The recent debate over the statement “India ada India. Cina ada China” made me pause.
I’m Eurasian. So where exactly do I go back to?
It’s a strange question because I’ve never thought I had anywhere else to go.
I was born in Selangor and raised in Kluang, Johor. Kluang is still the place I instinctively call my hometown. It’s where I grew up, made lifelong friends and learnt the Johor state anthem – the only state anthem I know by heart.
Today, I live in Selangor, but Johor will always feel like home.
Recently, after losing my brother, I came across something I hadn’t seen in years while sorting through family belongings: my parents’ citizenship papers. My father had carefully kept them all these years.
Holding those documents made me realise that citizenship is far more than a piece of paper. It represents hope, sacrifice and a conscious decision to belong.
My parents chose Malaysia. Their children know no other home.
Perhaps that is why the word “homeland” means something different to different people.
For some, it is where their ancestors came from. For me, homeland is where my memories were made, where my family lives, where friends have become family and where loved ones are buried.
That place is Malaysia.
Like many Malaysians, we’ve laughed at the occasional stereotype, teased one another about food, accents and football teams and, yes, sometimes even told jokes that would probably make today’s generation cringe. But there is a world of difference between laughing together and making someone feel they don’t belong.
I’d much rather we argued about the things that really matter.
Who makes the best nasi lemak? Which laksa reigns supreme? (Johor, hands down.) Where can you find the best wok hei char kuey teow? Or who serves the ultimate bowl of cendol?
Those are the arguments that end with another cup of tea (yes, tea – not coffee, but that’s an argument for another day), another shared meal and another friendship.
The other arguments leave cracks.
Cracks where people begin to wonder whether they truly belong. Cracks that slowly become divisions. And divisions that ultimately weaken us all.
Today, Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim spoke about Malaysians being one family. Whether you support him politically or not, that is a Malaysia worth striving for.
Not because we’ll all think alike. Not because we’ll all vote the same. But because we recognise that our shared future matters more than our different pasts.
To me, Bangsa Malaysia isn’t about erasing who we are.
It is about ensuring that no Malaysian ever has to question where they belong. It is about ensuring every child grows up believing this country is theirs.
That every elderly parent is cared for with dignity. That every caregiver is supported, not forgotten. That every family, regardless of race, faith or background, has access to good healthcare, decent infrastructure and the opportunity to live with hope.
It is about building a Malaysia that is ready not just for the next election, but for the next generation.
A Malaysia where Malays, Chinese, Indians, Eurasians, Ibans, Bidayuhs, Kadazans, Dusuns, Melanaus, Orang Asli and every other Malaysian community can proudly say the same thing:
There is nowhere for me to go back to.
I am already home.
The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer and do not represent those of Twentytwo13.
