Got into a discussion with Tita last night over WhatsApp, about equating storytelling with telling lies. I don't see it as offensive, but Tita does. She sees it as a personal affront, in fact.
While I can give definitions like I sometimes do, why not I approach this the way I know best: illustrating using words.
The room is small but the mirror covering one whole wall gives it an illusion of added space. The open windows on the opposite wall adds to that illusion. Everything is white, from the walls to the ceiling and floor, to the windowsills, to the curtains gently billowing with the morning breeze, and to the ceiling fan revolving with a lazy grace.
Because of this pristine whiteness, the apple in the middle of the room stands out even though its red skin is dull. Its surface is smooth and gleams in the light coming in from the window. You pick it up and you think about the sweet juice that escapes your lips as you take a big bite. You imagine how good the flesh tastes in your mouth. Not too sweet, not too sour. Just right.
Something wiggles between your finger. Soon more wigglings tickle your palm, your fingers, and the back of your hands. You drop the apple and it lands with a thud. It cracks, and out pour countless maggots, white as the walls, white as the curtains, white as the ceiling fan.
They wiggle toward you, climbing up your feet, your calves, your thighs. The maggots keep coming.
I'm sorry if I have caused any discomfort. Did you visualize the scene I described? Did you see the white room, the billowing curtains, the revolving fan? Did the image fill you with a sense of calm? Did you see the apple on the floor? Did you see the maggots, and how white no longer gives you the same sense of calm, but of oppression and revulsion?
Yes. I am arrogant enough to hope that at least some of you experienced what I hope you did. But that's not the point. The room I described? Doesn't exist. Well it could exist somewhere, but that's not the point either.
Point is, I described a scene out of my imagination, a scene that to me doesn't exist in real life. A scene that is made up. When we were little, our parents would scold us for making up stories, for telling lies.
When we say 'fiction' or 'novel', we know right from the start that what we will read is make-believe, even when it's a contemporary general fiction. When we watch movies like "Wanted" and "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" and "Ever After", we know that the movies we watch didn't really happen. If the pills in "Limitless" really do exist, the world would have been a different place.
For the duration of reading stories and watching movies, as well as afterward, we take these lies as truths. We accept the possibility of the events unfolding as real. This is called suspension of belief. Our mind prepares itself to be lied to. If executed correctly, the readers and the audience will forget that what's happening isn't real. But when the presentation is blundered, you'll get movies like "Sharktopus" and books like "The Lost Symbol". You're consciously aware that you're being lied to, that you're being preached. Your suspension of belief is betrayed.
Back to my original point. I have lied, I have been lied to. Sometimes I willingly accept a lie because I know the intention behind it is good: to stop me from worrying, to make me feel better, to ease the situation. The lie is told not to harm, but to protect. Then there are lies told to protect the person telling it, lies to cover the wrongs, lies told with ill intent.
To simplify matters, lie is just a word. Its context is the factor that makes a world of difference. This is why I don't mind when people say that storytelling is a lie that tells truths. Even the first storytellers embellished to make their tales more dramatic, to have that oomph. People keep asking me if my stories (especially the non-SF ones) are based on true events, or that I'm the one pining over a lost love. And I have to keep telling them, "No, they're just stories."
But my stories are based on certain emotions, memories or longings that I felt before and while writing them. Not everyone likes my works, and I don't expect every single person to like what I write. But to have even one person to shed a tear for my characters, to feel hope for a better tomorrow, to laugh at quirky moments, to sigh over a loving couple's exchanges, I've successfully conveyed the emotions I felt while writing.
I seldom write for others; I write for myself. I write to remind myself of the good times, to show myself how things could have happened differently, to show myself the possibilities that lie ahead. I lie to myself, I suspend belief, so that for just a moment, for that moment alone, I feel good about who I am, what I am.
You guys are just along for the ride.
So you tell me. Is it okay to say storytelling is the same as lying? Or do you get offended? Do you think it's an insult?
In my whole writing career, I have never surpassed 20 000 words. It's the biggest hurdle for me. The closest I got was with Stormcaller at 18 500 words (or so). Then I stopped writing. It's like there's an inpenetrable wall stopping me from going further.
