Tuesday, January 13, 2004
January 13, 2004
What you were all waiting for, riiiiiiight?
I’m so far behind that I keep putting off trying to catch-up with everything!
The Land Below the Wind
Christmas in Sabah
Pictures from the trip have been uploaded; go to the link on the upper left of this page that says "My Photos."
I guess I’ll start with my trip to Sabah for Christmas. As I mentioned before, Gavin (Australian flatmate) was going on business. Shaz (his Malay girlfriend and my flatmate) and I met him there on Dec. 23rd. I hadn’t spent that much time with the two of them before…when I’m at home I’m usually in my room and when they are, they’re in their room or in the office. A friend from here suggested beforehand that this might not be a safe thing because I don't even know them really and that they could be evil and kill me or something. They’d given me no reason to suspect them as being sketchy and besides, I LIVE with them—they could do something to me at any given moment. I though this friend is just paranoid and has an over-active imagination, but still mentioned the potential worry to Tyler.
Tyler, being the good brother that he is, did some research for me to assure me that I was probably NOT being naïve. “You don’t need to worry. Psychopaths are very rare and you’d probably notice that they were really weird and get bad vibes…But, for your pleasure, here is an excerpt from “The Anatomy of Motive” by top profiler John Douglas. Subtly find out if either of your roommates had these things happen: “There are three youthful behaviors that together make up what has come to be known as the homicidal triad: enuresis (bed-wetting) beyond an appropriate age, fire starting, and cruelty to animals and/or smaller children. Again, not every boy who displays these traits is going to grow up to be a killer, but the combinations of the three was so prominent in our study subjects that we began recommending that a pattern (rather than isolated incidences) of any two of them should raise a warning flag for parents and teachers.”
Fortunately, they did not turn out to be serial killers. But I did have a rather horrid time.
We were staying at a business partner’s condo, which I had thought was a great deal (no housing costs). Turns out it limited my mobility in a way that made me absolutely stir-crazy. We were outside the center of town and I had no key, so it was difficult for me to do what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. The first few days I just did what they did. Gavin is a businessman, but in a way I had not imagined before. Rather than just working in one company, he has his hands in lots of projects, making up his own companies, and linking this program with that (i.e. having cars manufactured in China to be imported to Cambodia because the roads are bad and the cars that exist just can’t deal with the potholes, etc.). Nothing sketchy from what I can tell.
Christmas Eve day was the pits. I went with them shopping and realized that Gavin is a horrible person. He treated all the workers like they were nothing, very condescending and demanding. There was a long line because only one cash register was open, so he said to some poor kid working nearby to “Go get someone to help her.” When the kid looked around and wasn’t really going to do it, Gavin actually clapped his hands and said, “Do it!” In his book, all Malays are stupid and incompetent. I definitely saw this superiority/colonialist attitude. I was ashamed to associated with him because his bad behavior was implicating me as being just as bad due to the shared whiteness of our skin.
Not only that, he treated Shaz very poorly as well. One day we went on a roadtrip to some hot springs. Gavin asked Shaz some question, which she didn’t really answer. His temper came out and he shouted, “Answer the question.” Shaz then got all quiet and looked out the window. Gavin told her she’d better “snap out of it” and she muttered that he shouldn’t speak to her like that. I was pretending I was invisible in the backseat of the truck. He drove like a maniac, cursing at the slow moving cars. His irritation and agitation clouded the truck and I started to feel it too—I was SO anxious to get back to the condo and out of that cramped space.
I spent Christmas Day at a beach resort, jumping waves and eating prawns. We were with Gavin’s Australian business partners and their Malaysian girlfriends. In all three cases, the men were about 20 years old than their local girlfriends. From what I could tell, the others actually treated theirs okay (and the others also were making more money and seemingly spending it on the women, whereas Gavin does not yet have the capital to do that.) Gavin himself is 40; Shaz is 26. This phenomenon of old Western men with local, young women is not uncommon (probably even more prevalent in Thailand). I’m sure that most Australian women would not tolerate being treated the way Shaz is. I was glad to hear her stand up for herself some, but really had to bite my tongue in the truck that day. It’s not my business; though perhaps it is since it’s happening in front of me…and it’s really rude and inconsiderate to put an outsider into a position where they feel uncomfortable like that, too.
