几个月前，我在槟城浮罗池滑一家咖啡店，与一位熟识的退休华裔伯伯聊天。他是我每次到当地服务时几乎都会碰见的人，而每当第二杯咖啡下肚，他总会坦率地说出心里的话。
他突然问了我一句：“YB，我一直不明白，马来人已经拥有那么多优势，为什么还是会害怕？”
这不是质问，而是一个真诚的问题，我认为，这也是马来西亚人最值得彼此思考的问题之一。
因为，如果我们愿意诚实面对现实，就会发现，华裔和马来人正站在同一个国家，却看见两种截然不同的现实，很多华裔看到的是“特权”；许多马来人感受到的却是“不安”。
如果我们始终无法理解彼此为何会产生这样的感受，我们的对话永远只会是各说各话，身为一名马来穆斯林女性，同时也是代表以华裔选民居多选区的国会议员，我经常站在这两种观点之间。
我听见华裔社会对公平、唯才是用、升学机会、商业竞争环境等议题的忧虑；但与此同时，我也听见另一种很少出现在新闻标题或政治演讲里的声音——那就是普通马来人的焦虑。
不是来自政治人物，也不是来自社会精英，而是来自平凡百姓。
是一位老师担心自己的孩子未来是否还有竞争力；是一位公务员忧虑自己的技能逐渐被时代淘汰；是一位小商家面对科技迅速发展却不知如何转型；也是一位英语能力有限的年轻毕业生，担忧人工智能和自动化时代来临后，自己还能否找到立足之地。
这些恐惧是真实存在的，你可以不同意，但不能否认它们存在。
很多时候，当华裔看待土著扶持政策时，看到的是优势；但不少马来人看到的，却是一种心理上的安全感，两者之间，看似只有细微差别，却反映出截然不同的情绪现实，一方感受到的是制度障碍，另一方感受到的是自身脆弱。
建立自信
理解，并不代表认同；但没有理解，就不会有真正的沟通，回想学生时代，我就读于槟城青草巷修道院女子中学。班上同学来自不同族群，我们一起上课、一起准备考试，也一起因为调皮而受罚。
我最深刻的记忆，从来不是种族，而是竞争，总有人比我聪明，总有人比我更努力，也总有人数学特别优秀，其中很多都是华裔同学，但我从来没有因此觉得自己受到威胁。
我当时唯一的想法，就是：我要更加努力，遗憾的是，我们似乎逐渐失去了这种心态，今天，许多关于种族的讨论，不再建立在“如何让自己变得更好”，而是建立在“为什么别人拥有更多”。
我们越来越少问：“我要怎样提升自己？”却越来越常问：“我要怎样保护自己？”
恐惧，会让人把目光缩小，它让我们更在意可能失去什么，而不是能够创造什么，因此，我也想向自己的族群提出一个挑战。
我理解马来社会的不安，但我不认为，长期依赖保护机制就是答案，真正的自信，不可能靠制度继承，也不能靠法律保障，更无法建立在恐惧之上。
真正的自信，来自能力、来自教育、来自技能、来自相信自己能够凭实力，在开放竞争的世界立足。一个真正有自信的群体，不会害怕别人的成功，而会主动学习、不断调整、持续进步。
如今，当我走访学校时，我最关心的已经不是学生属于哪个族群，而是他们是否准备好迎接未来。因为人工智能不会询问你是马来人还是华人。
走出种族争论
自动化不会因为你的种族而决定是否取代你的工作，全球竞争，更不会在乎你回家说的是哪一种语言。未来，只会衡量一件事——能力。也因此，我常常对我国政治仍不断陷入种族争论感到遗憾。
当我们还在争论种族议题时，世界已经不断向前，当我们还在翻旧账时，其他国家已经大力投资人工智能、新科技和未来产业。当我们还在讨论谁应该得到什么的时候，别人早已开始规划未来。
我认为，今天马来西亚真正面对的最大风险，未必是种族不平等，而是整个社会的集体安逸，如果我们继续相信昨天的方法，可以解决明天的问题，那么我们终将被时代抛在后头，事实上，不论任何种族，我们彼此之间的联系，比许多人愿意承认的还要深。
一个族群的成功，会成为国家成功的一部分；一个族群的失败，最终也会影响整个国家。我们一起成长，也可能一起停滞，因此，我一直很喜欢一句中华文化里的古语：海纳百川，有容乃大。
大海之所以辽阔，不是因为所有河流都变成一样，而是因为它能够包容不同的河流共同汇聚。
我心目中最好的马来西亚，也应如此，马来人可以继续骄傲地做马来人，华裔可以继续骄傲地做华裔，印裔可以继续骄傲地做印裔。而我们所有人，也都可以共同骄傲地做马来西亚人。
真正摆在我们面前的问题，从来不是彼此有没有不同。不同，本来就存在，真正的问题是，我们是否已经拥有足够的自信，不再彼此恐惧，而是携手为未来做好准备。因为，总有一天，我们的孩子会继承今天的马来西亚。
我希望，他们继承的是一个更重视能力、而非恐惧的国家，我更希望，他们成长在一个不再忙著丈量彼此影子的马来西亚，而是共同建设一个足够光明、足以照亮所有人的未来。
瑟丽娜《看著同一个国家，为何我们看见不同的现实？》原文：Looking at the Same Country, Seeing Different Realities
A few months ago, I was having coffee with a constituent in Pulau Tikus, a friendly retired Chinese uncle, I always bump into whenever I go there - and the sort of person who speaks with refreshing honesty once the second cup arrives.