I just broke the wall. At 01:05 today, my word count showed 20 005 words. And I'm not even 1/3 into my WIP. I don't feel like stopping. I want to write more. I need to write more.
I'm still in shock. But it's a good kind of shock.
I'll be turning 30 this year, something I cannot change regardless how hard I look the other way. October 20 is still well beyond the horizon, and a lot can happen between now and then. Maybe things will remain more or less the same, maybe the world will end, maybe Yellowstone Caldera will erupt and blanket the world in ash. Either way, I can't stand still and do nothing.
I think I've mentioned before that one of my biggest life-dreams was to be a published author before I hit 30. Well, I have published almost 20 stories to date, and each time brings a sense of accomplishment. I hope I'll keep producing and publishing stories for more years to come.
I know I shouldn't be making any resolutions, what with my commitment as a Master's Degree candidate (yeah right), but I feel like I should accomplish something bigger. So here's what I plan to do:
I want to finish a novel, complete and polished for publication, before October 20, 2011.
You may have noticed I used the word 'finish' instead of 'write'. I have at least 3 novel works-in-progress, but I always chicken out before I reach 20k words. I need at least 60k words for a complete novel, preferably more.
Pray for me. Help me achieve this. It'll be an awesome birthday gift from everyone.
For some reason, I'm still getting traffic even though I haven't updated in ages. 2 to 5 views per day -- lame, I know. Still, I feel guilty for not providing fresh content.
I may have mentioned (or tweeted) that I've not written a single new story this whole year. March is ending, plus November and December 2010...that's 5 months without writing anything new! Well, I've re-written "Kuda Kepang" (under consideration at the moment), and I'm now re-writing "Remember Atlantis". Funy thing about the latter story is that it always makes the final pass, but gets rejected right at the end. Spot-on writing, good story (though a story about Atlantis is hard to sell), but there's something about it that's not quite shining. Not enough to make the sale. So now the story's new incarnation is a first-person YA, with a slightly different ending. Let's see where it goes.
Moving along to other writerly news, at first I thought I didn't make the cut, but a couple of days ago I received an email from the editor of SFReader stating that "Blood Debt" (a pontianak horror story) placed second for their 9th Annual Short Story Competition. I'm getting USD150, yo! Once it's available online, I'll update my publication credit list.
"Act of Faith", published in COSMOS Australia's 36th issue, is now available online. So for those who couldn't get a copy of the magazine, here's the link. By the way, I've updated the link in my list.
Naked Snake Press has accepted my flash horror, "Hospitality of a Goddess", for Poe Little Thing: In Space No One Can Hear You Scream, and I'm getting a professional rate (USD 0.05 per word) for it. That's USD49.50 for it, I think. The story will come out in print sometime this year.
Also, CCC Press has released a promotional poster for its Malaysian Anthology, in which "A Long Sigh Goodnight" is included. Here's the poster:
What else...hmm.... In my effort NOT to write, I'm now addicted to online gaming (again). Reza has pulled me into his League of Legends world (something like DoTA). Not my usual cup of tea, but it's fun playing with him, his brother, and his brother's friends. I'm also playing World of Warcraft again, albeit tentatively. It gets lonely now that Faiz, Reza and his brother don't play the game anymore.
Wait. I actually put an effort in avoiding writing? What gives? Here's the thing. Maybe it's my mistake not to dream big. One of my life-dreams is to be a professionally published writer before I hit 30. And I've achieved that. I've proven to myself that I can penetrate the professinal market. Now the flame of passion has somewhat sizzled. I should have aimed for a Hugo or a Nebula.
Pfft. I know, right?
That's only part of it. I've written over 30 short stories in the span of one year alone (late 2009 to late 2010), and I've published...let's see...hmm...18? 20? I think that makes me a prolific short story writer. Sorta. The problem with writing is that it's a creative process, and creative processes take a bit of your soul every time you do them. I'm still feeling burnt out, but I'm recuperating. Once in a while I'll come up with Hallmark-moment statements. The well is filling up. I think I should be drawing, but I've not raised my pencils to do it (other than drawing operative notes).