Adopted
A few days after Christmas I was planning to go to an island to go snorkeling and Gavin said it wouldn’t be a problem to take me to the dock in the morning. We agreed to leave at 8:30, but didn’t until 10. I was totally willing to take a taxi and had specifically asked the night before, but he insisted it was okay. I was really frustrated, but it actually worked out well because I ended up sharing a boat with this local Indian family that adopted me. There was Maryann, a 32 year old working as a nurse in Singapore. There was Bridget, 21 year old working in KL, which is nice because hopefully we’ll be able to meet up some. There was Eddie, a 29 year old manager at a hotel bar. Two of their cousins were with them, but I was confused because I thought they looked Malay…
We got to the island and meet up with the rest of the family, about 20 of ‘em—they wouldn’t all fit on one boat! They were Roman Catholic, but one uncle had converted to Islam and was married to a Malay woman. (They also have an aunt I didn’t meet who married a Chinese Malaysian, so they were like a poster family for ethnic harmony!)
The Muslim uncle used to be a racecar driver, believes in reincarnation, is a spiritual healer and reads palms. I find this very interesting, so let me take a moment to explain his theory. When Lucifer was cast down for rebelling to hell, the other angels were also implicated in the struggle and they were sentenced to living life on Earth for a long time (say, 1000 years). But because humans cannot live that long, they have to live multiple lives to serve their sentence. He did not claim that Islam was the only right path, but that as long as you were striving to be close to God, it didn’t matter what you called yourself. But he did seem to think you needed a religion, that it wasn’t something you could do on your own. He read my palm, though I’m not sure how accurate he was. (My mom never lost sleep over my health when I was under the age of 5; he said I tend to keep feelings and problems to myself to try to solve on my own—I would say that is totally wrong!)
I had a picnic with them, went on a brief hike with some of them, and I went snorkeling (they didn’t). The beach was a bit dirty and the coral kind of dead, so that was disappointing. I was invited to come to their house for dinner and then went out for drinks with some of the sisters later that night. To be welcomed so warmly was just what I needed! It was very easy to be around their family—very comfortable. I was joking with them and felt like I fit right in. This was the kind of interaction I love to stumble into when I’m traveling.
Their house was simple, but it was definitely a home. There were religious posters and wall hangings not unlike those I saw in a few Christian refugees’ houses in Egypt. I wonder where these things come from. They always appear quite old and I’ve never seen them in the States. There was even a little shrine-type thing, with the nativity and a statute of a Saint, with candles.
Putting my Malay to use
The next day, I went to a shopping complex nearby the condo and was feeling so tired I could barely eat. Everyone working at the restaurant was watching me though. And when I got up to leave, one waiter motioned for me to wait a minute, then handed me a piece of paper. On it was his telephone number and a message a friend wrote in imperfect English, inviting me to the big Malaysian Christmas Open House (every holiday has an open house—performances, free food, fireworks, visits by Sultans and the Prime Minister, etc. This year’s Christmas one happened to be taking place within walking distance.) As soon as he handed me the note, he practically ran away. I had to walk over to him to ask him his name (Juinaidi) and tell him that maybe I’d see him there, since I was already planning on going. That way, I wouldn’t have to unless I wanted to because it seemed unlikely, with thousands of people, that I would bump into him.
Actually, I did run into two members of the Indian family separately! Pretty amazing considering how few people I knew in the area to see two I knew! And I also ended up being spotted by Juinaidi, so hung out with him. The Open House is like a big fair, with tents and music and people sitting on grass. It turns out that I know more Malay than Juinaidi knows English—which is saying a lot since I’d only had 4 Malay classes. I’m much better at reading and writing because half the sounds seem to be left out when actually spoken, so we wrote in Malay in a notebook I had to communicate, complete with little pictures as well. I wish I could post some of the pages—it’s pretty amusing.
