Spotlight On Writers
Julian Matthews
- Where do you originate from?
I am from Malaysia, a cultural hodgepodge of colorful contrasts and contradictions. My father is a second-generation Malaysian Sri Lankan, and my mother was adopted by a Malaysian Indian family but was probably Chinese in origin – we are still not sure. We are the “confluence” people, in a country bordered by the Straits of Malacca and the South China Sea. We were the target of Portuguese, Dutch and British colonists and populated by seafaring spice traders, migrants escaping conflict, persecution and poverty and, historically, those seeking to find work in tin mines, rubber estates, rail yards and tea plantations.
I was born in Kuala Lumpur, the capital city, famous for its iconic Petronas Twin Towers, and more recently, the world’s second-tallest building, Merdeka 118, prominently featured in the opening scene of Marvel Studios’ Thunderbolts. I have witnessed KL (kay-el), as it’s known, emerge from its smalltown roots of colonial-era administrative buildings, old bungalows and modest churches, unassuming mosques and temples, bordered by quiet, working-class neighborhoods, consisting mostly of terrace houses and usually a single row of shophouses, to a dense, urban sprawl of commercial highrises, serpentine highways, noisy mega malls and garish places of worship.
I come from a city where, on meeting a stranger or a guest, we are more likely to ask, “Have you eaten?” rather than, “How are you?” The well-worn cliche in Malaysia is that we live to eat, rather than eat to live. Once known for its grandmother-recipe meals, diverse street food, night markets, and the ubiquitous kopitiam (coffeeshop), KL is now also bursting with a variety of international culinary delights. It is not unusual to find traditional Chinese, Malay, Indian or East Malaysian food outlets, just walking distance from a Thai, Korean, Japanese, Mediterranean, or an upmarket Hong Kong or European-styled restaurant.
But even with gentrification, burgeoning steakhouses, barista-led cafes, bagel and croissant shops, too-sweet dessert and bubble tea outlets, KL-ites are a crafty and artistic bunch. There are creative spaces for art, culture, dance, music – even standup comedy and poetry – in boot-strapped blackboxes, donor-sponsored arts centers, late-night bars, and hidden nooks and crannies for the experimental. If you look for it, you will find poetry scrawled on graffiti walls, in train tunnels, in pre-loved book stores, on a street corner or, not surprisingly, spoken at a formal wedding reception.
- What do you cherish most about the place you call home?
My first home was No 18, Freeman Road, a government bungalow in a cul-de-sac, surrounded by embassies and consulates. I miss the Christmas holidays there, the gathering of families and cousins, the home-cooked, comfort foods, the sing-alongs, the badminton, football and galah panjang (tag-based game) games, the cycling paths, tree-climbing for rambutan, jambu and ciku (local fruits), or just the carefree, running around. The house has since been flattened, replaced by another overpriced condo. I will always remember the camaraderie, laughter, even the tears in there, which have all informed my memoir writing and poetry.
- What ignites your creativity?
Memory. My longing for things past, my yearning for things in the future. Old photographs, text messages, conversations, news headlines, social media posts, nature walks, sunrises and sunsets, the beach, science articles and, strangely enough, household things. I’m intrigued by how ordinary objects can be containers for love, loss, grief and carry emotional residue. In Spillwords, I have written about a can opener, a rotating fan, an ashtray and a toothpick. I believe in William Carlos Williams’ dictum of “no ideas but in things,” using concrete, tangible objects to convey poetic meaning.
- Do you have a favorite word, and could you incorporate it into a poetic phrase?
I like the word Other. In Malaysia, when you fill out a government form, under Race, there are usually only four boxes: Malay, Chinese, Indian and Other, or Lain-lain. ‘Other’ includes over 60 ethnic groups, indigenous communities and minorities. I have written poems and essays on this othering of minorities, as if we don’t each have our own historical and ancestral heritage. In the poem, I ask “Do our mothers deserve to be called Others?” and add:
“What color are your fears?
What race are your tears?
What religion is your blood?
What language are your hopes?
What ancestry, breeding, caste, descent, extraction, pedigree, parentage,
background status do I have to be, to call you my friend?
And what will it take for you to identify me as human?”
I reclaim the word ‘Other’ as an identifier for all humanity. We were all once nomadic hunters and gatherers, pathfinders and movers, migrants and settlers. We are all others.
Kindness towards others is the antidote to a fractured world.
- What is your pet peeve?
Pretentious, arrogant or judgmental people. Sometimes, seeing all three traits in one. Sometimes, seeing at least one in the mirror.
- How would you describe the essence of Julian Matthews?
I’m of mixed heritage, so I’ve always been neither here nor there, the insider and the outsider, the participant and the observer. That tension has shaped both my life and my poetry. Malaysia fed me its gastronomic smorgasbord, stuffed me with irony, humor and laughter, provoked me with its political absurdities and racial fault lines, pumped me with vivid and imaginative stories and infused me with a wondrous, layered identity of living among a diverse people that I have come to love, can call my own, my flawed yet resilient tribe, my family of ‘others.’ The essence of Julian Matthews is that of a storyteller and provocateur, who is trying to understand his world through a fuzzy and opaque lens. I find emotional richness in the humility of others: overhearing uncles jabbering in coffee shops, the aunties sharing stories in market stalls, the children teasing each other in playgrounds. I source my poetic bounty from the memory of old neighborhoods, the texture of everyday life, nature rising every morning and showing me the joy of being alive, and ordinary things lending me their voice, and, in doing so, divining the “metaphor as message.”
- Spotlight On Writers – Julian Matthews - July 4, 2026
- Umbrella - June 20, 2026
- Opener - March 10, 2026
