Well, about six months ago, if I had asked people where
Malaysia was, most would be able to say “Asia” but that would be the extent.
Heck, I guess I would be in that majority if truth be told. We started looking
into a move here well before the tragedy of MH 370, and then the rest of the
world found their map (plastered all over CNN) and realized where Kuala Lumpur
was … and Ho Chi Minh City … and Perth.
Now, our adoptive homeland is making headlines again, and in
an amazing turn, for the exact same reason. We awoke to texts, emails and
missed calls on the morning of the 17th and found out what the Western
world was watching while we slept the night away. “Jacson, are you awake enough
to listen because there is news and it is not good,” was my alarm that morning.
I immediately found my senses because that statement never ends well. My first
thought was my biggest fear in coming to Malaysia – someone had been in an
accident (or worse) back home. She told me that another Malaysian Airline had
crashed, and this time over the Ukraine.
Being seven hours behind the “Awake News Network” kept us
from immediately knowing about the surface-to-air missile that led to the fate.
All we knew was that another Malaysian Airlines plane was down, and obviously
we immediately assumed it was somehow connected to the previous accident. My
next thought was, “What in the world is everyone back home thinking?”
In the time period between contacting parents in Bottom and
Little Utah, we came to find out about the missile launch. In a sad, sick,
morbid (yet fully understandable) way, this brought some level of relief to us.
For months we worked to debunk all the myths, conjectures and conspiracy
theories regarding the MH370 tragedy. Of course, had we not chosen KL as our
new residence, this probably would not have taken up any of our time. But, it
is personal for us now, but not at any level to the point it is for those who
have lost family members, friends and colleagues in the two events.
I was shocked to find out that my sister had taken to
Facebook to basically tell people to stop hounding my family with opinions
about how ridiculous Jill and I were for bringing our family here. Why did she
have to do this? Well, its because our world is shrinking … what used to happen
in faraway lands now ends up square in our living room via Anderson Cooper, the
Huffington Post, and worst, social media. More and more Americans are venturing
outside their comfort zones and exploring the other 99.9% of the world outside
their front lawns. And because of that, people tend to personalize news today
that was found on page 14 twenty years ago
But, don’t personalize this news just because you know one
of us. We haven’t been affected. Personalize it for the people who lost loved
ones on their way home to celebrate Raya, the official close of the Islamic
Ramadan month of fasting and celebration. To give this cultural proximity,
imagine a whole load of Americans being shot down on the way home a week before
Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or just in general, to be with family and loved
ones they had not seen for quite some time. Think back to the days when we
first heard about the TWA bombings of the 80s, the Oklahoma Federal Building
bombing of the 90s. Or, yes, that fateful day when all of America felt
vulnerable at the level we had never experienced before. The Alan Jackson song,
“Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?” has resonated in my mind over
and over the last three days. The world didn’t stop spinning when the World
Trade Center collapsed … it just paused for a moment in a region not used to
being so exposed and so scared.
To my knowledge, there is no Malaysian version of Alan
Jackson, but the world has paused twice here in the last six months. But, the
resilient folks in Malaysia are moving forward despite national mourning yet
again. The freeway to the left of my bedroom window keeps jamming up. Families
continue to fast through the day and eat grand feasts at sundown. The Indian
family played in the pool today with the Chinese family as my American sons
splashed and dunked away with their new Polish friend.
If you want to be concerned for someone, pray for the people
in the Crimean region where things are really going to get crazy in the coming
weeks. Pray for people on both sides of the Gaza Strip border, Palestinian and
Israeli, as that conflict only continues to escalate. Pray for those who are
the victims of genocide in Africa, human trafficking here in Asia, for the poor
and starving, the emaciated and desolate. Pray for the homeless asking for
change at the intersection of Wal-Mart and Outback Steakhouse. Most of all,
pray for peace amongst all who make decisions as politicians, warlords, rebel
leaders and the like.
But, don’t pray for us just because we moved to Malaysia.
We’re fine.
As my kiddies in Theory of Knowledge class can tell you, the last week of school was probably the best as we tarried through the forest of world religions trying to find any one common truth to which all faiths cling. This was especially important to me because, as I have told many, this trip is about a spiritual journey as much as a professional one. We have already traveled to the Hindu Batu caves, driven past one of the oldest Catholic churches in SE Asia, heard daily Islamic calls to prayer and have even seen our share of Buddhist monks in the train station.