At one point we had a disagreement about Bush. Juinaidi said he was good; I looked dismayed and said he was stupid (thankful that I had recently learned the word) and “not good.” Juinaidi said that Saddam was bad and “not good” and captured (crossing his hands to indicate handcuffed), so Bush was good. I responded that they were both “not good” and it was good Saddam was caught, but that no nuclear weapons had been found. I had to further simplify my argument and say “Bush went because of money and oil.”
I went to eat at Juinaidi’s restaurant again the next day because all other options were closed. Of course now everyone really WAS interested in watching me eat. When speaking with Juinaidi this time, I felt that I had exhausted everything I could possibly say with my vocabulary the night before. He says, in English, “I don’t knooow” in this way that reminds me of someone, but I can’t place it. I repeated it sometimes too, in a silly voice, when I couldn’t get my point across.
I was trying to find out the word for “after” and went into this elaborate way of trying to figure it out. I knew “before” and many opposites (black/white, bad/good/, left/right, day/night), so tried to pull the word for “after” by saying these things and then saying “before……” It didn’t work. He didn’t get it and I had to give up. That was the start, I think, of my decision to say what I wanted to say in English because I felt the need to get the words out, despite his comprehension. I would actually say a sentence in English, knowing he wouldn’t understand, and then cackle. I couldn’t help it. The situation was ridiculous.
Fortunately, I hung out with him and his cousin (also a waiter there, but the son of a big politician in the area—he had a really nice jeep and we drove by his house, which was huge) that night. At least his cousin spoke English! I got a ride to the airport from them and have gotten lots and lots of text messages and phone calls from Juinaidi (actually, he JUST phone me this very second, as I am typing this). The problem is, it is much more difficult to understand another language on the phone, so I tend not to pick up the phone. One message urged me: “Don’t forget to remember me,” after he bought an English dictionary to try to learn.
I was torn between staying and making the most of my time there in Sabah and getting the hell out of Dodge for my own sanity and mental well-being. I decided the latter trumped any need I felt to not squander the travel opportunity. I changed my flight and came back to KL four days early, on the 29th.
Lame joke I just made up:
Q: Why did Jill go to Sabah?
A: To see the chicken cross the road. [on the way to the hot springs, I actually DID see TWO chickens crossing the road. Not a common sight since American chickens tend not to be loose and free to roam about.]
A Fresh Start: 2004
The New Year’s was rather anti-climatic and the days preceding it a little glum.
But, miraculously, things began to improve almost immediately after the New Year. Maybe it was my attitude and the holidays being past. But beyond that, things just started to click and fall into place.
I’ve reconceptualized my research project so that I am much more excited about working on it. Rather than focus exclusively on Islam, I’ve decided to do more of a comparative religious study on alms-giving / tithe in Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Catholicism, and Mormonism.
The last might seem a strange inclusion, but the idea occurred to me because I was approached on a train by a young British woman who turned out to be here on her Mormon mission. I had no idea that there would be a Mormon presence here. And upon doing a simple internet search, I found that Mormons are very dedicated to giving 10% (BEFORE TAXES!) to the Church. The implication for secular charities in Salt Lake City, for example, is that it is difficult to fundraise. In any case, by broadening my scope, I will be learning a lot more (e.g. I really know nothing at all about Hinduism and Buddhism). Another interesting element is the vow of poverty that many religious people take in certain religions. For example, some Buddhist monks and nuns take a vow of poverty and survive by begging (Andi, I’ve been meaning to ask you what you know about this and the social welfare system within Buddhism).
I’ve been meeting more people since the New Year started as well. And I’ve realized that I don’t need to have a lot of great, hardcore friends to avoid feeling lonely—that I can interact with people in a limited way and make do with that. I think generally speaking, I don’t normally operate that way. Even when I was in Sabah with the Indian family, I was thinking how this is probably the only time I’ll ever be in Sabah, and therefore will not see most of them again ever, and that realization bothered me! I don’t want experiences or interactions to be a one-time thing, but yearn for something more to develop from them. But living the life I am, around the globe, I need to start getting used to letting go. Think the “Bits and Pieces” poem.
