LOOKING IN, LOOKING OUT

I ENJOY looking at sculptures, especially those that stand out from the rest and become symbols of their locations. Every time I go to Derry in Northern Ireland, I would root towards the “Sculpture for Derry Walls”.

This is a three-part sculpture by Antony Gormley placed in three spots along the city’s 17th century fortified walls: on the east overlooking the Foyle River, over the Bogside by the remains of the Walker Monument and on the Bastion overlooking the Fountain Estate.

Each sculpture consists of two identical cast-iron figures joined back-to-back and are placed in such a way that one faces the walled city, while the other looks out. This is aptly described as “looking in, looking out”.

Symbolically, it represents Derry’s two main communities, separated by their differences yet joined as one body. The open eye holes allow the viewer to reconcile different views from within and without the city walls. Just like two sides of the same coin or two sides of the same story.

Sometime ago, I heard a story about two travelling angels who stopped to spend the night in a wealthy family’s home. The family was selfish and refused to let the angels stay in the mansion’s guest room.

Instead, they were given a small space in the cold basement. As they slept on the hard floor, the older angel saw a hole in the wall and repaired it.

The next night, the pair came to rest at the house of a very poor but hospitable farmer and his wife. They shared the little food that they had and let the angels sleep on their bed. However, in the morning, the farmer and his wife were in great distress to find that their only cow had died in the night.

The younger angel was upset and asked the older angel why he repaired the wall for the rich family and yet refrained from preventing the death of the cow.

The older angel replied: “When we stayed in the basement of the mansion, I noticed there was gold stored in that hole in the wall. I sealed it so the greedy man wouldn’t find it.

“Then last night as we slept in the farmer’s bed, the angel of death came for his wife, and I pleaded with him to take the cow instead.”

Like the events in the story, one is the apparent side that we see and the other is usually hidden.

I had the privilege of attending a counselling course conducted by the late Selwyn Hughes in Singapore. He was an excellent teacher with crystal clear articulatory skills.

‘Sculpture for Derry Walls’ by Antony Gormley

One of the important things that I learnt is to always endeavour to understand both sides. I learnt how not to jump to conclusions or act prematurely on the basis of hearing one side only. Listening to just one side of the story is akin to listening to a plot that has some missing key points. These key points often change the entire drama.

The arbitrator or the marriage counsellor, for example, usually listens to both sides of the story. In a marriage breakdown especially, there is this stark reality of two hurting sides in one union, just like the “looking in, looking out” sculpture on Derry Walls.

But for most of us who is neither arbitrator nor professional counsellor, we form our opinions quite quickly based on what we hear or see, usually from only one source.

When that source is our close friend or our sibling, we are then no longer value free in our judgment as we are clouded by trust and loyalty.

I was having coffee with a friend that I’ve known for many years and our conversation drifted from the weather to the people we knew. Suddenly I found that she was giving labels to certain people because of the way they dressed or behaved.

Everything was black and white. You had to have certain characteristics to be considered the preferred black or white. There were little neat boxes where categories were given and conclusions drawn.

I was aghast that the thought processes were rather rigid, and then shamefully realised that I used to think that way too because we shared the same culture and upbringing. But now I know there are many shades of grey in between and most times, nothing is absolutely black or white, and it is so wrong to put people in little boxes according to our own values and beliefs.

As I walked from Derry Walls towards Peace Bridge, the same image resonated. The “handshake” of the two structural arms in opposite directions symbolises the unification gesture of the 400-year-old physical and political gap between the two sides of a once bitterly divided community.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA June 24 2018

http//www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/06/383411/looking-looking-out

EMOTIONAL JOURNEY OF WRITING

Every so often I toy with the idea of writing a memoir. Good friends have promised that they would be the first to purchase a copy.

What holds me back is how many details I am comfortable with sharing with all and sundry. Then there is always the risk of someone being offended by what I write because perception can be a very tricky thing and no two people can see an event quite the same way.

I signed up for a one day memoir writing workshop with Michael Harding at the Belltable in Limerick last month. Harding is the author of several books and 4 best selling memoirs - Staring at Lakes, Talking with Strangers, Hanging with the Elephant and On Tuesdays I am a Buddhist. I enjoy reading his books but the way he weaves his stories may not be everyone’s cup of tea.

