Somewhere between the violin and the battlefield
Personal observations. Officially, nothing to report.
There is a peculiar thing about politics in Melaka. Everyone seems to know who owns the chessboard, yet everyone insists on arguing over the colour of the pieces.
Red. Blue.
Two colours, two camps, countless speeches. And somewhere in the middle, the ordinary citizen is left wondering whether this is a genuine struggle for public service or merely another game of musical chairs, with the music paid for by the taxpayers.
I have watched enough political theatre to understand one unwritten rule: the loudest man in the room is not necessarily the one holding the keys.
As for the accusations of corruption flying from one corner to another, I have made a mental note.
An allegation is a lead, not a verdict...
Every whisper deserves scrutiny; every claim requires evidence. The truth, unlike a political slogan, cannot survive on volume alone.
If tomorrow finds me absent from the scene, perhaps the people who know the real story will understand the message.
No grand farewell. No dramatic confession. Just a final entry from "Chill City", written with a steady hand and a rather inconvenient sense of humour.
And if someone asks whether I would rather listen to a violin in a quiet room or sit trapped in the endless traffic of the so-called Red City, You know my answer...
Give me the violin...
Let the strings sing while the engines cough. Let the melody rise above the horns, the arguments and the endless parade of political promises. If there are risks in choosing music over madness, so be it. Even the wolf deserves a little beauty before the next briefing.
Besides, traffic jams are dangerous places. Too much time to think, too many people checking their phones, and far too many politicians convinced that the road belongs exclusively to them.
I have never considered myself a liar. When relatives ask when I intend to marry, my answer remains unchanged: “Still Young.”
A harmless reply. A diplomatic postponement. No need to disclose operational details before the thing is ready.
But when the question turns to Melaka-who should lead, which camp should command the room, whether the future belongs to Red or Blue-I find the conversation rather more entertaining.
Must every question be answered with a declaration of allegiance? Must every observation become a campaign poster? And must every citizen choose a colour before being allowed to ask whether the job is actually getting done?
I shall leave those questions on the table.
After all, in this profession, one learns to distinguish between what people say, what they intend, and what the evidence can establish. The three rarely arrive in the same envelope.
FINAL NOTE
From Chill City, with love.
The violin continues to play. The traffic remains stubborn. The political players keep moving their pieces across the board.
Red claims one thing. Blue claims another. So who's gonna WIN ?
End of entry.
P/S: In politics, everyone wants to know who will win the game. "ME or WE" prefers to know who wrote the rules, who paid for the board, and who will still be around when the bill arrives.
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