Who am I when the media is watching? — Nurhazwaliza Kamarod
JUNE 21 — Every day, I wake up and scroll.
Before I even brush my teeth, I've already seen someone's vacation in parts of the world I've never been to, a viral clip from yesterday, a girl unboxing the latest phone, and a stranger's opinion on why Gen Z is 'too soft.' Yes, it's exhausting — but let's face it: it's addictive and impossible to ignore.
This is the media world I grew up in. Not just consuming it, but being shaped by it. Whether we realise it or not, media tells us who to be, what to care about, and how we should show up in the world. And for many of us in this generation, our identity is still being negotiated under the constant gaze of likes, shares and filters.
I sincerely believe that media is not inherently evil. In fact, it's one of the most powerful tools of our time. Through platforms like Instagram, TikTok and YouTube, I've learned about cultures I've never visited, ideas I've never encountered, and stories I would never hear on mainstream news. Media has connected me to communities that affirm who I am — as a Southeast Asian youth, as a Muslim, as someone navigating life between tradition and modernity.
It's allowed many of us to share our cultures with pride, to reclaim languages that were once mocked, and to talk about mental health, gender, or faith with honesty. Most importantly, it has given a platform to young people who, in the past, would have remained invisible.
But here's the catch: media also fragments who we are.
The media has allowed many to share their cultures with pride. — Picture from Unsplash/Yazid N
We curate the best version of ourselves online. We post the wins, the aesthetic angles, the achievements, and the carefully selected quotes. But what about the in-between moments? The confusion, the insecurity, the loneliness, or the cultural expectations we quietly carry? These parts of our identity don't always fit into a 15-second video or a neatly filtered Instagram post.
When I was younger, I used to think media was just a reflection of the world. But now I see that media actually creates the world — and more importantly, our place in it. It tells us whose stories matter. Whose beauty is valid. Whose struggles are 'trending.' And often, those of us from small towns, minority backgrounds, or non-Western cultures don't see ourselves represented at all. Or worse, we're reduced to stereotypes.
So how do we resist this pressure to perform? How do we reclaim our image when the media constantly tries to define us? I believe it starts with intentional storytelling.
Instead of copying what gets the most views or what the algorithm prefers, we need to ask ourselves: What story do I want to tell? What version of myself feels honest? For me, that means being real — about my language, my background, my struggles with identity, or my hopes for the future. It means showing up online the same way I do offline: imperfect, but real.
It also means creating space for others to do the same.
We need more platforms that allow young people to express themselves without fear of being judged or misrepresented. We need media that uplifts diverse voices — especially those who have been historically silenced or sidelined. Whether it's a podcast in a local dialect, a photo essay on hijabi skaters, or a TikTok explaining rural traditions, our generation needs to tell our own stories, in our own way.
And finally, we need to remember that identity is more than an aesthetic. It's a journey. It's okay not to have everything figured out. We don't need to fit into a single brand, label, or algorithm to be valid.
So the next time I catch myself asking, 'Am I enough?' because of what I see online, I will pause. I will breathe. I will remind myself: I'm not just content. I'm a person.
A generation is watching. But more importantly, we are watching ourselves.
Let's make sure the version we see — and more importantly, the version we share — is real.
* Nurhazwaliza Kamarod is an undergraduate student of Universiti Malaya, taking an elective university course entitled 'Introduction to Journalism and Storytelling in Digital Age'.
** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Malay Mail
15 hours ago
- Malay Mail
Wild Rice responds to Singapore ban on ‘Homepar' performance, rejects claims of glamorising drug abuse
SINGAPORE, June 21 — Singapore theatre company Wild Rice has pushed back against allegations that its Homepar performance glamorises drug use, after the Infocomm Media Development Authority (IMDA) and Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA) issued a ban on its staging. In a statement shared on Instagram and Facebook yesterday, Wild Rice 'categorically rejected' the authorities' characterisation of the work. The company described Homepar as 'a nuanced and empathetic work that is, at its core, about healing and recovery'. 'The central character's journey is one of struggle, resilience, and the power of community in overcoming addiction and stigma,' Wild Rice stated, adding that the play does not condone or glorify drug use. 'It seeks to ask why people — real people, in our society — turn to drugs, often as a response to trauma, discrimination, and marginalisation,' the company said, noting that the play features a 'spectrum of attitudes' and ends in a celebration that is 'explicitly and intentionally drug-free'. Homepar, written by Mitchell Fang, was intended as a 'work in development' and not a full production. Wild Rice said the dramatised reading was part of an artistic process to gather feedback and refine the script. 'We also believe that the arts must have the space to explore complex, often uncomfortable realities,' the company added, reaffirming its commitment to 'responsible storytelling' and 'working constructively with regulators' to ensure the work can be properly understood. In a joint statement the same day, the IMDA and MHA said the dramatised reading had been 'disallowed in its current form', just one day before it was due to be performed. The decision, they said, followed a significant revision of the script submitted on June 5, which differed from an earlier version submitted in April. According to the statement, the updated version 'glamorises drug abuse and portrays an undercover Central Narcotics Bureau (CNB) officer shielding abusers from detection'. 'It undermines Singapore's anti-drug policy, our drug rehabilitation regime, and public confidence in the CNB,' the authorities added, noting that such content was not permissible under the Arts Entertainment Classification Code (AECC), which prohibits performances that compromise Singapore's national interests. IMDA said it had approved an earlier version of the script submitted on April 21, but Wild Rice chose not to revert to that version. The regulator reiterated Singapore's zero-tolerance stance on drugs and its commitment to upholding content guidelines to protect the national interest. According to Wild Rice's website, Homepar refers to house parties in the Singapore gay scene. The play follows a host who throws a party to cope with a difficult break-up and explore his evolving gender identity — before an unexpected 4am knock on the door changes the course of the evening.