A memoir is an emotional journey that we go through. It is the act of remembering put in print. The art is in trying to engage the reader in the emotions involved. It is a process that shouldn’t be rushed. The key is to keep writing bits and pieces and putting them aside till they can be held together with common threads. When you write a memoir, you are writing your version of what you think happened from your own perspective.

Through copious cups of coffee, I learnt that techniques are useful but ultimately personal style is a different thing altogether. There were 14 of us from different walks of life and writers in the making. Anyone can tell a story but not everyone can tell a story that captivates. Each part of the tale is like a bead ready to be strung into a beautiful necklace.

One of the exercises that we had during the workshop was how to trigger a memory from an image. For me the image was the rain. The rain brought me back to the memory of how I was driving home from the office with the rain lashing on my windscreen. The sound of the droplets drowning out my tears when I found out how after my 7th attempt at the interview - that I did not get that scholarship again - to do my doctorate.

Music could also be a trigger.

Remembering the lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel’s I am a Rock transports me to the time when I was in my twenties. Coming to terms with the loss of friendship and betrayal I was totally in sync with these lines…’ I've built walls, A fortress deep and mighty that none may penetrate. I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain, it's laughter and it's loving I disdain. I am a rock …I am an island.’

So, why do we want to tell our story?

All of us carry memories - both pleasant and cathartic. Writing these memories down is a way of release. It is said that as we become more open with our inner hurts, we begin to heal. It is organising the past along lines of story and time. It is about purpose and passion.

Writing a memoir is akin to the long suffering fisherman waiting for the pike. He can sit there on the bank of the river for hours, just waiting for the pike to bite the bait. The key point is to sit there and wait. Writing is a discipline that takes time. We also need an actual place to write.

There are some people who have a brilliant memory. They remember everything, right down to the minute detail and they can tell you about that trip that happened 20 years ago as if it happened yesterday. Of course the downside is they could remember that grievance that happened 20 years ago as well and still harbour the grudge.

I am not one who can remember vividly what happened yesterday, much less  months or years ago. I attribute it to living to the fullest for the moment and being terribly excited about what tomorrow will bring. There is only that much space in my short term memory and if it is continually being filled with up-to-date moments, it hardly has much room for past events. I might have gone for a wonderful holiday early in the year but now it seems so long ago.

Journalling is therapeutic.

I find it most helpful to journal significant moments in pictures and in writing. Before I share my photos on social media, I make it a habit to read up and document the history and location of the place out of interest. It is for myself and for others like me who want to know more beyond that photograph.

Writing down how I feel about things becomes a learning curve. When I read back what I have documented and how I feel about those events now, it never fails to surprise me that most times things that aggravated me in the past, no longer hold their sting. Writing  helps dissolve the hard knots of  hurt and pain. It helps to map out the sequence of actions taken and consequences faced.  I have my little notions of what life is but it may not be so. I may get in life what I want but I never get it the way I perceived I would. ‘ If I knew then what I know now….’ is a phrase I am far too familiar with as I recollect my life events and the course taken.

I have a folder full of bits and pieces of writing. 

Will I write a memoir?

Maybe. Some day.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 3 JUNE 2018

https://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/06/376037/emotional-journey-writing

THE SENSE OF EMPOWERMENT

Great smells evoke good feelings. Fresh air, green grass, meat grilled over hot burning coals all form an inviting trail to captivate and energize us. My latest feel good whiff is a new car because it is more than the actual physical waft of newness. It doesn’t matter how many new cars you have driven in the past because the moment you collect a new one from the dealer, you are like a proud parent bringing a baby home all over again.

My last car held out for 8 years and as I traded it in for the new one, I grieved a little inside and told her she had served me well. In Malaysia, I had always driven an automatic but over in Ireland manually powered cars seem to be more popular. For the past number of years, I had to learn all over again how to drive in the manual mode and it is with great joy that my new car has a tiptronic gearbox. So no more gear shifting and I can rest my left leg.

