Len in Malaysia

Ramadan

2007-10-17T22:46:00.000+08:00

Taufiqil (TAOW-fi-keel) gets up at 4:30am. He is the only one of the eight that share a room to be awake and alert this early. He gets me up, gently pushing my shoulder and whispering with tangible urgency. I open my eyes, and meet his. Mine are tired, not used to beating the sun to meet the day but his are focused. His mind and his heart are into this. Taufiqil is waking up before even the first trace of sun hits the horizon in order to pray and eat a big meal. He has to, as he will not eat again until after sunset.

The reason? The Holy Month of Ramadan. Muslims take a month out of the year as a sacred time to fast and pray with extra vehemency. The rules are, basically, nothing passes your lips from sunup to sundown. Not food, drink, medicine, cigarettes, a kiss, or anything else. It is a serious fast.

I can tell the Taufiqil has mastered this routine through extensive practice. After he lays a colorful rug on the ground facing Mecca, he whispers verses of the Koran in three different positions. First, standing, then kneeling, then on his hands and knees with his forehead touching the ground. After he is done, we then stumble down from the fourth floor of a concrete dormitory to the cafeteria where great pots of food wait to be served on metal trays. As is Malay custom, we eat with our hands, deftly pushing small wads of rice and chicken in our mouths. Even though my eyes are awake, I don't think my tongue is, and I merely feel my morning meal. After eating as much as we can, we head back to the dorm to catch a few more hours of sleep before class.

When he again wakes me, its even harder to shake it off. I feel like a lazy schoolboy shrugging off his mother's wake up calls, except the person waking me up is a schoolboy. After taking a cold shower from a pipe in the bathroom wall, we get dressed and after another prayer we head to school. The walk is not far the prayer room for Qur'an recitation. Boys and girls enter from separate sides of the building, and everyone takes off their shoes and washes their hands, faces, and feet before entering. Once inside, groups of boys and girls on opposite sides of the room gather in small circles and take turns reading the Qur'an. As the ancient Arabic gently whispers from each boy's lips, their lowered eyes follow the beautiful script, right to left. I wonder how much they really understand, and whether or not they get much out of this sacred exercise, but the looks on their faces certainly make me feel like they do. After about an hour of this, we go back outside and head across the school campus to the computer lab.

Only about half of the computers actually work despite being brand new, so clusters of two or three gather around each computer taking turns surfing the net or listening to music. Access to certain material is strictly limited, and the proxy server that acts as a security blanket blocks out all sorts of material. Anything about pornography, related to games, deemed "tasteless," or (to my surprise) about "non-traditional religions and occult and folklore" is unaccessible. If you look carefully at the URL I was trying to access, you will see that I was trying to read something about Pisces. This is an example of the great care that is taken to isolate and protect young children from material that may be harmful, an admirable goal, but perhaps this particular situation is a bit on the cautious side. Like I've said before, the lines are just drawn in different places here. Oh, by the way the translation of the banner on that page reads "Quality Education for the Foundation of a Developed Generation."

Since Taufiqil's class is finished with his national exams and school holidays are rapidly approaching, we spend the rest of the day in the computer lab taking turns playing video games. Someone snuck in a copy of the original CounterStrike and we pass the time killing virtual terrorists and enjoying the computer lab's air conditioning. By the time school is over in the early afternoon, I am ready for a nap and head back to my apartment. When I wake up, I expect to be violently hungry, but instead am only lethargic and when six o'clock rolls around, I know that I have to hit the market before sundown or there will be no food for me. Lazily, I go down to my motorbike and head into town to a long row of tents set up in a road near the town square. All sorts of food and drink are being sold, and all of it made fresh right on the spot. It is a bit like the state fair without the rides or livestock shows, and people from all over town gather to grab their evening meal before heading home. I love this Ramadan Bazaar (Pasar Ramadan in Malay) since I am too tired and lazy to cook my own food, and the selection is impressive. Rice dishes of all kinds, omelettes, cakes, kebabs, freshly squeezed juices, and fireworks are for sale. I grabbed enough for three or four and head to an internet cafe where I met some friends. After nearly fourteen hours of fasting, it is safe to say that anything I ate would taste delicious, but breaking fast with good food makes things even better. When the time comes, my friends and I dig in, eating slowly so we won't overwhelm our stomachs. Not a bit of food is left when we are finished. Full and happy, we lean back and talked for a little while before parting ways.

Now, it might sound crazy to fast for such a long time, even borderline foolish to many Americans back home. After all, if you don't eat well, you can't work as hard and you'll have a tough time staying on top of things. And not drinking water in the tropical heat, well that might sound just damn stupid. But then again, getting drunk at a party sounds just as foolish to Malay Muslims in my area, and for good reason. Drinking a little bit too much is, well, not good for you. A hangover is a sign of toxicity, and numbing your senses like that is known to kill brain cells. Plus, bad decisions are a lot easier to make when you're drunk. Just look at my friend Nuts. Yet both fasting and drinking are accepted social customs in different cultures. Why fast for so long, why put yourself through that hardship? As the end of the month neared, I began to understand. Think of all the people in the world who do not have the benefit of a regular source of food. Do they sometimes go without food for a day, sometimes days? What is it like to feel like they do? If we don't put ourselves through the same hardship, we will never know and we will never be able to connect with them on that fundamental level. Needless to say, going without is not exactly an essential part of the American lifestyle. But during Ramadan, everyone who is a Muslim fasts, rich and poor, men and women, adults and elders. And at the end of the day, the act of breaking fast together and sharing the wonderful feelings of eating such a well-deserved meal can bring people together quite closely. It is also a reminder that our bodies have limits and have a finite lifespan. We will not be around forever, and should definitely make the most of what time we do have.

When I pledged a fraternity, I was taught how enduring common hardship with a group of people binds you together. Indeed, some of the friends that I am closest with and have kept in touch with the most while in Malaysia are my fraternity brothers. I feel the need to stress that these hardships were in no way illegal, involuntary, or dangerous and I am proud of my membership. But take that same principle and apply it to an entire community. Not only do you become more appreciative of simple things like food and drink, but you also become closer with your friends and family. I know I feel closer to the boys that I stayed with in the school's dormitory for a night after fasting and spending a day with them. And the self-control and discipline that you learn by resisting the most primal of impulses, hunger, is character building to say the least.

And so at the end of Ramadan, or Hari Raya (Party Days), there is truly something to celebrate. Not only is it celebration of the end of hardship, but also a time to be proud that you made it through a difficult month. The closer you observed the right way of doing things, the more you earn the celebration and the more satisfying the end really is. That said, I am sorry to say that I did not follow those guidelines for the entire month. I made a compromise. Instead of eating before the sun rose, I instead ate when I woke up and didn't eat or drink again until sundown. I know that this is far from the correct way of observing this holiday, and that Ramadan is more than just skipping lunch, but I was very hungry by the end of the day and did enjoy the food and company much more than if I had done nothing close to fasting. Perhaps if I understood more about the spiritual component of the holiday I would have felt a greater sense of purpose and woken up everyday with the same urgency and energy as Taufiqil.

