“We never had homosexuals in Malaysia before the British came.” How they’d know that, both being born well after the Portuguese, then Dutch, then British invaded, is beyond me.

“Before Asia started reporting Western news, there was no such thing as child abuse.“The same lack of coherent reasoning also seems to be coming into play with NO accusations in Asia of child sex abuse by Catholic priests. Yeah, right!

“Now, everybody accepts swearing, nudity and crime. It’s God’s punishment against the Western world.” Which is ironic, because I’m sure the majority of white Australians thought that the Asian immigration trickle (of which we were a part) was God’s punishment against them. LOL

In addition to these pearls of wisdom was one bandied about at every Asian gathering you could think of. Asian associations, Asian business organisations, Asian social gatherings, it didn’t matter which. And the pearl of pearls was this: We Have Asian Values. No other culture or nation can storm our pure white shiny citadel because it is constructed from Asian Values and not those sloppy, undisciplined, depraved mores that pass for free thought in the (mostly Western) world. I’m sure that if you translate the speeches of the Chinese politburo, or read pronouncements from the Indian parliament on foreign affairs, you’ll come across a variation of this steaming pile of crap.

Which is why it delights me no end to present to you the Durex Sexual Well-being Global Survey 2011.

Oh Malaysia. Wonderful Malaysia. The country that states quite categorically that one of the pillars of its constitution is a belief in God. It doesn’t matter which god, as long as it’s someone, you know, deity-like. Needless to say, a non-belief in God is feckless, immoral and leads to the kind of depravity that used to be known in the world as Western democracy. (Missing it yet?) And it’s this pillar of nationhood that’s used to make your average citizen appear pious. So damn pious, in fact, that Malaysians (you know, those god-fearing folk) are ranked THIRD IN THE WORLD for infidelity.

Isn’t that a hoot? But that’s not the end for Asian Values because The. Most. Unfaithful. Nation. On. The. Planet. is…Thailand. Followed by South Korea. And Malaysian women are more unfaithful (39%) than Malaysian men (33%). Yes folks, those “Asian Values” appear to be at the global vanguard of sexual dishonesty. Give yourselves a pat on the back.

You can’t believe the absolute storm of laughter that echoed through our house when I read the article in an edition of Malaysia’s The Star newspaper. But Malaysians don’t disappoint, with claims that infidelity “is in the genes” (and thus does not interfere with one’s duty to God) and — my favourite — infidelity is due to “more opportunities [in modern society] for men and women to socialise”. That’s right. Just send women to the kitchen, make sure they never come out of the back of the house, and your infidelity problem is solved!

This brings up a very interesting Jordan-based Islamic organisation that has been banned in Malaysia but is around (and, purportedly, growing) in Singapore. I’m referring to OWC, or the Obedient Wives’ Club. (The reason it’s banned in Malaysia is not due to its gender-oriented teachings but to the fact that the founder of this branch of Islam — of which the OWC is a part — is considered a heretic.) To be completely dispassionate, these people are utter lunatics. What else can you say about a group that believes that a man can manifest in several geographic locations simultaneously in order to sexually satisfy multiple wives? Or that wives should serve their husbands “better than…first-class prostitute[s]” in order to stem male infidelity. No no, I can’t do justice to the words of OWC’s Vice-President Dr. Rohaya Mohamed, who said, in clarification of that comment, that

“I believe we have been misunderstood and misinterpreted. When we said that husbands should treat their wives like first-class prostitutes, we were not putting wives on the same level with prostitutes. We are talking about first-class elite types, not street hooker types. [Does that clarify things sufficiently for you? -Kaz. All bolded words are my emphasis] Our wives provide men with top-level service.“

Bwahahahahaha! There’s nothing I can say that can ridicule the organisation better than their own words. The OWC also blames wives for domestic violence (“When a husband comes home and receives good treatment from the wife, they become better and more loving husbands. Why would they treat their spouse badly if they are treated well?”), and wants everyone to know that: “The modern wife seems to forget that it is her responsibility to keep the husband satisfied.”

