Senyumlah
The first smile I get each day comes from someone you probably wouldn't expect.
Each morning, my dad pulls up the car in the college compound; and then I have a 30-meter walk to the back entrance of Taylor's. And there, along that thirty meters of sidewalk, I meet her.
Simple blue shirt buttoned down, dark headscarf, squarish glasses only a little rounded at the edges. Broom in one hand, dustpan in the other.
"Selamat pagi, kak."
"Selamat pagi, dik!"
We exchange smiles — smiles that last for a fleeting physical moment; but that truly last me throughout the day. I'd like to believe that it lasts her the whole day too. The janitor at college, I mean.
To me, that one janitor clad in blue stands for hundreds, even thousands of faceless blue-collar workers who just slip by us in our everyday life. Speaking as one from the middle-class, I sometimes wonder why it's so hard for us to just smile and greet others regardless of their social status. In the light of our recent 'listen listen listen' public outcry, talk of respect for subordinates has gone nothing less than viral. I clearly don't support animal abuse and confiscation of microphones and irrelevant arguments in general — but hey, before we talk so much about respect, do we ourselves possess it? Do we ourselves give respect unconditionally, whether the recipient is a (cough) Master's degree holder, an O Levels graduate, or just some person clad in blue who picks up after your Subway wrappers and plastic Starbucks cups each day?
Sometimes, I don't know.
And in fact, I think that many times, I have failed along with many others.
We drive on stoically without acknowledging security guards who salute us on. We allow our eyes to dart around suspiciously when we see foreign workers, because, of course, they are the cause of every single social ill. And we walk past faceless janitors because they are easily-replaceable unskilled labor, not human beings.
I know I've failed in these matters. And so, I've committed myself to the simple act of smiling. Smiling at the people who most receive the collective frown of society.
And they smile back, unconditionally.
"Selamat pagi, kak."
"Selamat pagi, dik!"
*Writer's note: This piece was uncharacteristically hard to write. I've been wanting to write it since sometime last year, but it never got written until now. Maybe this is just something very close to my heart, so much so that it's hard to put into words (I have a soft spot for janitors, security guards, waiters and waitresses, and just blue-collar workers in general). What more can I say? In this world where one's worth is defined by social status — the mere act of acknowledging a seemingly 'insignificant' person can make all the difference.
By Hannah Khaw
Each morning, my dad pulls up the car in the college compound; and then I have a 30-meter walk to the back entrance of Taylor's. And there, along that thirty meters of sidewalk, I meet her.
Simple blue shirt buttoned down, dark headscarf, squarish glasses only a little rounded at the edges. Broom in one hand, dustpan in the other.
"Selamat pagi, kak."
"Selamat pagi, dik!"
We exchange smiles — smiles that last for a fleeting physical moment; but that truly last me throughout the day. I'd like to believe that it lasts her the whole day too. The janitor at college, I mean.
To me, that one janitor clad in blue stands for hundreds, even thousands of faceless blue-collar workers who just slip by us in our everyday life. Speaking as one from the middle-class, I sometimes wonder why it's so hard for us to just smile and greet others regardless of their social status. In the light of our recent 'listen listen listen' public outcry, talk of respect for subordinates has gone nothing less than viral. I clearly don't support animal abuse and confiscation of microphones and irrelevant arguments in general — but hey, before we talk so much about respect, do we ourselves possess it? Do we ourselves give respect unconditionally, whether the recipient is a (cough) Master's degree holder, an O Levels graduate, or just some person clad in blue who picks up after your Subway wrappers and plastic Starbucks cups each day?
Sometimes, I don't know.
And in fact, I think that many times, I have failed along with many others.
We drive on stoically without acknowledging security guards who salute us on. We allow our eyes to dart around suspiciously when we see foreign workers, because, of course, they are the cause of every single social ill. And we walk past faceless janitors because they are easily-replaceable unskilled labor, not human beings.
I know I've failed in these matters. And so, I've committed myself to the simple act of smiling. Smiling at the people who most receive the collective frown of society.
And they smile back, unconditionally.
"Selamat pagi, kak."
"Selamat pagi, dik!"
*Writer's note: This piece was uncharacteristically hard to write. I've been wanting to write it since sometime last year, but it never got written until now. Maybe this is just something very close to my heart, so much so that it's hard to put into words (I have a soft spot for janitors, security guards, waiters and waitresses, and just blue-collar workers in general). What more can I say? In this world where one's worth is defined by social status — the mere act of acknowledging a seemingly 'insignificant' person can make all the difference.
By Hannah Khaw
