Do I look dumb in maroon?

(From Personal Archives)
I was walking down the street, thinking how cool I was, in the Bank’s white-and-maroon “Formula-1” shirt when I stumbled upon a fellow staff of the Bank on the bridge linking Jalan Melayu and PUTRA’s Masjid Jamek station. He gave me that look, you know, the deep yet puzzling what-in-the-name-of-God-is-this-guy-doing look. I thought it was nothing, so like always, I said hi and gave him a sincere have-a-nice-day smile. Then he said something. The words came rushing into my ears, pushing their ways into my bloodlines and before you know it, my brain was drained. I felt like I was run over by a huge fully loaded 16-wheeler truck.

“You look really dumb in that shirt.” he said. I could feel my brain froze for moments but I managed to push out a simple innocent answer,”Oh, this shirt? Almost everyone in my department wear this shirt today”. Then came the reply, “Oh, I don’t know that there are other dumb people in the bank?” I didn’t say anything but I gave him a smile and walked away.

I could not sleep peacefully a few days after that incident. The incident kept on playing in my mind like the old Peyton Place reruns that I hated most as a kid. Have I sinned to wear the shirt? Have I committed a crime for just trying to show that I belong somewhere? If it was, why it felt so good to wear the shirt knowing I have actually advertised to the whole world that I actually work for the Bank?

I realised that the importance of sense of belonging to a human being when I saw a bunch of Malay Neo-Nazis or Skinheads as they preferred to be called, walking tall in their Swastika T-shirts, leather jackets and high-cut boots. Irrespective of who you are, a human needs to belong to his or her peers. Even the young Skinheads who barely know what Nazi is all about, let alone to fully understand the principles and ideology behind the movement.

I spent almost 400 ringgit on my son’s Manchester United’s replica jersey complete with his favourite player’s number and his name just to give him a sense of belonging. That is more than my helper’s monthly payroll. Just for him to proudly say that he belongs to one of the greatest football clubs the world has ever seen. You could see the manifestation of confidence and pride with the glow in his eyes, and I could honestly verify that it was not me who lifted his spirits. It was that red jersey that did the job.

And, if we are willing to spent our money and proudly wear the jersey to support the team that never knew we existed, why not the free white-and-maroon shirt to identify the team we already belong to.

I saw that guy again, on the afternoon of 22nd February, proudly holding his maroon card in the middle of a long queue at the ATM. And, even with all the colours of money he took out from the machine that day, maroon seemed to be the colour of the day.

Deep in my heart, I know I look good in any colour, knowing that I belong somewhere.

Chazz - Jalan Melaka