As the train hums along toward Arau, passing Ipoh where most passengers seem to be heading for Penang, I find myself lost in thought. The Chinese New Year holiday is here, and while it isn’t a celebration I partake in, it’s a time that always makes me reflect—on roots, connections, and the people who’ve shaped my journey.
Growing up in Baling, Kedah, my life was intertwined with the Chinese community from an early age. My schoolmates were bright, disciplined, and reliable. I remember how they’d bring their water bottles every day, have their early dinners without fail, and were always prepared to share—whether it was knowledge, snacks, or simply kindness. It was a quiet generosity, the kind you could trust.
Later, in university, those qualities became even clearer. At First College in UM, I lived among Chinese friends in the hostel. They had this discipline that never wavered—early risers, morning showers, and a focus on their studies. While I sometimes struggled to find my rhythm, they moved with purpose. It wasn’t just their habits that struck me but their ability to work hard without losing their willingness to share and support others.
Now, as I look at the circle of Chinese friends and colleagues I’ve been fortunate to know throughout my life, I see a common thread. They have a high survival instinct, a resilience that inspires me. They don’t take things for granted and are always willing to share opportunities, so long as there’s fairness and mutual respect.
Even in my personal life, this connection is undeniable. My wife—whom I affectionately call My All in my writings—sometimes resembles the Chinese in her features. Once, during a trip to Taiwan, I completely lost her in a crowded street. For a moment, everyone around me seemed to look like her, and I panicked, unable to find her among the sea of faces. It was a surreal experience—something that had never happened before. That moment reminded me how connected we all are, how easily our lives intertwine when we let go of labels and simply see one another as people.
And yet, as I reflect on this, I also see how divided we’ve become. Politics, or perhaps the fear of losing, has pulled us apart. It’s not just about parties or ideologies—it’s the mistrust that grows when we view life as a competition for limited resources. When we focus on what separates us rather than what unites us, we lose the ability to see one another as partners, as brothers and sisters in this shared journey.
As a Muslim, I realize that this division goes against the very essence of my faith. Islam calls us to unity, to build bridges, to embody fairness and kindness toward all. This isn’t just a moral duty—it’s da’wah. My actions, my willingness to embrace others, my openness to share and listen—these are acts of worship, reflections of the values my religion upholds.
We are all placed on this earth to coexist, to support one another, and to build a society where everyone thrives. Allah reminds us in the Qur’an, "O mankind, indeed We have created you from male and female and made you peoples and tribes that you may know one another." (49:13) It’s a reminder that our differences are not meant to divide us but to teach us, to make us stronger together.
So, as I journey home for this holiday season, I carry these reflections with me. The Chinese friends I’ve known since school, university, and now in work—they’ve taught me resilience, discipline, and generosity. These are lessons I strive to emulate, not just for my own benefit but as part of my role as a Muslim, to share and show the beauty of togetherness.
The moral is clear: we need unity. Not just for harmony, but because it’s what makes us better human beings. Togetherness with all races, embracing our differences, and finding common ground isn’t just a social ideal—it’s part of my faith, my duty. And I hope, in some small way, I can live by that and show others the beauty of it.
May this season be a reminder for all of us—of the ties we share, the strength of unity, and the power of understanding. That’s where our real survival lies, inshallah.