I left the Guardian in March 2012. I didn’t get snapped up by another paper. I’m hardly the most prolific freelancer and I haven’t written a book. I know lots of journalists - lots of Guardian journalists especially - have succeeded in one or more of these areas. Sometimes these people write about their reasons for leaving. I resisted because nobody knows who I am or really cares why I’m not there anymore. I’m not a Name, I’m not a brand. So this post isn’t about what you think of me, getting you to like me or touting for business, it’s more my way of articulating what happens when you fall off the radar and finding a way of writing for myself.

There’s a bit of existential angst that comes with leaving a high profile organisation. I started to ask myself whether I was who I was because I worked at the Guardian or whether I worked at the Guardian because of who I was. Then I snapped out of it and thought about what to do with my voluntary redundancy cash.

So what am I doing? I’m reading a War Studies MA full time at King’s College London, specializing in Afghanistan and South Asian Security Issues and Civilians and Extreme Trauma. As a journalist, you’re very good at picking things up quickly and dropping them just as fast. But I wanted to know more, I wanted to learn something. Picking up a book at the weekend or reading a few pages before bed wasn’t enough. I worried that a part of my brain had withered away and that I was too old to sit in a classroom.  It hasn’t and I’m not, which is a relief because I’m self-funding my way through this degree. The decision not to freelance - or freelance much - is due to finances. I can’t afford to be distracted by pitching for work (especially when there is precious little paid work out there) and if I don’t get a distinction in this MA I’ve wasted my time.

I still class myself as a journalist, though, and this break is my maternity leave. I won’t have a screaming infant, puke on my blouse or poo on my face to show for it at the end of this process, but I will have a qualification and a mass of knowledge that would have otherwise eluded me.

I could have stayed at the Guardian but there’s every possibility that I would have made no progress had I done. In fact, by the time March 2013 comes round I’ll be streets ahead of where I was 12 months beforehand. In the months since I’ve left I’m happier, fitter, younger looking (honestly), more confident. I feel like I used to and that’s such an improvement on how I have felt about myself in the last three years.

I’m going to use this blog to write about things that interest me. So that’s mostly but not always Pakistan. I thought of a little strapline too - “I give a shit about Pakistan so you don’t have to” but decided maybe it was a little too dark. I am going to try to write once or twice a week and, this is awful, I plan to document how people are dying in Pakistan. A lot of time is spent documenting who or how many die in drone strikes. It’s a matter of international interest, because it involves the US and UAVs. But I think anti-Shia violence does more to destabilise the country, although this reality will be of less interest because it’s just Pakistanis killing each other, right? I also hope to include links to some of the best reports and blogs on Pakistan out there. I’m going to start with these two articles - one from the excellent Rafia Zakaria:

The challenge of the Pakistani writer is to find new ways of writing about death. Death is everywhere inside bottles of cough syrup, lurking around the first aid boxes of health workers, in snooker clubs on Alamdar Road in Quetta, on the Super Highway in Karachi. Death skulks on street corners if you don’t’ hand over your mobile phone fast enough, on the window ledges of office buildings, in altercations outside apartment buildings, in slums and suburbs. Writing about Pakistan and for Pakistanis is writing about death, making death digestible, death in vast doses that choke when they hit the throat, death that threatens to numb the living before they die, death that curses and kills and bloodies and weeps but refuses to reveal which murmured prayer will yield some respite from this time of constant endings.

The other one is from M Ilyas Khan, who writes for the BBC about anti-Shia militants:

Wednesday’s bombings of a Shia Muslim neighbourhood in the Pakistani city of Quetta that killed almost 100 people is a grim reminder of the power of sectarian militants to act as the arbiters of peace - and war - in this country.

Since 2004-05, they have steadily spread their wings in south western Balochistan province, where the ethnic Hazara community of Shia Muslims has been their main target.

Figures released by the Balochistan government place the number of Shias killed in the province between 2008 and 2012 at 758. Members of the Hazara community say the figure is much higher.

Yes you read that right - at least 758 deaths in Balochistan alone in four years. The drones don’t look too bad now do they?

Anyway, if things are really grim and hectic in Pakistan (which they normally tend to be) posts might just read like A Shopping List of Death. Like I said, I’m giving a shit about Pakistan so you don’t have to.

I am not a traveler, I am not a backpacker, I am not a flashpacker. But in the two months since I left the UK these are my observations on people who fit into one or all of these categories.

1. You are insufferably smug. You’re not traveling, you’re on holiday. Stop misusing this verb. Want to find yourself? Use a mirror.

2. Street food is not exotic. It’s food you get on the street and the reason it is so prevalent is that it is often cheaper to buy food on the street in some countries than it is to cook it at home. The stalls are not there for your benefit. Would you buy your evening meal, back home, for 25p? No? So why do it overseas? Because it’s exotic? There is no shame in wanting a table and a roof for your evening meal.