And if you’re thinking it can’t get any worse than holding (theoretical) sex lessons for OWC members (pictures, illustrations or even workshops on the topic are haram (forbidden)), may I add that they also believe:

If the reason [a woman got married in the first place] is love, then the woman is more likely to cheat on her husband. The first and foremost reason for getting married should be the fear of God.

Which reminds me of a joke. What comes between fear and sex? Funf! LOL

I read recently on Twitter (from a woman, of course) that it is bad form if someone who is a strong feminist criticises women with dissenting views. Well, I’m a strong feminist. And, believe me, if there is a group of dissenting women who deserve to be criticised more than the OWC, I’ve yet to hear of it. Their kind of simplistic reading of complex human relationships, proselytized by future victims of domestic abuse themselves, sets the whole area of gender relations back a few centuries rather than contributing anything of value, and I shall be criticising like hell whenever and wherever they, and their ilk, are mentioned in my presence.

ADDITIONAL: The OWC has published its own Sex Guide (unfortunately only available for sale to OWC members).

For an extra 50 points, its title is: “Islamic Sex, Fighting Against Jews To Return Islamic Sex To The World“(Seks Islam; Perangi Yahudi Untuk Kembalikan Seks Islam Kepada Dunia), with a 1000 point bonus for (a) allegedly not pointing out how “Islamic sex” is different from “Jewish sex” AND, (b) not outlining how “Islamic sex” shall be returned “to the world” when only OWC stalwarts are allowed to buy the tract in the first place. But no, by all means, let’s not criticise them.

We were overseas recently. And discovered, upon returning, that life at the tropics doesn’t stand still. Due to our diligent pre-trip spraying, we didn’t get the Invasion of the Ants that we so feared, but we did get a mini-infestation of cockroaches that has now sent the kids into a regular cleaning frenzy (can’t be all that bad then, can it?), a spider the size of your fist (and they bite too, as J can attest), as well as two other critters.

The first was a juvenile spitting cobra. Yeah, you know those snakes you see on National Geographic, where the camera is up close and waving around, and this snake rears up and shoots venom and it smears on the camera lens? Yeah, one of them. We found it in the pantry. They are endemic to this region and can just as easily be found in urban areas as forested ones. (It doesn’t help that our house sits in a combination of the two.)

The poor thing was just looking for a place to call home but we didn’t have a choice. At first we looked around for something to trap it in but we barely had two long sticks! How the hell could we manoeuvre it into a jar or something? Where’s that little noose on a long stick thing when you need it? In the end, we had to kill it and did so with regret. The juveniles are supposed to be more aggressive than the adult cobras, but this one was so desperate to just get away and only got angry when J pinned it against the wall with one end of the broomstick. You would have lost your temper before it did.

Meanwhile, the dogs were going berserk on the other side of the baby gate to the kitchen. They couldn’t see what was going on but they knew that Something Bad was in the pantry and were rearing to have a go at it. They didn’t get the chance. J had brought in Squeak to help him out but all Squeak wanted to do was get out and go back to lazing on top of the scratch post. (This is not the first of Squeak’s iniquities.) J finally despatched the snake, we toasted it that night for the forbearing animal with unfortunate choices that it was and moved on.

But then, a couple of days later, Sausage started sniffing around the library like a bloodhound, culminating in one solid hour barking at the shoe cabinet. I didn’t think it was another snake, but I did think it was either one of those large-arsed spiders again or a cockroach. The kids and I got ready. Various insect sprays. Check. Torch. Check. Broom. Check. Dustpan. Check. A long stick. Check.

I took the torch and shone it around and between spaces. Didn’t see a thing. But Sausage was still barking like mad. The Wast brought Fluff and Squeak into the room to help out Sausage but they looked as if they didn’t know what was going on. No sniffs, no curiosity. Nothing. So I tried moving the cabinet a little, shifting one side, to give us more working room. Little Dinosaur and I saw a flash of grey-brown and a long tail before we all ran screaming from the room. (I’m not ashamed to admit that.)

