Explore the connections that have shaped Malaysia and continue to shape what it means to be Malaysian.
{{ vm.tagsGroup }}
17 Aug 2026
6 Min Read
Emma Chee Luo Yi (Alumni Writer), Nellie Chan (Editor)
Explore the connections that have shaped Malaysia and continue to shape what it means to be Malaysian.
‘There’s something I’ve been thinking about,’ I said to my dad during one of our usual Sunday evening video calls. ‘How do you still feel so Malaysian after all these years?’ The question had been sitting with me ever since I moved overseas for my studies. I returned home less often. I spent less time with family and friends. And somewhere in all that, I began to wonder whether I was becoming less Malaysian.
My dad had travelled from country to country for work, far more than I ever had. Yet wherever he went and whoever he met, ‘I’m Malaysian’ was how he introduced himself, always with the same matter-of-factness. He thought for a moment, then said, ‘You can go anywhere, but I don’t think where you come from ever really leaves you.’
Until then, I had assumed that the further I was from Malaysia, the further I would feel from it too. But his answer made me realise that perhaps distance was never what kept us connected to begin with. Maybe connection doesn’t need to be obvious, or something we consciously hold onto. Some of it is simply part of us—in the places we have known, in the lives we live, and in the people we are becoming.
Long before Malaysia became a nation, the region was already shaped by connection. The Straits of Malacca linked the Malay Peninsula and the broader Malay Archipelago to maritime trade routes stretching towards South and East Asia, with goods such as spices, textiles, and ceramics passing through ports across the region. Among these ports, Melaka grew into a major entrepôt by the fifteenth century, drawing merchants from across the region, as well as from India, China, and the Middle East.
But these routes did more than move goods; they also facilitated the movement of people. Some of these merchants eventually settled in places where they had traded, making parts of the region their home. As people who spoke different languages lived alongside one another, Malay served as a lingua franca, helping them communicate and participate in shared spaces. Over generations, this pattern of movement and settlement became woven into the social fabric, contributing to the diversity that would later shape Malaya.
Yet connection has never been entirely simple. Under British colonial rule, new economic and labour systems reshaped the region, with the expansion of tin mining and rubber cultivation driving demand for workers from China and India. Colonial administration also increasingly classified communities along racial lines, with these distinctions visible in censuses, governance, and education. These structures brought communities into closer contact, but they also created new forms of separation that would endure long after the colonial period.
The story of connection did not end with the formation of Malaysia; it continues to unfold in the everyday ways Malaysians connect with one another, often without us even noticing. I remember a non-Malaysian friend once glancing at my phone and asking, with genuine confusion, ‘Why do you text your family in English but talk to them in Mandarin?’ I looked back at him, equally confused. English felt more natural in messages, while Mandarin came more easily in conversations, with Malay phrases, Cantonese expressions, and the unmistakable Malaysian ‘lah’ slipping into what we said.
Food, too, has a way of keeping us connected. Four years into living in Perth, I still make sure my cabinets are stocked with Milo, Hup Seng cream crackers, and MAGGI noodles—familiar favourites I reach for whether I’m having a rough day or craving a late-night snack. But food connects us not only to where we come from, but also to one another. Back in Malaysia, after hours of working on assignments with my friends, we would usually head to the nearest mamak for supper. Over roti canai and teh tarik, we would talk about everything and nothing, often lingering long after the meal was over.
And sometimes, connection comes from being welcomed in. For as long as I can remember, I would follow my parents to the open houses of their friends during Hari Raya. We would arrive as guests, but quickly find ourselves joining in, moving from greetings at the door to food passed around the table and conversations carried across the room between younger and older generations. Come Chinese New Year, the roles would reverse, and I would find myself on the other side of the door, opening my home to friends and inviting them into the celebrations I had grown up with.
That openness does not stop at the doors of our homes; it reaches our borders, too. Young Malaysians leave to study and work abroad, with more than 16,000 studying in Australia (myself included) and another 12,000 in the United Kingdom in 2025. Some eventually return, bringing what they have learned elsewhere as they build their lives back home. At the same time, people from elsewhere are making Malaysia part of their own journeys. By the end of 2025, 159,138 international students were enrolled in Malaysian higher-education institutions, accounting for 12.6% of total enrolment.
But connection is no longer limited by where we are. Social media has accelerated access to information, ideas, and influences, allowing young Malaysians to keep up with K-pop releases and follow football conversations that span continents. By the end of 2025, 30.7 million social media user identities were recorded in Malaysia, equivalent to 85% of the population. Our social lives are not the only things becoming more connected, either. Malaysia is now Southeast Asia’s fastest-growing data-centre hub, with demand for AI infrastructure attracting significant investment from global technology companies.
As Malaysia’s connections with the wider world grow, so too will the ways Malaysian identity is lived through them. What, then, might it mean to be Malaysian? For me, I find an answer at Pasar Seni. Every time I return to Malaysia, I make time to wander through its bustling stalls, browsing all kinds of art, crafts, and curiosities. Some come home with me; others become gifts for friends from different corners of the world. Perhaps being Malaysian means carrying something of where we come from into where we go—choosing what matters to us, sharing it with others, and letting it take on new meaning along the way.
I think I understand my dad’s answer a little better now. Maybe what he meant was that leaving doesn’t mean leaving everything behind. Connections can stay with us—in the ‘lah’ we drop into our sentences, the mamak orders we know by heart, and the aunties and uncles we call ‘auntie’ and ‘uncle’ even when they’re not family.
Of course, not all of these connections are shared equally, and they don’t have to be. For each of us, they may come from different people, places, and experiences, and become part of how we see ourselves as Malaysians.
And that’s true of Malaysia itself. It is more than its history or geography; it is also a story of the movement of people, the meeting of cultures, and the communities that emerged through them. Those connections continue to shape the country we know today, even as how we connect with one another changes.
That is why belonging to Malaysia cannot be neatly defined. We each find our own points of connection, and together they give this place meaning in our lives. Perhaps this is what makes it worth celebrating—not one fixed idea of Malaysian-ness, but all the ways we come to call Malaysia home.
To all of us, Selamat Hari Kebangsaan and Selamat Hari Malaysia!
Emma Chee Luo Yi is a Cambridge A Level alumna of Taylor's College. With an artistic soul, she spends her time writing, drawing, or crocheting whenever inspiration strikes.
