21/02/2026

SATURDAY | FEB 21, 2026

18 When silence turns deadly T HEY were found inside a home that should have been safe – a place that once held a do not appear overnight; they build quietly, often disguised as stress, exhaustion or private family matters. In Malaysia, we are P O T T U O N P O I N T

anger and shame all at once. Communities that fall into uneasy silence, unsure how to mourn without judgement. The Kuantan tragedy forces us to confront an unsettling reality: emotional suffering exists quietly among us and we are often ill-equipped to recognise it, respond to it or speak about it honestly. We prefer neat explanations and distant narratives. We want to believe such things happen elsewhere, to other people, in circumstances unlike our own. But this happened in an ordinary home, in an ordinary town. That is what makes it unbearable. Mental health is not just a medical issue; it is a social one. It is about how we listen, how we check in, how we create space for honesty without fear. It is about understanding that asking for help is not a failure but an act of courage. We cannot undo what happened in Kuantan. Five lives are gone and nothing can bring them back. But we can decide what we do with this knowledge. If we continue to treat emotional distress as something to hide, to endure in silence and to confront only after tragedy strikes, then we should not be surprised when that silence turns deadly again. Hashini Kavishtri Kannan is the assistant news editor at theSun. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com

labelled, misunderstood or treated differently. For men in particular, emotional pain is something to suppress, not share. Vulnerability is discouraged and silence becomes a habit. But emotions do not disappear because they are ignored; they accumulate and they intensify. And when there is no space to name them, no support to hold them, they can surface in destructive ways – inward or outward. This is not about excusing violence. There is no justification for the loss of innocent lives, especially children who had no say in the struggles of the adults around them. But if we are serious about preventing such tragedies, we must be willing to look beyond shock and condemnation and examine the emotional conditions we allow to exist unchecked. We must also acknowledge that help is not always easy to access, even for those who want it. Public mental health services are overstretched – appointments take time and private care is costly. Many people do not know where to begin or whether their pain is “serious enough” to deserve attention. So they wait, cope and tell themselves to hold on a little longer. Sometimes, holding on becomes impossible. What often goes unspoken are those left behind. Families who must grieve not only death but the manner of it – relatives who carry love, confusion,

“Mental health is not just a medical issue; it is a social one. It is about how we listen, how we check in, how we create space for honesty without fear. It is about understanding that asking for help is not a failure but an act of courage.

family, now emptied of life. The tragedy in Kuantan on the first day of Chinese New Year is difficult to write about, not because the facts are unclear but because they are unbearably clear.

taught to endure. We pride ourselves on coping and pushing through hardship without complaint. We tell ourselves that everyone is struggling, that problems are part of life, that family issues should remain behind closed doors. We confuse silence with strength and suffering alone with resilience. Hence, emotional distress is often hidden behind routine, work, responsibilities and polite smiles. Irritability is dismissed as stress, withdrawal is brushed off as tiredness and anger is excused. We notice the cracks but we look away, hoping they will seal themselves. We only pay attention when the silence becomes catastrophic. After tragedies like this, we ask familiar questions. Why didn’t he seek help? Why didn’t someone intervene? Why were the warning signs missed? But perhaps the most uncomfortable truth is that we have yet to build a culture where asking for help feels safe. For many Malaysians, seeking mental health support still carries shame. It is seen too often as a weakness, failure or personal flaw. There is fear of judgement – of being A V I S H T R I

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A man killed his wife, his two young children and his mother, before taking his own life. Five people. Three generations. An entire family lost inside the walls of a house meant to protect them. In moments like this, we search for explanations. We read official statements, follow developments and wait for details that may help us understand how something so violent could emerge from what appeared to be an ordinary life. Mental health is often mentioned – almost instinctively – in the aftermath of tragedies like this. But beyond the headlines and the labels, a heavier question lingers: What was happening long before this family became a crime scene? Somewhere before the sirens and sealed doors, there was a slow unravelling. A person carrying a burden that grew heavier with time. A household under pressure and a silence that deepened day by day. These things Our calendar does more than mark time; it quietly teaches us how to live alongside one another. A week may begin with the devotion of Thaipusam, continue with the reunion of Chinese New Year and soon after welcome the warmth of Hari Raya Aidilfitri. Elsewhere, such proximity of celebrations may feel disruptive but here, it feels reassuring. We do not rearrange our differences; we accommodate them. As a lecturer at a public institution, I once showed an international colleague our academic calendar. He stared at it in disbelief. “Are all these really public holidays?”he asked. When told yes, he smiled and said, “Your country celebrates a lot”. He was right but the number is not the point; the meaning is. In Malaysia, festivals rarely belong to only one community. Mandarin oranges travel across households and Malaysians gather around the table to toss Yee sang with laughter and hopeful wishes. I once asked an international student from China whether this was also practised in his country. He smiled and said no. In that moment, I realised that this tradition had quietly become something uniquely ours – not tied to ethnicity but shaped by shared experiences. Deepavali treats such as murukku appear in offices and disappear just as quickly, enjoyed by colleagues across cultures. Hari Raya open houses welcome familiar faces and first time visitors alike. Even Thaipusam draws respectful observers who come simply to understand rather than to judge. Participation here does not require religious similarity; it requires goodwill. This spirit now extends beyond physical spaces into digital ones. On TikTok, it is increasingly common to see non-Muslims documenting their attempt to fast for a day during Ramadan , waking up for sahur with friends or joining iftar after sunset. These small

COMMENT by Shazlin Niza Ab Razak

A nation connected by year-round celebrations IN many countries, public holidays are breaks from routine. In Malaysia, they are moments of togetherness.

Public holidays serve a function beyond rest. They legitimise every identity within a shared national space. When communities feel acknowledged, cooperation becomes easier and trust becomes natural. – BERNAMAPIC

but the behaviour remains constant. Malaysians prepare, visit, greet and include. Perhaps that is our quiet strength. Unity here is not built by removing differences but by routinely making room for them. Over time, accommodation becomes a habit and habit becomes a culture. In a divided world, our calendar does more than give us holidays; it teaches coexistence through practice. Shazlin Niza Ab Razak is an English Language lecturer at the Centre for Foundation Studies in Science, Universiti Malaya. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com

greet before understanding the words fully. Through these ordinary moments, young Malaysians grow not only in knowledge but in patience, empathy and quiet respect for one another. Public holidays, therefore, serve a function beyond rest. They legitimise every identity within a shared national space. When communities feel acknowledged, cooperation becomes easier and trust becomes natural. Harmony here is not produced by policy alone but reinforced through repeated human interaction. As Thaipusam gives way to Chinese New Year and soon to Hari Raya, the decorations change

acts are not obligations; they are gestures of friendship. What appears casual online reflects something meaningful offline. Malaysians do not stand outside each other’s traditions; we step gently into them. The impact is perhaps most visible in our education system. Students do not learn diversity merely as a concept in textbooks; they live it daily. Group work adapts around fasting hours, classroom discussions pause for cultural understanding and school corridors reflect multiple traditions within the same term. A child learns early why a friend cannot eat yet waits beside them anyway. Another learns to