At one point, he leaned forward and said, “YB, I don't understand. Malays already have so many advantages. Why are they still afraid?”
It was not an accusation.
It was a genuine question.
And perhaps one of the most important questions Malaysians can ask each other.
Because if we are honest, many Chinese Malaysians and many Malays are looking at the same country and seeing two very different realities.
Many Chinese Malaysians see privilege. Many Malays see insecurity. And until we understand why, we will continue talking past one another.
As a Malay Muslim woman representing a majority-Chinese constituency, I often find myself standing in the middle of these conversations.
I hear the frustrations of Chinese Malaysians.
I hear concerns about meritocracy, opportunities, university admissions, business competitiveness and fairness. But I also hear something that rarely makes it into newspaper headlines or political speeches.
I hear fear.
Not from wealthy elites.
Not from politicians.
But from ordinary Malays.
The schoolteacher wondering whether her children can compete in an increasingly globalised world.
The civil servant worried that his skills are becoming obsolete.
The small business owner watching technology transform industries faster than he can adapt.
The graduate who speaks only basic English and wonders how she will survive in an economy increasingly driven by artificial intelligence and automation.
These fears are real.
Whether we agree with them or not is another matter.
But they are real.
I think this is where many Malaysians struggle to understand one another.
When a Chinese Malaysian looks at affirmative action policies, they often see advantages.
When many Malays look at those same policies, they see reassurance.
The difference is subtle but important.
Because the emotional reality underneath is different.
One sees barriers.
The other sees vulnerability.
Again, understanding is not agreement.
But without understanding, meaningful conversations become impossible.
Growing up, I never thought much about these differences. I attended Convent Green Lane, an all-girls school where my classmates came from various backgrounds. We studied together, complained about exams together, and occasionally got into trouble together.
What I remember most is not race.
It is competition.
There was always someone smarter than me.
Someone who studied harder.
Someone who seemed to understand mathematics with alarming ease.
Many of those classmates happened to be Chinese.
But I never looked at them and thought, “I am threatened.”
I looked at them and thought, “I need to work harder.”
Somewhere along the way, I think we lost that instinct.
Today, too many conversations about race are rooted in comparison rather than aspiration.
Instead of asking, “How do I improve?”
We ask, “Why does someone else have more?”
Instead of asking, “How do we compete?”
We ask, “How do we protect ourselves?”
Fear has a way of doing that.
It narrows our horizons.
It makes us focus on what we might lose rather than what we could gain. And that is where I want to challenge my own community. Because while I understand Malay anxieties, I do not believe the answer lies in permanent protection.
Confidence cannot be inherited.
It cannot be legislated.
And it certainly cannot be sustained through fear.
Confidence comes from capability.
From education.
From skills.
From knowing that you can stand on your own feet in a competitive world.
A confident community does not fear another group's success.
It learns from it.
It adapts.
It improves.
When I visit schools today, I worry less about race and more about readiness.
Because artificial intelligence is not going to ask whether a worker is Malay or Chinese.
Automation is not going to check someone's ethnicity before replacing a job. Global competition does not care what language we speak at home. The future will judge us on competence. Nothing else. And that is why I sometimes feel frustrated when Malaysian politics becomes trapped in endless arguments about race.
While we argue, the world moves.
While we debate old grievances, other countries invest in new technologies.
While we focus on who deserves what, others focus on what comes next.
Perhaps the greatest risk facing Malaysia today is not racial inequality.
It is collective complacency.
The belief that yesterday's solutions will solve tomorrow's problems.
They will not.
The truth is that every Malaysian, irrespective of race and background, need each other more than either side likes to admit.
The success of one community contributes to the success of the country.
The failure of one community ultimately affects everyone.
We rise together.
Or we stagnate together.
That is why I find myself returning to a Chinese proverb I have always admired:
海纳百川，有容乃大
The sea embraces a hundred rivers; it is great because it is inclusive.
To me, that is Malaysia at its best.
Not a country where every river becomes the same, but one where many streams can flow together without losing their source.
A Malay can remain proudly Malay.
A Chinese Malaysian can remain proudly Chinese.
An Indian Malaysian can remain proudly Indian.
And all of us can remain proudly Malaysian.
The question before us is not whether our differences exist.
They do.
The real question is whether we are confident enough to stop fearing one another and start preparing for the future together. Because one day, our children will inherit a Malaysia shaped by the choices we make now.
I hope they inherit a country where people are judged less by what they fear and more by what they are capable of becoming.
And I hope they inherit a Malaysia where we spend less time measuring each other’s shadows, and more time building a future bright enough for all of us to stand in.
本文观点，不代表《东方日报》立场。
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