3. You’re not flashpacking, you’re just too pretentious to stay in a hotel and too old to sleep in a dorm.

4. Meeting locals is overrated. You can’t speak the language. If you can, chances are you won’t move beyond GCSE standard phrases. How does that enrich your experience? Do you think that local will walk away thinking “wow, I loved talking to that person from UK/Australia/New Zealand/Germany. That conversation will stay with me forever”? No. It was passing the time, small talk. Don’t flatter yourself. I sat next to a nun for a six-hour bus ride between Siem Reap and Phnom Penh. I can’t say I or she felt better for it. Unless you’re going through friends/relatives/airbnb/charities then you won’t have an authentic experience. For example, what Lahoris like to do is eat and shop. They aren’t interested in book launches or art exhibitions or going to villages as a leisure activity.

5. Markets/bazaars/souks are not exotic or exciting (see street food, above) - they are places where you buy stuff. Your experience of markets is probably restricted to Albert Square. And what is so great about buying knock-off designer items anyway. If you need need 20kg of turmeric, then that’s something else.

6.Villages (see bazaars, street food stalls) - these are generally the same wherever you go. Pakistan, Thailand, Cambodia. Poor people, open sewers, dirt tracks, random livestock. Are you having fun? The villagers aren’t. Besides, it’s rude to stare.

7. Public transport. OK if you are on a budget - rather than trying to prove a point about how real you are - then it is cheaper and more realistic to use buses/trains/donkeys rather than airlines. But if you can afford to fly then why don’t you? The damage is already done (with your carbon footprint) and why would you want to spend 20 hours, say, on a train between Butterworth and Bangkok when you could do the journey in a fraction of the time? Think about it - 20 hours. You could be having fun. Instead you’re trying to reenact Some Like It Hot. But you are not Marilyn. As my friend Lily said, “You really want paddyfield, paddyfield, paddyfield, paddyfield?”

8. If you’re a backpacker then you’re not supporting the local economy. End of. You’re eating peanut butter in bed because it’s cheaper than going to a cafe and spending $1.50 and ordering breakfast. Set up a direct debit if you want to make a difference. Anyway, if you’re so poor then why go abroad in the first place?

9. Places of worship can get a bit meh. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. With the exceptions of the crazy ass mosques in Brunei and the gobsmacking wonders of European churches then religious buildings get a bit samey. Or rather, Angkor Watever. 

10. Ethnic accessories - ladies are the worst offenders. For example, harem pants. Nobody outside a Sex and the City set wears them. Except you. Oh and guys - facial hair doesn’t make you look intrepid. Just hairy.

11. It’s not cool to be a living breathing version of Go Compare. Asking people how much they spent (on hotels/flights/tours) is just vulgar. Asking how much you should expect to spend (on hotels/flights/tours) is different.

Penang Thang - part three

Penang thang - part two

Malaysia prides itself on being a melting pot of cultures, races and walks of life. Except the gay walk of life that is.

OK, so Malaysia is a Muslim country and it follows (if you look at the theology of Islam) that it doesn’t like the LGBT community. But Malaysia has a lavish ad campaign - and has had for some years - about how “truly Asia” it is. Yeah, about that.

Recently, two things have happened to throw this disconnect back into the limelight. The first was a response to a question in parliament about what protection the country’s constitution offered against discrimination on sexual orientation grounds.

Mashitah Ibrahim said Article 8 of the constitution, which talks about equality, has never been interpreted to mean sexual preference and only applies to gender.

“Article 8 of the Federal Constitution says there must be no discrimination of citizens in terms of religion or sex. ‘Sex’ has never been interpreted to mean sexual orientation; it has always been interpreted to mean either male or female, and they are [the only ones] protected by the constitution,” said Mashitah.

Clause 1 of Article 8 states that “all persons are equal before the law and entitled to the equal protection of the law”. Clause 2 states that “there shall be no discrimination against citizens on the ground only of religion, race, descent, place of birth or gender”.

So you’re protected against discrimination on all sorts of grounds but not the gay one. This zero tolerance goes all the way to the top (see Anwar sodomy trial) and indeed the bottom. Not even schoolboys are safe.

Mashitah earlier said that the government is serious in tackling the issue of LGBT as it went against the constitution of the country, which states that Islam is the official federal religion.

She said that through the many government initiatives, including rehabilitation and other programmes, “many have returned to the path [pangkalan]“.

“We see that LGBT happens following what is happening in Europe. It is not only individual but a movement. They are being mobilised to come out, as if they have been oppressed, on the excuse that their human rights have been taken away.

