I hail from a country whose biggest international icons are a suave crooner [no, not you Siti, but then again just how well known is P. Ramlee?], a spiky fruit that smells like 'a sewer with a dash of coal gas' [hail the narrative genius of David Attenborough], and the world's tallest Twin Structures That Are Really Suspiciously Phallic in Design. Oh, and Kitaro played here once. And Manchester United. But that's irrelevant.

Icons are what people build their impression of a country on, and we seem to take them forgranted. So it's hard for us to envisage the time when one of these icons disappear. But imagine Malaysia without its durians. Would the KL skyline be any less memorable without the Twin Towers? And if Big Ben, Buckingham Palace and Manchester United were to inexplicably disappear, would England even be worth talking about anymore?

Usually a loss of such national symbols would be just about impossible. Like it or not, durians will be here to stay forever. Barring a catastrophe, the sensitivities of which are too delicate to mention here, KL [is doomed to?] forever have its skyline dominated by the Petronas Towers. But such talk stems from the mind of a person whose senses have been dulled by the comfort of knowing something would always be there. Most of us can readily associate with this mentalit, so it always comes as a sharp shock when a symbol of pride, an item or person with which we all too readily use to define a place, disappears.

So it happened that Australia-my adopted home- last week lost forever one of its iconic persons, a man who to many defined the Australia they all understood to exist. Steve Irwin died in a manner which strangely befitted him, and with his passing Australia could be said to have lost its international face. Most would relate to Steve Irwin as an ambassador, a conservationist, a larrikin, and a national stereotype. Just as Paul Hogan did in the past, Steve Irwin set the standard by which most around the world measured all Australians, with the laid-back slang, the distinctive accent, his close relationship with the country's natural world and heaven-be-damned hands-on approach to the creatures he loved. Anyone of us who has watched the 'Crocodile Hunter' in action would probably automatically associate his screen-habits with all things Aussie. "Do they all say crikey? Do they all wear bush clothes and widebrim hats? Do they all jump on crocodiles?'' In this manner, Steve Irwin became a true national stereotype of Australia, one which we would poke fun at in pubs, and shamelessly mimic in impromptu comedic moments, and we realise that no matter how anyone tries, no one could ever get it just right.

The fame came to Steve Irwin, and his selflessness and dedication to his line of work meant he knew exactly how to use it. His iconic nature was, to him, the best possible source of feed for his natural passion for wildlife and his flaming desire to protect it. Steve Irwin was a humanist, that rare type of person who actually saw the pride and innate dignity of every living animal, and more importantly, respected the right of that creature to preserve its dignity and its existence. To him, animals striking in self-defense were only reacting in a manner which befitted their nature, and an indication that we, as always, were the antagonists and violators. I imagine if he could give his view on his death, he'd probably say "Fair enough". In a way, someone could say Steve was just about asking for it, and if the dead could offer retrospect, he would probably agree with that view. It was out of this respect for nature and his want to preserve the dignity of every creature that Steve Irwin channelled his fame into increasing worldwide awareness for wildlife. I watched him in an interview in which he said "I love money. I can't get enough money. And I'm going to use it to buy land for national preserves." To his mind, material goods: a big house, a flashy car, were all unnecessary expenditures. Whilst nearly all of us accumulate our wealth out of our desire to obtain expensive luxuries, only a select few do it almost purely for the sake of helping others, and Steve Irwin was one of these people.

There was always something sadistic and morbidly derisive inherent in all of us that make us almost wish we'd see Steve Irwin getting owned by some dangerous animal every time we see him. I guess it was just too easy to take his existence forgranted. To me, this was our form of an impersonal, lackadaisical, respectless and violatory relationship we had with a person we never knew. This is also my regret. We can never bring Steve Irwin back, but it is probably the greatest show of respect we can afford the man by wanting to, or at the least, walk the path he demarcated. Steve Irwin, R.I.P. We will never forget.