I came here hoping to find that one universal truth. Who knew I would find it so soon?
All faiths believe that you are brought to Earth as a challenge to see if you are worthy to progress in the afterlife/next life. Along the way, these challenges can become such that folks think they cannot survive. Many a Christian has said to me through the years, "God will not put something on you that you can't handle." If you are not living a virtuous life, many faiths believe you will be punished in the afterlife/next life. Today, I realized just what that punishment will be, whether you attend a church, a synagogue, a temple or a mosque:
All your eternal damnation needs in one place
That's right -- your penalty in the afterlife won't feature fire and brimstone, heathens! It will be chock full of build-it-yourself furniture, screaming children and the aroma of meatballs. We spent FIVE hours at the KL Ikea today. Yes, five. It didn't help that this was our first IKEA experience ever. It would have been harrowing regardless of the fact it happened in an international city. It would have been just as bad if we had gone to an IKEA in Merriam, Kansas. (Yes, they really have one there, and they may or may not be known for their tornado shelter showroom).
IKEA, which means, "We wish hatred to all
those who enter" in Swedish, really likes to make things as absolutely
hard as humanly possible. The line to the lift (what we American Asians are
forced to call elevators) and the escalator were terrifying, so we made the
inexcusable mistake of GOING IN THE WRONG DIRECTION IN AN IKEA! For those of
you who are NASCAR fans, you may remember Alan Kulwicki doing a "Polish
victory lap" upon winning a race prior to his tragic airplane crash. That would be four right turns on the track as
opposed to the standard four left turns for those not versed in NASCAR knowhow.
Well, that's pretty much what we were doing today in IKEA, but it wasn't at the
completion of the race, it was at about lap 147 of 500 with the entire field bearing down in front of us.
We just wanted to find some bedding, a few
pillows, maybe a frying pan and some dishes if we were lucky. But no, IKEA
doesn’t want it to be an easy in and out. The most asked question prior to our
trip to Malaysia had to be, “What language do they speak there?”To which, we replied, “Luckily it is English.” Well, that’s true
everywhere but IKEA. People who are of the Malay culture speak "Bahasa Malaysia" ... the folks at IKEA have everything printed primarily in that language (to which I'm fine ... I am amongst friends, and I am learning their language), but then they print the secondary information in Swedish. Then, in 3 point font, basically the size of lettering on a microchip, they have English directions.
Directions to the IKEA restroom in KL
Then, they have your fitted sheets in one bin, with sizes in the metric system (why, oh why didn't I pay more attention in Ms. Horton's 3rd grade class????), separated by absolutely no rhyme and reason, with everything printed in Swedish. Three bins over you will find the matching sheet. Between the two are no less than 257 frenzied shoppers excited to find a slip cover at 1.4% off the retail price. Oh, and the pillows! I had to choose between a side sleeper high pillow, back sleeper mid-high pillow, stomach sleeper mid-to-high-bare-midriff pillow or something like that. It goes on and on and on.
Now, what you have to realize is that while you Yanks were all snoozing in your beds on Saturday night, it was high noon Sunday in Malaysia! So, take your worst Black Friday nightmare after Thanksgiving, multiply it by 20, throw in a canker sore and a bad root canal, and you have what we experienced today ...
The express lane on a slow day
So, for those of you Triangle residents who hop in your Audi and drive the two-and-a-half hours to the IKEA in Charlotte, more power to you. I'm done. Never again. Ever. Though I may get Miley Cyrus to sign my mid-to-high-bare-midriff pillow one day if she makes it through Malaysia. But, there were some highlights. We got three pieces delivered to our condo at 75 Ringitt (does everyone still have your Ringitt to dollar web page bookmarked? I told you it would come in handy), and the boys enjoyed some ice cream for 80 sen (which is the equivalency of about a quarter back in the states). And, I got to experience something pretty cool about being a minority again!!!
¡¡Viva los gringos!!
So, in my first blog I talked about getting in touch with my Black roots. Or, at least trying so that I would have a handle on my minority status here as an American Asian. Well, today I realized at "Infierno en Fuego: La Casa del Diablo" (that's the Spanish translation for IKEA), that I have more in common with my Hermanos Latinos here than I realized. See, back in the States, people see someone with dark skin speaking Spanish and automatically assume they are Mexican. (Please note: Mexican people speak Spanish, not Mexican ... that's the yummy food they fix for us at El Corral ... oh, how I miss El Corral.)
