Why Malaysians Still Don’t Flush Public Toilets

Let’s face it: Malaysian public toilets are crime scenes. The mystery is not why they’re dirty, but why basic flushing is treated like rocket science. How hard is it to press a lever? We’re not splitting atoms.

Some folks apparently believe flushing is beneath them, as though the next person should feel honoured to witness their biological masterpiece. Others blame the system — “the flush rosak.” Sure, maybe once in a while. But when every cubicle magically breaks down the same day? Please.

This is not about broken pipes. It’s about broken manners. The backward thinking that “someone else will clean up after me.” The same mentality that treats the country like a giant trash bin.

Public toilets reflect public values. If we can’t master the art of flushing, how can we dream of becoming a developed nation? The road to progress doesn’t...

If patience is a virtue, Malaysia must be suffering a nationwide shortage. Queue-cutting is practically our Olympic sport. At banks, food courts, government offices — wherever a line exists, there lurks a predator waiting to pounce with the classic excuse: “Eh, I just want to ask something.”

We all know where this goes. That “something” turns into a full-blown transaction, while the rest of us stew silently like unpaid extras in their personal movie. Worse still, some queue-cutters bring backup: relatives who magically appear out of nowhere to join them in line, multiplying faster than TikTok trends.

This behaviour isn’t just selfish; it’s backward-minded. The whole point of a queue is order. But in Malaysia, queues are treated like casual suggestions, not rules. It’s an attitude problem: the belief that rules apply to everyone except me.

So next time someone slides ahead, don’t just...

Ah yes, the kings and queens of selfishness: double-parkers. These modern-day road tyrants leave their cars smack in the middle of traffic, handbrake up, hazard lights blinking like Christmas decorations, and then vanish into the sunset — or more accurately, into the nearest kopitiam for a leisurely half-hour teh tarik. To them, hazard lights are not a warning; they’re a royal decree: “I’ll be five minutes.” Newsflash: five minutes in Malaysian Standard Time translates to one ice kacang, two cigarettes, and a chat with an old school friend.

The logic is breathtaking: instead of finding proper parking, just block everyone else and call it a day. After all, why inconvenience themselves when they can inconvenience the world? They must think the road was built to personally serve their Honda City.

And heaven forbid you honk. To double-parkers, honking is an insult to their entire family...

The Termites in the Temple of Democracy: How Our Politicians Are Eating the Constitution Alive

Let’s drop the pretence. Let’s strip away the polite fiction, the mind-numbing legalese, and the nauseatingly patriotic slogans that echo from ministries to mamaks. The single greatest, most existential threat to the Federal Constitution of Malaysia is not some shadowy foreign power, not an external ideology, and certainly not the average Malaysian citizen. It is the very class of people who, with greasy palms and forked tongues, swore a sacred oath to protect it: our politicians.

They are not public servants; they are a parasitic infestation in the machinery of state, systematically gnawing at the foundational beams of our nation for personal gain, political survival, and the perpetuation of their own privilege. The Constitution isn’t their guiding star; it’s an inconvenient obstacle to be...

Generators Running All Night—Why Are You Like This

Ah, the great outdoors! The shimmering stars, the rustling leaves, the serene sounds of nature… and then there’s the incessant hum of a generator running all night, blaring like it’s auditioning for the role of “Most Annoying Background Noise.” Seriously, what kind of camping experience includes having your sleep shattered by a 6,000-watt symphony of mechanical mayhem?

You might say, “Hey, it’s just a generator!” But my dear friends, it’s not just a generator—it’s a culprit of peace theft. Why is it that some campers treat their generators like the crown jewels of their camping setup? While you’re trying to catch some Z’s, there they are, blissfully unaware that their never-ending power supply might just borderline infringe on your sanity.

Let’s talk about the irony here. You venture into the wilderness to escape the chaos of...