Yes, I'm funny that way. When I can't write, I draw. Sometimes I paint, though I've not done it in a long time (and I'm not THAT good at coloring). When I can't do either, I read fiction. I'm glad to announce that I've finally finished reading several books instead of stopping halfway to read another. I've completed NK Jemisin's "The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms" and "The Broken Kingdoms", and am waiting for the third and final book. I strongly recommend those books. Awesome read, and an atypical fantasy style. I'm now halfway through "I Am Number Four". Not exactly my favorite style, but it's a good book nonetheless.
When I can't do any of the above, I watch movies. I especially like romantic comedy and chick flicks. You know, the you-don't-have-to-think-just-feel-good-watching-it kind of movies. Sure, I get creatively inspired by movies like "Avatar" and "Inception", but romatic movies appeal to my hopeless-romantic nature. If I really feel like escaping, I watch Korean dramas. They're good, I kid you not.
If everything goes well, I'll be going back to Kelantan to start my Master's Degree in Neurosurgery in September. That gives me 5 months to complete one of the three major projects I have in mind:
1. An anthology (I plan to have 15 stories).
2. Stormcaller (Urban Fantasy set in Kuala Lumpur).
3. Adrian & Rina (New Adult contemporary love story).
That's just writing, editing and submitting. Publishing is another matter. I know it's going to sound wrong, but I don't doubt the publishability of my writing. It's the bloody discipline that gets at me. Oh well. One step at a time. It's not like I cannot write stories once I'm in the Master's program.
Okay. I promise to write something meaningful next time. Some advice on writing, perhaps? Not that I'm any good, but I like sharing what I know.
Okay guys, I need some help here. This here is a sample of my WIP. I'm 20k in, and depending on how the story goes, I'm either 1/3 or 1/4 through the story. I'm a short-story writer, so going beyond 20k words feels like a tall order. I basically have the whole story (and then some) in my mind; however, translating it into words elude me. I'm still amazed at writers (both published and non-published) who can write 60k words or more for any one project.
If you have the time and patience, please have a read, please retweet, and please drop me some comments (on the post or as an email). I also appreciate some love and words of encouragement, but above all, I appreciate honesty.
Welcome to the first volume of the Aether Age Codex, which we have labeled Helios. Discover tales of a humanity given a single prime to the pump of progress as they stare into a sky that in a blink of History has burgeoned into life and mystery. Given the antecedents, it is any wonder that they take flight in airships, balloons, as winged hoplites, and aboard wooden rockets, even as Athenian philosophers argued over the very laws of nature?
Let's say I have the audacity to assume you've been following the progress of my writing career. You'd know by now, of all my writing projects, nothing has excited me more than Aether Age. Granted, it's a small-press publication. Granted, unless I step up to the Customer Service counters of local bookshops (I'm looking at you, Kinokuniya!), this anthology may never make it to Malaysian bookstore shelves. Granted, even with two stories in it, I may never rise from obscurity.
Assumptions, assumptions. Too many variables in the equation.
Anyway, when Hadley Rille Books released the paperback version on November 29, 2010, I thought I would get my hands on my contributor's copy (or copies? 1 for each story, if I'm not mistaken) within 2 to 3 weeks. So I waited. And waited.
And waited.
Then I read the blog-posts of other contributors when they received their copies. Well, since I live in Malaysia, shipping may take some time. On December 26, however, frustrated I couldn't find Jason Mraz's A Thousand Things and COSMOS Magazine in Singapore, I decided to try Amazon.com. Tried buying books there before, but they didn't ship to Malaysia. But luckily, they did deliver A Thousand Things to Malaysia. I chose priority shipping because I wanted the book in my hands the latest by December 31 (Kasha's birthday--the book was her birthday gift).
Somehow, having grown tired of waiting, I looked for Aether Age: Helios at Amazon.com. The hardcover was available, as well as shipping to Malaysia. Win! Ordered 3 copies--1 for safekeeping, 1 for reading, and 1 signed copy for Tita--and I also picked priority shipping. I don't even want to remember the total cost. Thank you HSBC Gold Visa!
I had fun tracking the deliveries through Amazon.com. Since A Thousand Things was already available, they shipped it first. Aether Age had been originally scheduled to arrive sometime mid-January. Print-on-demand, I guess. Much to my surprise, two days later, Amazon.com mailed to inform me that they bumped the schedule to January 4. Win!