Malay Mail
17 hours ago
- Malay Mail
Who am I when the media is watching? — Nurhazwaliza Kamarod
JUNE 21 — Every day, I wake up and scroll. Before I even brush my teeth, I've already seen someone's vacation in parts of the world I've never been to, a viral clip from yesterday, a girl unboxing the latest phone, and a stranger's opinion on why Gen Z is 'too soft.' Yes, it's exhausting — but let's face it: it's addictive and impossible to ignore. This is the media world I grew up in. Not just consuming it, but being shaped by it. Whether we realise it or not, media tells us who to be, what to care about, and how we should show up in the world. And for many of us in this generation, our identity is still being negotiated under the constant gaze of likes, shares and filters. I sincerely believe that media is not inherently evil. In fact, it's one of the most powerful tools of our time. Through platforms like Instagram, TikTok and YouTube, I've learned about cultures I've never visited, ideas I've never encountered, and stories I would never hear on mainstream news. Media has connected me to communities that affirm who I am — as a Southeast Asian youth, as a Muslim, as someone navigating life between tradition and modernity. It's allowed many of us to share our cultures with pride, to reclaim languages that were once mocked, and to talk about mental health, gender, or faith with honesty. Most importantly, it has given a platform to young people who, in the past, would have remained invisible. But here's the catch: media also fragments who we are. The media has allowed many to share their cultures with pride. — Picture from Unsplash/Yazid N We curate the best version of ourselves online. We post the wins, the aesthetic angles, the achievements, and the carefully selected quotes. But what about the in-between moments? The confusion, the insecurity, the loneliness, or the cultural expectations we quietly carry? These parts of our identity don't always fit into a 15-second video or a neatly filtered Instagram post. When I was younger, I used to think media was just a reflection of the world. But now I see that media actually creates the world — and more importantly, our place in it. It tells us whose stories matter. Whose beauty is valid. Whose struggles are 'trending.' And often, those of us from small towns, minority backgrounds, or non-Western cultures don't see ourselves represented at all. Or worse, we're reduced to stereotypes. So how do we resist this pressure to perform? How do we reclaim our image when the media constantly tries to define us? I believe it starts with intentional storytelling. Instead of copying what gets the most views or what the algorithm prefers, we need to ask ourselves: What story do I want to tell? What version of myself feels honest? For me, that means being real — about my language, my background, my struggles with identity, or my hopes for the future. It means showing up online the same way I do offline: imperfect, but real. It also means creating space for others to do the same. We need more platforms that allow young people to express themselves without fear of being judged or misrepresented. We need media that uplifts diverse voices — especially those who have been historically silenced or sidelined. Whether it's a podcast in a local dialect, a photo essay on hijabi skaters, or a TikTok explaining rural traditions, our generation needs to tell our own stories, in our own way. And finally, we need to remember that identity is more than an aesthetic. It's a journey. It's okay not to have everything figured out. We don't need to fit into a single brand, label, or algorithm to be valid. So the next time I catch myself asking, 'Am I enough?' because of what I see online, I will pause. I will breathe. I will remind myself: I'm not just content. I'm a person. A generation is watching. But more importantly, we are watching ourselves. Let's make sure the version we see — and more importantly, the version we share — is real. * Nurhazwaliza Kamarod is an undergraduate student of Universiti Malaya, taking an elective university course entitled 'Introduction to Journalism and Storytelling in Digital Age'. ** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
Malay Mail
17 hours ago
- Malay Mail
‘The company is one thing, I'm another,' says Fazura amid RM4.65m lawsuit
KUALA LUMPUR, June 21 — Nearly two months have passed since allegations emerged that the company owned by popular actress and entrepreneur Nur Fazura Sharifuddin failed to settle a RM4.65 million debt owed to a headscarf manufacturing factory. Despite being repeatedly pressed by the claimant as well as by netizens on social media to address the issue, the celebrity has remained silent, going about her daily life, including promoting her headscarves on social media. Speaking to reporters at a press conference after launching the music video of her latest single Luar Biasa here last night, Fazura, 41, said the lawsuit against her company is a confidential matter and has been handed over to her lawyers for further action. Fazura, who is also a singer and television host, said she preferred not to comment further as it involves two separate entities. 'Honestly, there's nothing I can explain because we have to understand that I, Fazura, and the company are two different entities. I can't comment on company matters as that is beyond my scope as an individual. The company is the company, and Fazura is me personally, that's the distinction. 'So really, I can't say much about the company or whatever is going on. I've left all my company-related matters to my lawyers to take action,' she said. Fazura made these remarks when asked by reporters to comment on the RM4.65 million lawsuit filed by a headscarf supplier against her company Pink Fate Sdn Bhd. Admitting that she is affected by the controversy, the Pisau Cukur star said such issues are among the challenges any entrepreneur must face. 'What haven't I gone through in the past eight months? Of course, I've been affected. I'm not someone without feelings but as an entrepreneur, I understand this is normal. I don't think it's necessary to explain, because outsiders may not understand and could twist the facts,' she said. 'I know the business I'm running isn't a small one and I'm confident all entrepreneurs out there will understand the challenges that come with being in the business world,' she added. According to media reports early last month, headscarf manufacturer Obor Holding Sdn Bhd is taking legal action against Pink Fate for allegedly owing the company RM4.65 million. Obor Holding claimed that Pink Fate had only paid RM2.68 million out of the total RM7.3 million value of headscarves supplied since June 2022. — Bernama