Anyway, after the fasting stops, the doors of everyone's house open wide and food and drink are plentiful. I think I visited nearly fifteen different houses over the course of the holiday from one end of the state to the other, and I was more than happy to share a meal with anyone who was willing. At some of these houses, I had no idea who the host was, but this in no way affected the level of hospitality. When I arrived to a house full of friends and family, everyone was usually spread out, talking and eating. But when word got around that a white man had come, the talk stopped and usually a small circle of people gathered around me, waiting and watching. When I started speaking the language, I could see their faces light up and relax a little bit. They seemed genuinely honored that a foreigner had taken the time to learn the local language, and even a few words of the local dialect. Some of these houses were beautiful and huge, while others were made from corrugated steel, plywood and tarps, but all of them were welcoming and insisted that I have something to eat and drink. I again was treated like part family, part celebrity. I even had the privilege of meeting the Chief Minister of Terengganu (like the state governor) at his mansion in the capital and shake his hand before eating his delicious food. As nice as his mansion was, however, I think the house I enjoyed the most was the that of my foster family, Roslina and Kamal. These were the people that took me into their home for three days when I first arrived in Malaysia, and after nearly a year here and several visits (as well as a roadtrip), I feel closer to them than some of my own aunts and uncles. They again took me in, fed me, and took me to visit all of their neighbors and family members as an honored guest. The whole affair is rather like Christmas in many respects, with the exception of having to buy a present for everyone. They just cut right to the point and give out little envelopes of money to all of the children. There is no set amount, and the envelopes have no one's name on them, so there isn't a lot of favoritism. All a child has to do is "salaam" the money holding adult by touching his or her forehead to the adult's backhand, and the money is given with a smile.

In the end, I was most impressed with the warmth with which I received. In my area, I think the stereotype of Americans is less than favorable, and to be accepted and welcomed anyway is a sign of an ability to distinguish individuals from stereotype, as well as genuine kindness and openness. I think I received more than ten invitations to come back to houses where I'd never been for another meal, and a couple of them even offered their extra beds to me whenever I was in the area for the night. Even after ten months, I still cannot believe that this type of attitude could actually exist; my time here has done a good deal to uplift my general faith in humanity.

Around Town

2007-10-01T16:16:00.000+08:00

I live in a town called Chukai, in the district of Kemaman on the east coast of Peninsular Malaysia. Right there in the red circle.

As you can imagine, it is quite different from life in America, and the town itself takes on a radically different shape than my hometown in Connecticut. I'm not saying its better or worse, and I can get pretty much everything I could want here. The local mall contains an arcade, all sorts of electronics shops, a department store, and even a clothing importer that specializes chiefly Levi's jeans. There are, however, a lot more small businesses and far fewer chain stores like in the U.S. These small businesses are usually simple and only provide a few services, and only one or two clerks are working at any given time. For example, my bicycle shop is owned by one man, Awi, and his helper (his brother?) and all they do is sell and repair bikes. There isn't really a retail section in the store, mostly because space is so limited and the sales floor is the same thing as the workshop, but I can buy anything I need there even if Awi has to fish it out from a pile of unsold goods in the back. Not in stock? He orders it for me. There is a supermarket here too, but to be quite honest, its actually cheaper to buy food at restaurants and food stalls than cook for myself. Whenever I want to make my own food, its actually more expensive for me to buy the pasta and sauce than it is for me to eat three full meals out (drinks included). For me, this is a good thing since I'm not much of a cook.

The town itself seems to be much more tightly packed together than anything back home, and even though a significant portion of people have cars, many others ride small motorscooters or walk and as a result the business district seems to be much more concentrated. Perhaps its just Connecticut, but it seems like it takes forever to drive from one place to another. Here, not so much. Cars just aren't a necessity like they are back home, partly because of the cost, and partly because of the weather. Bicycles or scooters work just fine in the tropical heat, and to be honest I kind of like weaving though a long line of stopped cars and trucks without a roof over my head or a windshield acting like a convection oven. I miss having a car when it rains, though.

There are also things that confuse me, and they probably always will.

Now, Throughout U.S. history, Americans have looked to the future with a certain raw optimism that I think has shaped our national identity. The Revolutionary War was fought (theoretically) on principles of independence and freedom, and through over half of America's existence, we have had a frontier to push to. In the back of our heads, Americans have always known there is a place for us to start over if we wished, to begin a new life as we see fit. I think as a result, it is uniquely American belief to think that we have both the right and ability to change ourselves if we desire and start afresh. Immigrants who came to the U.S. also had the opportunity to reinvent themselves in a new way if they wished, questioning and re-evaluating their own traditions and cultures and able to keep what they wished while leaving everything else behind.

That has not happened here, not in my state anyway. Instead, modernization has come through foreign channels, always from the outside. Malaysia has had a long history of being occupied and colonized by one power or another throughout history, and this has greatly affected the way that many people view modernization and might explain why some may fear, resent, or oppose a more modern way of life. Here, it seems, many are pulled in a great many different directions by their instincts to be true to their identity while at the same time learning how to choose beneficial elements of modernity. I see it in my students every day: they are so often torn between old and new ways of life.

Chukai shows some of these signs of strain and conflict. Here, there are supermarkets right next to shacks made from corrugated steel. Chinese businessmen sip tall bottles of beer just a couple blocks away from the local mosque where alcohol consumption of any kind is a serious sin. Modern businesses that serve both local and Western food stand with brightly painted signs a few miles from a fishing village that looks like it hasn't changed in a thousand years. Compared to a good deal of the area, this town is fairly developed and contains a lucrative oil field about five miles north of the town, as well as one of the deepest ports in Malaysia. All along the ocean's horizon I can see a line of oil tankers heading out to various parts of world, and the gas flares light up the northern sky with a strange orange light, which casts flickering shadows on that fishing village I mentioned. There are several local coffee shops that are quite popular, and all food served is Halal (kind of like Kosher, but for Muslims). Particularly at night, families come and eat anything from French fries to keropok lekor (a deep fried fish sausage which might sound disgusting, but is actually pretty good). I have this image of a young Muslim woman, completely covered with the exception of her face and hands, enjoying her food while booty-shaking dancers flanking Ludacris played on a projector TV in the background. Keep in mind that when Gwen Stefani played in Kuala Lumpur, she was not allowed to show her belly button. I guess that Ludacris video just slipped through the cracks. I'll also never understand why alcohol is avoided with such rigor, to the point where some locals will not eat at a restaurant that serves beer or wine, while cigarettes are enjoyed by nearly everyone. Except women. I have never seen a woman smoking in this state. Yes, I know that alcohol and pork are 'haram' or forbidden by Islam, but medically speaking cigarettes are far worse. Why avoid pork and alcohol with such zeal but freely use tobacco? It is confusing to me.

Another strange place where the old and new collide is the internet café. Here, I see almost exclusively young men surfing the net, ogling women in scanty clothes, chatting online and playing games that I personally enjoy, but seem to not belong here. All three versions of Grand Theft Auto III, criticized by conservative groups in the U.S. as being too violent and graphic, are available to anyone willing to pay fifty cents an hour. Terrorist Takedown to my awkward surprise, is also popular. To see young local boys cruising around in virtual humvees and taking out hundreds of little Arab looking men seems, well, very very out of place.

For me, as different as this place can be, there are pockets of familiarity that can be rather comforting. Yesterday, I got on my moto and drove to the next town, completely on a whim. I decided to see if a McDonaldd's cheeseburger in Malaysia tastes the same as a cheeseburger in Baltimore. It does. Exactly the same. There are a couple extra items on the menu, including rice dishes, and of course there is no bacon, but everything is pretty much the same. Except, of course, the women's uniforms. They wear a tudung that covers their hair according to local custom. Incidently, I don't see all of the girls in my area wearing their scarves all the time. Just today, a girl said "Hi Mr. Len!" from her motor bike, and I had no idea who she was since she had dropped the head scarf that's part of her required school uniform. I can't recognize women when they don't wear their tudung, its like they are completely different people. I wonder who else drifts in and out of the tradition when they think no one is looking...

A day in the life.

