All for 2 slips of paper

Up at 3:45am.  Drove 400km there and back (thanks, bro!).  All for 2 slips of ballot papers.

It was worth it.

I have been very quiet on the blog because work has consumed all of my waking hours, of which there too many, what with the demands of the kids and husband.  But all the whirr around me here in Singapore are drowned out by the fervour over the elections in the country that I am still proud to call mine.  Tempted several times to blog about my thoughts, but deterred every time by the lack of words to describe this heavy, leaden feeling of gloom threaded with hope, I do not think I can say any more or any better than what my compatriots all over the world have put out on various online media.  With every new revelation of tricks, schemes, and shameful ruling from the Elections Commission, the weight in my heart grows.  

Despite that, the bond amongst ordinary Malaysians continue to grow across ethnic lines.  I saw it during the two Bersih rallies.  I see it again now.  Malaysians are grown up now; we have opened our eyes.  It finally dawned on us that "the other race" is no longer the enemy.  We are in the same boat together.  We are ready for change.  

On Saturday morning, barely caught my two winks, we roused at 3:45am, picked up a fellow Malaysian, and headed for KL, hoping to beat the traffic and to avoid troubles with the authorities, legal or otherwise.  It was a smooth ride, barring a one-hour traffic jam due to an overturned and charred vegetable truck.  We spent the rest of the day with family, trading election news, warning each other about being absolutely compliant with voting procedures and reminding each other to be vigilant of suspicious activities on that day.  

Sunday morning, again with hardly two winks in my reserve, I left KL for Ipoh at 4am, reaching my hometown just after 6am.  It was another smooth drive, with Kau Fu Zai (my dearest brother who gamely drove 400km to escort me to vote) updated me with more election news and politics.  Nourished by Ipoh dim sum and tea (dim sum restaurants open at 5am in Ipoh...we are purists in this aspect), we headed to the voting center which was a primary school, and arrived just after 7am.  We were one of the earliest ones, and queried the mostly Malay staff about the procedures.  They were a little flustered with the setup of everything, but were pleasant and polite.  A good start so far.

I joined the queue behind a young Chinese lady, and started chatting with her and the young Chinese man behind me.  (I belong to a constituency with a predominantly Chinese population)  The young man was going to take up a shift at noon as an observer at another voting station, and gave us tips about the process.  We reminded each other again to check the ballot slips in the presence of the third clerk to avoid any risk of having our ballots thrown out as spoilt votes.  

We also started chatting with the elderly rotund Indian policeman who was watching over our voting station.  We asked if he had voted (yes, on Tuesday - 5 days earlier!), whether the setup in the classroom was ideal and confidential (yes, just cover what you are doing with your butt!), where was the best place to place the queue (over there, but sorry for the sun), etc.  At some point in the exchange, he said with a warm smile, "we serve the public".  At 8 am sharp, he put on his cap, brushed off the wrinkles in his uniform, stood up, and said in a serious tone, "OK, we go slow and steady."  To which the young man behind me chirped, "...slow and steady wins the race."  Smiles all around.  

When it was my turn, I entered the classroom and greeted the Malay clerk in Bahasa Melayu, which was returned with equal sincerity.  Identity card checked, I proceeded to have my left index finger painted with indelible ink (indelible my foot!), and while doing so, overheard the young Malay lady who seem to be the head of that station telling the third clerk not to allow the voters to unfold the empty ballot slips at the registration counter as it will hold up the queue.  I told her in a soft voice that I *would* like to check the ballot slip before I take it with me to the voting booth.  She reconsidered, and said, OK let them check.  Hands shaking now but grateful, I opened up the ballot slips with only my right hand to avoid smudging it with my left, and scrutinised every printed corner of the pink and blue slips.  Satisfied, I gamboled over to the booth, and willed my brain to absorb and digest the symbols carefully.  ("OK, now this is the scale and this is the rocket.  Sure ah.  Rocket is here and scale is there ah")  Finally, hands shaking, I put pen to paper once for the state seat, and then a second time for the parliament seat.  Folding them up again, I walked over to the ballot boxes and dropped them in, along with all my hopes for a fair and clean election.  

Brother and I left immediately after that for the drive back to KL.  Traffic was normal on the roads.  But something in the air was different.  It smells of ... unity.  And change.  It is not whether it is the scale or the rocket.  We just want our leaders to know that we choose who gets to lead.  

Ethnicity is mentioned several times in this post, because it has been used in Malaysian politics and society since her colonial days.  Our past leaders drew these lines loudly and boldly.  Divide and conquer.  It is important for you to know that what is happening now is blurring these lines.  We are no longer Malay, Chinese, Indian, Eurasian, Kadazan, Bajau, or Dusun.  We are Malaysians.   

No matter what the results of the elections are, I pray with the ardour that only a desperate, lovesick citizen can muster, that we will remember to keep up this spirit - united we stand, divided we fall.