After a few English movies filled with violence that Islam would disapprove of, morals we don’t share, and characters living lifestyles I never did, my mom was finished cooking. She had made a traditional Malay dish, something she said we used to eat as kids when grandma was still healthy enough to cook for us, although I seem to have no memory of it. I ate and realised that it was something I had not tasted in years. I then went on to call it by its English name, having Googled it out of curiosity. This was the name I would use when I texted my friends about it, about how new an experience it was to me. Friends who would find it just as alien as I did.

The third and final barrier is upbringing. SES affects more than just my material possessions, and therefore my upbringing. I grew up in an upper-middle class home. My parents are educated, my dad could help do my homework when I was a kid, and has a good command of academic subjects. Growing up, I consumed Western media on TV and on the DVDs we could afford to rent weekly. I listened to Western music and learnt Western ideas, ones my father himself would learn from his job as a crewman.

My family never had conversations concerning budgets or really, the lack of anything. Rather, we entertained concerns about what destination to fly to at the end of the year, and when we should move. I grew up in excess. I did well in school and I went to the best ones and sat in the top classes. I rarely ever spoke to Malays in my classes because I could count the number of Malays I saw in my schools on one hand. I went to an expensive specialised Secondary school and I did well for my O’ levels. I got the freedom of choice—despite my grades qualifying me to get into the best JCs—to pursue filmmaking in polytechnic where I mixed with even less Malays in my classes. Yes that was a major flex, but it serves a point, a non-flexing point.

I don’t know what it was about the choices I made during my education, but I never seemed to go where Malays go, if ever there even was a typical path for us. Inevitably I mixed with Chinese kids much more, upper-class Chinese kids to be exact. I learnt more about Christianity which the majority of my friends subscribe to than my own religion just because people around me would bring it up more often. I talked the way they do, inculcated the same habits in eating, hobbies, and thinking as they do, and hell I identified with the same sphere of cultures as they do.

But I wasn’t one of them. I can’t count the number of hours I’ve sat bored and miserable in my room on CNY because my entire circle of friends disappear to their families, as they should. So many times I’ve had FOMO seeing all my friends going out together during Hari Raya when I’m busy not talking to my extended family. I can’t celebrate their Christmas or go to their churches or go drinking with them as they so normally do. Not that I was influenced by their religion, but it felt so natural being with them to go where they go and do as they do.

When in Rome, right? But that’s not me. I’m born different. This is no Boy-In-Striped-Pyjamas-fence situation, but it is a divide based solely on my race.

I don’t think my parents would be comfortable knowing how fully ‘Chinesed’ I am. Don’t you think your parents not being comfortable with your identity rings too many bells from too many gay movies?

I don’t go home to a family where I suddenly belong again. My extended family never grew up with that ‘only Malay kid in class’ starter pack. I can’t talk to them about the things I normally think about: the shows I watch, hobbies I partake in, issues I care about or facts or news I just learnt. The cultural sphere that encircles every one of my extended family members shares no overlap with mine. None. It’s a Venn Diagram with no common middle, a mathematical concept which I have actually tried to bring up in conversation with abysmal results.