[In case you don’t know it, allow me: People important to you, people unimportant to you cross you life, touch it with love and carelessness and move on. There are people that leave you and you breathe a sigh of relief and wonder why you ever came in contact with them. There are people that leave you and you breathe a sign of remorse and wonder why they had to go away and leave such a gaping hole. Children leave parents; friends leave friends. Acquaintances move on. People change homes. People grow apart. Enemies hate and move on. You think of the many who have moved into your hazy memory. You look at those present and wonder. I believe in God’s master plan in lives. He moves people in and out of each other’s life, and each leaves a mark on the other. You’ll find you are made of bits and pieces of all who ever touched your life, and you are more because of it, and you would be less if they had not touched you. Pray to God that you accept the bits and pieces in humility and wonder, and never question, and never forget. Bits and Pieces.]
On the night of the 1st, I went to Chili’s (I needed salad) and ended up speaking briefly with two sets of Westerners. Then I went out to the fountain area by the KLCC towers (featured in the movie Entrapment) where lots of people hang out. I sat on some steps and these Malay teenagers next to me started to talk to me. Once they left, I was beckoned over by a group of young people playing guitar. They were Indonesian and the type of people you might find in the Ped Mall, Iowa City. They didn’t really speak English, but the guitarist began to play a song in English that he claimed was Metallica, though I didn’t recognize it. Some of the kids looked like they could have been that punk-kind of Japanese; others looked like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean; still others looked Native American, no joke. Anyway, after half an hour or so, a newcomer to the group asked in English for a kiss and I decided it was time for me to leave [and in retrospect, I have no idea what they were actually saying to/about me, if they were actually being friendly or simply making fun of me since I couldn’t communicate with them (their language is the same as Malaysia, but a different dialect, like Egyptian Arabic versus Gulf Arabic)].
I said goodbye and was going to make sure I wasn’t followed, when a woman wearing hijab (headscarf) began to speak to me not five steps away from the kids. She was with four women and a guy about my age, her children. She was speaking in broken English, asking me where I was from. I was confused what was going on and why she was speaking to me. One of the guys from the group (the only Malaysian, I think he’s Chinese) had gotten up too and I was horrified that he sort of put his hand out to introduce himself to her after I had. I didn’t want to be associated with this guy! I gave a funny look though I can’t remember if it was to him to indicate, what are you doing?!, or to her to be like this guy is not with me! He got the hint and I think she did as well. So we continued our conversation and I learned they’re from Libya, so I break out with some Arabic and we talk about what we’re doing in KL (her husband is a professor here, but surprisingly not at my university). They get my number, wanting me to come to their home and be friends. Then she says, this time in English, stay away from those people, not good, type thing. She seemed to think she need to warn me—but had waited until AFTER I had removed myself from them already! I wasn’t really worried about the kids—I kept my bag on my lap and was in a very public place. But I’m sure from her perspective, they were hoodlums. Within ten minutes of leaving them, the son had called to invite me to their house the next day. I declined and have yet to go, despite numerous phone calls…
And I ran into the kickboxing instructor (from a different gym) and I’ve hung out with him and some of his friends a few times. I met a Liberian and just today a South Sudanese (I was proud I could properly guess that before he told me). In both cases, I took their numbers and did not give them mine. See, I am finally implementing the not giving my number out thing for once! I’ve also met an American law student named Laura, who is doing an internship here; she spent 2.5 years all over South America before going to law school and wants to do international human rights law, so we’ve got a lot in common.
I’ve joined Gold’s Gym, which is a ten minute walk from my house. I’ve been good so far about going a lot. I will be moving in with one of the trainers there, Elizabeth, and her brother next month, so she’ll kick my butt to make me keep going! I’ll be paying almost half of what I am now! I’ll be in a different area of town, but still right near public transit and a mall with lots of restaurants. And my room has an actual window! (Now there is a narrow balcony that doesn’t let much natural light in and is the kind of balcony that is more for your clothes to dry than for you to hang out on.)
So, all in all, things are looking up. So much so that I’ve emailed numerous African NGOs so that I might line up some internship and apply for a human rights fellowship for next fall. Two weeks ago I didn’t think I could handle being abroad again, but now that things are looking up and I’m out of the dark period, I want the option!