2007-09-19T13:35:00.000+08:00

When I talk to some of my friends back home, they all seem to think that Malaysia is a third world country, or that I'm in the middle of nowhere living in a hut. I'm ashamed to say that some of my friends even thought that Malaysia was located somewhere off of the coast of Africa (its not, it's in Southeast Asia). I want to take some time and show you what my daily life is like, and what exactly I do here, as well as show through pictures and my descriptions that although Malaysia is a very different place, it is not by any means a third world country. I happen to be in one of the lesser developed states of Malaysia, but that does not mean that everyone lives in shacks and subsists on coconuts. There are families here, families with minivans, families that like to go to the movies, families that eat dinner together at the table. People here are basically just like people in America, and have the same wants, desires, pressures, and shortcomings. There are a few major differences here, and those differences make Malaysia a really interesting place to live. The dynamics between different races and religions can be quite heated are a subject for an entire textbook, so I'm afraid I will have to leave that one for later. They are quite interesting to follow, on the other hand.

Now, on to my life, my everyday life. I do not live in a village. I do not hunt for my food. I do not wear a loin clothe and track prey with a blowpipe. I live in an apartment building a little bit nicer than my senior apartment at UMBC. It does not have airconditioning or hot water, but then again I don't really need those things. It is hot here, don't get me wrong, but a good ceiling fan takes care of things quite comfortablely. And when the temperature is so high, who needs hot water anyway? So, at any rate, here is a sample of my daily routine. I awake at dawn, shower, shave, get dressed in a button-up shirt and slacks and head downstairs where my ancient 70cc motorbike waits. I drive about 2 miles to work, obeying the speed limit mostly because I can't go faster than 35 mph or so. The obstacles are a little different from American roads. Since I live in a rural area, I sometimes have to watch out for cows, goats, water buffalo, or even monkeys as well as the usual assortment of cars, trucks, and tractor trailers. Sometimes traffic gets backed up both ways as far as the eye can see because a large bull has decided the middle of the road is a great place to hang out. After negotiating through the traffic, I arrive at school, and enjoy a cup of coffee while I check my email from a wireless router set up above my classroom. After that, I usually head to the school teachers' café and enjoy some good Malay food. That's right, a public school that serves good food. There usually some cakes and doughnuts available, made fresh onsite, and my favourite is a mix of coconut milk, glutenous rice, and brown sugar. Breakfast is usually nasi lemak. It's made from rice soaked in coconut milk, cucumbers, dried and salted fish, a fried egg, a piece of chicken or tuna, and a spicy chili sauce. To properly enjoy it, you must use your hands, and take a little of each ingredient in every bite. Malay etiquette does not require the use of silverware, and to be quite honest, it makes things easier to manage. I hate eating fried chicken with a fork and knife anyway.

After breakfast, I head to my classroom, being sure to leave the door open. There are many times when the students have class and the teacher gets called away to a meeting somewhere, leaving them unattended. There is a schedule of replacement teachers, drawn from the pool of all the teachers with an opening in their schedule, but the placements are not followed with sincerity. The result is at least twenty bored students at any given time roaming the school grounds looking for something to do, so I leave my door open in case they want to come in and practice their English. I travel all over Malaysia, sometimes as part of my job and sometimes on my own, and they seem to love the pictures. Everyday, at least four or five wander through my doors looking for something interesting. Sometimes we play games, my personal favourite being chess, and sometimes we just make jokes about anything from my arm hair to English itself. Some of the students have started to call me "Cikgu Bulu," which means, Mr. Body Hair. I am after all, the only person in the area with hair on his chest, and to be quite honest, I think the name is kind of funny. It stuck.

I usually have two eighty-minute classes per day, but since everyone is usually late, they wind up being more like an hour. I see a total of roughly five hundred students on a two week rotating schedule. I think this is much different than almost every other teacher at the school, but the benefit is that I get some exposure with a large group of students. I don't know how much tangible teaching I do, but at least the students can look forward to my class as a certain break from their usual routine. Because I only see each class every two weeks, my lessons can have very little continuity, so I'm not really able to teach anything that takes more than one session to accomplish. I usually fill the time with various games and puzzles with candy as a reward. I try and pick activities that are group based so the strong and weak students can mix and help each other out if necessary. One of my particular favourites is a game I call "Draw the Teacher." After a basic review of the major parts of speech, I divide the students into two groups and give each team a piece of chalk. One person from each team comes up to the board and waits for instructions. I say, "Draw Mr. Len's....EARS!" and after they have drawn something, usually ridiculous, I make them use an adjective to describe whatever they've created. They can ask their team for help if they like, and no repeating adjectives. The students have a great time since they're encouraged to make fun of their teacher (a truly rare opportunity) and broaden their descriptive capabilities.

After class, I head back to the school canteen for a light lunch, almost always with rice. I eat with the students on occasion, but most of them are so shy they spend most of their lunch staring at their food and praying that I don't ask them a question. At most, I can get two words out of the shy ones, whereas the interested ask to borrow books. Indeed, I just lent my copy of The Hobbit to one of my better students. He loved it.

After school gets out, I head to my moto, hustle home, and hop on my bicycle. The hottest part of the day has passed, but I still load on the sunscreen before heading out and roaming the town or countryside for a few hours as fast as my legs will let me. Exercising is not exactly part of the local culture, so I am sure to get plenty of stares as I meander through narrow roads or weavie through busy streets. Often, I can keep up with cars and motorbikes, and the surprised looks I get from the drivers are priceless. The thought of being passed on the street by a sweaty white guy on a bicycle is the last thing that they expect. I try to take my iPod with my and listen to my downloaded news podcasts to stay in touch with affairs in the U.S. from a U.S. perspective. The local news outlets are a little too government influenced for my liking and my body is worked by the bike while my mind stays busy processing whatever National Public Radio has to say. Its not a bad combination.

After I am dehydrated enough so that I can't go much further, I head back to my apartment, shower, and go out to a café (warung) to eat dinner. Believe it or not, it is actually cheaper for me to eat out than cook for myself. And since I don't have air conditioning, firing up the stove is something that I save for only special occasions. When I have a craving for pasta or a real hamburger, sometimes I light it up, but not very often.

After dinner, I head out for some extracurricular fun. When I first arrived, I would go for lessons in Silat (Malaysian martial arts), but I have lately been going back to school to work with a group of students that have expressed a particular interest in working with me. I seriously feel like my most successful exchanges have been with these kids, and I think it is mostly because they are completely free of their usual classroom environment. WIth them, I act like myself, answer anything they ask (within reason of course, I don't think its my place to explain to them anything related to drugs, sex, or alcohol). And you know what, with me, they act like real high school age students as opposed to the quite, shy, and obedient façade they take up during the day. They laugh freely, make dirty jokes, talk openly about almost anything, and ask questions that they would never dare ask of teachers. Some of them have even had the courage to ask, "Mr. Len, what do you think of Islam?" I answer honestly, "I think it is taken very seriously here, and can be quite beautiful." More on that subject later.

So what exactly do we do together? Well, I have been doing stage theatre since the age of four. I am proud to say that I was in fact Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in my pre-school Christmas play. I've seen old VHS tape, it is very cute. I have played many different roles in many different types of plays, everything from a Broadway musical to Shakespeare, and some of my most precious memories are of being backstage, waiting for my entrance and listening to the audience find their seats on the other side of the closed curtain. I thought that I might be qualified to share this experience with some of the more outgoing students here and provide them with a much-needed way to express themselves. The kids spend so much time preparing for hugely important national standardized tests in tightly controlled classroom environments (when the teacher is present) that they rarely get a chance to really push themselves or explore any aspect of their personalities that falls outside the regimen of school activities. Don't get me wrong, there are art classes and sports teams, but the participants don't really get to do what they want to do or set their own agenda. If you ask me the combination of teaching chiefly to the national exams as well a culture that seems to value unity rather than individual expression leads to a gross lack of creativity. So, I wanted to give some of the most independent and outgoing students a chance to do something completely different.