We regrouped in the living room. “Right,” I said, “it looks like we’ve got ourselves a rat.” Meanwhile, Sausage was still barking around the cabinet because she didn’t see the rat take off for one of the bookshelves. “Let’s go get some rat poison.”

We piled into the car, drove to the nearest supermarket, purchased some poison and headed back. Meanwhile, from Sausage’s investigations, we gathered that the rat was penned up around a particular bookshelf. The kids hightailed it upstairs to their room but I had my working machines in the library, so I didn’t have a choice. I did put some shoes on though.

When we went to pick up J from the bus-stop a couple of hours later, I thought we had a plan all figured out. We’d pack up the cats and dogs for the night, put out some poison, then collect it (and, hopefully, a dead rat) up the next morning before letting our pets out again.

It wasn’t to be. While we were gone, Rat obviously decided to head for somewhere safer. She must have darted to another bookshelf but, unfortunately for her, Sausage saw her this time. Our dog pawed an entire bottom shelf of books out of the way and Rat must have panicked.

Instead of heading back to the sanctuary of the shoe cabinet, she must have decided to chance it in the rest of the house. Under she went, below the library baby gate, and that would have stopped Sausage cold. However, what Rat wasn’t to know was that Cookie was on the other side of the gate.

Now, while Sausage is fast, Cookie is faster. Our smaller mini bully loves to run, looks like she’s half-whippet and is able to catch arrogant birds in mid-air on take-off from our front garden. Rat didn’t stand a chance.

When we came home from the bus stop, we found a dead rat in the dining room with its throat crushed, but otherwise intact. I pieced the rest together from the evidence available. Lowest bookshelf in a mess with network switch unplugged. Squeak still in the middle of the library, having a nap. (Fluff had buggered off back upstairs, the lazy sod.) Baby gate moved out of position but still holding. (Sausage must have slammed into it, chasing Rat.) Said dead Rat. Cookie outside sunning herself by the koi pond.

We were never so proud of our dogs than at that moment. They may not be what people think of when they think of working dogs but it looks like they’re our working dogs, perfect for our current environment. They got extra treats that night and the cats got a lecture on the responsibilities of being part of the household…but I don’t think it took.

Have a good weekend and I’ll catch you next week.

This gave me a problem. I have an automatic fish feeder and, with only one fish left, the feeder was dumping way too much food in the tank. I needed more fish, I told J. But not from Teh Evil Aquarium Supplies. I’d have to scout farther afield. I decided to go to Gelang Patah.

Gelang Patah is a small town of around 20,000 inhabitants, essentially forgotten by time. I can say this because, four years ago when we first clapped eyes on it, we noticed that the curbs were crumbling, the buildings were unpainted, and trash littered every centimetre of open ground. We couldn’t figure it out because GP is very close to the Singaporean border and all the glitz and glamour thereof. If you wanted a contrast of countries, you couldn’t do better than, say, Jurong and Gelang Patah.

GP has improved since then. With the influx of Singaporeans looking for cheaper housing on the other side of the border, it didn’t have a choice, but progress is slow and there are still some things that are startling.

Anyway, getting back to the story, I bundled the kids in the car and we went exploring to GP. And we found it hard to find a spot to park (most of the main car-park being occupied by empty stalls waiting for sunset and buka puasa (end of the day’s fasting for Ramadan) to start selling food) so we parked behind a busy row of shops (in front of a much less busy row of shops). After purchasing some beautiful gourami, I decided to stop at a shop that advertised frozen meat in blocks. The sign itself was stark and so was the shop. The floor was unfinished bare concrete and half a dozen chest freezers lined one badly painted wall. One young Malay woman was present, loading one kilogram sausages of chicken mince into one of the chest freezers. There was no air-conditioning, only two fans swirling in the increasingly humid heat of mid-morning.

