Interesting question.
Is Merdeka just a public holiday to you? A class-decorating competition, a Geography quiz? The time of year where we have to stand during the assembly and sing 'lame' songs? That's okay. It just proves you are the average 2010 Malaysian teenager.
To me, merdeka means many things. But most of all, it's these four factors which lead me to break apart from the average Malaysian teenager's point of view on independence. I guess I've had a different kind of exposure than everybody else. But yes, it's true- I love Malaysia, despite all its' flaws.
Those four factors:
1. Merdeka is knowing that I belong here.
When I raise the flag, it is my flag that I am looking at- the Jalur Gemilang. I am not looking at the Japanese flag, nor am I looking at the Union Jack. When I raise the flag, the flag that is being raised is my flag. The song that I am singing is my song. It is being sung in my language. It is the flag, language and song of my flesh and blood. Merdeka is knowing that this is my country.
2. Merdeka is going to school.
I wake up in the morning, put on a uniform, eat breakfast- all in relative peace. I sit in a classroom with electricity, breathing un-poisoned air, surrounded by people of different races who can all speak a minimum of two languages. Merdeka is my ability to read, count and understand; my memorizing capability, the reason why I turn the pages to my textbooks and the reason why I hate people who talk during class. Merdeka is me, insignificant me, becoming a basic unit of the large entity that is a nation's people. Merdeka is being able to learn without the sound of bombs, air-raids, and without fear clouding my brain that at any moment the sky is going to fall apart. Merdeka is sitting on my chair, laughing and smiling, knowing that I have a future ahead of me- and I am at liberty to do whatever with it that I like.
3. Merdeka is carrying on my ancestors' dream.
There was once a great man. He was not a politician, not a rich figure. He was wealthy in the way villagers were wealthy- in land, durian trees, etc. In his youth, he had been a genius, commended by all the teachers. Then war came, and money was scarce- all the boys were expected to drop out of school, himself included. So he made an oath. He would never continue learning, would never make it big, so what? He would make sure that his next generation would have success. He did what he could to ensure that all five of his daughters went to an English-medium school. "Aku tak nak anak aku jadi setakat pesawah, petani- impian paling tinggi pun nak jadi kerani. Aku nak anak aku berjaya."
The villagers advised against it- told him that white people were bad, that they would brainwash his daughters with Christianity. He persisted.
Decades later, he has passed. All five of his daughters are successful professionals, women who one would be proud to call Malaysian. He has proved that your roots don't matter. Kampung, city, white or local- whoever you are, wherever you are, you have a right to achieve success. That was his vision. And that man was my beloved grandfather, Abdul Wahab. I will protect his dream, his vision until the day I die. That is Merdeka.
4. Merdeka is the fighter in me.
I figure that most people don't give two hoots about Merdeka because it's something that happened a long time ago. The details are a vague blur. All you know are the big shots who went to London, had a long conference with the British government, and boom! We came back a free country.
But think of it this way.
Think of a woman dying during childbirth, and at that exact moment a troop of Japanese soldiers arrive at that particular village. A young son is left stricken. The other villagers have fled into the forest, but he will not leave his mother or his newborn baby brother behind. Think of the fear that's pounding through his veins as he quickly wrecks the house to look for something, anything that will serve as a weapon against these merciless murderers. He knows it's useless, but he is going to try. Think of your grandfather being that young son.
Think of a family about to starve, because there are five children and each family is only allowed 3 food rations. The food is nothing but hard, dry rice- you are whipped if you even think about asking for more. Think of the father and mother, working from dawn 'til dusk at the fields and you can't help but cry because the mother is close to 60 years old; but she has to keep working- or the invaders will cut the food rations down to 2. Then, at the end of the week, a smug British officer arrives. He pulls down the curtains for fun, kicks over the baby's cradle for fun, stomps all over your hard-earned food for fun. Think of that family as your family- that baby as you.
Does it feel real now?
Merdeka is the anger I feel towards those invaders.
And I swear- never again.
This vow is my Merdeka.
I hope I've been able to change some minds.
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