Malaysia turned 49 years old yesterday.

49 years is no joke. It has been almost half a century since our country has obtained independence from foreign forces. Although nothing is ever just peachy, and faults or flaws can be found every single day of the year, I'm taking a step back to realise how lucky we are.

Sure, racism exists. Double standards exist. Unfairness exists. Social differences exist. I cannot say I'm not guilty of passing a cutting remark or two or twenty or two hundred about Malaysia. Who can?

But when it boils down to the core of it, we are lucky. It's just that a lot of people choose not to see it.

When we were younger, it was different. It was drawing pesky fourteen-pointed stars, colouring flags, singing patriotic songs at the top of your lungs, plucking hibiscuses, decorating your classrooms in red, blue, yellow and white. But as you grow older, at tertiary level education, in colleges and universities, somehow the physical buzz dies down and it all comes down to a personal level.

It's not so much on how you deck your car with a dozen of flags, or proudly go around shouting Merdeka three times at the stroke of midnight in your neighbourhood, or whether you took part in the parade despite the crazy haze in Kuching. It's not the speeches you hear, nor the politicians.

It's you. Yes, you.

Sure, it's a time for celebration, and fireworks, and gaily decorated floats.

But, if you strip National Day of all that jazz? It's you. Does it actually hold any semblance of a meaning to you? Or is it just another public holiday?

We didn't spend Merdeka eve at any celebration in town, or watched any fireworks. The bunch of us spent it at a friend's house, with them trusty friends JD, Chivas and Absolut. Jo wished us all a happy Merdeka once the clock in Ching's car turned 00:00. We toasted life and friendship, or rather those of us who were still sober enough to, did. I spent the early hours of Merdeka Day squatting by the roadside with Nick changing the front tyre of his car. I went home and slept through most of the day. Not the most patriotic thing to do.

I don't know about the rest of them, but the fact that I didn't go to some celebration and shout Merdeka at the stroke of midnight pumping my fist doesn't mean that I don't feel proud that we have come 49 years. Sure, you probably think, oh she's just saying this because she spent it like that, and not celebrating; but I do.

I feel proud of our country, with all it's grand flaws aside, and while I'm not old enough to be able to say that I really know how it feels to be an independent nation, I can imagine. History was learnt in school, and while it was probably a sugary glazed over version of the actual events, it carries a meaning for me.


At the end of the way, you can't say that we haven't come a long way. Because, we have.