MAY 3 — Hi, my name is Michelle. I almost forsook my generation. 

I hail from a modest family. I have a hardworking father and a loving mother. They taught me well and always made sure that I had everything I need. As a child, I always thought that everything was blissful. Daddy always came home with a smile on his face — it always seemed that he had a good day at work. Mum was always happy to see him. My siblings and I were the rather happy-go-lucky kind. 

It was 11 when I knew that I wanted to become an enforcer of justice. How? I don’t know. It just felt right. I didn’t know what I wanted to do exactly. I thought of being a policewoman or a forensic scientist or a lawyer. I just wanted to do what was right.  

This desire kept with me ever since. 

When mum realised my passion, she was rather happy. My dad always called me the “loyar burok” in the house. Needless to say, I was very argumentative since I was a kid. My parents always knew that I’d develop along those lines. 

And then, I grew up. 

I grew up to realise that I wouldn’t derive much satisfaction if I were just to become a lawyer. To change lives case by case was is a noble task, no doubt. But I’ve always felt like I can do more than that. I logically derived that the greatest enforcers of justice are judges. And I wanted to be one. I would hear many cases within a day. And would have been able to change more lives than if I were to be a lawyer. 

I told my parents what I wanted to do. And well, they weren’t very happy about it. Everything went downhill from then on. 

We exchanged hurtful conversations. My dad, being in a semi-government sector, told me that I wouldn’t get anywhere if I were to work in the public service. Dad was a noble man. He stood by his boss when everyone ran away. He worked hard and trained a whole generation of workers who were to be fed into the work line. He climbed the corporate ladder. But he didn’t get up as high as he should have. As the years passed, he saw the generation that he trained become his bosses. He felt that it was unfair for him to go through that. The system lacked justice, evidently — he said that it is because he is Chinese. 

My mum said that her many friends who are now judges are living testimonies of the degree of corruption in the Malaysian judiciary. “Why do you want to trap yourself in a cage?” she asked. I told her that it’s because if the judiciary is corrupt, then judgments in individual cases will be corrupted as well. It’s a knock-on effect. At the end of the day, we’ll be living in a society whose culture was developed by corruption. I said that I wished to stop that. She said: “‘My friends thought that as well. Look at them now.” I said: “‘Mum, when you are called to do something, you don’t just give up like that. Even if I don’t succeed in this generation, at least I can die knowing that I’ve paved the path for future generations to walk on and, hopefully, build on.” She said: “If you ever get into trouble, don’t come looking for me.” 

I knew that my parents didn’t mean what they say. They were being parents. They were looking out for me. But words like that hurt, you know? 

I thought long and hard about it — if the path that I’m going to walk will cause my family to turn against me, if the path that I am taking will leave me with huge financial burdens, if the path that I take will be so hindered such that, at the end of the day, I wouldn’t be anywhere near what I intend to achieve, is it worth it? 

My parents told me: “Michelle, you’re a smart child. Get a job overseas. Don’t come back.” 

I thought that the suggestion had merit and, at one point, gave huge weight to it. Law enforcement in Malaysia seemed hopeless. So they say, “one man can’t change the world”. 

I went through a tough battle with myself. My mum had a point. If the system was already corrupted, and if you are going to work in the system, you’re not going to get anywhere. Logically, I thought to myself — the only way to achieve my dreams will be to change the system. And the only way to do that was, well, politics. 

I thought myself crazy for a moment. I felt that everything would be working against me if I went into that field. I am a Chinese, Christian, female. Who would want to hear what I say? I kept this to myself for a long time. I didn’t dare say anything to anyone for fear that I will be made fun of. 

But since making that decision, it has rested well with my soul. I felt good about it. 

In 2009, when I held office in the Malaysian Society in LSE, I was approached to organise a talk in LSE for Anwar Ibrahim. For the safety and wellbeing of the community I represented, I felt that it would have been suicidal to say yes to organising this event. Surely, since his release from prison, he will inadvertently draw a huge crowd with hugely varying interests and opinions. I made my stance clear to his organising committee, but directed them to the right sources so that they can organise their event in LSE nonetheless. 

After the talks he gave in London, Senator David Yeoh, who was part of his entourage, treated the organising committee to a dinner to say thank you. I had the opportunity to meet young activists — those who shared the same ideal as I do. They told their stories of how they were detained at immigration upon entry into Malaysia, their hopes for our country, and how they have been fighting, and will keep on fighting for many years to come. 

I was rather in awe. 

I turned to Yeoh and asked whether PR offered internships. He made a sensible comment and said: “No. We’re too young. Ask DAP. They should have MPs that you can work under.” 

Long story short, I did a 1½-month internship with Tony Pua and Dr Ong Kian Ming (UCSI lecturer, political analyst, consultant). And everything that I did within that time span felt right. I didn’t matter whether I took three flights in two days between Peninsular Malaysia and Sarawak. It didn’t matter that I had to be at Taman Jaya station at 8 in the morning everyday to head to the many districts in Selangor, only to do the simple task of note-taking during the town hall meetings which will contribute to the Selangor Blueprint. On these days, I’ll reach home at about midnight, only to have that few hours of sleep, and repeat the whole routine again. 

I worked with people on the ground, learned their way of life, their morals, their culture. I heard their heartbreaking stories about how all they want is a Sibu that doesn’t flood, a Kuching that has its land distributed fairly among its people, an education system that doesn’t brainwash their children... 

I saw these people, and had this surging desire to educate the uneducated, to give jobs to the poor, to speak for the voiceless. 

I felt that I would be doing injustice if I were to use my abilities and resources for myself. It just wasn’t right. I want the aunts and uncles who sell fruits by the street to not have to worry whether they’ll be able to make a good sale tomorrow. I want the children of these uncles and aunts to know that they have an equal opportunity to achieve their heart’s desires in the future. I want UM to find its place on the world stage again. I want teachers to have pride in their work. I want Malaysia to be the place where people are proud to be a part of; a place where people will want to come home to. 

Hi, my name is Michelle. Forsake my generation, I shan’t.

* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication. The Malaysian Insider does not endorse the view unless specified.