I went to the post office two days ago. While I am familiar with stamp purchase and mailing of parcels, my trip this time required taking a number. Mine was #1130 and the counter was only serving #1108. Might as well come back later, I told myself. But then again, at 11:15am, it might get worse since the office lunch crowd would soon invade the mall.
Trust me - you wouldn't want to be hungry and looking for a table any later than 12:15pm in KLCC Suria mall. Just look at the Petronas Twin Towers and its new Tower 3. Can you imagine the office workers there, spanning from the administrative staff to the Big Shots (self-proclaimed and otherwise)? Which means there are queues everywhere from nasi lemak bungkus counters to fancy overpriced eateries, at least two with poor hygiene. (It is not easy trying to forget the restaurant whose staff you had witnessed leaving the washroom without washing her hands. A former classmate in my language class had also warned the few of us never to patronize the restaurant where he worked, followed by a demonstration of how his colleagues prepared the drinks.)
I strolled towards Uniqlo, greeted by the chirpy staff with echoes of their trademark "welcome to Uniqlo" in sing-song style. I must have been there for quite a while, because when I returned to the post office, it was serving #1124. Great. Even greater was that a few people had given up their numbers, and in less than 10 minutes, it was my turn.
Trust me - you wouldn't want to be hungry and looking for a table any later than 12:15pm in KLCC Suria mall. Just look at the Petronas Twin Towers and its new Tower 3. Can you imagine the office workers there, spanning from the administrative staff to the Big Shots (self-proclaimed and otherwise)? Which means there are queues everywhere from nasi lemak bungkus counters to fancy overpriced eateries, at least two with poor hygiene. (It is not easy trying to forget the restaurant whose staff you had witnessed leaving the washroom without washing her hands. A former classmate in my language class had also warned the few of us never to patronize the restaurant where he worked, followed by a demonstration of how his colleagues prepared the drinks.)
I strolled towards Uniqlo, greeted by the chirpy staff with echoes of their trademark "welcome to Uniqlo" in sing-song style. I must have been there for quite a while, because when I returned to the post office, it was serving #1124. Great. Even greater was that a few people had given up their numbers, and in less than 10 minutes, it was my turn.
Walking towards the counter, I reached deep inside my bag for the purse. And as the lady looked up, I said hello and told her sheepishly, "I want to register as voter." My little brain was filled with fifty-one reasons why I had never registered: I left Malaysia before I was 21 years old. I spent nearly half my life relying on immigration cards from other countries. I moved back to Malaysia only recently. I was busy setting up home. I had to buy groceries. I couldn't afford queuing up. I never bothered. I never cared. It never mattered to me. I hated this place because it's corrupted to the bones. I don't want to live here. There are better places in the world to call home. I may not even want to keep the MyKad for the rest of my life. Besides, the photo on the card? Did not even look like me back in the same year it was taken.
And some other thoughts: for one to want to register as voter after the general election, isn't it obvious where you stand? Hurh. How do you explain to your friends how poorly your country is run, and then admit you didn't exercise your right to choose its government? How can you live in this country, getting stuck in traffic jams and rolling your eyes every time you see supposed VIPs escorted by police even for a quick run to the shoe shop, with bodyguards? (True story, by the way. One I'll remember for years.)
How do you explain the mother, son and wife who speak excellent English setting up their roadside stall every weekday as early as 7:15 am, only to sell nasi lemak and kuih-muih? How many people are there in their household? Or the honest taxi driver struggling to make ends meet, who had been robbed or cheated by passengers numerous times, with scars on their forearms to tell the stories?
How do you explain that Malaysia and Singapore used to have interchangeable currencies, and thirty years later, one Singapore dollar costs 2.4 Malaysia Ringgit? While it isn't fair to compare both countries entirely, when you look at just Kuala Lumpur (or the Klang Valley) and Singapore, doesn't it break your heart a little thinking about its public infrastructure and general standards of living?
And all you want is "peace" down the street where you live? You deserve so much more than just that, my friends.
And some other thoughts: for one to want to register as voter after the general election, isn't it obvious where you stand? Hurh. How do you explain to your friends how poorly your country is run, and then admit you didn't exercise your right to choose its government? How can you live in this country, getting stuck in traffic jams and rolling your eyes every time you see supposed VIPs escorted by police even for a quick run to the shoe shop, with bodyguards? (True story, by the way. One I'll remember for years.)
How do you explain the mother, son and wife who speak excellent English setting up their roadside stall every weekday as early as 7:15 am, only to sell nasi lemak and kuih-muih? How many people are there in their household? Or the honest taxi driver struggling to make ends meet, who had been robbed or cheated by passengers numerous times, with scars on their forearms to tell the stories?
How do you explain that Malaysia and Singapore used to have interchangeable currencies, and thirty years later, one Singapore dollar costs 2.4 Malaysia Ringgit? While it isn't fair to compare both countries entirely, when you look at just Kuala Lumpur (or the Klang Valley) and Singapore, doesn't it break your heart a little thinking about its public infrastructure and general standards of living?
And all you want is "peace" down the street where you live? You deserve so much more than just that, my friends.
Just for those of you who had never registered or had done it decades ago and wondering how it's like today, here's the top portion of the pink copy I retained after registering. As you can see, there's no "filling up" of forms per se. Everything is computerized now, save for your signature and those of the processing officer and a colleague as witness. All I had to do was wait for the lady to key in my details. But please check before signing in case there is any typo. It happened to me: wrong street name. I suppose the name "Taib" is of greater influence than "Jaib". And remember the expecting versus inspecting theory? Yeah.
But there is something about the form which I still can't understand. Look at point 15(a). The asterisks...
You mean to say an applicant can register to be a voter AND not be a Malaysian citizen??
Can someone please shed some light on this?
It could be that the applicant is required to acknowledge his/her Malaysian citizenship at the point of registration. But even so, suppose the applicant is not a Malaysian citizen, wouldn't this application be pointless? Why bother keying in the applicant's details, printing them on the form and making the person sign for it, then?
Or is this just another one of those "doing for the sake of doing" examples typical of the Malaysian administration offices?
Can someone please shed some light on this?
It could be that the applicant is required to acknowledge his/her Malaysian citizenship at the point of registration. But even so, suppose the applicant is not a Malaysian citizen, wouldn't this application be pointless? Why bother keying in the applicant's details, printing them on the form and making the person sign for it, then?
Or is this just another one of those "doing for the sake of doing" examples typical of the Malaysian administration offices?