“We are against the mobilisation of this movement to spread this ideology,” she said.

Nice. So the Malaysian government has programs to cure gays of their gayness. Here’s an extract from a BBC story about 66 schoolboys carted off to an anti-gay bootcamp.

The schoolboys allegedly displayed “feminine mannerisms” - though educators in the conservative state of Terengganu did not detail what they were, says the BBC’s Jennifer Pak in Kuala Lumpur. State officials say that, if left unchecked, the students - aged between 13 and 17 - could end up gay or transsexual.

Why is nobody writing about this? Oh, because it’s Malaysia not somewhere sexy (read newsworthy). This is nuts. Anyway, I said there were a couple of things to have revealed the uncomfortable truth behind Malaysia’s glossy facade. The second thing was the ongoing controversy about Irshad Manji’s book Allah, Liberty and Love. The book is not available in the country, people who try to sell it are charged. The chances are that not many people have read it. But why let this get in the way?

The State Religious Committee in Johor has already got workshops and seminars to combat the spread of LGBT (as if it were dry rot or something):

“As of now, the Johor Religious Department has not received any complaint on the culture being spread by any group or individual; or of any special programmes related to the LGBT culture.

“The state government has also taken steps by giving out explanation and information to the community through seminars and workshops that were organised to spread the word on the dangers of the culture.”

So even though there is no evidence of this spread, Johor Baru is doing its best to keep it that way.

Malaysian LGBT rights group Seksualiti Merdeka certainly has its work cut out.

I am indebted to Sam Jones for emailing me one of his cartoons years ago, ahead of the Islamophonic launch. Sam, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, thank you.

I don’t wear the veil, niqab, whatever you want to call it. I don’t mind women who do - as long as they don’t force me to wear it or look askance at me because I choose not to. I appreciate that women who veil get a hard time in a way that is sometimes out of proportion to the act of covering their face.

So while I sympathize with them for the hostility the attract - it’s a piece of fabric, get over it - I don’t feel sorry for them. I do, however, get really angry with them - or rather their husbands - sometimes for demanding special treatment or expecting it.

There have been several instances on my holiday where husbands of veiled women have sought certain privileges - not huge ones, we’re not talking Faberge eggs or anything - but asked for special treatment that other holidaymakers and travelers have not.

Exhibit A - a flight to Malaysia. There are many Muslims on the flight, up to a dozen of them fully covered women. Most manage to sit next to their families and friends. A few don’t. There is a scene. A man from the group (which includes two, perhaps three niqabis) wants to know why they can’t sit where they want to. The flight is full, explains the cabin crew member, and passengers have to sit in the seat indicated on the boarding pass. We’re not sitting together, protests the male passenger, and I don’t want my wife to sit next to a strange man. I want to sit next to her. The cabin crew member explains again that, apologies, the flight is full and that people have to take their seats according to their boarding pass. Did they check-in online to ensure they could sit as a group? No. The strange man kindly offers to move so that the now irate husband can sit next to his wife who is attracting lots of attention, thus defeating the object of the veil surely.

Exhibit B - the flight to Langkawi. A man refuses to hand his wife’s passport over at the boarding gate. I kid you not. Why do you need to see her ticket? He demands of the Malaysian Airlines employee. You have her boarding pass. He stalks back to his veiled wife. Huh?

Exhibit C - the cable car in Langkawi. A husband and his veiled wife want a car to themselves and say as much to the cable car employee, who duly shunts three women in with them. The trio of women are blonde, blue eyed and showing lots of skin - denim shorts and vests.

Men, if your wife wears a veil, here are some things you can do to minimize disruption when on vacation.

Check-in online. This way, you can choose where you and your wives sit. Heaven forbid they should sit next to a non-mahram. Online check-in, it’s only been around for years and is used by, like, everyone. Except you.

Use a private jet - this way you don’t have to endure the horrors of airport security and submitting your wife to the ultimate violation of passport checks.

Channel your inner A-list celebrity and ask for an entire attraction to be closed down so you are spared the indignity of sharing it with other people. This approach also works with private islands, private villas.

Don’t go on holiday. Seriously, stay where you are. You refuse to make eye contact with other holiday makers and you go out of your way to stay out of our way. You maintain a level of segregation that is more suited to your home environment. You enjoy reflexology 652m above sea meters while your wife looks on because she cannot expose her ankles in public. Yeah, carry on strolling around in your shorts and t-shirts, eating ice cream and smoking cigarettes while ogling women in the swimming pool.

Fully-veiled women stick out - even in Muslim majority countries like Malaysia - and husbands aren’t doing themselves, their wives or their religion any favors by behaving unreasonably when traveling. You’re Muslim, but you’re not special, so stop acting like it.