...imagine you are a man. You are Chinese, in your late thirties or early forties. You come from China and you had lived there since you were born. You speak good Mandarin, you eat Chinese food, you are as Chinese as a Chinese can get.
Now you are in a lecture hall. There are a hundred people, students, clinging to your every word, because it is the first lecture you are giving. Words form inside your head. You open your mouth...
...and you hear yourself speaking English. English? Why does the "li" sound like "ri"? Why does the "three" sound like "srreeee"?
..and why are people laughing? I'm talking English...why are people walking out and sniggering? Why is the student in front sleeping?
...why can't I speak english like everybody else?
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Now imagine you have to go through this everyday. Every day of your life. Because you have to feed your family. Because you have a job. Because this is your rice bowl, and without it you have nothing on your plate.
Not so funny now is it? So why were we laughing in the first place?
....because, it's okay to laugh....because it's not us that's being laughed at....right?
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Poof...I was back in my seat in the Bus, at Melbourne Street. Then my thoughts wandered off to another incident, this time I was at the age of 11, I think. I was in Alor Setar...
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It was night, and I was watching TV with my cousins, just like we always do. Then in walked a family, and with them a child, perhaps about my age, or younger. She was plump, and I did not recognize her.
She was in fact, my second cousin. If only I had known at the time, I would have been nice to her. She was not normal. She had a kind of syndrome.
...she vomited in the middle of the living room. My cousins all laughed, as she stared helpless and clueless upon what was going on.
I went downstairs to find my mom. I couldn't bear it. It was the first time I cried in many years, and ironically after I joined in the laughter.
It was not funny... It never was..
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I was at stop 11. Almost reaching my destination. Then my thoughts wandered off to to other places. This time in Melaka...
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There was a guy in my class. He had a strange walk. A strange way of talking. He was weird. He was always alone. Didn't have many friends..
...and he was weird. So a lot of people made fun of him. Laughed at him.
..and it was funny. Why? Because we were not the ones laughed at.
..but it stopped being funny...
The last thing I can remember was he was walking away from the classroom, crying. He was a big guy, I thought, and he couldn't have cried.
But my eyes don't lie. He did.
Earlier, we were all in a room. All 35 of us. He was at the centre. And there were 2 other people at the centre. The two humiliated him. Ridiculed him, when they thought they were 'advising' him.
Then came a slap... Yes. They slapped him. In front of his friends. ...and he walked off crying. It was the first time I saw him cry. He was my friend. It had been long since I saw any of my friends cry. But I understood why he did.
Humiliated. Funny right? Well, depends on which side of the door you are on.
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I was nearing my stop. I had to make my conclusion...
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Everyday, there are people being laughed at. People being ridiculed. But think, just for one second. If you were that lecturer in the hall, or if you were slapped in front of your friends, would you have laughed?
Would you have thought it was funny?
Would you had wished you were someone else? Who was a bit more normal?
So, as long as it's not us..It's okay to laugh?
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1 comment:
truthfully, when i wrote this, i cried.
i remember that girl in Kedah.
and i sometimes think that some people are so cruel (myself included) when we laugh at people just because we are not being laughed at.
thank you for the reminder. we must always be reminded when we are lucky enough not to be the joke.
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