We often hear of people moving to foreign lands to pursue better opportunities, to live more comfortably and to build happier families. Other countries present us with financial security, job prospects, friendlier people and desirable living standards. When I was 14, I embarked on a journey which I regard as the pivotal point of my life. It was a journey undertaken with faith and a hope that the pursuit of happiness will be easier over there, where the grass is greener and the skies blue.
It was a journey to come home.
As I write this, my journey has brought me home to the country where I was born and it is a place which I can truly call home. My identity is Malaysian, and 9 years in North America has taught me that nothing will ever come close to compromise that reality. I chose to come back because of a confluence of factors, but for this post I'll focus on identity.
I'm often asked about why I chose to return to a country in which hope has been dashed by poor governance, limited economic opportunities and rampant crime. I respond quite frankly that there is no place like home. Having lived in Canada for 8 years and 1 year in the United States, I've experienced the proverbial 'greener grass'. Make no mistake - the pastures were indeed green, but life as an immigrant family is not an easy one. It's true that there will be a difficult transitional period, when people are adapting to the life and culture of a new place, but why do we have to put ourselves through this ordeal in the first place?
There will be those who will answer: "It is worth it for our children's future." There is nothing wrong with that statement, and with the freedom of mobility, people are free to migrate anywhere they wish to build their families however they please, whether in Malaysia or in the lands of others.
Or there will be those like me who will answer: "Why can't we build Malaysia up for our children?" Idealistic, maybe. Impossible? No. As a Malaysian, I take pride in the land in which my forefathers have toiled and worked hard as immigrants from China, so that someday the tree which they have planted will shade me from the scorching sun. At the time,they were the immigrant class and they worked incessantly to realize a future for their children, grandchildren, greatgrandchildren and so forth. As pioneers, they cultivated the land, earned a living and called Malaysia their home. Through their blood, sweat and tears, generations who followed prospered, including my parents. I, too, was raised with the built-in ethnic memory of hard work and perseverance.
Like them, I call Malaysia my home and like them, I choose the path of hard work and perseverance to someday guarantee a prosperous and safe future for the generations to come. As a Malaysian, why should I help build what is not mine? What stake do I have in the future of Canada or the United States? Why vested interest do I have in countries which already have everything they need and want, a place which I can not call my own? I can call Malaysia my own, and it is in this country that I will endure, work and improve. Suddenly, my identity as a Malaysian makes so much more sense. It is fulfilling and rewarding to contribute to the small victories that Malaysia experiences on a daily basis, and I think that working here has allowed me to discover and reinforce my identity.
Coming back has not been easy. I have had to deal with a barrage of skeptical questions, criticism, second-guesses and sneers. It took my parents, who chose to migrate in the first place, a while to understand that my decision to come back was not a deliberate reversal of their momentous sacrifice. That all their hopes and dreams for me to live a comfortable life in North America are dashed and that I will be living in misery in Malaysia, a country which they believe to be a lost cause.
I can not disagree more with my parents. It was because of their sacrifice and love that I obtained my education and I can think of nothing more fitting and gratuitous than to give back not only to them, but my people as a whole. My parents taught me kindness and generosity, to go that extra mile and to turn the other cheek.
My parents want a comfortable life for me, but for what use is comfort when people are suffering? What use is a fat paycheck when so many are living below the poverty line? What use is a house when so many are homeless or can't afford affordable housing? What use is comfort when it does not generate happiness? Happiness is found when you recognize the plight of others and you share what you have with them. More In my case, I want to share my energies, passion and dreams with my Malaysian people.
I dare to dream that someday this country will not be the laughing stock of our own people;
I dare to dream that someday we will raise our children and they will raise theirs in a safe, peaceful and prosperous Malaysia;
I dare to dream that someday Malaysia will rise above its aspirations and be a country proud and strong;
I dare to dream.
It was a journey to come home.
As I write this, my journey has brought me home to the country where I was born and it is a place which I can truly call home. My identity is Malaysian, and 9 years in North America has taught me that nothing will ever come close to compromise that reality. I chose to come back because of a confluence of factors, but for this post I'll focus on identity.
I'm often asked about why I chose to return to a country in which hope has been dashed by poor governance, limited economic opportunities and rampant crime. I respond quite frankly that there is no place like home. Having lived in Canada for 8 years and 1 year in the United States, I've experienced the proverbial 'greener grass'. Make no mistake - the pastures were indeed green, but life as an immigrant family is not an easy one. It's true that there will be a difficult transitional period, when people are adapting to the life and culture of a new place, but why do we have to put ourselves through this ordeal in the first place?
There will be those who will answer: "It is worth it for our children's future." There is nothing wrong with that statement, and with the freedom of mobility, people are free to migrate anywhere they wish to build their families however they please, whether in Malaysia or in the lands of others.
Or there will be those like me who will answer: "Why can't we build Malaysia up for our children?" Idealistic, maybe. Impossible? No. As a Malaysian, I take pride in the land in which my forefathers have toiled and worked hard as immigrants from China, so that someday the tree which they have planted will shade me from the scorching sun. At the time,they were the immigrant class and they worked incessantly to realize a future for their children, grandchildren, greatgrandchildren and so forth. As pioneers, they cultivated the land, earned a living and called Malaysia their home. Through their blood, sweat and tears, generations who followed prospered, including my parents. I, too, was raised with the built-in ethnic memory of hard work and perseverance.
Like them, I call Malaysia my home and like them, I choose the path of hard work and perseverance to someday guarantee a prosperous and safe future for the generations to come. As a Malaysian, why should I help build what is not mine? What stake do I have in the future of Canada or the United States? Why vested interest do I have in countries which already have everything they need and want, a place which I can not call my own? I can call Malaysia my own, and it is in this country that I will endure, work and improve. Suddenly, my identity as a Malaysian makes so much more sense. It is fulfilling and rewarding to contribute to the small victories that Malaysia experiences on a daily basis, and I think that working here has allowed me to discover and reinforce my identity.
Coming back has not been easy. I have had to deal with a barrage of skeptical questions, criticism, second-guesses and sneers. It took my parents, who chose to migrate in the first place, a while to understand that my decision to come back was not a deliberate reversal of their momentous sacrifice. That all their hopes and dreams for me to live a comfortable life in North America are dashed and that I will be living in misery in Malaysia, a country which they believe to be a lost cause.
I can not disagree more with my parents. It was because of their sacrifice and love that I obtained my education and I can think of nothing more fitting and gratuitous than to give back not only to them, but my people as a whole. My parents taught me kindness and generosity, to go that extra mile and to turn the other cheek.
My parents want a comfortable life for me, but for what use is comfort when people are suffering? What use is a fat paycheck when so many are living below the poverty line? What use is a house when so many are homeless or can't afford affordable housing? What use is comfort when it does not generate happiness? Happiness is found when you recognize the plight of others and you share what you have with them. More In my case, I want to share my energies, passion and dreams with my Malaysian people.
I dare to dream that someday this country will not be the laughing stock of our own people;
I dare to dream that someday we will raise our children and they will raise theirs in a safe, peaceful and prosperous Malaysia;
I dare to dream that someday Malaysia will rise above its aspirations and be a country proud and strong;
I dare to dream.
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