Cultural Adjustments

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.