These days, it is becoming impossible to blog surf without coming face to face with discussions on identity, ranging from whimsical pondering to intense rumination. Perhaps it is the shock of turning 21 and subsequent awareness of our new adult status, bringing with it hitherto neglected concerns of self-reliance and responsibility. In our panic, we look to our immediate social environment for guidance and struggle to identify ourselves with a particular group. Not quite looking for role models, but rather desiring a peek into the future, using as a looking-glass people of similar circumstance as ourselves. The “herd mentality” of today is not so straightforward, for which herd do we belong to, which do we follow in our blind panic to survive? (Before you start shaking you head at this apparent exaggeration, consider this: Our employment market today is so competitive and cost of living rising at so high a rate, that what is life in Singapore but a desperate attempt to make the right decisions to ensure survival? But I digress.)
Reading discussions of Malay identity among my Malay friends has made it painfully obvious that I cannot honestly claim to be Malay. I speak the language with halting, vocabulary-impaired speech, possess limited knowledge of Malay heritage and culture and do not even relish eating Malay food, which, to many, is the ultimate sacrilege. The intrinsic inseperablility of race and religion further compounds the problem. I profess ignorance and little love for the dogmatic, uncompromising qualities that mark the Islam of this era. Yet, I do not begrudge others of their faith, and am heartened by my friends’ willingness to discuss and explore the boundaries of religion, a sure sign that not all have embraced the use of dogma in place of logic that has sadly become a common trait in institutionalised religion today.
Sadly, the same is true for my Chinese heritage. Besides the official evidence on my IC, the annual Chinese New Year celebrations and having just enough Chinese features to suffer one-way Mandarin conversations with Chinese shopkeepers, I cannot pretend to feel truly Chinese. My Indian relatives I have not seen for too long, my grandfather having passed away when I was to young to remember.
Where does that leave me then, having claim to three races, yet truly belonging to none? It sounds dramatic in print but in reality, surprisingly, it doesnt really bother me. In practice, I much prefer relationships borne out of affinity of character rather than ties of blood. Consequently, it is difficult for me to consider this preoccupation with racial identity to be anything more than political convenience.