What you were all waiting for, riiiiiiight?
I’m so far behind that I keep putting off trying to catch-up with everything!
The Land Below the Wind
Christmas in Sabah
Pictures from the trip have been uploaded; go to the link on the upper left of this page that says "My Photos."
I guess I’ll start with my trip to Sabah for Christmas. As I mentioned before, Gavin (Australian flatmate) was going on business. Shaz (his Malay girlfriend and my flatmate) and I met him there on Dec. 23rd. I hadn’t spent that much time with the two of them before…when I’m at home I’m usually in my room and when they are, they’re in their room or in the office. A friend from here suggested beforehand that this might not be a safe thing because I don't even know them really and that they could be evil and kill me or something. They’d given me no reason to suspect them as being sketchy and besides, I LIVE with them—they could do something to me at any given moment. I though this friend is just paranoid and has an over-active imagination, but still mentioned the potential worry to Tyler.
Tyler, being the good brother that he is, did some research for me to assure me that I was probably NOT being naïve. “You don’t need to worry. Psychopaths are very rare and you’d probably notice that they were really weird and get bad vibes…But, for your pleasure, here is an excerpt from “The Anatomy of Motive” by top profiler John Douglas. Subtly find out if either of your roommates had these things happen: “There are three youthful behaviors that together make up what has come to be known as the homicidal triad: enuresis (bed-wetting) beyond an appropriate age, fire starting, and cruelty to animals and/or smaller children. Again, not every boy who displays these traits is going to grow up to be a killer, but the combinations of the three was so prominent in our study subjects that we began recommending that a pattern (rather than isolated incidences) of any two of them should raise a warning flag for parents and teachers.”
Fortunately, they did not turn out to be serial killers. But I did have a rather horrid time.
We were staying at a business partner’s condo, which I had thought was a great deal (no housing costs). Turns out it limited my mobility in a way that made me absolutely stir-crazy. We were outside the center of town and I had no key, so it was difficult for me to do what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. The first few days I just did what they did. Gavin is a businessman, but in a way I had not imagined before. Rather than just working in one company, he has his hands in lots of projects, making up his own companies, and linking this program with that (i.e. having cars manufactured in China to be imported to Cambodia because the roads are bad and the cars that exist just can’t deal with the potholes, etc.). Nothing sketchy from what I can tell.
Christmas Eve day was the pits. I went with them shopping and realized that Gavin is a horrible person. He treated all the workers like they were nothing, very condescending and demanding. There was a long line because only one cash register was open, so he said to some poor kid working nearby to “Go get someone to help her.” When the kid looked around and wasn’t really going to do it, Gavin actually clapped his hands and said, “Do it!” In his book, all Malays are stupid and incompetent. I definitely saw this superiority/colonialist attitude. I was ashamed to associated with him because his bad behavior was implicating me as being just as bad due to the shared whiteness of our skin.
Not only that, he treated Shaz very poorly as well. One day we went on a roadtrip to some hot springs. Gavin asked Shaz some question, which she didn’t really answer. His temper came out and he shouted, “Answer the question.” Shaz then got all quiet and looked out the window. Gavin told her she’d better “snap out of it” and she muttered that he shouldn’t speak to her like that. I was pretending I was invisible in the backseat of the truck. He drove like a maniac, cursing at the slow moving cars. His irritation and agitation clouded the truck and I started to feel it too—I was SO anxious to get back to the condo and out of that cramped space.
I spent Christmas Day at a beach resort, jumping waves and eating prawns. We were with Gavin’s Australian business partners and their Malaysian girlfriends. In all three cases, the men were about 20 years old than their local girlfriends. From what I could tell, the others actually treated theirs okay (and the others also were making more money and seemingly spending it on the women, whereas Gavin does not yet have the capital to do that.) Gavin himself is 40; Shaz is 26. This phenomenon of old Western men with local, young women is not uncommon (probably even more prevalent in Thailand). I’m sure that most Australian women would not tolerate being treated the way Shaz is. I was glad to hear her stand up for herself some, but really had to bite my tongue in the truck that day. It’s not my business; though perhaps it is since it’s happening in front of me…and it’s really rude and inconsiderate to put an outsider into a position where they feel uncomfortable like that, too.
