When ‘Mah’ comes to Malaysia

WHEN Jalan Bukit Bintang was bathed in light on the evening of January 3, it was not merely another switch-on ceremony. It was Malaysia stepping into the spotlight.

The occasion marked the “I LITE U” lighting festival, held in conjunction with Visit Malaysia 2026, officiated by Prime Minister Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim and graced by Oscar-winning actress Tan Sri Michelle Yeoh – who, fittingly, understood the moment better than most.

After all, this was theatre. Drawing from her own cinematic instincts, Yeoh likened Kuala Lumpur to a film set, with the world as its audience, as Malaysia prepares to unveil its story to global visitors. The message was clear: the stage is ready; the lights are on.

Visit Malaysia 2026, she reminded us, is not a travel brochure dressed in slogans. It is an invitation. “Visit Malaysia 2026 is not just about tourism,” she said, “but an invitation to experience our diversity, warmth, culinary symphony and vibrant arts.”

Behind the poetry lies ambition. Tourism Malaysia is targeting 45 million tourist arrivals in 2026.

The lights of Bukit Bintang that evening were therefore more than decorative flourish. Stretching nearly a mile, the I LITE U installation was a statement of intent – celebratory, yes, but also deliberate. Malaysia signalling, quite literally, that it is ready to be seen.

The Ipoh-born actress described the lights as a symbolic bridge – connecting culture, creativity and community. Light, she noted, represents guidance and hope, while acting as a beacon that announces presence: we are here, and we are open.

It was an apt metaphor. Because in a world crowded with destinations competing for attention, visibility is no longer about shouting louder – it is about telling your story well. And on that January night, amid glowing facades and illuminated landmarks, Malaysia did precisely that.

The stage was set. The audience is gathering. And as Michelle Yeoh reminded us, sometimes the most powerful invitation is not spoken loudly – it is simply lit up.

For as Malaysia prepares to welcome the world in 2026, another ancient calendar turns quietly alongside it – one that predates tourism slogans, marketing decks and launch events by thousands of years. The Chinese zodiac.

In 2025, we lived under the sign of the Snake. The Snake is often misunderstood. It is not sinister; it is strategic. Snake years favour watchfulness, restraint and recalibration. You do not sprint. You pause. You observe. You shed skins discreetly and survive by discernment rather than display.

In hindsight, 2025 felt exactly like that – a year of tightening, reassessing and waiting for clearer signals. A year when caution itself became wisdom. But the zodiac never lingers.

As the lunar calendar turns, the Snake withdraws quietly – no fanfare, no drama – and 2026 arrives with hooves. The Horse.

In Chinese, horse is written 马, pronounced mah.

A short sound. A strong one. And here, the zodiac allows itself a little wordplay.

Because mah does not arrive alone. It trots straight into the name of a country already preparing to receive the world in 2026.

Ma-lai-sia.
Mah lai.
The horse comes.

Coincidence? Perhaps. Poetry? Almost certainly.

In Chinese tradition, the Horse symbolises movement, travel, connection, endurance and openness. It is the animal of messengers, traders, migrants and explorers – those who link cultures and carry stories across distances. If the Snake asked us to think, the Horse now asks us to move.

And 2026 is not just any Horse year. It is the Year of the Fire Horse.

Fire, in Chinese cosmology, represents light, warmth, visibility and transformation. Fire animates what has been dormant. It burns away fatigue and illuminates direction. When Fire meets Horse, stagnation becomes impossible.

This is not a year for hiding. It is a year for journeying outward. Which makes the alignment with Visit Malaysia 2026 feel uncannily apt.

Malaysia is not a place best understood standing still. It is a country in motion – dawn traffic flowing into cities, night markets assembling themselves by instinct, ferries cutting across rivers and seas, cultures crossing tables. From rainforest trails to heritage streets, from longhouses to kopitiams, Malaysia reveals itself only to those willing to move through it. And that, too, is the spirit of the Horse.

The Horse does not boast. It carries. It carries visitors into a land where diversity is not curated for cameras but lived daily – unpolished, unpretentious and quietly resilient. A place where Muhibbah is not merely a campaign slogan pinned to a billboard, but a habit of the heart – one that continues to live, even as it calls to be nurtured, renewed and consciously promoted.

Muhibbah here is not theoretical harmony. It is the neighbour who watches your house when you travel home for the festivities. The open invitation to join a celebration you may not fully understand – yet are warmly welcomed into all the same. The shared table where differences soften, not through argument or persuasion, but through familiarity and trust.

In this land, races and religions do not co-exist as symbols or statistics. They live as neighbours – sharing food, attending each other’s milestones, sometimes disagreeing, often laughing, and always finding ways to carry on together.

And nowhere is this Muhibbah more eloquently expressed than in food. Here, cuisine migrates freely – recipe to recipe, kitchen to kitchen, generation to generation. A dish carries its original identity with pride, yet absorbs influences without anxiety. Spices travel. Techniques adapt. Names shift slightly. The soul remains intact.

A Malay kuih beside a Chinese noodle, an Indian curry sharing space with a Kadazan-Dusun or Sarawakian feast. No explanations required. No permission sought. That, perhaps, is Malaysia at its most honest.

And the Fire Horse, true to form, carries this story forward – not loudly, not forcefully, but steadily -inviting the world not merely to observe our diversity, but to experience how it lives, eats, celebrates and endures together. That is Muhibbah in motion.

Somewhere within all this symbolism, the Fire Horse speaks to me personally. I was born in 1966 – also a Fire Horse year. Sixty years on, the zodiac has completed a full circle and come calling again – not with urgency, but with familiarity. The young Fire Horse of 1966 galloped hard: careers to build, families to raise, responsibilities to shoulder, ambition to manage. Like many of my generation, I once mistook speed for progress and weight for worth.

Then came the slowing. They call it retirement – as if life politely steps aside when the title changes. But seasons do not end; they transform. I may be a retired horse now – fewer sprints, more measured strides – yet this Fire Horse year does not invite rest. It invites refirement.

Not a return to the race for applause or position, but a quieter calling: writing, mentoring, sharing stories, walking alongside others. The next harvest is not about how fast I can gallop, but about what I can still carry. Fire, after all, is not only for the young. It belongs to those who know what to burn away – and what to keep warm.

Come this Chinese Lunar New Year soon, it is official. Until then, the year is in transit – lanterns hung early, intentions whispered ahead of time. The Chinese calendar respects thresholds. The Snake does not vanish abruptly; it hands over gently. On that day, the Fire Horse truly steps forward.

Not recklessly, but decisively. Fire brings visibility. Horse brings motion. Together, they signal a year of directed momentum – travel resuming with purpose, creativity re-emerging with confidence, doors opening wider.

By then, Visit Malaysia 2026 will no longer be an announcement. It will be in motion. And perhaps that is the deeper poetry of it all: a nation opening its paths to the world; a generation stepping into second harvests; a Fire Horse returning – not to prove itself, but to continue the journey.

Mah has come. To the world. To Malaysia. To all of us. To me. The lights are on. The road is open.