Okay. A Thousand Things arrived early December 31. Right on schedule. Unfortunately (or should I say fortunately), the Malaysian soccer squad won and the Prime Minister declared that Friday a public holiday. Bummer for me, because DHL doesn't deliver during public holidays unless specified. I couldn't give the book on my sister's birthday, then. Aether Age arrived the next day, but since January 1 was also a public holiday, I wasn't getting my books that weekend. Argh! Since no one would be home on Monday, I called DHL to change the delivery address to my office (technically, my boss's office. I don't have one).
I barely contained my excitement and anticipation that weekend. I didn't want my 2-week holiday to end, but at the same time I couldn't wait for Monday to come. Imagine my dilemma.
Finally, Monday, January 3, 2011 arrived. Due to the global iPhone disaster with sudden alarm clock dysfunction on January 1, 2011, my alarm didn't go off, and Kasha woke me up at 07:45. On my first day back at work! WTF? Anyway, I rushed about, and since I was already late, sent Kasha to her office, too.
So when am I going to finally talk about Aether Age: Helios?
I'm coming to it. Patience, grasshopper.
Arrived almost 09:00, and much to my chagrin, Image Parking had terminated their contract with HKL and took away all their booths and bars. Our already-limited staff parking was open to public! WTF?!
Once that mini-drama was over, I headed straight for NeuroICU. Cheers and greeting ensued. What can I say, people love and miss me.
*All of a sudden, hundreds of fish and a thousand birds dropped dead. Now we know why.*
After reviewing patients at GICU, I walked back to my department block, and noticed a DHL motorcycle exiting the block. My DHL motorcycle! I rushed to my boss's office and there they were, on the counter, my Amazon.com boxes.
So here it is, my report in pictures:
Okay, maybe I should have snapped a picture before opening the box. What can I say, I was overwhelmed with excitement. Amazon.com really package their items snugly, which is good.
A treasure trove of three Aether Age: Helios books, hardcover. Win!
Did I mention the anthology is available in hardcover?
Fast forward to page 26. Yep, that's my name right there. Flight of the Ibis, with the title image by the great MS Corley.
Fast forward again, this time to page 276. Yes. It's a thick book. The Shadow of Phrixos was originally two stories (The Shadow of Phrixos by Jaym Gates, and The Return by Fadzlishah Johanabas), which Chris and Brandon decided to merge into one. And an excellent decision it was. Somehow both stories seem interconnected, and all the more richer for it.
Just between us, I think Jaym and I are the luckiest lof the lot because MS Corley designed the title-cover for our stories (she also has 2 stories in the anthology). Here are clearer images, which I extracted from MS Corley's blog.
I haven't read all the stories, and obviously I'm going to recommend my own, but the stories range from hard science fiction to mystical speculative fiction that cannot be defined as science fiction at all (Flight of the Ibis, heheheh). So far all the stories are a good read, and I am proud to be a part of this project.
Thank you, Chris Fletcher and Brandon Bell, for the opportunity to be included in such a great undertaking.
And thank you, readers, for suspending your reality as you travel into my worlds.
Do buy this book, either directly from Hadley Rille or from Amazon.com. Support small press, and support literature.
Two weeks left before the year ends. Time to settle accounts, to be with the family and friends for the holidays, and to wrap up a great year. Indeed, this year has been kind to me. I began to seriously publish my stories in August 2009, and in the fifteen months since, I have published fifteen stories.
I have just received my largest payment for a story, MYR910.40, to be exact, from COSMOS Magazine, which paid me AUD300 for "Act of Faith", out this month. Unfortunately, I've checked all major bookstores here, and none of them sell the magazine. Good news is I'm traveling to Singapore next weekend, and will buy a few copies of COSMOS there.
With my dayjob, I've submitted my application to pursue a Master's Degree in Neurosurgery, and am currently agitated about the interview. I just finished my General Surgery rotation, and after these two weeks of holiday, I'll be reporting for duty back at Neurosurgery HKL. My bosses are expecting diligence and dedication from me, since I'm applying to become a Neurosurgeon myself. [Deep breaths.]
