Malaysians are a generous lot, but some take a collection for old clothes to the extreme, treating it as an excuse to get rid of rubbish.

ONE of the things my friends and I do – and this is on a when and can basis – is collect old but usable clothes, toys, books for marginalised communities such as stateless children, IDUs (Injectable Drug Users), sex workers and the poor who live in areas such as Chow Kit, Penang and so forth.

We do collect clothes for others in need too, who may not be part of these communities, such as orphans.

I have to say Malaysians are a generous lot, and it has been a delight meeting with readers who keep in touch with me on a semi-regular basis via email and friends of friends who want to help out.

What is considered waste by many may just be treasure to those in need.

However, it is the bad apples who stay in your mind and heart for quite some time. Much as I do not want to dwell on them – it’s all about love and positivity, baby – I have to admit that their behaviour makes me question human nature.

We’ve had to contend with broken toys and torn books before, simply because some donors think we’re a dumping ground for their rubbish, and poor children would not know the difference.

Once, I received a plastic bag full of used men’s underwear. I still remember how I held one up with a pen. I had volunteered to collect clothes for a humanitarian group to help clothe Afghans in conflict.

The men’s underwear were old Y-fronts, yellowed from age and wear and tear and one had suspicious spots on it.

These went into the bin because I didn’t want Afghan men scratching their nether regions thanks to some cooties imported from Malaysia.

I’ve also had the privilege of meeting with the wealthy and powerful who donated their designer clothes. I also didn’t have the heart to tell them that their Gucci or Boss shirts would be worn by perhaps, a desperate IDU who scored so he could function as a father and husband.

Once a beautiful baju kurung was given to us, and a transsexual grabbed it the moment she saw it, to wear to a drag queen contest.

I do note one thing: many Malay(sians) tend to be very fussy as to where their former belongings go. Now this is not a racial thing (though everything in Malaysia is about that, yes?).

But I am always asked this: would their things go to Malays or not? I never even hear the word Muslim.

It’s always about, “… ni yang nak dapat ni, orang Melayu ke sapa?”

After we get the racial demographics right, they want to know whether it’s for orphans or single mothers, and if no, who were they?

Now I’ve created a lexicon of grunts and sound effects when having to deal with these people. The sounds or words are: “Erm”. “Ork”. “Enggg”. “Hmm”. “Hmm?”

The meanings behind these sounds depend on the pitch of your voice. And of course a muka toye. The less you say, and the more deadpan your face is, the easier. All this was of course developed over many years.

I’ve even been lectured at by an elderly lady about how Muslims must help Muslims first, and that we shouldn’t help non-Muslims at all. I have had emails from readers who tell me it was a waste of my time for writing about, and working with, marginalised communities because they were going to die anyway and were sampah masyarakat (dregs of society).

When I have these interesting encounters I wonder (1) when Islam became a jurisdiction of the Malays only? What I have been taught from young was that Islam is a communal faith, which extends to all races. That means the well-being of a society, rich or poor, is a Muslim’s obligation towards it.

(2) Why is it wonderful to support the overseas poor, when we have the poor ourselves, in our country? If you want me to be racial, yes, the majority of the poor are Malays.

Yes, we have very poor Orang Asal, Chinese and Indian, too, and in my book these people count for very much, as much as the Malay poor. But since some people are so concerned about what race their clothes are going to, and since the Malays tend to breed like rabbits anyway, hence they make up a huge demographic, why aren’t we helping our own countrymen?

Perhaps we’re not glamorous, no? Simpang malaikat, but we don’t have a war and Jews pounding shells on us. We’re too rich and happy.

Still, it is when a reader like AMO, who comes and donates funds and is concerned about the well-being of single mothers and children, and seeing my schoolmates and their husbands pitching in to help, it makes it all worthwhile.

For that, we thank you.

• The writer thanks her readers for donating clothes, and financial support to her pet causes.

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