It is certainly more than a body on four wheels. I approach it with a full spectrum of emotions, in short, a heady mix of excitement and admiration. Sitting in the lap of luxury and taking on the road spells freedom. It feels like an army tank and because the seat is higher, the perspective of what lies ahead seems more wide angled. The fun part is I can now look into the eyes of the toll booth and parking attendant rather than having to look up.

This car is my personal blank slate and it shouts empowerment.

What is empowerment?

It is to make someone stronger and more confident, especially

in being proud of who she is and how she wants to live.

Confidence and autonomy are pillars of empowerment. When you are empowered, you become a better person to yourself and to others. You are more prepared for the unknown and are motivated to advance and get going. You are more interested in knowing what you want for yourself rather than regularly comparing yourself with others or wondering what other people are doing.

Every year we celebrate International Women’s Day in March. However, we still find that many women are not marching forward and do not have a voice. These women have limited access to education and training and far more often than not, have decisions made for them.

Financial independence is key. It frees the person from anxiety that money troubles can elicit. It is not uncommon to see a display of bullying in bad marriages whereby the one who controls the purse strings is the one who wields power over the spouse.

The power that education brings can never be underestimated. It has been regarded as a ladder of social ascendancy. A famous saying about "study" in China is from a poem in the Song Dynasty (960-1279) by Wang Zhu, which mentions that studying is the most prized activity. Everything else pales in significance. I believe in standing my ground and making sound decisions by being educated and well-informed.

Exercise empowers both the mind and body. It brings a sense of strength and clearness of head. The discipline involved in exercise allows the person to have control over his life.

Empowerment is not about lording over others. It is not about drawing attention to oneself constantly and feeling superior. I find it most uncomfortable to be in the company of braggarts who are loud and pushy. A person who is smart and talented but humble is wonderful to be with.

Assets and trimmings may give an extra boost to confidence but they are just appendages with an expiration date. They alone cannot change our behaviour or character permanently. We become empowered when we set goals and follow them through. In Louisa Mary Alcott’s Little Women, we see that true empowerment of an individual is more from within than without.

Empowerment is a process. Every now and then we need to adjust the process so that we can benefit from it. Brigham Young wrote, “You educate a man; you educate a man. You educate a woman; you educate a generation.

I take great pride in driving my new beast from the east. When the rubber meets the road, every shred of anxiety is laid to rest.

“She believed she could, so she did.” – R.S. Grey

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA ON 8 APRIL 2018  www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/04/354659/sense-empowerment

TREASURES ON EARTH

An early morning swim is part of a self care routine that I try religiously to adhere to. Feeling rather accomplished after the swim, I decided to head for the sauna which was usually vacant at that time of the day. Imagine my surprise when I saw not one, but two burly Irishmen sweltering in the heat of the little room. With one quick glance, I noticed that the one sitting on the left bench had a very hairy chest and the other on the right bench was heavily tattooed .

That was an awkward moment as I debated whether to enter bravely or to retreat.

I opted for the former and found a corner to perch comfortably.  I decided to do the sane thing at that time - to close my eyes and meditate. I had turned the sand dial timer for a good ten minutes so to think about sand was as good as any focal point in meditation.

My mind drifted to sand bags used to stop flood waters from entering the house to the fine sand that my chinchilla showers herself with. Then I had visions of sand dunes and sand castles and Petra. Yes, that lost city visited by Indiana Jones (as portrayed by Harrison Ford) during his hunt for the holy grail.

It was about two months ago that I went to Petra in southern Jordan. Although it was my second trip there, the archaeological discovery remained as magnificent as ever. The first time I went there in 2016, I had sprained my ankle prior to the trip so I didn’t manage to go far. This time round I went to the Al-Khazney (The Treasury) and to the Roman-like amphitheatre and beyond.

The city of Petra was carved directly into the red, pink and white sandstone cliff faces by a  civilisation called the Nabataeans. It was built in the 1^st century BCE and was inhabited by about 20000 people at its peak.