2010 has been an eventful year for me, but it's near the end of the year when my writing career seems to take a leap. My most anticipated project, Aether Age: Helios, is out, and I'm expecting my contributor's copies anytime soon. "Equatorial Snow" came out at Crossed Genres for its Characters of Color issue, and yesterday it received a full review. I've linked the page, but here's what the reviewer, Scooter Carlyle, had to say about my story:
In “Equatorial Snow” by Fadzlishah Johanabas, a very misguided attempt to counteract global warming goes terribly awry making it snow for months on end in equatorial Kuala Lampur. Amri and Zarina face worldwide famine, disease, and death as they wait for their unborn child, who decides to come a little earlier than planned.
It was the relationship between the man and his wife and the choices they were forced to make as the world crumbled around them that drew me in. The voice was engaging, and the setting rich. I loved it.
Heady stuff. Tomorrow I will be reading one of my stories in public for the first time. I am still unknown among our local English writing community, and getting an invitation to read at Seksan is a great honor, one that I hope I won't blunder through.
More important, though, a reader from somewhere across the world gave me a personal message on Facebook regarding "Act of Faith". I had never expected for this to happen. Whenever I read a book that move me, I write a thank you email to the author. Sometimes they write back. Someone I don't know had written me something to that effect.
I have always loved writing for the sake of it. I publish my works because I want to touch people's hearts, to move them, to make an impact. I may not be able to do anything about it locally, and I may end up an unknown writer unless I make a splash overseas or something, but I don't think it matters anymore.
I have touched at least one person's life. I have made an impact.
Getting accepted for publication at professional- and semi-pro-paying venues speaks volumes about my stories. Getting a review, an invitation for a reading, and a thank you note from a reader, all in the same month, somehow solidify my place in the world as a writer of fiction.
For better or for worse, I have arrived. My only prayer is that I won't disappoint in years to come.
"Other people drive so you also want to drive-lah, yes or not?"
I'm told my lips purse when I'm agitated.
"Eh, don't so serious-lah. Learn to drive is like learn to smoke. Actually you don't want to smoke one. But you want to be someone who smoke. Because smoking is cool! Same thing-lah. Driving don't mean you got licence. So many people drive go no licence what! But driving means you got a car. And if you got a car, you are cool. Yes or not?"
"No-lah! Where got?" I say.
Of course no-lah where got. Because I'm not a cliche. I'm not so predictable that some Jinjang Joe driving instructor can decode me so easily. I'm complex and complicated and other polysyllabic words. No-lah, where got? C'mon, dude. Show him.
"It's a rite of passage."
"What?"
"Rite. Of. Passage. It's ... it's something that shows you've come of age.
Blank stare.
"It's the right thing to do for a kid my age."
Blank stare.
"Hai-yah, I'm in Form Five already! It's time to get a licence what!"
Instructor smiles. His teeth like an insult.
- Ivan Yeo; Clutch, Brake, Sellerator (Clutch, Brake, Sellerator and other stories, MPH Group Publishing 2010)
Depending how Mangled your Malaysian English is, you'll have different versions of Manglish. Above is an example that works. The protagonist actually uses proper English, but he uses Manglish to converse with the driving instructor, who either speaks poor English, or thinks that the protagonist speaks poor English, so he talks like a typical Malaysian Chinese to communicate with the protagonist more readily.
To confuse you even more, what if the protagonist is a Malay, talking and thinking in Malay, while the instructor is a Chinese who isn't fluent in Malay, just enough to use a broken language. Only thing is, the author uses a Universal Translator from Babylon 5 so that readers see the story in Standard English (and its broken equivalent).
Malaysians generally view Manglish with pride. It's uniquely Malaysian, this mixture of English-Malay-Chinese-Tamil. 1Malaysia la katakan (inside joke). To be honest, I mix English with Malay in my day-to-day conversations (occasionally even during formal presentations), plus some Cantonese, Tamil, Italian, or French, depending on the first curse word that pops into my head when the need arises. Not only that, my inflections differ when I use Manglish with a Malay (normal but fast), an Indian (predominantly blunt and rolling) and a Chinese (sharper, with a singsong quality characteristic of the Chinese language). You have no idea how mangled my English is.
But.