Adopted
A few days after Christmas I was planning to go to an island to go snorkeling and Gavin said it wouldn’t be a problem to take me to the dock in the morning. We agreed to leave at 8:30, but didn’t until 10. I was totally willing to take a taxi and had specifically asked the night before, but he insisted it was okay. I was really frustrated, but it actually worked out well because I ended up sharing a boat with this local Indian family that adopted me. There was Maryann, a 32 year old working as a nurse in Singapore. There was Bridget, 21 year old working in KL, which is nice because hopefully we’ll be able to meet up some. There was Eddie, a 29 year old manager at a hotel bar. Two of their cousins were with them, but I was confused because I thought they looked Malay…
We got to the island and meet up with the rest of the family, about 20 of ‘em—they wouldn’t all fit on one boat! They were Roman Catholic, but one uncle had converted to Islam and was married to a Malay woman. (They also have an aunt I didn’t meet who married a Chinese Malaysian, so they were like a poster family for ethnic harmony!)
The Muslim uncle used to be a racecar driver, believes in reincarnation, is a spiritual healer and reads palms. I find this very interesting, so let me take a moment to explain his theory. When Lucifer was cast down for rebelling to hell, the other angels were also implicated in the struggle and they were sentenced to living life on Earth for a long time (say, 1000 years). But because humans cannot live that long, they have to live multiple lives to serve their sentence. He did not claim that Islam was the only right path, but that as long as you were striving to be close to God, it didn’t matter what you called yourself. But he did seem to think you needed a religion, that it wasn’t something you could do on your own. He read my palm, though I’m not sure how accurate he was. (My mom never lost sleep over my health when I was under the age of 5; he said I tend to keep feelings and problems to myself to try to solve on my own—I would say that is totally wrong!)
I had a picnic with them, went on a brief hike with some of them, and I went snorkeling (they didn’t). The beach was a bit dirty and the coral kind of dead, so that was disappointing. I was invited to come to their house for dinner and then went out for drinks with some of the sisters later that night. To be welcomed so warmly was just what I needed! It was very easy to be around their family—very comfortable. I was joking with them and felt like I fit right in. This was the kind of interaction I love to stumble into when I’m traveling.
Their house was simple, but it was definitely a home. There were religious posters and wall hangings not unlike those I saw in a few Christian refugees’ houses in Egypt. I wonder where these things come from. They always appear quite old and I’ve never seen them in the States. There was even a little shrine-type thing, with the nativity and a statute of a Saint, with candles.
Putting my Malay to use
The next day, I went to a shopping complex nearby the condo and was feeling so tired I could barely eat. Everyone working at the restaurant was watching me though. And when I got up to leave, one waiter motioned for me to wait a minute, then handed me a piece of paper. On it was his telephone number and a message a friend wrote in imperfect English, inviting me to the big Malaysian Christmas Open House (every holiday has an open house—performances, free food, fireworks, visits by Sultans and the Prime Minister, etc. This year’s Christmas one happened to be taking place within walking distance.) As soon as he handed me the note, he practically ran away. I had to walk over to him to ask him his name (Juinaidi) and tell him that maybe I’d see him there, since I was already planning on going. That way, I wouldn’t have to unless I wanted to because it seemed unlikely, with thousands of people, that I would bump into him.
Actually, I did run into two members of the Indian family separately! Pretty amazing considering how few people I knew in the area to see two I knew! And I also ended up being spotted by Juinaidi, so hung out with him. The Open House is like a big fair, with tents and music and people sitting on grass. It turns out that I know more Malay than Juinaidi knows English—which is saying a lot since I’d only had 4 Malay classes. I’m much better at reading and writing because half the sounds seem to be left out when actually spoken, so we wrote in Malay in a notebook I had to communicate, complete with little pictures as well. I wish I could post some of the pages—it’s pretty amusing.
