. “X, whom I helped to approach an employer for, is paid well-above award rate. How many Chinese employers would do that?”

“There are a few good Chinese employers.”

“That number is very, very small. For every one Chinese employer in Australia that pays the award rate, thousands don’t. Look at all the Chinese restaurants in all the enclaves. The award rate is $15.96, yet they only pay $7 or $8 an hour. If they give you $10 an hour, they think they’re doing you an almighty favour, giving you a job. I was at X’s place having seafood noodles when her friend called through to say that she receives no holiday pay, no sick leave entitlements, no overtime rates, working for a Chinese in Brisbane’s north. You can forget about superannuation. X was so happy her employer was going to be an Aussie.”

“Yes, Aussies are good for society. They may lose out in the medium term, due to uncompetitive pricing, but in the long-run, they’ll do better.”

“X’s employer not only pays above award rates, she gets superannuation too. At the end of every 3 months, her employer even gives her a performance bonus that is a share of the company’s profits, equalling about 1 week’s salary. Her employer explained to me so that I’d explain to her, he wants all his employees to be happy. When they are happy and motivated, they make fewer mistakes. Chinese employers don’t think this way. We are able to undercut the competition because we pay labour little and ourselves last. Aussies pays themselves first and their labour a fair rate. Hence $10.95 for Movenpicks.”

“How do you know this ice cream is not made in China?”

“How can you say such a thing?” I said, sputtering. “It says Movenpick of Switzerland! “These are Swiss cows, dining on Swiss grass!”

Having binged on a series of Chinese fake goods videos from youtube (starting with fake eggs and fake lettuce, right through to cooking oil scooped out of the gutter and stinky tofu laced with human faeces) I’m afraid to put anything in my mouth that originates from China. I’d rather pay more for fresh produce grown locally. I’ve even simplified my soups so that they feature fewer China-grown dried ingredients. Who knows what chemicals lurk in there? I’ve also cut down on my consumption of Chinese mock meats because too much processed food defeats the whole purpose of  eating vegetarian. After all, what price do you put on your health? Your life?

People don’t see how paying workers a decent rate leads to better health, but a happier workforce is a more ethical one. It is the ethics of strangers that we rely on to ensure the food we eat is fit for consumption and the goods we use, of a reasonable quality. Can you not see how one relates to another?