The whole place, with a couple of shelves holding some groceries with faded labels, reminded me of nothing more than a big ole fish bait shop in Queensland, Australia. If you’ve ever been driving north of Brisbane, up Bundaberg way and beyond, you’ll know what I mean.

The young woman seemed content to parcel chicken mince into a freezer and I was about to leave when a tacked-up sign in plastic against one of the walls caught my eye.

Burger Arnab – RM8.00

“Burger arnab?” I repeated in disbelief. “That’s rabbit.”

The young Malay woman turned to me. “Yes,” she replied. “We have rabbit.”

“May I see it?” I asked.

She smiled and opened one of those old freezers. And there, stalwart reader, I found more than just rabbit burgers. I also found ostrich burgers and local deer meat (rusa) burgers.

Ostrich! Local venison! Rabbit! All Johor produce (made up in Kulai) and distributed — not to one of the snazzy supermarkets that have sprung up like weeds, but — to a basic, hidden away shop in a small town that barely looks as if it can support any kind of exotic business whatsoever.

Of course I had to buy one pack of each and we tried the ostrich and venison burgers for breakfast the next morning. They were nicely seasoned and delicious. I’ll be going back and hunting through the freezers of that shop with a little more diligence next time. And the family can enjoy ostrich and deer burgers for breakfast every now and then. (I’m waiting until J’s at work one day before trying the rabbit. He has some aversion to eating past domestic pets, I think.)

Just goes to show you never know what you’ll come across unless you try exploring a little.

The main problem with telling you that it’ll be released on the first of August, however, is that it takes time for the uploads to propagate to various etailer sites, so I wouldn’t go looking for the book on the Monday, if I were you. Best to leave it a couple of days.

By now, stalwart reader, you would know the history of this novel. It’s been more than two years in the making. The book has gone through increases and decreases and now seems to be settled happily at almost the 90,000 word mark. I’ve taken out scenes and fleshed out others and I’m pleased with the result.

WAR GAMES is also important because it’s my first self-published title and the first release for my own micro-press, so I had to dot many more “i”s and cross many more “t”s to ensure that things fitted together well. But we’re not done. There are still other plans in the works, other books, other offers, other enhancements. I am the ultimate tinkerer.

For now, though, looking towards the end of the month, it all appears doable. And, for that, I’m very happy.

***

I don’t always do this. In fact, I can’t remember ever putting a section break in my blog posts, but I had to share something with you. I was taking The Wast through English and he had to pick the appropriate verb in order to satisfy subject-verb agreement. (That is, single subject, singular form of verb; multiple subjects, plural form of verb, that kind of thing.) I won’t go through the exercise with you but I do want to share the output. A case of English-pass but Society-fail, if you will.

Darren told Alan, “Walking is a good form of exercise. We have to exercise to stay healthy.”
“You have been telling me that for a long time,” replied Alan, who is used to other activities like playing football. “Jenny and Liza were out walking yesterday when they were robbed. It’s really not safe to walk on your own.”
Darren said, “They were foolish. They chose to walk at night. Plus, they were not paying attention to what was going on round them. And it’s not like they don’t know about safety measures. Whatever it is, everyone is responsible for his and her own safety. They should have been more careful.” *

Of course Malaysia can’t be described as libertarian-leaning by any stretch of the imagination. But I’m sure the average Malaysian knows just how, um, hard-working the local police are. They are paid for with public money but, as you can see from the above passage, they are absolutely NOT responsible for public safety.

I’m not sure what revolts me more about this passage:

(A) The fact that women’s safety is so easily glossed over
(B) The “blame the victim” mentality inherent in the piece
(C) The absolution of police from any kind of behaviour to protect the public
(D) The fact that two out of three authors of this Guide are women (see below)
(E) The inculcation of contempt for women being woven into education from a tender age
(F) The complete incomprehension of locals to the heinous nature of this drivel
(G) All of the above

With this in mind, I hope you have a  better weekend than me and I’ll catch you next week.

