I opened two things at the same time yesterday evening. My TNB bill that went up again for no reason, and the news saying Malaysia is giving RM100 million to Gaza. My old heart did a double beat without asking me.
I'm 66. I live alone in Lunas. I pay my own road tax, my own assessment, my own everything. I don't have a PIBG group to worry about, no wife to share the bill with, no kids running around the house. I have my own hospital queue to worry about. And when I saw that number - RM100 million - I just laughed. Not ha-ha funny laugh. The kind of laugh you give when your boss says this year no bonus but company is doing CSR in Maldives.
I'm not heartless. At 66, I have seen enough news of Gaza from both warring sides every night to know what suffering looks like. But I also know this old Malay proverb my late school teacher used to drum into my head - kera di hutan disusukan, anak di rumah mati kelaparan. You go and feed the monkey in the jungle, while your own child at home is starving. Today that child is me. That child is us, the old folks here.
And boss, let's be honest. It's not your money. It's my money. It's our money. My income tax from 30 years of working, my SST every time I buy bread, my road tax, those traffic summonses that still arrive on time even when the streetlight outside my taman doesn't work. If you want to be generous, be generous from your own pocket. Cut your allowance, sell one of your three Vellfires, auction one Rolex. Then I, this old man in Lunas, will clap for you from my wooden chair. But don't act like a hero using taxpayers' money like it came out of your own pocket.
Let me tell you what RM100 million looks like from where I sit, in my slippers, outside my house.
Take schools. I don't have kids, but I see my neighbor's grandchildren walk past my house every morning with bags bigger than them. I heard one story and I cannot forget it - one fan in a classroom of 44 students. That fan is not a fan, that is a museum artifact. It spins so slow the kids can count the blades for their math lesson. That fan is working harder than me trying to climb the stairs to the government clinic. We want to air-condition Gaza while our own schools are an oven?
Then hospitals. This is my life now. At 66, GH is my second home. Repair the government hospital first, because right now you get sicker waiting to see the doctor for your sickness. I went last month, took number at 8.00 am, saw doctor at 1pm, and by then my fever had left out of boredom.
No beds, no doctors, ambulances older than my first motorcycle. They say HKL needs more beds, Gaza needs beds, but boss we only have one bed and you already gave it away.
Roads. Every road around my taman has a moon crater. I drive my old Spectra slowly because one pothole can send me straight to the GH that has no beds. Every manhole cover waiting to swallow a Myvi whole, some streetlight not working since last election. I know every pothole by name now, like my own grandchildren that I never had. We do have craters here, just ours are made by JKR, not by bombs.
They cut subsidies left and right here. Sugar up, electricity up, diesel up, everything up. Then over there we want to show off like we are Saudi. It's like wearing a Rolex but asking your friend to belanja you nasi lemak. Our ringgit is dropping like my eyesight, but our ego is flying business class.
My pocket very often gets empty. At 66, they tell me they care for the old folks. My own EPF counted its last days long before. But suddenly we have RM100 million to adjust another country. Beautiful logic. Like you still owe the Ah Long 20 billion from 1MDB, but you belanja the whole kampung KFC. Very good government, they say.
And food price. I live alone, I cook one egg, I still have to check the price of vegetables like I am checking gold price. At my age, I eat less, but I still have to eat. People have to steal milk to feed their kids, where does charity begins at home stand? For me, it stands in the queue at the clinic, holding my empty plastic bag, waiting for Panadol.
And here is the part that makes a 66-year-old man become an auditor overnight. Where does the money go? We send 100, until there maybe 1 million only. The rest stuck in transit like my Shopee parcel that never arrived. RM100 juta entah ke mana, nanti buat u-turn masuk poket VVIP. The famous Malaysian U-turn. Not on the road, the money itself knows how to U-turn back into a VVIP pocket. Very skilled driver. After so many years in Malaysia, I know that U-turn very well.
Then there is the audit question that even the UN is scared to ask - how did Hamas get money to buy weapons, and where did previous humanitarian funds go? We build, they bomb, we build again, and they bomb again. It's like washing clothes in the rain. You reconstruct, another bomb will explode and there goes 100 million in smoke. This is not rocket science. This is not even science. This is common sense, and common sense is not common in Parliament.
And why must it be us? Why must Malaysia with a Myvi economy act like a Lamborghini? Those rich neighbors with money like sand in the desert, Saudi, UAE, they keep quiet. We have sand also, but our sand is inside our potholes in Lunas. We want to be hero. At 66, I have learned to tell the difference between being kind and being foolish.
The most painful truth is this - sorry folks, whatever we comment they will still proceed. We can comment until our fingers bleed, they will still proceed like my neighbor with his karaoke at midnight. That's the feeling of a old man at 66. Helpless.
Someone gave the superpower sarcasm speech that I will never forget - actually Malaysia's currency and economy is above US economy, so we have to solve all problems on earth, we are the superpower, and we don't bother if our currency is down but helping other countries is our main priority. We are a man with torn pants donating to Armani. I am that man. My pants are torn, I am 66, living alone in Lunas, and I am donating to Armani.
So no, I am not against helping. If you pass the tabung around for an animal shelter I will put in RM10. That's sincere. That's from my heart. But don't take from the national tabung that was supposed to fix my hospital, my road, my streetlight that has not worked for two years.
If it's your money, go ahead. That's what everyone is asking. Is it your money? Because it sure looks like you are spending it like it came from your own pocket, while it actually came from the rakyat.
I am 66. I have no kids to leave this debt to. But I still have to live here. Fix my house first. Fix my clinic, fix my road, and give me a streetlight so I don't fall at night when I go out to buy bread. Then we can go and save the world. Otherwise the world will be saved, and this old man will have no house left to die in peace.
ENDS
By
Sam Trailerman
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