I wrote a short skit about an American teacher coming to a Malaysian school (original, yes?) and held auditions. I made several announcements over the PA system, both in English and apparently hilarious Malay, and when I arrived at the appointed time and place, there were nearly 120 girls waiting for me. They all seemed lost and confused, so I explained once more what an audition was and why I asked them to come here. Some of the students with better English nodded their heads and explained it to the rest, after which nearly everyone got up and left. Almost no one really wanted to be in it. Of those that had come, there were roughly twenty girls left, and not a sign of the boys, who wound up strolling in late. As usual. Upon arrival, they started to disrupt and interrupt what we were doing. My first impulse was to tell them to get lost. If they couldn't come on time for auditions, could they handle coming to rehearsal? But I needed boys, I couldn't be left alone in a room with a group high school girls and not get come uncomfortable looks from teachers and administrators. And I don't think it was because I am an American, but instead because I am a young man. When it comes to sexual matters, people here are, at least officially, quite conservative. So I explained again what was going on and most of them left after yelling obnoxious things in Malay at me, I think mostly to compensate for their shyness and unwillingness to stay and speak. Most of the boys that stayed and auditioned got in.

At the end of the whole process, I had twelve talented and wonderful kids, all of whom could speak decent English, and all of them with vibrant personalities and only a few traces of shyness, which mostly disappeared after the first rehearsal. There were fourteen total: three boys and eleven girls. Unfortunately, two of them were banned by their father (they are sisters) from participating when he found out what we were doing and when we were meeting. I'm still not really sure why as I was not given the privilege of speaking with him, but I think that it was because he simply did not want his daughters to be out at night. To me this sounded ridiculous, and I believe it sounded ridiculous to their mother as well, but she was unable to argue with her husband, from what I gather, out of fear. I would like to think that this type of decision making is the exception rather than the rule, but it is not the first time I have heard parents "protecting" their daughters by forbidding them to go out in the evening. The whole concept, although I understand the logic, is still hard for me to swallow. It also not the first time I have heard of a dominating patriarch making rather extreme decisions.

Anyway, now down to twelve, we had a few rehearsals, and then performed for an audience of school children gathered from around the state. Each of the seven remaining Fulbright English Teacher Assistants hosted some type of performance, everything from choral speaking, to a short skits, to small vocal ensembles. We performed, and we rocked. I'll try and see if I can get ahold of the video footage, but I think we stood out from many of the other performances because, well, I think the audience thought we were hilarious and the group of kids that performed did so at the very best of their abilities. And so, I would like to publicly and electronically congratulate the students involved: Sharul, Zam, Fazrin, Aim, Iran, Wawa, Umi, Arin, Neesa, Waheeda, Eda, and Fatin. I would also like to thank Puan Nor Azahan and Puan Aminah for coming to rehearsals after their evening prayers and helping me in any way they could, as well as Puan Tan for driving us to Kuala Terengganu. I would not have been able to get things done without their help and coordination. I had the privilege of being in the show with the students, as a schoolboy, and from what I gather, students, teachers, several American visitors, as well as many government officials sincerely enjoyed what we did. Thank you everyone!

The students and I celebrated afterward with a traditional pizza party, which believe it or not is insanely expensive here. I think they have to import the cheese from halfway across the world or something. You know, I thought that getting close to students might not have been the best idea, simply because when I leave saying goodbye to them is going to be extremely hard. I was right, it is a bad idea. I don't know if I'm ever going to see any of these kids again, but if they are reading this, I want them to know that my best experiences teaching in Malaysia were with them. I'll miss them dearly.

NOTE: Before I end this post, I would like to invite all of those who read this blog to freely comment on my entries. Please, be open and honest. I want this to not only be a way for me to update everyone at home on what I'm doing, but also to create an open environment where any issue can be discussed, as well as provide a way for people in both Malaysia and America to open up a sincere dialogue about ideas generated by the content of my articles. I will gladly post responses under the name "leninmalaysia" every few days if a response does in fact result . If, however, your comment is rude or disrespectful in any way to Americans or Malaysians AS PEOPLE I will delete your comment. Examples of comments that will get deleted: (1) Why are all Americans so fat? (2) Why are Malay girls so hot? (3) anything insulting religion or culture. I do, however, welcome criticism of government policy, on either side, as long as things are kept fairly civil. I know that I do not wholeheartedly agree with every policy from either country.

Borneo

2007-08-05T21:49:00.000+08:00

Let’s talk about Borneo. Sounds exotic, right? Like maybe somewhere Indiana Jones would visit to steal a golden monkey or something?
Borneo is a giant island in between in the South China Sea and the Indian Ocean, split up in ownership between Indonesia, Malaysia, and a little country called Brunei, the last being the remnants of a now crumbled pre-colonial kingdom. The jungles of Borneo are still wild, native cultures are still present, some of them largely untouched by the hand of modernisation. Well, I didn’t find any golden monkeys or anything, but a few weeks ago I touched down on the island of Borneo in a city called Kuching (which literally means “cat”). Yes, in the city of Cat I got to see a completely different side of Malaysia. In this place, there is quite a bit more development, complete with malls, highways, traffic jams, and fast food as well as a much greater degree of racial diversity. The average level of English proficiency is quite good, and the people there feel distinctly modern in their attitudes and opinions. In short, it is rather like going from the rural heart of the Deep South to San Francisco.
I flew into the gorgeous airport with my good friend Sandhya, another English teacher from my program, to attend the Rainforest World Music Festival. There were groups from almost every corner of the planet playing amazing music for three days. The festival was near a beach and rainforest resort north of the city and hosted thousands of people from around the world who had come to enjoy and celebrate all kinds of different cultures. The journey took almost on hour, and although the roads were straight and smooth, as we got farther and farther away, irregularly shaped mountains started to march closer from the horizon and jungle on the sides of the road grew thicker. The housing developments disappeared, and then the road started to wildly curve and narrow.
When the bus finally stopped, we were at the bottom of a green tooth-shaped mountain standing in the back of a huge crowd of people waiting in messy lines to get in. The crowd, however, did not feel Malaysian. Almost every major race was present. Guys wore jeans and t-shirts, and almost none of the women were covering their heads. In fact most covered very little, which took a little getting used to. Security felt like an airport, and once inside, people chatted in more languages than I have ever heard together in my life. Among the traditional wooden buildings used by the locals, there were hundreds of plastic white tents set up on clusters and rows through a series of clearings. Right next to an Iban longhouse, which used to provide shelter for an entire community, a giant inflatable Heinenken bottle subtly suggested an activity to help everyone get along.
In one of the clearings, two very tall trees, both equally tall and thick, stood on one edge as it began to slope up the mountain. In between hung a roof packed with stage lights, and below, a small stage was lit in bright green. Down the hill and to its left, a stage that looked like it had been air-lifted from the Super Bowl halftime show was swarming with techies. This was where the action happened.
Here, bands from almost every corner of the world gathered and music from Iran, America, the United Kingdom, Vietnam, Madagascar, Borneo, Zimbabwe, Russia, Poland, Afghanistan, Peru, Chile, Australia, Canada, Scotland, and Italy entertained nearly ten thousand travemomentslers from around the globe. I was privileged to be one of them. The music was amazing, with instruments that I had never seen before in my life, some of which I will probably never see again.
A few worthy-to-remember moments:

-After the bands performed, they would often mix with the crowd at the food stalls and were both approachable and friendly. If you wanted to just thank them for coming, or even have an extended conversation, they were usually open and available. No bodyguards. No adolescent swarm. They were like regular people, with the exception of course that they had just entertained a crowd almost the size of my hometown.