* Taken from “Longman Essential English Form 2 Revision Guide” (2011) by Sheela Prabhakaran, Doreen Da Costa, K. N. Vasanthy

In any case, we were out on the weekend, light shopping. And our expedition took us close to a roadside set of stalls, grandiosely described as a “food court”. I couldn’t resist taking a picture of it.

Moving right along, we have an interesting phenomenon in advertising. That is, the Prosperity This or the Auspicious That.

I was wondering why this was bothering (i.e. annoying the hell out of) me. After all, don’t we get inundated with ads during Christmas/Easter/Western New Year, and so on? Standard procedure is to keep an eye open for real bargains, ignore the rest and move on. But these Chinese New Year ads are…something else.

In the case of Christmas specials or Christmas cakes or Christmas decorations or Christmas sales, the emphasis is on…Christmas. Okay, it may have lost every bit of spirituality that it first engendered as an ancient spirit-of-life ritual, but we generally know that it’s about An Occasion. It’s then up to us to use the occasion as a channel to find deeper meaning in our own lives and reflections that we can use moving forward. Presumably.

I think the thing that bothers me about the Chinese New Year ads is not that it’s about An Occasion so much as it is about Me and what will rub off on Me. The implication of the ads is that I will increase my fortune, I will double my happiness, I will be prosperous, if I eat this burger/buy this car/send out for this pizza. What is possibly going through the minds of the advertisers and, perhaps more importantly, does it work?

The examples I have littering this post was culled from one day quickly flicking through one paper. I should have started a month ago in order to give you the full gamut of advertising lures, from $188,888* Mercedes sedans to $1,888* extras when buying a Proton car. There was even an S&W “prosperity” pineapple cup ad on TV, for crying out loud.

And, as mentioned before, it was all about Me! A weird association between a product and someone’s fate, as if you really can double your money if you eat a cornflake-topped pizza or that you will have a successful year of business if you buy a dining suite from Harvey Norman.

* (For those ignorant of the significance of the number “eight”, the pronunciation and Pinyin character for “8″ is similar to the spoken Cantonese for “fortune” and the written character for “wealth”. That’s like saying I date a lot because my favourite sweatshirt has a picture of Daffy Duck on it.)

ADDITIONAL: Wow, my scanner has given up the ghost, I think. I can’t seem to get any decent colour balance from it At All. Maybe it’s time for a new one. Sigh.

UPDATE: If you find this post interesting, read a similar observation from Yawning Bread, a Singaporean blogger and gay activist. And if you live around here and don’t subscribe to Yawning Bread, you should.

But, before I continue, I’d like to thank Trisha Wooldridge for chiming on a recent blog post about guns and zombies. Thanks to Trisha, I think my case is made!

It’s Valentine’s Day today and a friend who remembered his days working in Singapore mused that I’d be having some fun as it’s hugely celebrated. Not in Malaysia. The Deputy Prime Minister (DPM), Tan Sri Muhyidden Yassin, would like to:

advise that, from the perspective of Islam, Valentine’s Day is not appropriate for Muslims.

Following on in the same article, you should know that:

The National Fatwa Council had decreed in 2005 that Muslims should refrain from celebrating Valentine’s Day because it is not part of Islamic teachings.

Yep, just remember to keep those minds tightly shut if you’re a Muslim. Moving further south, if you’re in Johor:

The Johor Islamic Affairs Council will be more vigilant on Valentine’s Day to check on Muslims who behave indecently on the pretext of celebrating the event … [The Council] would step up its anti-vice raids at places known to be favourite haunts of lovers in the state. “In Johor, the council conducts such operations daily. However, these operations will be increased during Valentine’s Day.”

To hourly, perhaps?

It’s all the damn Christians’ fault, according to Muslim preacher and motivator(!) Siti Nor Bahyah Mahamood who, on TV9′s Halaqah programme two years ago said that:

immoral activities, discoing, couples meeting in private, are traditions of the Christian community.