At one point we had a disagreement about Bush. Juinaidi said he was good; I looked dismayed and said he was stupid (thankful that I had recently learned the word) and “not good.” Juinaidi said that Saddam was bad and “not good” and captured (crossing his hands to indicate handcuffed), so Bush was good. I responded that they were both “not good” and it was good Saddam was caught, but that no nuclear weapons had been found. I had to further simplify my argument and say “Bush went because of money and oil.”
I went to eat at Juinaidi’s restaurant again the next day because all other options were closed. Of course now everyone really WAS interested in watching me eat. When speaking with Juinaidi this time, I felt that I had exhausted everything I could possibly say with my vocabulary the night before. He says, in English, “I don’t knooow” in this way that reminds me of someone, but I can’t place it. I repeated it sometimes too, in a silly voice, when I couldn’t get my point across.
I was trying to find out the word for “after” and went into this elaborate way of trying to figure it out. I knew “before” and many opposites (black/white, bad/good/, left/right, day/night), so tried to pull the word for “after” by saying these things and then saying “before……” It didn’t work. He didn’t get it and I had to give up. That was the start, I think, of my decision to say what I wanted to say in English because I felt the need to get the words out, despite his comprehension. I would actually say a sentence in English, knowing he wouldn’t understand, and then cackle. I couldn’t help it. The situation was ridiculous.
Fortunately, I hung out with him and his cousin (also a waiter there, but the son of a big politician in the area—he had a really nice jeep and we drove by his house, which was huge) that night. At least his cousin spoke English! I got a ride to the airport from them and have gotten lots and lots of text messages and phone calls from Juinaidi (actually, he JUST phone me this very second, as I am typing this). The problem is, it is much more difficult to understand another language on the phone, so I tend not to pick up the phone. One message urged me: “Don’t forget to remember me,” after he bought an English dictionary to try to learn.
I was torn between staying and making the most of my time there in Sabah and getting the hell out of Dodge for my own sanity and mental well-being. I decided the latter trumped any need I felt to not squander the travel opportunity. I changed my flight and came back to KL four days early, on the 29th.
Lame joke I just made up:
Q: Why did Jill go to Sabah?
A: To see the chicken cross the road. [on the way to the hot springs, I actually DID see TWO chickens crossing the road. Not a common sight since American chickens tend not to be loose and free to roam about.]
A Fresh Start: 2004
The New Year’s was rather anti-climatic and the days preceding it a little glum.
But, miraculously, things began to improve almost immediately after the New Year. Maybe it was my attitude and the holidays being past. But beyond that, things just started to click and fall into place.
I’ve reconceptualized my research project so that I am much more excited about working on it. Rather than focus exclusively on Islam, I’ve decided to do more of a comparative religious study on alms-giving / tithe in Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Catholicism, and Mormonism.
The last might seem a strange inclusion, but the idea occurred to me because I was approached on a train by a young British woman who turned out to be here on her Mormon mission. I had no idea that there would be a Mormon presence here. And upon doing a simple internet search, I found that Mormons are very dedicated to giving 10% (BEFORE TAXES!) to the Church. The implication for secular charities in Salt Lake City, for example, is that it is difficult to fundraise. In any case, by broadening my scope, I will be learning a lot more (e.g. I really know nothing at all about Hinduism and Buddhism). Another interesting element is the vow of poverty that many religious people take in certain religions. For example, some Buddhist monks and nuns take a vow of poverty and survive by begging (Andi, I’ve been meaning to ask you what you know about this and the social welfare system within Buddhism).
I’ve been meeting more people since the New Year started as well. And I’ve realized that I don’t need to have a lot of great, hardcore friends to avoid feeling lonely—that I can interact with people in a limited way and make do with that. I think generally speaking, I don’t normally operate that way. Even when I was in Sabah with the Indian family, I was thinking how this is probably the only time I’ll ever be in Sabah, and therefore will not see most of them again ever, and that realization bothered me! I don’t want experiences or interactions to be a one-time thing, but yearn for something more to develop from them. But living the life I am, around the globe, I need to start getting used to letting go. Think the “Bits and Pieces” poem.