Like most tourists, I was overwhelmed by the magnitude and intricate carving of the  Al-Khazneh.  A giant urn carved above the entrance to the Treasury bears the marks of hundreds of gunshots. Bedouin tribesmen living in and among the ancient ruins say the damage was caused when local men would open fire at the urn with rifles, seeking the loot thought to be inside it. Another legend is that it functioned as a treasury of the Egyptian Pharaoh at the time of Moses.

We all have our own Al-Khazneh where we keep our prized material stash. For some this stash increases over time, for others it decreases. It all depends very much on what we deem important or unimportant over time.

The greatest treasure is what a person loves most. It restructures one’s values and priorities.

To the Nenets of the Yamal peninsula in northern Siberia, the reindeer is their prized possession.. 65 year old reindeer herder Medko Serotetto says it is their food, their transport, their soul. But should he choose to forsake this harsh lifestyle, then his herd of 5000 reindeer will no longer be his treasure.

I have been to homes where every corner is decorated with priceless artifacts. I have also been to very spartan homes owned by the rich. Deep in the recesses of our hearts we want to acquire. We want to have that which appeals to our eyes. We even equate possessions with power. Advertisers for luxurious objects milk this delusion. It is the hunt after things that drives the adrenalin and once we have secured the hunted, we are on another hunting game.

I overheard a teenage boy boasting to his friends that he receive the latest I-phone as a Christmas gift. I also knew that one grandmother painstakingly knit a pair of socks for her teenage grandson. It does not need a genius to figure out which present would be more treasured by the teenage boy.

The allure of hoarding materialistic possessions is indeed great.  For where your treasure is, there will be your heart as well. If we but pause for a moment, we will realise that we will need to leave them all behind at one point in time.

I love diamonds, precious stones, gold and wads of cash. Who wouldn’t? But I remind myself constantly that genuine treasures are not so much in material things but more in intangible things. Our hearts need to treasure these above all else.

Good health, a loving family and loyal friends are usually what we sometimes take for granted until something untoward happens.  It is only when I accidentally cut my little finger while preparing dinner that I realise how important the little finger is.

The sand in the upper half of the sand dial timer had almost completely trickled into the lower half. When I opened my eyes, I realised that the hairy man and the tattooed man had left the room so quietly I didn’t even notice in my intense meditation on sand.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA ON 22 APRIL 2018 www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/04/360136/treasures-earth

THE ENDURING POWER OF CLASSICS

One of the simple pleasures of life is not to have the alarm clock tell you what time you need to be up to go to the office. That means I am the mistress of my time and don't have to go to bed or wake up at a set hour unless I choose to do so for personal reasons.

It was one of those late evenings when the summer sun is still shining brightly and I said it would be a waste to hit the sack and miss all the warmth.

And so I decided to watch Dr Zhivago, a classic.

When we think of classics we think of books, music, consumer artifacts and works of art. In fact Dr Zhivago a novel by Boris Pasternak, first published in 1957 in Italy was a best seller during those days. It was also regarded as a love story of all times.

As I enjoy history and culture, moments of past grandeur and human struggles carefully crafted into a movie are simply mesmerising.

The last time I watched Dr Zhivago was when I was 6. My mother brought me to Odeon cinema and it was always a treat to go to the cinema. It didn’t matter what the movie was. I was forewarned that it was going to be a long movie but I was undeterred because I was actually looking forward to the intermission where cinema stewards would come in and peddle their ware. These stewards had trays dangling from their necks laden with fruit and snacks . We bought the snacks but never the fruit because my mother didn’t trust the stewards to wash the cut fruit carefully and she had convinced herself that flies would have landed on the fruit .

All I could remember of Dr Zhivago were 3 scenes: the opening scene when young Yuri (Tarek Shariff) walked in his mother's funeral procession; a pregnant Tonya, Yuri's wife (Geraldine Chaplin) ironing with a heavy vintage iron that was fed with hot coals and Yuri (Omar Shariff) collapsing on the road.

I heard that grown men cry while watching the movie so I had a ready box of tissues beside me. |I wasn’t going to be caught unprepared.