It doesn’t end, does it? You say Muslims are murdering thugs, Muslims say you’re degenerate hedonists. At least nobody is slinging mud at us atheists, which makes a nice change.

But the Christian Federation of Malaysia was not going to take this lying down. It:

has stressed that Valentine’s Day is a secular observance which Roman Catholics and Protestants do not commemorate as a religious festival … “Although the word ‘Valentine’ draws some connection to St Valentine, church authorities have not endorsed the connection, be it Roman Catholic or Protestant.”

Although I do believe the Roman Catholics may be thinking about a man-boy love day to commemorate the canonisation of the Patron Saint of paedophilia, Pope John Paul II. Obviously, Siti hasn’t done her homework as there are a few Christian-baiting zingers out there (that are true, even!) just waiting to be fired. I should clue her in.

Back to the anti-Valentine brigade. It’s not just my little corner of Malaysia that will be seeing the morality corps sniffing around. The Malaysian Islamic Development Department (Jakim) is now involved with distributing anti-Valentine’s Day leaflets throughout the country (well, Putrajaya anyway) and

[S]tate governments in Kedah, Kelantan and Selangor had directed the local authorities to work closely with the police and Rela [paramilitary civilian corps mostly involved in harassing foreigners --ed.] to check immoral activities on Feb 14.

You’d think the situation is clear-cut, right? Not so fast, grasshopper. The deputy president of Anwar Ibrahim’s political party, PKR, said that:

Yes, I've given my wife flowers and taken her for dinner on Valentine's Day before. Sometimes we even get jiggy with it. I am still a Muslim.

It is not wrong to Muslims to celebrate Valentine’s Day as long as they are aware of religious boundaries.

Hold on! But I thought…the fatwa thing…and the flyer thing…and the lectures…and the increased police patrols…. What?!

And then the head of Umno Youth (the youth wing of the Malay-based governing party in Malaysia), Khairy Jamaluddin came up with the scanned quote to the left, proving that he’s more of a middle-of-the-road hip-hop fan than a down’n'dirty r’n'b rebel. I’m sure he’d appreciate a Black-Eyed Peas CD for his next birthday, should any of his friends or family be reading this. (Oh, except for the “My Humps” thing. Just skip that album.)

Seriously, I couldn’t make all this stuff up. So if you’re now confused about celebrating Valentine’s Day in Malaysia, that’s nothing compared to how the average local Muslim feels.

In any case, if you are celebrating, regardless of your race, colour or creed, Happy Valentine’s Day.

Cartoon from Sunday's "The Star" by Reggie Lee

The Chinese zodiac is year, rather than month, based and, furthermore runs in a 12-year cycle, with a sub-cycle based on the five elements. According to legend, Buddha invited all the animals in the world to a feast when he was about to leave Earth, but only twelve showed up. In order, they were: rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, sheep, monkey, rooster, dog, pig. To honour them, Buddha named each of the years in the lunar cycle after them in the order in which they turned up at the meal. That’s not all, however. Each animal also runs through its own cycle based on the five elements of metal, water, wood, fire and earth. This new Chinese year, for example, is the Year of the Metal Rabbit.

If you filter in the element as well as the animal, you will see that your particular Chinese zodiac occurrence only comes along once every 60 years.

And why would an atheist talk about Chinese astrology? Why not? It’s fun, even if I don’t believe in it. Actually, especially if I don’t believe in it. The family are off to a lovely dinner today, which includes Yee Sang, originally a Teochew-style dish but now adopted by Chinese communities across Singapore and Malaysia.

