Satire wins an award, but the real prize is the unity found in laughing together as Malaysians.
LAST Friday, something rather unexpected happened. This little column of ours won an award. Now before anyone starts saying: “Aiyo Makcik, don’t become famous then forget us-ah.”
Relax. My ego remains beautifully under control.
Every time it tries to inflate, Malaysian traffic, grocery prices and my family’s ability to humble me before breakfast immediately let the air out.
Truth be told, this award was never mine. People always say a good piece of meat takes hours to marinate before it becomes something worth serving. Turns out, opinion columns aren’t very different.
For the past year, I have been marinating every piece with Malaysian current affairs, generous spoonfuls of sarcasm, equal measures of hope and frustration, plus just enough emotional damage from reading the news to qualify as a public service. Add a sprinkle of Manglish, a handful of heart and stir vigorously every Tuesday.
Apparently, the judges asked for seconds. For that, thank you. Truly.
But here is something every cook knows. You can spend 12 hours perfecting rendang. Without hungry people gathering around the table, complimenting the food, criticising the sambal, debating whether pineapple belongs on anything and secretly going back for a third helping while saying: “Aiyo, I’m on diet-lah”… you are just standing alone in a kitchen talking to yourself.
Writing works exactly the same way. Every Tuesday, you welcomed this Makcik into your breakfast tables, office lunch breaks, LRT rides, traffic jams that mysteriously move slower when you are already late, mamak sessions and those innocent little “I just want to scroll for five minutes” moments that somehow become forty-five.
Some of you laughed until the mamak uncle stopped making teh tarik just to ask: “Eh… what’s so funny one?”
Some of you nodded so aggressively I worried for your neck. Some of you completely disagreed.
Some messaged: “Makcik… today you didn’t write an opinion piece; you chose violence.” Excellent.
Satire isn’t supposed to pat everyone gently on the head and whisper: “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
Sometimes satire arrives carrying a slipper.
Opinion writing was never meant to make everyone comfortable. It is meant to make us laugh, think, argue, disagree respectfully and occasionally stare into the distance thinking: “Eh… pain… but she’s got a point.”
What surprised this Makcik most wasn’t winning; it was discovering how wonderfully united Malaysians become the moment we laugh at ourselves.
Chinese readers laughing at Malay jokes. Malay readers enjoying Indian perspectives. Sabahans patiently correcting my geography before adding, “Never mind, Kak”.
Sarawakians teaching me words that somehow found their way into my vocabulary faster than my New Year’s resolutions.
Everyone teasing each other. Everyone laughing together. For one glorious moment, nobody cared who you voted for, what language you spoke first or which state produced the superior laksa.
Actually… scratch that. The laksa debate may continue forever – some battles are simply bigger than democracy.
Maybe that has always been the real recipe. Our country has never suffered from a shortage of opinions. If opinions generated electricity, Tenaga Nasional could probably retire.
We have experts on politics after reading one Facebook post, economists after paying for nasi lemak, football coaches during every international match, doctors after two Google searches and constitutional lawyers every election season.
And somehow… despite all that glorious chaos… we still know how to laugh together.
We complain about traffic while being the traffic. We queue 45 minutes because someone whispered, “This nasi kandar went viral.”
We tell people, “I’m reaching”, while we are still looking for parking. We complain it’s too hot. Five minutes later, we complain it’s raining. Then we complain the rain made it hot.
Nobody complains quite as professionally as Malaysians. Honestly, if complaining ever became an Olympic sport, we would probably complain about only winning silver.
And somehow, that is exactly why I love us. This award isn’t a trophy collecting dust on a shelf; it is proof there is still a place for stories that remind us we are far more alike than different.
That beneath all the political noise and keyboard wars, Malaysians still recognise honesty, still appreciate humour, still believe kindness isn’t weakness and still understand that sometimes the best way to love a country is to laugh with it before laughing at it.
So this award belongs to every one of you: everyone who read, shared, laughed, rolled your eyes, debated in the comments and disagreed respectfully. Or quietly nodded before sending it to that one friend with the caption: “Eh… this one sounds exactly like you.”
You are the reason this recipe worked. You are the spice in every dish. You are the warmth around this wonderfully noisy Malaysian dining table. More importantly, you reminded me why this Makcik started writing in the first place.
Not to preach, not to lecture and certainly not to become everyone’s favourite aunty with unsolicited life advice but to remind ourselves that behind every headline is a human story. Behind every laugh is hope. And behind every Tuesday is another chance to fall in love with this beautifully chaotic country all over again.
So from the bottom of my heart, thank you for pulling up a chair every Tuesday. Thank you for bringing your laughter. Thank you for bringing your disagreements. Thank you for bringing yourselves. Because a cook is nothing without people at the table. And this Makcik? She is already checking what is marinating for next Tuesday.
Stay spicy Malaysia, my editors send their regards.
Azura Abas is the executive editor of theSun. Comments: [email protected]