¿¿De donde va, El Corral??
But, as you will come to realize if you dialogue with this Spanish speaking person, they may have roots in Guatemala (pronounced What-a-mala if you're doing it right), Chile (not just at Wendy's anymore), El Salvador or Brazil (just kidding, they speak Portuguese ... I was testing if you really follow soccer or just for this month). That's what is happening here, except the language thing is what gives us White folks away. You know how in the States we say "where our ancestors are from" but we have no real connection to that place (the Lowe's are Dutch with a dash of German ... so glad Argentina won. Who would I have pulled for in a Deutschland/Holland final?)? Well, here the White folks are actually from the places we have forgotten.
You are walking through the IKEA, see a gringo and you immediately think, "Ah yeah, I see you brother ... probably on hour 3 like me." You make eye contact, and then suddenly his wife ambushes him in a Slavic based language demanding to know if he wants the four pack of tea cups or just two larger coffee cups (I do not speak Slavic languages, but some things just come across as universal when you feel like you are breathing your last breath). Meanwhile, the guy you had pegged as a SoCal guy is doing his best Crocodile Dundee (in the knife section, no less), the gal to your left sounds like she is Hogwarts bound, and the gentleman in front of you in line is worried because he only has 12 hours to get ready to see Germany play Argentina at 3 a.m. I did meet a lady from Massachusetts who drove the 3 hours down from Penang to go to IKEA (most likely in an Audi), but so many people who I thought were fellow countrymen were in fact just people who happened to share my pigmentation make up. Darn you, melting pot!!! Darn you, School House Rock! You have failed me. Turns out, there are still people left in those other countries. (Please note that Black and Hispanic folks are conspicuously left out of your 70's childhood memories below)
Life as a minority would be so much easier if everyone could just walk around with their native country/heritage stuck to their forehead. Where is Michael Scott's Diversity training when you need it?
Hey Dwight ... don't you mean American Asian?
There are plenty of other things I'm trying to figure out as a minority over here. For instance, if a cabbie has the "meter only -- no haggle" guarantee on his taxi, that means, "there's about a 40 percent chance I'm going to haggle you if it's a downpour and you need to get to the other side of the city. How does 60 Ringitt sound?" Like many minorities in Durham, I walk to the grocery store. Of course, unlike in most minority-heavy neighborhoods in Durham, I actually have a sidewalk to get there safely (ohhhhh ... take that Bull City -- I'm getting all left-wing on you). Here's an interesting one ... though Asian people are supposed to be short, they have really, really high cabinets that reach to the ceiling in their condos. We have about 400 sf of storage space we can't reach. I'm not as tall as I had hoped I would be over here, I'm afraid (scratch "making Malaysian Olympic basketball team" off the bucket list).
Well, that's all for now. I'm going to catch a quick two-hour nap before watching a 3 a.m. football game with an Aussie who I thought was White this whole time. And, some guy named Messi Ocho Cinco is the star player or something. Asia is so odd.
Cheers, mates! Go Deutschland!
PS: I'm thinking about doing a Q and A blog for next week. If you have any questions for your favorite American Asian blogger, please let me know. You can send them via a message on Facebook. I've had over 1,600 page views in the first two weeks, so I'm pretty sure you're out there and curious.
Here's what you need to know about food in Malaysia. Just have this sentence handy, and you're set:
"This is the best (insert food here) I have ever eaten!"
Yeah, Malaysia is pretty well known on the international circuit for its excellent cuisine. Part of this is because it's such a cultural cornucopia. The country has its homegrown Malays, but there's a huge Chinese population as well as Indian -- and as we have found out this week, the Japanese are on the rise in terms of throwing down some amazing chow.
