Merdeka, M'sia Day and a mad world

Merdeka has come and gone. Malaysia Day is here again. But I feel nothing. Not really. We celebrate more. We fracture more. That is the pattern now. Race. Religion. We are so hung up on them. We cannot see past them. We forget what binds us. Humanity. That is the single thread. Humans with humanity are like a lifeline in a storm. Without it, we are just drifting. This year I did not feel like celebrating. Not after watching the disaster in Nepal. The brutality of it. Even our worst enemies should not go through that. But they did. The water came. The mountains gave way. It was a natural disaster, they say. Beyond our prediction. But I am not buying that story. Not fully. The glaciers were there. The mountains were there. Were they monitored? Did anyone look? Did anyone care? Or did we just look away because it was easier? The deluge was like a movie scene. Too catastrophic to be real. But it was real. Within seconds, people perished. Others went missing. Everything was flattened. Homes. Roads. Schools. Lives. It was global warming. And global warming is real. Not a hoax. Not a conspiracy. It is here. It is now. We see it in floods. We see it in droughts. We see it in the faces of the displaced. We refuse to see. We refuse to act. Watching that horror, I felt grateful. Grateful for my home. Grateful for the food on my table. Grateful for my family. These small things. They matter so much. I decided to live in the moment. Not to worry about things beyond my control. That is the only way forward. But then I turned on the news. The world is fighting again. Or still. I cannot keep track anymore. The United States and Iran are at it again. Missiles. Sanctions. Threats. Angry speeches. They call it geopolitics. I call it madness. What are they hoping to achieve? Is it oil? Is it power? Is it revenge for something that happened decades ago? They speak of national security. They speak of strategic interests. But I see only mothers losing sons. I see fathers burying daughters. I see children who will grow up without parents. What does victory look like in this war? A flag planted on a graveyard? A treaty signed over rubble? The leaders sit in their safe rooms. Far from the explosions. They calculate their next moves like chess players. But chess pieces do not bleed. Chess pieces do not cry. The dead in Tehran are just as dead as the dead in Washington or anywhere else. War does not discriminate. It takes and takes and takes. When the dust settles, we realise we have gained nothing. Nothing but grief. They fight over borders that will shift again. They fight over religions that all preach peace but are weaponised for war. They fight because they cannot sit down and talk. They fight because they think they are right. And the rest of us just watch. Helpless. Tired. I think about our own country. We are no better. We are so hung up on race and religion that we fail to see the bigger picture. We argue about who has more rights. We fight about who is more authentic. We forget that the same water that drowned Nepal can drown us too. The same earthquakes that shake Turkey can shake us. The same fires that burn California can burn us. When the earth fights back, it does not ask for your IC. It does not check your place of worship. It just takes. I remember the old days. The kampung spirit. We shared kuih with neighbours who spoke different languages. We played together in the rain without caring about skin colour. We celebrated every festival together – not out of obligation, but out of genuine joy. That was Malaysia. That was home. Now we are strangers living under the same sky. Suspicious of each other. Divided by narratives fed to us by people who profit from our division. It makes me sad. Deeply sad. The sadness sits in my chest and refuses to move. I feel regret too. Regret for the times I stayed silent. Regret for the times I judged others unfairly. Regret for not reaching out more. For not loving more. But there is a sliver of hope. A tired hope. Worn out from years of disappointment. But it is still there. I see the volunteers in Nepal. They do not ask about passports. They do not ask about beliefs. They just help. They dig through the mud with their bare hands. They carry the injured on their backs. That is humanity. That is the thread that holds us together when everything else falls apart. If we can find that humanity in the middle of a disaster, why can we not find it in our everyday lives? I ask the same question about Iran and America. Why can they not find humanity? Why can they not see that the other side is also human? They have children. They have parents. They have dreams. They have fears. But no. They see enemies. They see threats. They see only the next strike, the next counterstrike. It is exhausting. This Malaysia Day, I will not wave my flag too hard. I will not shout from the rooftops. I will just sit here. Quietly grateful for my family and my home. I will think about the orphans in Nepal. I will pray. Not for victory. Not for dominance. Just for a little more kindness. A little more sense. Because if the world keeps fighting over petty things while the planet burns, we will have no world left to fight over. And Malaysia, my Malaysia, we are not immune. We are small. We are fragile. We need each other more than we need to be right. So let us stop fighting for a while. Let us just be. Let us be human. With humanity. That is all I want this Malaysia Day. That is all I have ever wanted. Maybe next year will be better. Maybe not. But I will keep hoping. Because hope is all we have left. Tired hope. But hope nonetheless. Dr Bhavani Krishna Iyer holds a doctorate in English literature. Her professional background encompasses teaching, journalism and public relations. She is currently pursuing a second master's degree in counselling. Comments: [email protected]