Loud, Obnoxious Campers Who Ruin the Peace for Everyone

Ah, camping in the woods—the great outdoors where the air is crisp, the stars twinkle brightly, and the serenity of nature beckons. Or at least, that’s how it should be. Unfortunately, the idyllic experience often gets drowned out by the drumroll of loud, obnoxious campers who firmly believe they are at a rock concert instead of in a peaceful forest.

First off, what is it with the incessant yelling? It’s as if some campers think they’re auditioning for a role in a reality show titled “Loud and Unapologetic.” They are the champions of chitchat, clinking their cans and hollering across the campsite as if the trees are their personal audience. It’s a wonder the wildlife doesn’t stage an exodus from their habitats just to escape the ruckus.

And let’s not forget about their music. Have they not heard of the concept of volume control...

Parking Wars: Why Malaysian Drivers Treat Spaces Like Battlefields

Forget Ukraine or Gaza. The most savage, unhinged warfare erupts daily in Malaysian parking lots. This isn’t transportation—it’s vehicular sociopathy disguised as necessity. We don’t park; we conquer, sabotage, and hoard spaces like dragons guarding gold, armed with nothing but entitlement and hazard lights that scream: “My convenience trumps your existence.”*

Witness the tactics:

• The Double-Park Jihad: Blocking three cars because “cari makan 5 minit je!” while your victim melts in a metal box under the Johor sun.
  
• The Spot Guard: Standing in an empty bay like Gollum over the Ring, frantically waving off other drivers while your spouse circles the block for 20 minutes.
  
• The Kamikaze Reverse: Accelerating backward like a possessed tank, ignoring honks, children, or physics—your need for a space near the mamak...

Respect Isn’t Optional: How We’re Failing at Basic Decency in Malaysia—And Paying the Price

Let’s drop the pretence. We’re not “polite,” we’re selectively barbaric. We bow to titles and scream at waitstaff. We demand cincai tolerance yet lose our minds over parking spots, queue positions, or hawker stall sambal portions. This isn’t culture—it’s collective sociopathy dressed in batik.

Watch a Mercedes driver block an ambulance lane because “5 minutes won’t kill anyone” (spoiler: it might). Observe the aunty elbowing past a disabled person for the last kuih. Witness the boss who berates a cashier over a 50-sen discrepancy but expense-claims makan for his mistress. This rot isn’t incidental; it’s institutional. We’ve weaponised the phrase “Do you know who I am?” to excuse every violation of common humanity.

Respect here is transactional, not inherent. We grovel before power, exploit...

Why Is Basic Empathy Still an Afterthought? Reflections on Malaysian Kindness

We plaster “Malaysia Truly Asia” on billboards and drone on about our legendary budi bahasa, but let’s cut the marketing spiel and face the ugly truth: for a nation obsessed with “kindness,” basic human empathy is often our most glaring failure. We perform compassion beautifully for the cameras – elaborate charity events, viral fundraising for sick kids – yet stumble over the simplest, daily acts of seeing another human being.

Walk down any street. Watch the able-bodied scramble for seats on the LRT, blithely ignoring the pregnant woman or the elderly man clinging to a pole. Observe the impatient driver laying on the horn seconds after the light turns green, or worse, blocking an ambulance lane because “just for a minute.” Witness the sheer indifference as someone struggles with heavy bags, drops their...

No Filter, No Problem? The Flip Side of Our Oversharing Culture

Let’s cut the virtue-signalling nonsense. This relentless, unfiltered spew of personal minutiae online isn’t “authenticity,” it’s emotional littering. We’ve become a nation of digital exhibitionists, mistaking the “share” button for a therapist’s couch or a captive audience begging for updates on your toddler’s potty training saga or your latest marital spat.

Scroll through your feed. It’s a grotesque parade: breakdowns broadcast for likes, intimate medical details shared with the subtlety of a foghorn, every minor inconvenience elevated to epic tragedy with StruggleIsReal. Your breakfast? Documented. Your vaguebooking passive-aggression aimed at your boss? Posted. The raw, unprocessed anguish of a personal loss? Livestreamed. Where’s the dignity? Where’s the basic understanding that some things are sacred, or at least,...