-As I was getting some food one night, a new band starting playing from Washington state. They called themselves the Foghorn Stringband, and consisted of a bunch of middle-aged men playing a stand up bass, a banjo, a guitar and a mandolin. Now, my own father plays in a band with those same characteristics, and I started listening with my family to Bluegrass music while I was still in the womb. To come across the planet, to Malaysian Borneo, and hear the exact same music you grew up with is strange and at the same time comforting. Maybe the world isn’t so big after all.

-As the bluegrass band was playing, a flying squirrel glided a from one side of the audience to the other, finally landing on a tree on the outer edge of the clearing. You know you are in the rainforest when...

-Even though there were bands from around the world, some of them from countries that do not get along, no political statements were made and I saw no signs of conflict whatsoever, not even as the night went on and a few perhaps drank more than their share.

-Smaller afternoon sessions were held in a few buildings during the day. These workshops gave the audience a chance to learn more about each musical genre, and sometimes even participate in a drum circle or a jam session. You simply can’t do that with famous commercial band, and the music was arguably better.

-The food was absolutely amazing although expensive. There was cuisine from almost every Asian nation, as well as a few authentic burger stands and even a sub shop. There it would be perfectly feasible to take a tour of the immediate world without travelling more than a few meters, but you might have a put on more than a few pounds. Apparently, most of the world is united in tasty deep-fried food.

-Out of a crowd of ten thousand, I met one American. Only one. Either we are all pretending to be Canadian these days, or we just aren’t traveling very much.
Now, if you ask me, it would be better for all Americans to travel at a time when our minds are still open and we don’t have the responsibilities of a family or specialised career as of yet. I have met a few British students in my time here that are doing something called a “gap year.” In between high school and university, these students take a year or so to travel and see another part of the world before they really decide what they want to do. I wish now that I had done something similar before choosing my major. Perhaps my career opportunities would look dramatically different and I would have had the time to reflect on what I really want. I loved what I studied, and I will most likely have a future in the sciences, but then again I loved almost all of my classes. I wonder if I would have concentrated on something else had a been given a chance to see what I am seeing right now.
At any rate, I think that the American public in general would be less likely to make political and ethical decisions with a narrow view of the world and its people, as well as better understand our role in that world. For example, if the majority of high school age students travelled to a less developed part of the world, not only would they be less likely to take the many privileges we have at our disposal for granted, but they would probably understand a little but more about what the face of the rest of the world looks like. It might help to see people living happily on a small fraction of the average American income, or a comfortable and convenient life without a car. More importantly, I think it would help everyone to see that there are other ways of living life where people are just as happy, sometimes even more so. I have said this before, and I will say it again: the U.S. is a great country, and we should be proud of what and who we are, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t learn and benefit from other ways of doing things. We simply have to go out there and see some of these things for ourselves. For those of you who read this in hopes of travelling abroad one day, or if perhaps you are in college right now and are unsure about the next step of your life and career: travel! There are a million places to go, and a million ways to do it. It will seriously be one of the best things you will ever do with your life.

Boleh Cakap Bahasa Inggeris?

2007-07-21T22:16:00.000+08:00

Here’s a typical situation: I walk into a store. I (try to) conduct all of my business in Malay, just so I can practice, and maybe pick up a new phrase here and there, and generally develop an appreciation for the culture. I take what I learn and sometimes try and speak Malay with the teachers at my school friends from town. After I stumble out a few sentences of Bahasa Melayu, many say, “You’ve been here only seven months and you can speak Malay better than most of our students can speak English, and they have been learning for over ten years. You must be very smart.”

I am not.

The difference between my learning situation and Malay students in completely different. My high school French teacher, Madame Sylvestre (if you are reading this, I would like you to know that I use many of your lessons in my own classroom) said that the only way to really learn a language is to be completely immersed in it, to live it. That simply does not happen in the Malaysian school system, and in fact getting students to try and speak in English is like pulling teeth and often requires rather severe consequences if such rules are to be taken seriously.
That is why I, with the help of many teachers from Sekolah Menengah Kebangsaan Chu-kai (we would say Chukai High School, as Chukai is the name of the town where I now live), helped to create and implement the school’s first ever English Camp. The point: create an environment where English only is to be spoken. It would not be the same as, for example, travelling to and English speaking country, but it might help. Often, I have noticed that most students are reasonably good at listening to and reading English, but they really need help in constructing proper spoken and written sentences. In order to avoid being laughed at, many simply try and speak as little as possible in English class. I am not joking, even in my own classes where things are very informal and very laid back, I have had to chase students to the front of the room with a stick in order to make them read their sentences.
I of course do it in a way that makes them laugh, and if really necessary maybe I will poke them in the arm or something. Some of you might wonder if it is a good idea to have such physical contact with my students, but in my defence, students still get caned for bad behaviour, so a little poke by comparison isn’t anything to speak of, and in fact most teachers laugh at the sight. If I did not have this in my Bag of Tricks, some students would never get up and would instead stare me down until I gave up and moved on to someone else. I really just can’t understand why so many children seem to be frightened of English, I mean I could easily understand discomfort or hesitation, but there is an element of all-out resistance running through the kids. I have said before that students who try their best are ridiculed and looked on as if they weren’t really Malay, but I’ve also noticed that when others make mistakes, the first reaction of the class is to point and laugh. This job can be rather frustrating sometimes.

At any rate, this English camp aimed to provide a day where those hesitations and social weaknesses would be shattered. Applications were handed out, and only those students who submitted applications that showed genuine interest and enthusiasm were allowed to attend. The result was a gathering of over 100 students who had the skill and will to really take a crack at improving their English proficiency and confidence. The rules were simple: speak only English, and have fun. I thought it would be easy enough to implement, but I was mistaken. Not only was it difficult to get the children to speak English, but even some of the teachers had a rough time following the rules! The punishment for getting caught was to wear a sign around the neck that said “I am sorry for breaking the rules!” Although this was not my idea, I thought it would suffice, as the children seem to fear humiliation more than almost anything else.

By the end of the day, some students were wearing five or more signs, and we in fact ran out. SInce teachers and students alike were all wearing signs, I think the punishment just lost it effectiveness. I’ll have to think of something else to keep them in line next time.
In the end, I would say that the camp was an overall success, and those basic goals were more or less achieved, but I did not have any moments that took my breathe away. I think the students enjoyed the whole thing, and spent the day wrapping their minds around contests, activities, and puzzles. They tackled these obstacles in groups of ten that were mixed in gender, skill, and age, something that I think rarely happens during the course of normal school activities and not only helped the students overcome their own hesitation, but also gave them an opportunity to get out of their shells and do something different. There are some that may disagree, but if you ask me I think the amount of gender separation within the schools is sometimes taken to an unhealthy extreme. Because the children grow up with very very little contact with the opposite sex, when they are finally placed in an environment where
such separation is not present, some have problems coping in a reasonable way. Several of the women from this program, none of whom adhere to the Malay rules of dress, have met with significant harassment from both their male counter-parts and from locals outside the school. In the more rural areas, some refuse to go out at night by themselves because they feel unsafe. After just seven months of living here, I find myself sometimes uncomfortable around attractive women who are not wearing the traditional female outfit, not because I don’t like them but simply because my mind seems to have forgotten how to deal with it. This is surprising to me, and I’m sure to you too, as I was raised in a place where men and women are treated, for the most part, as equals and are able to dress as they please. If after seven months, I can feel a change in my own reactions, I wonder what it feels like to be separated for fifteen or more years, and then thrown into a place without the same rules.
That, however, is an issue that I will not be able to discuss thoroughly for quite some time, as well as a few others that have been building in my mind since my arrival. I will, for now, only concentrate on the challenges of my daily life here, as well as the tremendous bene-fits. And speaking of benefits, I had the privilege of going to the Rainforest Music Festival in Malaysian Borneo last week. The experience was absolutely amazing, and I can’t wait to tell you more about it in the next post!

