A fickle thing called Football

In Dublin I play evening football with Malaysians. In Malaysia, I play with foreigners. Call it irony

The United Nations

The field in SS15 is a stone’s throw away from a handful of private (read :expensive) colleges. This means a plethora of students from all over the world (mostly third world countries) gather in the place I call home. The huge number of shops around that area also attracts Indonesian and Vietnamese (read : cheap) labour.


Right. I’m trying to find the most politically correct term for them. I will resist the use of the ‘n’ word though. Black? African? Coloured?.....Hence the conundrum. I’ll stick with African. I’m sure you get the picture.

Ya Hajee

“Ya hajee, pass the ball”, says African-with-bright-green-Adidas-shoes

The Africans outnumber everyone else on the field. Even the Indonesians. Most of all, the locals. Yeap. The dwindling Malaysian population in and around the field leaves many questions unanswered. The boys have turned to men. Working men. Which means less time for leisure. I do miss the guys.

The purpose of this post? None whatsoever.

O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise (each other). Verily the most honoured of you in the sight of Allah is (he who is) the most righteous of you. And Allah has full knowledge and is well acquainted (with all things). 49:13



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