The conversations in my head are predominantly in Standard English (not British or American. Just Standard). I don't really think in Malay, even though I am one. Maybe it's because of the English books Mama used to buy for me when I was little. Maybe it's because of the English shows we watched on RTM2 and TV3, and the English-language radio stations we listened to as my siblings and I grew up. Whatever it may be, when I converse in proper English, my friends snicker and mimick my rolling Rs. They tell me I have a weird slang, not British, not American, but not Malaysian either. My Australian cousins say I don't have a slang. So there.
Purists abhor Manglish. They claim that Manglish is a pidgin language, and adulterated English. To a certain extent, I agree with them. If a presenter uses Manglish in front of an international audience, it shows how poor our grasp of Standard English is. In a world where a nation's standing is partly based on its people's mastery of English, Manglish reflects poorly on Malaysia as a whole. Even in formal discussions and presentations among local colleagues, one has to choose a common language and use its standard form. It's only proper and civil to do so, don't you agree?
Do I go as far as purists, seeking to destroy Manglish altogether? I'm not an extremist, so my answer is no. Manglish has its charms. It's uniquely Malaysian, as Singlish is to Singapore. Westerners take a while to understand and adapt, but once they do, quite a number also use Manglish (and even Mangled Malay).
To illustrate the points I have above, watch these videos of Paku & Belacan:
Hilarious, right? To be fair, they're talking in Malay, but they use the prescribed 'lah' and 'kan' and they also inject English phrases in their Malay conversations. This is exactly how Manglish sounds. Broken, weird, and at the same time endearing. I think almost all Malaysians will collapse on the floor with stitches on their flanks watching Paku & Belacan.
Here's the catch: I don't know if English users from other parts of the globe will appreciate them the same way. There's bound to be amusement beside the "What the hell are these jokers talking about?". Manglish becomes an insider language, a type of slang that not everyone can understand. Sure, a story written wholly in Manglish is distinctly Malaysian. But can it be international? I haven't tried, truth be told. I install the Universal Translator in all my stories. My characters are Malay, Chinese and/or Indian, using Malaysian versions of the languages, but readers see them as Standard English.
I used to get weirded out if I tried writing about Malaysian characters in English. Most Malaysians don't speak proper English, and to have them do so in my stories felt wrong, somehow. Unnatural, even. But I had reservations about using Manglish -- still do, actually. I ended up writing stories with Caucasian characters set in Western places I experienced through the television. I think I have a few examples somewhere in this blog. Needless to say, my storytelling suffered from a lack of solid imagery, when one of my strengths is descriptive writing.
One day, a couple of years ago, I heaved a mighty puff and declared, "Screw it!" Indeed. Screw it all. What if my Malaysian characters are actually using Malaysian languages, but I give readers the illusion of Standard English? They can talk and think in a perfectly proper manner, like they would with their first language.
Here are some examples:
Alias walked home with the Imam beside him. They almost always read the Quran at Alias’s house every Thursday night. With a flashlight guiding them, Alias talked about Melur’s pregnancy, and their plans for the unborn child. The Imam listened to the excited expecting father, only interjecting once in a while to ask a few questions.
“When is the baby due?”
“In a couple of weeks, Insya-Allah.”
The Imam nodded. “That’s good. Is Melur planning to give birth at home or at the hospital in town?”
“We’re not sure yet. Mak Timah comes regularly to check up on Melur, and she offered to be Melur’s midwife should she choose to give birth at home.”
“Don’t be fooled by her age and small frame. Timah is a good and highly experienced midwife. She’s much better than the young doctors in town.”
Alias chuckled and nodded.
The house was in complete darkness when they arrived. Melur would always leave the porch light on whenever Alias was out at night. Alias fished out his set of keys from his pocket as the Imam aimed the flashlight at the doorknob.
A wave of overpowering smells assaulted them the moment Alias opened the door. He recognized the unmistakable smell of blood, as his repair shop was downwind from the local butcher’s, but it was only an undertone against something much stronger.
“Birth-water,” muttered the Imam, sending Alias into panic.
“Melur! Sayang, where are you?”
Without bothering to turn on the light, Alias bounded toward the bedroom, where the smell was strongest. He fumbled for the light switch, but he soon wished he had not turned the light on.