I kept a lookout for those scenes just to make sure I wasn't imagining them. It was interesting that the 3 scenes were at the beginning, the middle (at 140mins of the run of the film) and at the end of the movie. I wondered why I could still remember those scenes. I must have slept through the rest of the film.

So watching the same movie so many years later evoked a whole gamut of different feelings. Many things were no longer black and white considering the abnormal circumstances that surrounded the protagonists, like political change and war. The hard core villain was a tragic hero, the dreamer had inner strength and the stoic was too stubborn to a fault. Before long I felt tears welling up and I had become non-judgemental.

When we survive different working environments and have lived in different societies and different countries and are open to correction and change, then we become fully fleshed out,. This is what E.M. Forster would refer to as round characters in works of fiction. A round character encounters conflict and evolves unlike flat, or static, characters.

We become kinder, more forgiving and more accommodating. Although we may not agree with the character traits nor the deeds, we are not so quick to impose our standards and convictions on others.

We wonder if we were in that very same position, would we have not done the same?

Maybe we have seen loved ones entrapped in similar situations. Maybe we have recognised and accepted the fact that there are so many cross cultural and cross generational differences that we learn not to be upset by what we cannot change.

Having said that, age is not the determinant in this metamorphosis because many despite being older have remained flat characters. They continue to put labels on everything with no compassion or understanding in between. They want others to be like them, to think the way they do. As long as that remains unresolved, the conflict stays and they continue to be tormented within.

By the time I finished watching the movie, it was into the wee hours of the morning. I went to bed feeling very accomplished having survived the marathon - all 3 hours and 20 minutes of it - although it was a pretty easy marathon with no effort on my part except to lie on the couch and watch another world set in another time.

And I found myself inadvertently humming Lara’s theme in my dreams. 

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA ON 6 May 2018 www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/05/366328/endearing-power-classics

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE: A MOTHER'S HEART

It's mother's day today and I'm sure many mothers in Malaysia are given treats and gifts on this special occasion. Interestingly enough, there are 27 Mother’s Day this year because different countries honour their mothers on different days.

Since I live in two countries I get to celebrate it twice so to speak. But to me everyday is Mother’s Day because it is a privilege to be one.

I came home recently to Malaysia because my son Samuel had to undergo a knee operation due to sport injury. My trips back home usually involve a lot of travelling and feasting but this time round I was home bound for the most part of my stay but it was still very satisfying to cook, clean and nurse.

It was nice to go to a wet market and choose fresh produce - the sights and smells -  something that I hadn’t experienced for a while. It was lovely to get back to my spacious kitchen and use my familiar pots and pans again. The gas stove was still standing strong.

King Solomon in all his wisdom had written many proverbs about the good wife and mother. 

She is priceless above rubies. She is industrious and ensures that there is food on the table. She invests wisely and helps the needy. She is clothed with strength and dignity and she hopes in the future. She speaks with wisdom and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

Many of us mothers are such.

We emulate the good practices that our own mothers have done for us and in many ways we try to do more. Giving and sacrifice are almost natural traits in us. Most mothers worry from time to time although we try to put on a brave face regardless of whether the son is a baby or a 28 year old.

My mother was the mother of all worriers. Her anxiety came from deep within which I believe was due to her environment and life experiences. She was one of those who thought that worrying was a way of showing love and care. But sometimes being on the receiving end of listening to her worries made it difficult to see that as a sign of caring. Instead it became my job to take care of the worrier - to reassure her that I could handle my problems. Thus there were many times that I withheld information from her so that she didn’t have to worry.

The heart line between a mother and child is so great that it transcends distance.

How many times had I awaken in the middle of the night sensing that my child was having a difficult time whether in Dublin or in Kuala Lumpur? How many times had I rejoiced in my heart for my child before something great actually happened? And how many times had I shed tears and grieve within, knowing that there would be impending sorrow? Interestingly enough, this also works both ways. I’ve had my children calling me and asking me whether something was amidst because there was this ‘discomfort in their gut’ even when I never told them so.

I have people look at me and wonder whether I’m doing my ‘job’ as a mother because I don’t seem to worry as much as they do.

What helps me to worry less is a sense of trust and communication.