Personally, I think Yee Sang took off around here precisely because it’s messy and, by execution, causes great hilarity. What you do is this:

1. Put a selection of ingredients onto a platter. The ingredients can include, but are not limited to, finely julienned carrots, capsicum, daikon radish, cucumber, pear, finely shredded kaffir lime leaves, lettuce, peanuts, orange and/or pomelo segments, lotus seeds, jellyfish, sea cucumber, pickled ginger, sesame seeds, fried rice vermicelli noodles, and so on. Really, your imagination is the only stumbling block at this point, but the keyword is grated (or finely shredded).
2. Put a selection of sauces onto the ingredients on the platter. These sauces include plum sauce, lime juice, maybe apricot jam as well as kumquat paste, sesame oil and five-spice powder. The idea is to have a slightly sweet, piquant dressing but go easy on that five-spice powder.
3. At this point, the next step may vary. My preference is to now have all the diners stand up and, with their chopsticks, try to toss everything as high into the air as possible, while singing out auspicious phrases.
4. When everything is mixed and half of it is decorating the diners, chairs and table, everyone sits down, gets a portion of the salad, tops it with prawn crackers and slices of raw salmon (or mackerel) and digs in. (Most people toss the salad after the fish has been added but I never like missing out on my ration of salmon or mackerel if I can at all help it!) When finished, the rest of the meal proceeds as normal.

I’ll let you know what was in the Yee Sang we’re going to have, so watch out for an update and Happy Chinese New Year to all! Have a great long weekend and catch you Monday.

Well, school started for the year in Malaysia today and I went around to a few tuition centres, trying to find some beginner classes. To no avail. J couldn’t believe the trouble I had. “Aren’t they tuition centres?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. “Then why won’t they…tutor?”

Ah. Tuition might mean different things to south-east Asians than to others. Basically, I was not able to find a proper tuition class for the kids because I home-school. You see, the tuition centres follow the local schools. If the local school is teaching geometry in Maths, say, then the tuition centre will hand out additional geometry worksheets in Maths. After speaking to several centres, I’ve come to the conclusion that–with one exception–they are not independent in any way. They do not take the initiative. The school local to them sets the tone and the so-called tutors hand out extra work in that subject then, whether a student has mastered the topic or not, when the school moves onto the next topic, so does the tuition centre.

So what you end up with are so-called tuition classes that are nothing more than enforced homework/subject drill classes. And I’ve heard stories about both ends of the spectrum. From tutors who give out worksheets then spend the rest of the session sleeping (images often captured on students’ mobile phones then sent to their friends and, maybe, parents), to tutors who will only accept straight-A students so that they can tell (and show) prospective parents that all their students are excellent.

If you’re like J, you’ll be pausing right now and saying, “Hold on just a sec, Kaz. Why would straight-A students go to tuition? Isn’t it more for students who are struggling in particular subjects?”

You’d think so, wouldn’t you? You’d be wrong. The obsession in Asia over education is exactly that. Beyond rationality. (A clockwork orange, so to speak.) Even in Australia, I was forced to go for tuition in Maths and the Sciences until the tutor pulled my parents aside and told them to stop wasting their money. In a way it was a shame, because I liked my tutorial classes and cutting them out of my schedule only meant more time that my parents could spend castigating me for my intellectual and otherwise laziness. But that’s a story for another therapy session.

Back to the here and now. I want my children to learn Chinese. Nobody will teach my children Chinese because the tuition centres are nothing more than before/after-school babysitting institutions. Everybody believes every child has to go to tuition even if they’re topping the class. If you suggest that, as things stand, sending good kids to tuition doesn’t make any kind of sense, you’ll be accused of being jealous and trying to scupper their child’s progress in life. Sigh.

Of course there’s another bright side to this whole tuition nonsense. It means that if a child doesn’t do well for whatever reason, the parent is given an automatic stick to beat the child with. That is, “We spent all this money on you. We made so many sacrifices. You went to the best tuition centres, and this is how you repay us? You’re a disgrace to the family.” If the child dares–DARES!–to suggest that s/he doesn’t like, say, the sciences and doesn’t want to be, say, a doctor, then the entire extended family will pile on with huge truckloads of guilt and generally call the child ungrateful, selfish, pathetic, and so on. It’s a venerable tradition that’s been handed down through the ages.