Stranger?

2007-07-03T19:57:00.000+08:00

Life in Malaysia is becoming less and less foreign to me whereas the idea of living in America now seems distant, far away, and surreal. Now, it is difficult to imagine a place with so many freedoms, so many different things to do, and so many complications. Here, my life is simple. I teach English during the day, and cycle at night. I don’t have a car, I don’t have any other responsibilities except the ones that I left for myself at home. Things like planning a career or finding a place to settle seem more and more distant the longer I spend here. When I first started writing this blog, it was a very personal way for me to stay in touch with people at home, and let everyone at home know what I was doing, as well as being a therapeutic way to help me deal with such a big change.
But that my American home now seems like such alien idea that it is difficult for me to actually picture the people for whom I write. On any given afternoon, in Malaysia, I can ride my bicycle into town and discover new and completely different from everything that I have already experienced. Speaking enough of the local language helps, as locals tend to be very surprised when a white guy cycles into town and starts speaking the language. Most of the “orang putih” that pass through this area are on their way to somewhere else, do not speak any Bahasa Melayu, and do not stay long. I do believe that I am the only white man that lives around here, and for that matter the entire district. But now this is my home. I can actually say that I live here. And I do; I do my laundry here, go to the bank, cook, clean, and work in this community. At first, I felt like a tourist, and in some ways I still am, but the stares are less frequent and what used to be radical changes are now daily routines.
My work is extremely satisfying and even though I face challenges that can be quite complicated (finding toilet paper in an unprepared pinch can be like trying to defuse a timebomb), I am more than happy. So much so that I have decided to stay another year in hopes of seeing some of my projects continued to a higher level of completion, as well as giving the next generation of Fulbright English Teaching Assistants the tools an they need to have as wonderful an experience as me. There are some in my program who have come up against challenges that they were unable to overcome by themselves, and hopefully with an advocate like me around, such things will not pose such a problem in the future.
That said, the people that I meet here are made off something different than those back in America, and it is difficult for me to explain exactly how. Sometimes I wonder why exactly people are so nice to me, and they are extremely welcoming, hospitable, polite, and generous. One of the teachers at my school comes in about once a week with a half gallon of iced tea and comes back a few days later to pick up the bottle. She never asks for anything or tells me why she gives me tea, yet sure enough, each week a slightly different but equally delicious variety arrives in my classroom. “Good for your voice,” she says. I spent a week touring peninsular Malaysia from north to south with a wonderful Malaysian family, the same one that welcomed me into their home when I first arrived. They are some of the most wonderful people I have met in my time here, and I will not forget their generosity. Not only that, but I got a chance to improve my language skills with the smartest seven-year-old teacher I know, and she was very willing to answer any of my questions. And of all my students here, official and unofficial, she seems to be the most bright and interested in learning English.
I have recently learned that a few teachers from my school, who I work with very closely, will be attending an international course in teaching English in just a few days. Not only will this course be held in America, but to make matters even stranger, it will be held at the University of Connecticut, just forty miles from my hometown. I’ve told me parents to look them up, and they have agreed to have them over for dinner, and maybe even a bluegrass show. When I signed up for this program, I expected to be completely removed from almost everything and anything American, but it turns out that the world is smaller than I imagined, and hopefully my family will be able to return some of the kindness that these teachers have shown me. I had no idea that I would turning my own family into diplomats when I agreed to come to here! I hope they will forgive me, but I think that it will be good for everyone involved to meet and share some food. It might be a little tricky to arrange a Halal (similar to Kosher) meal, but I think the obstacle can be overcome without too much difficulty. I would also like my teachers to see where I go to church, where I went to high school, and maybe even a few of the places I used to work so they can get a real feel for what my life was like back in the U.S. I’m thrilled at the possibility, and I hope my parents can get a better understanding of where I now live and who I have been hanging around with so much.
And even more than that, I hope that the All Souls Unitarian Universalist congregation of New London, Connecticut will be a truly welcoming community and show my Malaysian friends the same love and understanding with which I was raised. Some things about my church might be difficult for them to understand, like the lack of a definite creed or the potpourri of religious ideas (after all, the minister wears a robe with the symbols of every major faith embroidered on the front). Not only that, but there is a statue of Buddha and a stained-glass window of Jesus in the sanctuary. Nevertheless, if circumstances permit, I am excited that people from opposite ends of the planet will have a chance to meet and share a few commons experiences. Since both parties are quite familiar with me, I don’t think ice-breakers will be a problem. And mom, if you are reading this, please don’t show them my naked baby pictures. I’m begging you.

Next week: “English in Camp”

Along with Pn Aminah, one of the teachers who is coincidentally heading to Connecticut in a few days, I was able to put help together an entire day of English activities for one hundred and twenty of my students. It was a huge success! I think those students who participated had a great time and got to see English used in a context far removed from that which they are accustomed. All day, contests were held in various English activities, as well as a Frank Sinatra sing-a-long, and a To most of the students, English is the official language of being told what to do. Elders always tell them that they must learn English and that English is important for their future. It is also a large part of their university entrance exams and will play a major role in whether or not these students can find a job after they graduate. There are thousands of bright energetic young college graduates in Malaysia that are currently unemployed because they lack English proficiency. In short, English is the language of responsibility for the kids. This camp was fun, competitive, and exciting. I think they appreciated the change of teaching style, to say the least.

Holy Matrimony

2007-05-21T18:16:00.000+08:00

First, an apology. It has been much too long since my last post, but apologies are best demonstrated with actions rather than words, so allow me to fix my mistake with a double post.

To begin, I have come to the startling realisation that I will be finishing my contract in just four short months, followed by an exit interview and final report that will take a week or two. I am, in fact, more than halfway done with my time here and I will soon have to face up to the rest of my uncertain life. I'm not looking forward to planning out the next five to ten years, but I can't hide too much longer from responsibility and adulthood. Being in such a different place has been challenging in different ways from the classroom and the lab, and I don't want to leave that part of myself behind no matter what I decide to do. For me, the college classroom tested my ability to chew through information and performance was based on how well you could pick up complex material and use it in a defined and concrete way. Performance in the laboratory was based on how well you could follow a complicated set of instructions. But performance in Malaysia is radically different. It's based on adaptation, learning the language, understanding customs, and having the personal strength to confront and deal with very delicate problems. For example, how do you encourage students to speak English when their friends and family sometimes view studying the language as forsaking their own values for a new and foreign set? I have literally seen this at my school. One student, we'll call him Ralph, came after school to try and get some extra help in his English class. We went over Ralph's papers, fixed a few mistakes, and went on to have a very simple conversation. To practice, I taught him how to play chess and made him describe his moves to me in complete sentences. He seemed to enjoy the exercise and got the hang of it in a few minutes. When a pack of his friends saw what he was up to, they yelled "mat saleh celup!" in his direction, which basically means a fake white person. I could tell he was hurt, but how do I explain to him that his friends were wrong and that mastery of this language was essential in getting access to a good college education? How do I tell him to ignore his friends when all the poor kid wants to do is have fun and be accepted. Remember how hard high school was? Remember how important the acceptance of others felt? Granted, we all felt the tension of academic success versus social success, but the clash of two different cultures adds another dimension of difficulty for many of my students. Especially when many parents don't encourage their students to speak English, regardless of what the government or the schools say. To them, English just isn't part of being a true Malay.