Knowing that my children are independent and are able to make sensible choices helps me to step back at times and let the course of action or consequence unravel.  I have also learnt how to accept it when my advice is not taken. I don’t believe in nagging or being a helicopter parent.

Painful though it is, I allow my children to make mistakes. We cannot protect them from every potential threat and neither should we do all the thinking for them.

Through prayers, I also place my trust in my Creator and that gives me a lot of peace. I exchange dark emotional clouds hovering over me and a sense of panic with conversation, support and shared beliefs. My child’s pain is my pain but being there for a child (whether in person or in cyberspace) when he needs it most breaks anxiety. And I’m not only talking about physical pain but also emotional pain.

Sometimes we worry because we think that no one can do the job as efficiently as ourselves. It is most helpful to be surrounded by good service providers. I trust the knowledgeable surgeon, the caring relatives and the good friends that I know would also look out for my son.

At the end of my stay, I flew back to Ireland, happy that Samuel is on the way to recovery. I also held a hand sewn quilt that I had completed while the patient was asleep.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA ON 13 MAY 2018 https://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/05/368861/unconditional-love-mothe

FREEDOM TO DREAM

When I’ve been away a few days, the first thing I’d do when I come home is to clean the house. I’ll give every corner a good dusting and mopping.

There was a time when I decided to clean the bird cage. I have always liked birds.

Birds symbolise transition or awakening. Wilbur Wright, the father of aviation said, ‘No bird soars in a calm’. It is about confronting fears and making circumstances work for you. Soaring birds take advantage of thermals and updrafts by flying in a circle. The rising air carries them higher and higher in a spiral. Birds that wish to stay aloft without flapping in normal wind usually fly into the wind for lift.

I had two budgies - one yellow female and one blue male. They were most delightful and they chirped merrily every morning. After cleaning the cage, I went to bed. The next day was one filled with anxiety when I saw that the cage was empty and the door was open. I had either forgotten to latch it or the budgies were so smart as to figure out how to open the cage.

Even though I had kept them as pets for years, the allure of freedom was too tempting.

What is it about the search for freedom that every generation gravitates towards?

Jean-Jacques Rousseau in his immensely powerful treatise ‘The Social Contract’ says,

‘Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.’ Maybe that is what prompts every human to pursue happiness. No holds barred. Unhampered.

In freedom is a perceived higher quality of life. A life that is better than what was before. A life that is different from what we see around us. A life that is different from others.

Freedom is spun from a dream that chases after a vision. For some, dreams remain as dreams because it is safe to dream. We can be in the here and now and yet dream of being somewhere else. The only struggle is within which others cannot see.

Freedom is about taking that step towards the unknown in the hope of achieving something more. Freedom is the choice we make and the responsibility we shoulder. Freedom is being brave.

Vanuatu is an island paradise in the South Pacific. For 45 year old Nigasau who lives there it is all about freedom. He says he is the boss there and he can do what he wants and he can get anything from the sea. In an interview on BBC’s Earth Natural Wonders - Surviving with Animals, Nigasau says, ‘It’s free.’

Albert Hammond’s ‘Free Electric Band’ used to unlock a stream of unfettered dreams in the teenage me. It all sounded so wonderful to leave the conventional path of studies and a career ahead of me, only to pursue music and to live on bread and water with ’a guitar in my hand’. Teenagers crave for freedom and I wanted to be part of Hammond’s free spirited happiness. It sounded like an over the moon experience.

Listening to the lyrics many many years after I had trodden on the conventional path of studies and pursued a lovely career, made me laugh. I was extremely thankful that I  did not give it up for music and the free electric band. They say that hindsight is 20/20 vision.

Uncle Ben Parker in Spiderman says with great power comes great responsibility.  

I would like to think that with great freedom comes great responsibility. I believe in being free to dream and to realise the vision at all costs. I am not talking about irresponsibility, whims. fancies and wild dreams. I am talking about that dream that we hold dear. I would normally give myself a time frame to realise that dream and face the uncertainty. No ifs, no buts.

The budgies never came back and I never kept a bird as a pet again.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA ON 24 MARCH 2018 https://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/03/349048/freedom-dream