In summary, this whole tuition thing works well for adults, but isn’t a joyride for the students.

• For teachers, they can work a double job as a tutor and, if they’re focused, can rake in a couple of thousand extra ringgit a month. It also means that, as teachers, they don’t have to put the effort into teaching because the tuition centre will pick up the slack (and the blame).
• The tuition centre has its syllabus rigidly set and will supposedly improve a student’s performance through sheer tonnage of additional worksheets and damn the actual goal of teaching. If a child doesn’t perform, it’s either the school’s or the child’s fault.
• The parents can completely ignore their children’s education, rack up martyrdom points and blame the child for everything that goes wrong.

Meanwhile, remember that one exception to the tuition rule I spoke about? That’s Kumon Malaysia. It turns out Kumon do have initiative and do have classes for those wanting to learn Chinese in an independent setting. Ready for the punchline? Those classes are only available in the capital, KL (Kuala Lumpur). :: insert shriek of exasperation here :: Kumon has just expanded into Johor, you see, and have been told to concentrate only on English and Maths for the time being.

In desperation, I’ve put the word out and it looks like we’re going to have to depend on a private tutor for Chinese. Which is a damned shame when we’re surrounded by Chinese-language schools and Chinese-language tuition centres, not to mention a sizable population of Chinese themselves. I want our kids to socialise with other children learning Chinese but it looks like I’m not to be given the chance. Welcome to the 2011 tuition racket.

ADDITIONAL: The icon for the homeschooling category comes from Artua – Icon Archive > Kids > Harry Potter

As you know, we live in the boondocks of Johor where the majority of people are Malay with a sizeable minority of Chinese. You wouldn’t really call it a Christian enclave, by any stretch of the imagination. So, we were expecting a quiet Christmas. Well, we got a sudden invitation to dinner on Christmas Day and went out to buy the inviting family a present. And this is what confronted us at the nearest shopping centre:

Here are a few photos of the decorations in the centre. The big tree you see was made from a few thousand plastic water bottles.

And here’s another view of the crowds we had to navigate while last-minute present shopping:

There were even shoppers walking around with red Santa hats on their heads, just to get into the spirit of things. We got what we wanted and hightailed it out of there as quickly as we could.

Malaysians love holidays, and it shows. Everybody wished us a merry Christmas, from security guards to shop assistants. There are special dishes out for the season at several bakeries and restaurants and everybody seemed to be having a good time. Here’s a Christmas cake we bought at one of our favourite bakeries:

I didn’t get a good photo of it before it was attacked and devoured by four hungry family members but the cake (chocolate with a chocolate and orange marmalade filling) was also decorated on top with truffles. Yum.

All in all, Christmas turned out to be surprisingly cheerful for us. We had Christmas Eve dinner at our club and the food was nothing short of stupendous. No pork, of course, being basically a Muslim country, but we had tasty local dishes, beef wellington, roast leg of lamb, roast turkey, brussell sprouts, baked fish, mussels in a pastry case with a special sauce, pasta with sauces made to order at the pasta station, cold meats and salads including some marvellous smoked mackerel, baby potatoes in beef stock, chicken rolls in a carbonara sauce, a variety of cakes, pudding with custard and … a 2-for-1 special on bottles of house wine with not even a batting of eyelids when we asked the waiter to pour two small glasses of wine for The Wast and Little Dinosaur. There were ice sculptures decorating the groaning tables, a visit from “Santa” with small presents of baked cookies and we met other families also enjoying a strangely satisfying British dinner with exotic accents, hosted by an extremely talented Muslim head chef with a Muslim restaurant staff, barely one degree north of the equator.

All in all, J and I consider this one of the nicest Christmases we’ve ever had together. Hope yours was the same and you and your families enjoyed a bit of a rest. I should be back to a semi-regular schedule next week so, until then, enjoy yourselves. You can save the exercise regime for later in January! I am.