Being here is also challenging in wonderful ways as well. We in the United States are sometimes born and raised to believe that America is the best nation in the world. That we are the most powerful, have one of the highest standards of living, and have more personal freedoms than almost any other nation in the world. Maybe. But that doesn't mean that we can't learn anything from other cultures, races, and ways of life. Being part of a world community is something that I think many Americans find difficult to understand, especially since true exposure to other cultures can be rather infrequent and at times superficial. Eating at a Chinese restaurant, for example, does not count as exposure to another culture in my book. I mean, really living in another culture, looking at its religion, language, rituals, and attitudes. How often is that opportunity presented? How often do you hear another language in Ledyard, Connecticut?

On the other hand, those kind of things jump out and surprise me here, and sometimes I'm nowhere near ready for them. Almost a week after I arrived at my school, one of the teachers, a wonderful lady with the aura of a fairy godmother, kindly invited me to her niece's wedding. I was surprised and honoured and I of course accepted, even if I had no idea what to expect. When I arrived, however, I felt completely out of place. I was the only one wearing Western-style clothing, the only white person, and the only person who didn't speak the native language. The woman who had invited me appeared out of the crowd and showed me around while introducing me to her family and friends. While I doubt that many understood English, they seemed pleased to have me there. I was seated, fed delicious food, and was in the process of enjoying some live Arabic rock when the drums started.

The bride and groom had arrived. They proceeded from their car with a huge procession of family and drummers behind them and approached the house hand in hand dressed from head to toe in matching shiny blue outfits. They looked like royalty from centuries past. They sat on a small stage and allowed themselves to be photographed for nearly thirty minutes. After that, the blessings started, and to my surprise, I was asked to give my consent to their marriage by sprinkling water, rice, and herbs on their upturned hands. Also to my surprised I was asked to eat again, but this time as a guest of honour with the bride and groom as well as several others from their wedding party. The groom and his best man were from Saudi Arabia, so I had the privilege of sharing a meal with quite a multicultural little group. Although I still felt out of place, I was so touched by the hospitality of this family that I lost myself in the food and conversation rather than paying attention to my own awkwardness. With such treatment, the thought of one day leaving this place is less and less appealing.

As for the second post, I'm afraid what follows will be a rather random string of experiences with no real coherent theme and a couple accompanying pictures. I'll save something substantial for when something substantial actually happens. I have three weeks of leave coming up where I plan to travel all around the country and see some really different things. As for now, however, I'm afraid mediocrity will have to do.

Last Wednesday was teacher's day (Selamat Hari Guru!) and instead of having classes all day, I instead had a blast. I first got severely humbled in a game of ping pong, and almost as a consolation prize was given a bunch of gifts from some of my students. I got a flower or two, a keychain with the school insignia, several small bags of baked goods, and a few notes with wonderfully sentimental messages. The most fun, however, was getting chance to act in a short skit that one of the other English teachers and I concocted in about fifteen minutes. I dressed up in a traditional school uniform, complete with a funky hat and a tie that was way too small for me, and played the Naughty Student. I don't think things like this happen very often, and students and teachers alike seemed to laugh heartily about it. I played the part completely in the local dialect, a surprise for those who thought I could only speak English, and wound up getting caned by the teacher in the end. I know I had a blast, and I think the whole thing will leave an impression on the school for quite some time.

I've also started studying Malaysian martial arts, called Silat, and plan on performing sometime next month. I'm a little nervous, as I don't think a white guy has ever performed in this particular demonstration, but also because want to do the art justice. I'm working on this dance thing that's supposed to teach me all of the different ways I can balance and defend myself, but whenever I try and perform, I feel exactly like I did at my first middle school dance: awkward, out of place, and totally not the right height. I still need to buy a uniform and learn how to actually fight, but regardless of what happens I'm having fun learning. I think Silat has remained relatively obscure compared to some of the other Asian martial arts like karate and tae kwon do since there are no real movies that feature this fighting style, but that makes learning it all the more interesting. Perhaps useless, but still fun.
I've also started cycling quite often with a racing bike I bought not too long ago. I try and put away between sixty and seventy miles a week with a group of teachers from the area. Of course, I spent about five hundred U.S. on my ride and they've spent almost three thousand on their bikes, but its ok, we all keep up with each other and have a good time. We ride all throughout the countryside through rice paddies, swamps, and jungle and still need to bring a camera with me to take pictures of the beautiful scenery, but all in good time. And I refuse to wear the spandex shorts.

Well, that's all for me for now. Again, sorry for the delays, but I hope it was worth it. And thank you very much for reading!

Waterfalls and Fish

2007-04-09T20:37:00.000+08:00

I was fortunate enough to travel back to the rainforest again this week, but instead of following a winding river into the forest, I went by lake. This lake, Tasik Kenyir, was created in the eighties after a river was dammed for hydroelectric power. The result stretches across three states, formed a thousand tiny islands, and provides a source of some of the most pure water that I have ever seen in my life. I took a pontoon boat out far from shore and swam underneath. In the space between the pontoons, beneath the floorboards, the sun doesn't reflect on the surface of the water. It became crystal clear and I could see for at least a hundred feet below. My own body looked perfectly clear, although distorted, through the water and beyond my toes I saw only a deep aqua abyss. No bottom in sight. The water seemed to be somehow illuminated by the surrounding light and I could see streaks of the sun pour down into the water but where those beams fell, I couldn't tell.

We spent maybe an hour on a speedboat to get to the rainforest and my friends and I watched the shores become more and more narrow as we headed farther up a small river. Our guides explained that this river was closed off to fishermen and was used as a natural fishery that helped repopulate the lake. When the river became too shallow and rocky, we left the boat and traveled on a rough shore trail about half a mile or so farther into the jungle and stopped at a deep blue pool. The guides took out a sack of pellets and tossed them onto the calm surface and within moments slick black shapes started seething and splashing at the grain. I have never seen fish willingly pack so tightly together. They let us wade in the pool with grain in out hands and feel these fish just throw themselves at our legs. It was the weirdest sensation I have ever experienced. Imagine a thousand hungry fish sliding all over themselves and flipping up out of the water to get the food out of your hands. Insane. After that, we headed back for the boat and to a waterfall a few miles away. I will let the pictures do most of the talking, but I have to admit that feeling a waterfall on your face while the mist around you makes a rainbow is one of those moments that I'll come back to whenever things go wrong.

That said, there are some parts of this experience that are absolutely wonderful and make me feel like the luckiest man on the planet, but there are others that make me wonder what I'm doing with myself and why I bothered to come in the first place. Visiting rainforests, meeting people that have never actually spoken to an American, having children ask for autographs after class...those are all things that I will remember for the rest of my life. Getting to look at the U.S. from afar instead of being immersed in it is also valuable and is helping me figure out what I like about American culture and what I can truly do without. For example, let's look at materialism. The way our society is structured, everyone pretty much needs a car to get to work, buy food, and generally manage their lives. With the exception of those that can afford to live in the city, I think this pretty much applies to all of us. American roads are generally good enough so that we really don't need a car with giant tires, a huge engine, and four-wheel drive to get from work to the grocery store to home. Its really not necessary. iPods, laptops that play the latest video game, phones that check email, Starbucks soy milk no fat vanilla frappachinos, do we really need them all? In order to pay for them, what do we give up? We trade our time to work two, sometimes three different jobs so we can pay our bills and pay for things that we ultimately don't need. I see people here, perfectly happy, with a small fraction of what we typically have. Even the average American college student has more than the vast majority of the people that I live and work with in this country. Are they less happy because they don't have as much stuff? Nope. Am I less happy now that I don't have a car and make only $500.00US per month? Absolutely not.

