The going to the International Women’s Club of Moscow itself was already international as there were four nationalities all in a German car. Jo-Anne being South African, Julia a New Zealander, Truly-Asia-half-Chinese-half-Indian Malaysian me, and Velerie the Russian chauffeur. But when I made new friends with an Indonesian Diana, an Argentinian Maria, two American Kristy’s (cool eh!), a French Patricia, A Belgian Tina, and a few others whose name I will have to check my iPAQ to recall… I felt at home among these away-from-home new friends.
For internationality’s sake, I donned a Baju Kurung too, to the International Women’s Club meeting. Alasan sebenar berbaju kurung tersebut ialah kerana hendak menutup kulit kering dan 🙂 ketidakcukuran di kaki. Hah! Ketahuan sudah! Although, I genuinely did have another motive. And that was to attract other Malaysians, or any other Malay-speaking women. And I did! As I was turning my back leaving the registration desk, I was greeted, “Are you from Malaysia?” The rest, as they say, is herstory of another Malaysian-Indonesian friendship.
I was, however, a bit disappointed to see no other Malaysians there. Disappointed, because I know there are at least a handful of Malaysians residing in downtown Moscow alone. And even less than the least… the Malaysian embassador’s wife, I thought, would and should be there, nyet? Unless, of course, she balik kampung like any other Malaysian diplomats’ wives who can afford to spend tax-payers’ money to pay for their balik-kampungness.
And there are tons of Malaysian female students here in Moscow whom I think would benefit from such an international organization. But I saw none. If there were any, they could not have missed me in my bright pink Baju Kurung and should have given me a nudge asking me, “Hoyy! Tak puasa kah?” when I was sipping on my coffee at the refreshment table. I would have told them anak bulan Syawal sudah kelihatan beberapa malam sudah di Bukit Pokrovsky.
As an internationally proud Malaysian woman, I wonder a lot about other Malaysian women here in Moscow. Di manakah dikau?
Do you have someone with whom you can stay back, sitting at your kids’ school corridor for an hour or more just to get your daily laugh stock talking silly girls’ talk like how’s best to pluck our underarm hair, and whom you can confide in, telling her what a terrible mother you think you are only to discover you both are doing the best that you can? I do.
Do you have someone who reconnects with you effortlessly, reading your mind as well as reading your blog while leaving insightful and funny comments that never fail to remind you of your own childhood and your humble beginning, keeping you humble in a subtly humble way? I do.
When I first heard her voice saying “Buk?” and she did mine saying “Bik?”, we just couldn’t say another word. We just cried on the phone thanking God for another chance to say hello to each other. It meant the world to me to just know she is safe from the earthquake in Tasikmalaya. And it meant the same to her to know I just called to see if she, Rakiman, Dewi, Ita and her coming baby were okay.
Which part of the words friend and face that these people need translation with again? It is a disappointing disparity from flattering and it can be downright scary when a stranger comes to you on the street, shakes your hand and requests that you be his friend. Don’t you think?
I have no respect, nor do I have a care for a racist. He can bleed blue blood and have a pair of wings hidden on his back. But if he thinks race is a matter of choice one makes at one’s own conception, I believe he has gladly chosen for himself to be the coal to burn the hottest hell for his ending.
Questa è Enida 