- Blood Debt
My parents’ house was old even by the village standard. The wooden walls and stilts were dark with age, and the woven nipah roof looked like it was due for a fresh change. The windows were closed except for the ones in the main hall at the front of the house. A woman in a plain white baju kurung stood at the base of the staircase leading to a small patio in front of the main entrance. Her long black hair whipped about with the strong wind, but her face was mostly covered. When I approached her, she walked away. I was too tired to care.
“Assalamualaikum,” I called out. “Abah? Are you in?”
The front doors creaked open and my father stepped out, squinting to see me. He looked much older than when I last saw him. The years without my mother had not been kind on Abah. He was gaunt, his hair more white than grey, and his white T-shirt hung limp on his body when it used to bulge at the abdomen. He had more wrinkles on his tanned brown face, but he still looked the same. Stern but kind. I felt a stab of guilt for not coming back to see him even during Eid holidays, for not picking up the phone to call him.
“Ana? Rohana, is that you?”
“I told you, you need to wear glasses, Abah.” I walked up the steep stairs and took his hand to kiss it.
For a while he stood perfectly still and unresponsive, but before I could stand straight again, he rested his left hand at the back of my head. “Welcome home, Ana. Welcome home.” His voice was deep, but a higher-pitched crack broke through.
I seldom provide English names to the Malay words I use in my stories. I let the descriptions or the dialogues explain themselves. My group-mates at Writing Dot Com seem to approve of this, and a majority of them are Americans who have never been to Malaysia. I trust my storytelling to give readers a taste of Malaysia, instead of generic stories set in an exotic place. I may not use Manglish, but I showcase Malaysian sensibilities and tastes.
But am I against Manglish? Here's an excerpt of a novel-in-progress:
A small lady with wrinkled skin clinging to her bones shuffled from the depths of the shop. “You want lanterns? Got big lantern, got small lantern, got square lantern. Round lantern like outside also have.” She pointed at the general direction of the ones hanging on the street. Her fingers, deformed with arthritis, shook with fine tremors.
“No lanterns, Auntie. I’m looking for Madam Tai.”
“Madam Tai not here. You buy lantern?”
“I know she is here, behind this shop, under the trapdoor.”
The old woman stopped smiling and folded her hands back close to her chest. “You no buy lantern, you go somewhere else. Madam Tai not here.”
“Auntie. I need to speak with the Stormcaller. It’s about Jin-Wei.”
- Stormcaller
You may think that one character is talking in English, while the other uses Manglish. But wait. My protagonist is actually using Malay, while the Auntie, a Chinese lady with poor command over the language, uses a broken version. When I use the Universal Translator, the fragmented words the Auntie uses remain...well, fragmented.
This is my primary concern over using Manglish in my writing: I'm afraid that by doing so, I will limit my readership to Malaysians, and that my works will become niche stories, novelties from a third-world country that should be given special attention but not taken seriously. I'm paralyzed by this fear that I cannot write a story using Manglish, even though I've had esteemed literary agents at #askagent telling me to write great stories no matter the label. Great stories sell.
I've had Malaysian reviewers at Writing Dot Com complaining that my stories aren't really Malaysian, just Mat Salleh stories clothed in Malaysian settings.
Hah! Those of you who don't know what Mat Salleh means feel excluded, right? Annoyed, even? This is one of my concerns as well. I don't want to exclude a potentially wider audience. Mat Salleh is a Malaysian term for Caucasians, by the way.
Anyway, publishers seem to like my Malaysian stories. This is what Damien Broderick (acclaimed Science Fiction author and ex-fiction-editor of COSMOS Magazine) told me: "I like your writing, and the touches of (for an Australian readership) exoticism."
Funny thing is, so far only Malaysian writers (or those who are used to Malaysians) want Malaysian stories in Manglish in order to make a story Malaysian. Others are satisfied with the foreign setting and cultures.
Here's an interesting exchange I've had with a Malaysian writer based in London: CLICK HERE. I didn't find Zen's blog by Googling my own name, honest!
As it is, Malaysian-English stories are too sparse to make a healthy comparison. For the time being, I have to settle for an author's individual preference.
So what do you think? Is a story only truly Malaysian if written in Manglish?
I part with this Korean videoclip that has been given a misheard Manglish subtitle treatment:
