Memory.

The other day we were learning about memory in Introduction to Psychology class - short-term memory, long-term memory, that sort of thing. The lecturer decided to ask us if anyone had any happy memories they'd like to share. She also thought it might be a good idea to call out my name and ask if I had any memories to talk about.

At that moment in time, no particularly happy moment came to mind. Emotionally speaking, I wasn't exactly in a happy mood at the time, so I just smiled and said: "I do [have memories], Miss, but they're mostly not very happy." Fortunately, she didn't probe any further and proceeded to ask someone else, who went on to share her happy memories of watching horror movies at a neighbor's house. Eyup.

Even if I had been in a more positive emotional state, I wouldn't have been open to the idea of talking about something that had happened to me in the past anyway, especially given the setting that I was in. I'm not a fan of talking when I know people aren't all that interested in what I have to say. The raconteur part of my personality only truly shows itself when I'm having a personal, one-on-one conversation with someone, not when I'm in a room full of disinterested people who barely even know how to spell my name correctly.

Later, I decided to go through the memories in my head, all the while wondering why I hadn't been able to summon even one significantly happy moment from my past. It's not that nothing happy has ever happened to me before (relatively speaking, my life hasn't really been that awful, thankfully), I suppose it's just that I'm not all that sentimental when it comes to the good times.

I find that I retain bad memories better than good ones. Is it because I experience negative emotions more intensely than positive ones? Is it because, despite my best efforts, I'm actually naturally pessimistic and am thus unable to enjoy my high points because I know things can and will go south at any moment? Or is it because I set the standards for being happy too high for me to reach on a regular basis?

One thing's for sure, though: I learn more from when things go wrong than when they go right. I suppose I tend to forget good memories because whatever lessons I may have learned from them weren't as significant as the ones I learned from less happy times.

Having said that, it's not that I retain all the bad times either. Just like so many good memories, I've let go of plenty of bad ones too. In fact, most of the memories in my head right now don't really evoke any sort of emotion; they're just pretty neutral. I guess this could be related to the fact that I'm not an emotional kind of person - I don't have much emotion in my head, and that translates to my thoughts and actions.

The past will be the past, but those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. Memories exist to guide us through the present into the future, but they shouldn't be a major part of your life, and especially not when you're only still at my age. I've still got some way to go; I don't need to be looking back at the starting line all the time.

Arbitrary Borders.

I recently received a Facebook friend request from someone whose name I couldn't pronounce. As this person shared over a dozen mutual friends with me, I figured it was probably one of the international students who went to my university. Seeing a couple of Africans in the profile picture served to add further support to my hypothesis.

However, upon closer inspection of the picture and the account Timeline, I realized that the account actually belonged to one of the Nepali security guards who worked at MIU. I also found that the guy was apparently born in 1994 - the same year as I was.

Now, that just got me thinking - here's a guy who, at 21 years of age, is working as a security guard in a foreign country. There is no way that a 21-year-old in this day and age would ever be in this situation if he or she didn't have to be.

Here in Malaysia, blue-collar work (security guards, construction workers, factory workers, cleaners, etc.) is commonly done by foreigners from places like Indonesia, Bangladesh, Nepal and so on. It says something about the education level in this country that Malaysian citizens, quite simply, do not want to do that sort of work anymore. It's completely logical, of course, as so many of us have formal qualifications that enable us to seek out higher-paying employment.

This then leaves a labor vacuum in the blue-collar sector, which companies solve by hiring foreigners, and why not - foreign laborers typically demand less pay than their local counterparts. This, in turn, leads to a large influx of foreign workers into the country. Not too long ago, if you were to go the KL city center during Raya, it would have been almost completely empty - these days, the sidewalks are filled with immigrant workers enjoying their day off.

As a result of these people doing all the so-called 'dirty work', Malaysians tend to look down on them. Sometimes it is justified, as some do seem to possess a distinct lack of personal hygiene, an inability to cross a road properly, and a fashion sense that is, to put it politely, unconventional. However, in doing so, we inadvertently put aside the fact that these foreign laborers are, in fact, people, just as we are.

As bad as some things in Malaysia may seem, the people in many other countries just aren't as fortunate as we are. You don't just decide to leave your family behind to go work in a foreign country as a construction worker, after all. These workers are people too, and they do these jobs so they can provide for their loved ones back home. 

Imagine moving to a far-off land to work. The pay there, despite not really being that much, is still better than what you'd get closer to home. You work long hours in your physically and mentally demanding job, with barely a day off from work to catch your breath. You have to send some of the cash back for your loved ones, so you live in a shophouse with 20 other guys and eat cheap food to save money. For the same reason, you wear the cheapest clothes you can find, use the cheapest public transport around, and spend a minimal amount of money on your personal hygiene. To top it all off, the local people, whose unwillingness to do your unfashionable yet necessary job is the reason you're doing it in the first place, look at you with disgust, accuse you of entering the country illegally, and want you to go back from whence you came.

Personally, I have immense respect for foreign workers. I am thankful that God has placed in me in such privilege since the day I was born, as I cannot imagine ever leading a life similar to what these people go through. Upon hearing the news about the recent Nepal earthquake, my heart immediately went out to the Nepali security guards at my university. To have been so far away from your loved ones in a time of such catastrophe must have been absolutely terrifying for them.

Just because someone comes from a lower class of society, it doesn't mean they should be treated with any less respect. Just because you were fortunate enough to be have the privileges you were given, it doesn't mean you're any better than people who weren't.

The true value of a man is in how he treats other people - especially people who are not his own people, or people who can do nothing for him. Arbitrary borders should not prevent you from treating a fellow human being with the respect he deserves.