In an attempt to get ready for authentic Malaysian food (not the poser stuff mentioned in the last blog from LAX), I basically did two things. The first was to eat at Merlion Restaurant in Southern Village in Chapel Hill, and also watched a lot of YouTube videos of people eating at street stalls in downtown KL. I stumbled across this guy:
Since most of you won't be coming over to eat along the streets of Malaysia, you should go see the folks at Merlion. They call themselves a "Singapore" restaurant, but let's be clear -- it's Malaysian food. Singapore, for some reason, sounds "safer" to American palates than Malaysia, so they play the game. Though it greatly offends we American-Asians, we are not ready to start a peaceful resistance against the idea. The food there is great, but it's nothing to prepare us for these first 10 days of yum.
If you watched the video, you'll note the guy has this pseudo-orgasmic face after he takes a bite of each dish. If you didn't you should go back and watch it because I just used the phrase "pseudo-orgasmic" in the previous sentence. Go ahead ... just watch the first minute. I'll wait ....................................................................................
See, I told you it was a "pseudo-orgasmic" reaction. (I hope no one under 17 is reading this ... should I put a rating on it?) Anywho, Jill and I had a great time making fun of what we thought was a grandiose overreaction to food. Then we moved here. Dude ain't faking ... Harry and Sally aren't having coffee in Malaysia! They are having Nasi Lemak!
Nasi Lemak was the first actual Malaysian dish I had here, and I had it at the hotel. That's cheating ... I need to get it at a street stall -- hopefully tomorrow. What is Nasi Lemak, you say? Well, if you weren't watching the video (I knew some of you wouldn't), it's chicken in something called Rendang sauce. I'm pretty sure Rendang translates to, "the greatest thing in the world ever created, short of pre-racist Paula Deen Poundcake," or something like that. Take the greatest chicken gravy, or spaghetti sauce, or whatever your comfort food was growing up, and chunk it out the window! Seriously -- to the curb with that mess! Rendang sauce was handed down by the culinary gods sometime in the B.C. era. It is what Krispy Kreme is to donuts. It's what the Colonel is to Fried Chicken. It's what Granny Annie is to Dumplins. You can't explain how good it is. You throw that in with some rice (did you know they eat rice in Asia?), half a boiled egg, some cucumbers, some pine nuts and some crunchy stuff that's sort of like the fish version of pork rinds, and you've got yourself the national dish of Malaysia. It's so good -- and I'm not making this up -- Jill and I had it for breakfast Sunday morning!
Breakfast of Champions!
Speaking of breakfast, the school is paying for the four of us to eat at this ridiculously great buffet at the hotel each morning. Because this is a cultural cornucopia (remember that from the first paragraph?), and because Siemens has a corporate office next door, there are lots of different nationalities hanging at the hotel every morning. And, every one of them has something from their culture to fit their early morning needs. Being the amateur sociologist I am, I have been observing eating trends amongst different cultures. Here's the down and dirty -- each culture pretty much stays within their comfort zones, and the Americans eat everything! Watermelon? Best I've ever had. Omelettes? Best I've ever had. Oatmeal -- so good, I've had a bowl every morning because IT'S THE BEST OATMEAL I'VE EVER HAD. The toast and jelly is seriously the best toast and jelly I've ever had. You can't make that last one up.
Somewhere between secretly making fun of our gluttony and trying to figure out what move we'll make next in the buffet line, I think the kitchen staff is starting to dig us. Proof? Jared got a piece of dragon fruit today, sort of the white cousin of the green kiwi, and the chef was so impressed that Jared had tried a slice, the chef brought out a whole one sliced and diced just for his favorite American Asian kid!
#CRHSbaseballinMalaysia
Dragon fruit and Nasi Lemak haven't been our only ventures outside the comfort zone. We tried some funky looking hard boiled Duck eggs one morning. I've found various meat replacements for bacon and sausage in this Islamic nation during Ramadan. Most are pretty spicy but tasty.
For those of you worried about us not having the comforts of home, I give you this -- I've already had two burgers since we got here. You might recognize the packaging for this one:
There is also a Tutti-Fruitti, a Baskin Robbins, a KFC at every corner, the evil golden arches, and yes, even a Krispy Kreme in town. Pizza -- well, still working on that one. The boys decided to invite over their new Polish-American-Asian friend for pizza and games last night (shoutout to Jon Kasprzak for opening my eyes to the value of Polish-American friends). We dialed up Domino's Pizza, and in 30 minutes or less, we had our pizzas! That's right ... no stinkin' American litigation against driving 20 km/h over the speed limit to deliver average pizza over here -- they still give it to you free if it's not on time! Of course, the conversation where I tried to order it took 20 minutes. We thought we were getting 2 XL pizzas and a 1 L 7-UP (take that, Sierra Mist!), but when it showed up, not so much:
Notice E's fist is only slightly larger than the pizza!
