Home Coming - Eid Mubarak - Part I

Events on 28 - 29 September 2008 in a flashback..........

I was all set to Dubai Airport. The check-in was smooth though the queue was long. The weight of the chocolates exceeded the limit by 5kg. I radiated my Kabayan countenance and winked at the Filipino lady behind the counter and she let it go. After checking my watch, I figured I would have 1 hour to roam the Dubai Duty Free. The shopping arcade was not as great as I thought it was the first time I was there. Nevertheless, I bought 2 bags of goodies and needed a trolley to push them along.

Then I saw this display with the words RAMADAN KAREEM. It was a nice arrangement. But I felt sad looking at it, thinking the ensemble with its unique ambience would soon be removed and replaced. What remain are the memories of Ramadan kept by millions of Muslims passing it by, all eager to be reunited with the loved ones, at destinations far from here. I felt thrilled again thinking that my wife and kids would wait for me in my next destination, KLIA, 5555km away from this sad display.

A friend of mine told me that he has this patriotic blood that makes him stick to his country no matter what. To extrapolate from his defined lens, I would have been seen as one of the unpatriotic lots to leave my country and work abroad. So I decided to let Malaysian Airlines, not my favourite Emirates, to fly me home. Hopefully, this would give points to redeem my questionable patriotism.

The plane was almost full. As I entered the flight, I was thrilled with the raya jingles filling up the flight interior. I took out my Snickers for iftar at my seat before the flight took off. The meal came later, about 1 hour after the take-off. I had worse meals in boarding schools and army camps, so I don't have the chefy taste-buds like Jamie Oliver's, to complain about the flight meal. I opted for lamb with pasta. It was all right. What bothered me throughout the 6 hours flight was there was only one stewardess, and she was outnumbered by far, by Malaysian stewards. I didn't get enough dose of the kebaya charms and its much publicised MH - Malaysian Hospitality.

I asked Capt. Mie, my ex-classmate, a pilot, whom I met later, a week after raya.

"Where have all the Malaysian girls gone?"

"Ramai dah cabut for other options. They're not paid well. Even Air Asia pays more. Steward stay sebab tak leh gi mana mana. So there's a joke, Singapore Airlines is known for its trade-marked Singapore girls. Malaysian Airlines is proud of its awwww Malaysian boys, instead. "

That was pretty much his reply. I may have rephrased a few words.

There were many Malaysians in the flight. Sitting next to me was this guy, Fauzie, another unpatriotic Malaysian citizen, who works for Schlumberger in this god forsaken place called Azerbaijan. He seemed a nice guy and one day I would contact him to probe his mind on the question of patriotism. After the signal given that we could detach our safety belts, I gave up my seat so that Fauzie's wife and his 2 kids can be seated next to him. I was happy to bag more patriotic points by helping other Malaysian.

I got hold of a copy of Star, a leading Malaysian English newspapers. Not much news jumped out of the pages except for this one page which declares our products are safe, free of melamine. It was a relief because a few days earlier, a friend claimed confidently that the products contain the dreadful substance. So the news said it all.

The flight entertainment was pathetic. There were few movie options. The headphone needed a few taps to get the sound going. So I gave up in the middle of this superhero movie, Hancook or was it Hancock? I slept thinking and trying to digest that being patriotic we have to be complacent with the little and the few that we have? And resist or deny greater alternatives?The sky is not the limit, Malaysian border is? After rounds of contemplations, in between my sleep, I decided my friend with that patriotic blood is an idiot, but good at messing up my mind.

I am patriotic by working up my a** in a foreign place, being the only Malaysian in the multi-national organisation, telling everyone "Hi. I'm from Malaysia, no, don't ask me if Anwar really raped that boy or not, because I was not there to tell and I don't give a damn, but I can tell you it's a beautiful place that housed my roots and loved ones".

The plane touched down at KLIA, around 6:30 AM, Malaysian time. I wound up my watch and set the new time. The KLIA exit was easy going. I was at the arrival foyer, on the look out for my wife and my kids. They were not there. I switched off my handphone to switch the card from Etisalat to Celcom. It was Celcom that first wished me a welcome home, not my wife, not the kids (I think someone should make an ad out of this). I called her. She was on her way - Monday morning traffic jam, I presumed. I waited for 30 minutes before her car came into sight. This was the day we were reunited.

End of Part I