[In case you don’t know it, allow me: People important to you, people unimportant to you cross you life, touch it with love and carelessness and move on. There are people that leave you and you breathe a sigh of relief and wonder why you ever came in contact with them. There are people that leave you and you breathe a sign of remorse and wonder why they had to go away and leave such a gaping hole. Children leave parents; friends leave friends. Acquaintances move on. People change homes. People grow apart. Enemies hate and move on. You think of the many who have moved into your hazy memory. You look at those present and wonder. I believe in God’s master plan in lives. He moves people in and out of each other’s life, and each leaves a mark on the other. You’ll find you are made of bits and pieces of all who ever touched your life, and you are more because of it, and you would be less if they had not touched you. Pray to God that you accept the bits and pieces in humility and wonder, and never question, and never forget. Bits and Pieces.]
On the night of the 1st, I went to Chili’s (I needed salad) and ended up speaking briefly with two sets of Westerners. Then I went out to the fountain area by the KLCC towers (featured in the movie Entrapment) where lots of people hang out. I sat on some steps and these Malay teenagers next to me started to talk to me. Once they left, I was beckoned over by a group of young people playing guitar. They were Indonesian and the type of people you might find in the Ped Mall, Iowa City. They didn’t really speak English, but the guitarist began to play a song in English that he claimed was Metallica, though I didn’t recognize it. Some of the kids looked like they could have been that punk-kind of Japanese; others looked like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean; still others looked Native American, no joke. Anyway, after half an hour or so, a newcomer to the group asked in English for a kiss and I decided it was time for me to leave [and in retrospect, I have no idea what they were actually saying to/about me, if they were actually being friendly or simply making fun of me since I couldn’t communicate with them (their language is the same as Malaysia, but a different dialect, like Egyptian Arabic versus Gulf Arabic)].
I said goodbye and was going to make sure I wasn’t followed, when a woman wearing hijab (headscarf) began to speak to me not five steps away from the kids. She was with four women and a guy about my age, her children. She was speaking in broken English, asking me where I was from. I was confused what was going on and why she was speaking to me. One of the guys from the group (the only Malaysian, I think he’s Chinese) had gotten up too and I was horrified that he sort of put his hand out to introduce himself to her after I had. I didn’t want to be associated with this guy! I gave a funny look though I can’t remember if it was to him to indicate, what are you doing?!, or to her to be like this guy is not with me! He got the hint and I think she did as well. So we continued our conversation and I learned they’re from Libya, so I break out with some Arabic and we talk about what we’re doing in KL (her husband is a professor here, but surprisingly not at my university). They get my number, wanting me to come to their home and be friends. Then she says, this time in English, stay away from those people, not good, type thing. She seemed to think she need to warn me—but had waited until AFTER I had removed myself from them already! I wasn’t really worried about the kids—I kept my bag on my lap and was in a very public place. But I’m sure from her perspective, they were hoodlums. Within ten minutes of leaving them, the son had called to invite me to their house the next day. I declined and have yet to go, despite numerous phone calls…
And I ran into the kickboxing instructor (from a different gym) and I’ve hung out with him and some of his friends a few times. I met a Liberian and just today a South Sudanese (I was proud I could properly guess that before he told me). In both cases, I took their numbers and did not give them mine. See, I am finally implementing the not giving my number out thing for once! I’ve also met an American law student named Laura, who is doing an internship here; she spent 2.5 years all over South America before going to law school and wants to do international human rights law, so we’ve got a lot in common.
I’ve joined Gold’s Gym, which is a ten minute walk from my house. I’ve been good so far about going a lot. I will be moving in with one of the trainers there, Elizabeth, and her brother next month, so she’ll kick my butt to make me keep going! I’ll be paying almost half of what I am now! I’ll be in a different area of town, but still right near public transit and a mall with lots of restaurants. And my room has an actual window! (Now there is a narrow balcony that doesn’t let much natural light in and is the kind of balcony that is more for your clothes to dry than for you to hang out on.)
So, all in all, things are looking up. So much so that I’ve emailed numerous African NGOs so that I might line up some internship and apply for a human rights fellowship for next fall. Two weeks ago I didn’t think I could handle being abroad again, but now that things are looking up and I’m out of the dark period, I want the option!