We suddenly had what equates to two personal pan pizzas to feed two quasi-teenage boys, Jared and two adults. At least it was only 35 ringitts, and it was there in about 20 minutes. Of course, I'm 76.3% sure that it was pre-made and slipped into the microwave before being delivered by scooter, but I can't prove it. The point is, we pretty much can have anything we want to have over here in terms of "American food" when we want it. It's imported though, so you find yourself asking if you really want to pay the equivalency of $7.50 for Florida's Own Orange Juice or $5 for some Cap'n Crunch. We think we might get to like the local flavor a bit better because FOOD HERE IS SO INSANELY CHEAP!
Sushi fans, you've been duped by the evil Japanese Steakhouse conglomerates in the States. That stuff isn't sushi, and it's so grossly overpriced, it's ridiculous. People, we have seen the light -- you've not had sushi until the Pacific Ocean is to your east. And, it's so cheap.
Pretty much the same price as a six-piece McNugget!!
We went to a sushi bar today. Jill and the boys got eight plates of sushi off the conveyor belt, I got a sashimi salad and an order of fried oysters. Total bill? RM85, which equates to about $26 in the US. Not each, for all four of us!!!! If you want to play the Ringitt to US Dollar conversion game at home, here's the link. Those of you who are sushi enthusiasts know that the trend is to get "buy one, get one" rolls in the US ... still a scam! Fight people ! Fight for your right to tasty raw fish at a fair price. Oh, also add soy sauce and wasabi to the list of "best I've ever had" foodstuffs!
There have been some interesting cultural things we've had to figure out. For instance, if you don't say "ice water" you will get hot water. And, you're not going to get service in a restaurant here until you let them know you are ready. After sitting for about 15 minutes in the same Japanese restaurant where we got our hot water, we figured that one out.
The final misnomer that has been quickly proven wrong is that we wouldn't be able to find sweets over here. We've had more desserts in the last week than we probably would have in a month back home. There is a Secret Recipe next to our hotel. This place is the equivalency of a Chili's, or Applebee's or whatever back home. They have lots of different types of foods (Ethan had Spaghetti tonight, and Jared had a chicken sandwich), but they are well known for their desserts. Lots of cakes over here ... who said they don't know their sweets?
#MalayCakeBoss!
In terms of sweets, we turn our attention to our friends in the Down Under the Down Under. That's right ... the Kiwis in New Zealand are best known these days for producing Hobbit Shires, moody teenage pop music (Oh, my Lorde!) and Murray, Brit and Jemaine (please tell me some of you got this!). But now, I give you New Zealand Natural Ice Cream! This has defied logic. It was in a small kiosk in the first mall we went to. We thought we'd treat the boys for being such troopers to that point. What we discovered was something so amazing, it makes Rendang sauce taste like your Mom's spaghetti sauce! As you may imagine, we all agreed, it was the best ice cream we'd ever had. God milks New Zealand cows Himself to create ice cream this delicious.
This changed my life forever. #gamechanger
My final, "best I've ever had" moment comes from a food court in the basement of the Petronas Towers.
Pretty sure this is where Darth Vader stays when he comes to KL.
In the food court, each stall represents a different country. Most of these, of course, come from central and Southeast Asia. We were kind of worn out on Asian food, so we headed to the stall featuring a silhouette of 'Murica! So, you're probably curious what food is associated with the States since we are also a multi-cultural hodge podge of edible yums. Would it be a burger? Hot dogs? Pizza (even though we stole that one from Italy)? Of course not! Logically, when we all think of uniquely American food, we immediately turn our attention to:
BELGIAN WAFFLES!!!
What's more American than Betsy Ross, Baseball and Belgian Waffles? The Yankees triple-B trifecta! So, yes, the formula held true, and I don't exaggerate. I had the Banana delight, Ethan the butter and cinnamon, Jared the Choco-delight (obviously), and Jill had peanut butter and Strawberry Jam on her Belgian Waffle. And, the consensus was, as we finished ...
They were the best American Belgian Waffles we had ever had, and we got them in Malaysia!
