ada apa pada nama? panama (’tis not a country, definitely not)

A name is important. recently I read about a woman whose name is “S” and that her name caused her fiance to repeat his marriage solemnization (?oath – ohh my goddess?!) to her seven times.  Nama pendek masalah, nama panjang pun masalah…. apa masalah sebenarnya?  I am not going to write about people’s names here now, although I did blog about my issue with my arabesque name (it wasn’t my decision !) some time ago in a different blog.  My issue today is with higher education.

Once upon a time there was only one university in the whole of Malaysia and it was called University of Malaya. Why was it not named University of Malaysia when it relocated to Kuala Lumpur? And if a location matters in choosing a name for a university why was it not named University of Kuala Lumpur?

Maybe the question is not really why, but who.  When trying to understand history of something we often forget to ask who was involved in the making of the history and perhaps more importantly who was not. As in the case of my name, I was not involved in deciding what my name, which I am stuck with for all my life, would be.

Now in 2018, and by early next week it’s already CE 2019, there are many, more than a dozen, universities in Malaysia.  And it has been fashionable for some time now to name a university after a state that it is located in.  I wonder if by taking a name of its state, the university will also internalise the cultures (good and bad) of the state.  In other countries naming a university after a region (University of Tokyo, University of Washington State, University of Turku etc.) is commonly done as well, but the reason, be it the political, financial, or social motivation, might change over time (as to be expected of any human behaviour).  I can only hope that whatever it might be, ’tis of the best of intentions.

 

Telling stories

When i was small i loved having people telling me stories, probably more so than listening to the stories themselves. I was a good listener, still am, and I didn’t ever interrupt.  Did I notice if the same stories were being told ‘slightly’ differently every time? Or did I protest? I can’t remember.

I mean who would have the courage to change the gender of Bawang Merah (girl/woman) to boy/man? I can’t even remember how my favourite story went. But I can still remember sitting down on the wooden floor of the rumah tengah of my parents’ rumah bumbung limas at night listening to a sibling telling her stories.  There were the natural story tellers and there were the natural story listeners, of whom I was one. Of course I was for many years the youngest in the family, and coupled with my two ears I was made to listen.

A few years ago when i was going through a stressful time in my life I found it very difficult to fall asleep at night.  So whenever i got the chance I would get someone to tell me stories at bedtime – one night someone told me a story but it was no children’s story.  At some point it went all dark and extremely frightening – I had been paying attention, clearly – that I begged it to stop.

I reckon my story teller lost control of the story and so the story took control of them – that happens often especially when sleep is near…