I HAD thought it was my imagination. But each time I am faced with the situation, it only confirms my belief that no matter what I do, say or wear, I will always be considered as The Other.

Friends who have had similar experiences reaffirm this: in Malaysia, the differences we have within our own ethnic communities make for comic, yet rather painful, moments.

As my friend AN, a young Malay woman of mixed parentage, remarked: As an anthropology geek, I appreciate the significance of ethnicity etc. in society, but as an everyday Malaysian I am in awe of, and often lament, the way arguments of race and religion make us at times somewhat abdicate the responsibility to think for ourselves.

Allow me to digress. Initially, I had let it slide, but as a writer, I tend to use my life as a social laboratory. I suppose everything came to a head when I greeted a sales cashier with an "Assalamualaikum" and she replied "Good afternoon, Miss."

I was wearing a baju kurung and selendang (scarf). But, as you can see from my photo byline, I look pretty Ah Lian. I have always been thought of as Chinese, Japanese, or Korean... even Creole once!

I have learned to tolerate, though with not much success, the remarks and questions about my background.

"Kalau awak Melayu, kenapa rupa awak macam Cina (If you are Malay, why do you look Chinese)?"

But lately, over the last two years, almost everywhere I went, even when I spoke in the Terengganu dialect, no one replied to me in Bahasa Malaysia. If before they called me Cik or Puan, these days, it's Miss. Everyone talks to me in English.

Yes, this is indeed marvellous; everyone is now talking in the lingua franca of the world. But I can speak Malay, you know, and I still tick "Malay" in all those application forms we fill up for everything, including dental registration.

The only time I am suddenly recognised as Malay is during puasa month.

When we Muslim girls menstruate, we do not fast or pray. During the fasting month, there is hardly any food at home until it's buka puasa time, so I have no choice but to ta pau (bag) my lunch from fast food restaurants.

That's when everyone talks to me in our national language, but snidely. "Ada orang tu tak malu? datang beli McD (Someone's not ashamed... buying McD)."

Every year, this happens. I feel like throwing winged proof of my womanliness right onto the cashier's head.

Then there's Auntie Rubie (who's a man by the way, but his identity has to be concealed for security reasons ... ahem). I had sent out a feeler via e-mail to friends asking if they had ever questioned their ethnic identities, or had others questioned their identities.

Auntie Rubie is a Tamil Indian with the most common Indian name, but does not look Tamil. He looks like a Bollywood film star, to be frank.

As he grew up in a Malay village and studied in a boarding school, he speaks Malay with greater fluency than his own mother tongue.

"My best, best buddies have all been Malays, simply because these were the people I studied with and grew up with in the school. After seven years of boarding school, you tend to behave like the community you are in."

He went on to study English Literature in university after completing his STPM.

He recounted: "Once when I wanted to get involved in my community's activities by signing up for a Tamil talent competition in campus, I was rejected at the sign-up counter.

"Apparently, I didn't represent the Indians, and neither did I look like one, effectively ending any aspirations of my becoming a future artiste with Vaanavil."

Two years ago, he auditioned for a Tamil radio show but was told by the producer that he was "looking for an Indian!"

Auntie Rubie spoke to him in Tamil. Still unconvinced, the producer gave him the script and asked him to do his best parody of how Indians speak; the exaggerated rolling of the tongue, the shaking of the head, the frequent use of "aiyo" and "amma", all within three lines of script.

"My refusal to follow this stereotype also ended my career prospects in radio. Must a Tamil be dark as night, come from Sentul, and preferably have a criminal record that involves parang?" he wondered out aloud.

To this day, he is scolded for eating in public during Ramadan, Tamil shopkeepers say nasty things about him without realising he understands every word, temple priests speak to him in English thinking that he may not understand Tamil, and Chinese restaurant waiters asks if he knows their restaurant is non-halal.

The e-mail I sent out elicited many revealing stories about our lives as Malaysians living in Malaysia. Despite its idiosyncrasies, my friends love Malaysia.

Of course we laugh at the silliness and pettiness. But our laughter is barbed. We have no choice but to laugh it off, or have we?

In a country where race and its harbingers are institutionalised, and where race, religion and our differences are not just creating boundaries between ethnic communities but also within our own racial groups, it makes you wonder who you really are.

And it is this very Pandora's Box that I'd like to explore in the near future.

I wonder whether we Malaysians ourselves are responsible for perpetuating the stereotypes and clichés: the lazy Malay, the cunning Chinese, the troubled Indian, and of course the Dan Lain-lains, which should include people like my friends and me.

Perhaps this is a rather drastic metaphor, but I am always reminded of how a pack of animals would turn on their own, if they considered one of them handicapped or weak. The term would be "wilding".

People tell me "I am Malaysian", I quote Auntie Rubie: "Are we then the real face of Malaysia, one that conforms with none and yet is an amalgamation of all?"

The writer has a resolution: to go to the gym ONCE a week.

This article was first published on Jan 17, 2008.