AainaA

This is a very long post - it is a complaint to the Islaamic Sharia Court, and the National Registration Department of Malaysia. I do hope some intelligent body therein the Government will take notice and implement measures to improve the services rendered to Malaysians irrespective the size of their bank accounts.

Thanks to the Islaamic Sharia court, both mum, and I had to go to the National Registration Department today to have our national ID changed to the new address. I had earlier called JPN to ask if we could do it two weeks earlier - but someone from the department said that their camera was not functioning, and hence would only have to return when it is repaired.

I wonder how much they spend on cheap digital cameras - the cheapest is about RM267.

According to the Islaamic Court, they will not undertake the Fara’id case of my recently departed father until, my national ID, and that of my mum {since she is now staying with me} reflects my new address.

To make matters even more interesting apart from the incessant resentment and total disrespect I have for the so-called Islaamic state Malaysia is trying to vie for ISO Hadhari, I’ve not even left Selangor - meaning if it was a case for concern, {albeit that would make their lives a bit more difficult because government servants are just that servants trying to live like Kings and Queens instead of working the tax payers’ money} - they {the Sharia’ court} insisted that without my change of address reflected on my national ID of my new residence which happens to be still in the State of Selangor Darul Ehsan, they will not even peep open my father’s case.

I wonder if they realize, these so-called Muslims working at the Sharia’ Court, that the god they pray to is not ignorant of their neglecting their responsibilities, and that He is the Supreme Head of the Universe, and not some government minister which they have elected to submit to - maybe they’d prefer to work things around subject to how things are governed in the country, and in which case I’d have no comments about it seeing that nothing functions in this country to begin with.

The lady at the JPN counter at Kota Damansara district insisted of speaking Malay. I refused to even acknowledge the fact that I could understand or speak the language. In Malaysia, you are expected to appease the gods of those who can speak the language. If you insist on speaking another foreign language {in this case it’s English, which happens to be my mother tongue} seeing that the majority of these insipid servants are ignorant of the fact that Malay may be the National language, but is not the choice language amongst its populace they tend to make your lives a living hell.

“Sorry?” I queried. I know she can speak English - I refuse to entertain her by speaking Malay. I have the prerogative as a being, human, and ‘Malaysian’ to speak in whatever language that pleases me.

“You have to come back at 2 in the afternoon” she snapped. The common courtesy desk-poster on her desk is pointless - it is a note to those they serve, to remind them to be courteous. I asked her why. She explained, in basic English that since I came after 11am, I’d have to come back at 2pm to settle everything. I looked at her, and at the counters. There are four counters and obviously in Malaysia everyone who is anyone who works with a government agency is never around to serve you and make use of all the counters because it is not necessary to serve the thirty odd Malaysians in the lounge awaiting their turn to be served.

Like as if we have all the time in the world to lounge during weekdays.

“What time do I have to be here to not come back at 2pm?” I retorted. She looked at me and told me that if I had come before 11am, I could be served immediately. She also gave me the option to come back tomorrow {as if I have all the time in the world to seed a relationship with the government agency!}.

It is eleven thirty in the morning. What could I do at 11:30am in god-forsaken Kota Damansara Township that looked more like a cowboy town somewhere in Texas?

I’d have to come back at 2pm just so my ID could be filed for a change of address. My mum knew I was furious - the one thing that punches me every time I have to deal with Malaysian bureaucracy - I’d renounce my citizenship anytime, but Malaysia is so not listed as a third world, or a country well known enough to be listed on major portals online or accepted anywhere other than another 3rd world country. This is one of the reasons as to why I refuse to vote for the government under Abdullah Badawi.

So off we went to a nearby Indian Muslim shop for a drink. I abhor the heat, the administration, and will refuse to appease to these so-called ‘intelligent’ beings veiled from head to toe who condescendingly show in their faces the dislike for anyone not dressed like them.

We arrived prompt, at 2pm.

The huge office is still closed. Everyone is still fornicating somewhere or lazing their steps instead of prompting the living daylights. At ten past two, the lady came, unlocked the door and we stepped in.

I remembered being served in a Kufr’ {non-believer} state of France according to some staunch religionists any other country not submitting to the laws of Allaah, is a Kufr’ state. I think some Muslims in Malaysia are getting carried away - everyone irrespective the bents in their faith are under submission of the One Lord. Why make it difficult for those who do not cover themselves up from head to toe?

Anyway, every year or so, we’d have to go to the Prefecture de Police to renew our carte de sejour {ID}. Irrespective whether you’re a student, foreigner, immigrant or French, they’ll have seats for you to sit on irrespective whether the office is opened or closed during lunch. They also have access for senior citizens, and handicaps. They may not be the best of government servants - they may not smile at you because they have a mountain of papers to finish working on whatever, but they still respected you because you’re human. In Malaysia however it’s the other way around. I live in Malaysia, a so-called self-proclaimed Islaamic state.

Over here, you’re better treated if you’re an animal - a cat, dog, goldfish, or flea.

I asked the guy serving me at the counter whether it is necessary to have the smart-card ID changed every time someone changes the address. He replied in the affirmative and asked me for RM10 as processing fee. So if someone moves to a new address, they’d have to pay RM10 which is about $2.70 each time the chip needs to be updated. RM10 is a lot of money for someone who works at an NGO. As it is many Malaysians are paying income taxes, and pray tell me what that is being used for?

He told me to wait for my name to be called. He said the guy behind the other counter will call me when its time for him to take a quick shot of my mug. I told him that I will not wear the scarf. I don’t wear a veil - he said that all Malaysian women have to wear veils before their profiles are digitally recorded - I glared at him and said that if he insisted me to do so, I’ll not only write about it, but will bring the matter up to the attention of his Prime Minister. I was not in the mood to be compliant to how things are being managed here - I do not bow to the laws of Malaysia especially so when my rights have not been honored.

The other guy called my name, and as he could see I was much taller and bigger than him, he kept quiet. I could easily maim him with a blow of my handbag. Just then I saw the cheap digital camera that was supposedly to be out of order.

Seriously!

I cannot fathom how the government will ever change. At the rate of how things are being managed, I don’t foresee this change now, or anytime soon in the next fifty years. I think it’s time for me to seriously consider renouncing my citizenship for good.