All for now. Sorry this one didn't have as much potty humor.
So, I'm in Malaysia. Not usually the first thing out of the mouth of someone from Mount Airy, North Carolina, but nonetheless, here we are. I've decided to start a blog for a couple of reasons. First, because Lynne Gronback is going to bug me until I do, and secondly, because my favorite student of all time already has a blog, and I'm trying to keep up with her. It will be tough. It's pretty dang good. You can see it here: http://tlcombs.wordpress.com/.
We will begin our new professional careers at Mont'Kiara International School later this month. As part of Malaysian law, we have to live in the country for 1/2 a year in order to get around some tax laws or something, so we made a swing through Beulah (from this point to be known as Bottom) and Sheltontown (from this point to be known as Little Utah), cried a lot, and then spent A LOT of time in airports and international air space.
Some things I would suggest to those about to take a 30 hour trip to the other side of the world (these all come from experience ... it is very important you pay attention. In the TOK world, this would be known as empirical knowledge ... I experienced it with my senses ... shout out to Stephen Jones and his boy, John Locke).
1. No matter how awesome it seems to eat Srirachi infused watermelon with Chile and Lime Pineapple and, yes, a jalapeno topped sandwich prior to taking a 15 hour flight, DO NOT DO IT! I spent a significant amount of time finding my way around the airplane toilet about 5 hours in. I was dropping more bombs over the Pacific than MacArthur ever even considered. Not. Fun.
2. If you ever get the chance to watch an angry African-American woman dole out Duty Free purchases to limited-English proficient Asian people, DO IT! That was loads of fun. I love to see cultures clash ... I guess it's the psych teacher in me. Patience, it seems, means different things to different people. This worked really well because the book I was reading on my trip ...
3. Read Baratunde Thurston's "How To Be Black" during layovers and down time on the plane. For those not familiar with his work, he is a frequent contributor to The Onion and has a great website, http://www.jackandjillpolitics.com/. His humor is only slightly funnier than Sarah Howard's wit and charm on Facebook. It's very fun to see a myriad of races seem confused to see your book of choice ... this works particularly well if you are a white, bald man in his 40s. I have come to realize the book is very important because ...
4. There are no Black people in Hong Kong. None. Zero. I felt lost without them. It's not just the basketball and jazz I missed. I have come to realize in my very short time that America would be insanely boring without Black people. For instance, there was no angry Chinese woman in Hong Kong trying to pass out Duty Free items to Black people before flying to Los Angeles. It's just not the same. Plus, I read the book before leaving because everyone said I would have to get used to being a minority. Apparently, White people are the minority here. Who knew such a thing was possible? Asia is so odd. I guess in some ways, Asia is similar to Bottom and Little Utah. UPDATE: I did see THREE people of African descent at the mall in KL yesterday. I did not call them African-Americans. You see, not all Black people live in America, so that would be a tad odd. However, I felt very confident none of them were African-Hong Kongians.
5. Don't spend 30 hours of flight time worrying about the heat and humidity of Malaysia. If the first two days are any indication, I would STRONGLY SUGGEST that no Malaysian people ever step foot in the Southeastern United States between May and September. They will surely die once they step off the plane in Louisiana. I once sweated off 10 pounds during 8 a.m. coffee and beignets run in Nawleans in July.
6. Be prepared to watch LOTS and LOTS and LOTS of movies as you fly to the other side of the world. My count so far ... Anchorman 2 (again ... still funny as ever), Captain America and the Winter Soldier, Monument Men (which was about as disappointing as I could ever imagine) and I tried to watch The Grand Budapest Hotel. That leads me to ...
7. DON'T try to watch movies that require lots of thinking or have British accents while traveling 30 hours in a given time period. Ralph Fiennes (who I love) gave way to Andy Samberg (who I love more on 3 hours of upright sleep)! That Brooklyn nine-nine show or whatever is FUNNY! It has a gay black character ... something I won't get a lot of over the next two years. Sigh. I miss Black people. I wonder if any of those three African-Asians I saw at the mall yesterday were gay?
That's all for now. We're gearing up for a big 4th of July in about 19 hours. Apparently, it's very similar to the 3rd of July and the 5th of July in Malaysia. Asia is so odd. Happy Birthday, 'Murica!