Here, I feel like there's some kind of purpose to my life, like I'm doing something worthwhile. The obstacles that I face are about so much more than exam scores, paychecks, and what kind of car I drive. I need to worry about things like, "How am I going to eat if the waitress doesn't speak English?" or "How do I explain to my kids that even most Americans don't like Bush?" If I meet a family for the first time and they have never talked to an American before, there is a risk they will judge the entire nation based upon my actions. If I'm rude, they might think that all Americans are rude. If I'm nice, things might go differently.

What they know about Americans, in general and at least in the more rural and sheltered areas, comes from television. They know that Americans are in Iraq right now, that Bush is the President, and that almost every American woman on TV is 1.) gorgeous and 2.) likes to have steamy love affairs. This creates a little bit of a problem for the eleven other women in my program as they do not necessarily meet those two criteria. Of course they are all beautiful, but they are not the over-sexualized characters that our friends from Hollywood tend to play. And they certainly do not enjoy being treated accordingly. One of my friends says that one of the many problems she faces with her classes is the boys whistling and yelling at her. In school. With other teachers around. This is no construction sight, these are not grown men, and she does not dress to warrant such attention, but still, it happens. Is her experience the exception to the rule? I'm not sure, but I know she's not the first to have such problems.

Even though I don't face challenges of the same nature (the schoolgirls do not whistle and yell at me) things are not exactly perfect. I do not, for example, have a regular form of transportation around town. I do have a bicycle, but it is awfully inconvenient in the rain or when I am sick. My wonderful foster mother, Puan Nor Azahan, is always willing to give me a ride wherever I want to go, but she travels fairly often and has a family of her own to worry about. I have many local friends, most with cars or motorbikes, but they can be difficult to get in touch with or might say they are on their way and never show up. I could take a taxi, but sometimes they don't show up when I call either. The fact is, there are some nights when I simply cannot leave my apartment, which is in the country a few miles out of town. These are the nights that , despite all of the wonderful things that I've experienced, I realize how much I miss my family, my friends, and my home. Usually, I try and keep busy enough so that I don't have time to think about it, but when there's nothing else to do but think, my mind does wander in that direction. On those nights, I feel ready to go home.

But they are few and far between. I know that I'm not ready to go back and start a career as a...who knows? When I make decisions, I tend to make them based on how I feel, or how I think I will feel. After all, isn't life ultimately about being happy and being content? Can you logically convince yourself to be happy? No. So, sometimes making decisions based on cold hard numbers is not the best way to go about things. And for the most part, I feel happy and content here.

Bugs Anyone?

2007-03-24T20:01:00.000+08:00

The air conditioning was turned up to an arctic blast on the bus. This was fine with me as the temperature outside was hot and unmercifully humid. I spent most of the day switching from one bus to another in towns that all began to run together in my memory. But then, the bus stopped by a brown and shallow river and soon I found myself staring at a long and narrow wooden boat, obviously made by hand, with a small outboard motor perched on one end. A lanky man with chocolate skin and a cigarette hanging from his mouth welcomed me with a nod, threw my bag in the bow, ushered me into the boat, and we headed upstream. For three hours, we dodged rocks and rapids, sometimes slowing to a crawl, other times barreling ahead like we were plowing through some unseen wall.
There are no roads that are passable by bus into the rainforest. There are, of course, a few steep and narrow dirt roads that run here and there, but the boats are the quickest and easiest way to enter Taman Negara, Malaysia's largest national park. The advertisers claim that the world's oldest primary rainforest can be found here, at an age of 170 million years, which means that thousands upon thousands of species of birds, insects, trees, and animals are all jumbled together here and somehow find a way to coexist.
I just wanted to keep my bags from getting wet. I had brought enough with me, so I thought, to be prepared for pretty much anything that I would encounter. Bug spray, long pants to keep off of the jungle leeches, sun screen, medicine, and of course, my camera. With a tour guide, I headed out into the jungle on my first night to see what we could find. He was extremely knowledgable and paused every few minutes to point his light at a pair of eyes up in the trees or into a hole in the ground. I saw all kinds of insects and, luckily, some kind of sloth or monkey way up in the trees. It moved like its limbs were made from rubber and easily stayed intertwined with the upper canopy branches. Its eyes shown bright green against our flashlights and it quickly disappeared before I could attempt a picture. Toward the end of our night walk, I lagged behind and let the guide go back to camp. I turned off my flashlight and just stood in the middle of the woods for a few minutes, trying to push everything else out of my head. "Open all of your senses" one of my Malay friends and told me before coming. I did exactly that. I smelt the fresh rain on the leaves, saw the trees silhouetted against the bright stars, felt the intense closeness and heat of the jungle, and heard a piercing orchestra of insects spread all over the forest. I did not put anything in my mouth, four out of five senses is enough. Now as far as the orchestra goes, Imagine a hot and humid August night when the cicadas, whippoorwills, and peep frogs come out and sing at night. Now triple the volume. That's close to what this place sounded like that night. Absolutely incredible.
The next day was by far the coolest. In addition to a wonderful hike with a stunning view of the rainforest valley and a wet and bumpy rapids ride, I had the privilege of going on a solo canopy walk. What is a canopy walk you say? The managers of the park have strung narrow rope bridges from treetop to treetop for almost half a mile zigzagging across a steep hill. This means that you can dangle almost fifty feet above the forest floor and, if you are lucky, see some amazing birds and animals. Although I did see a giant squirrel (this thing was about as big as an obese cat), that was all. I have to admit, walking so high up on nothing but a rope bridge is plenty of excitement for me. I half expected Indiana Jones or King Kong to barrel around the corner and leave me hanging for life, but no such luck. I did hear some Gibbon monkeys in the distance though.
You know, when I was a freshman at UMBC, all I wanted to to was pass my classes. I was scared to death that I wouldn't be able to cut it, I would lose my scholarship, and I would have to wait tables for the rest of my life. Now, I'm on the other side of the planet writing about rainforests, swimming in the South China Sea, and learning a language I didn't even knew existed until a few months ago. It all feels like some kind of strange dream and at any moment I will wake up in Westhill (my college apartment) late for class. It feels like I shouldn't be here, like I don't belong, and that everything that's happening to me is simply too good to be true. The people here are so friendly, the country beautiful, and the entire experience wonderful in many ways and wonderfully challenging in others. I find myself stretched in directions that I simply couldn't understand when I was in America. What is most incredible is watching Malaysia, particularly this region, change and mature from a rural agricultural area to a modern and developed nation. Its amazing to think that this country is only fifty years old and has come so remarkably far. When the U.S. was fifty years old, we had not yet even settled all fifty states. Thomas Jefferson was alive, and we were still rebuilding Washington D.C. from the British invasion of the War of 1812. Malaysia has risen from obscurity and colonialism to one of the most prosperous nations in the world with booming electronics and biotech industries and a racial society composed of three separate and distinct cultures, each with their own religion, language, and customs, and each living with the others in relative harmony. And to think that I was consumed by organic chemistry just a short while ago.

Singapore

2007-03-04T10:08:00.000+08:00

After living in the quiet of rural Malaysia, I don't know if any of us were ready for Singapore. Like any American city, a Starbucks or a McDonald's could be found every two blocks, traffic was heavy, the crowds were huge, and you could buy pretty much anything you wanted, as long as you had the money. I know my meager bank account took a serious hit just from just three days.

What we weren't ready for was such an awesome display of art, culture, vibrance, and dance. I seriously have not experienced anything like what we saw that weekend in all my time in the U.S. Parades and celebrations might abound back home, but they do not possess the combined spirit of so many different kinds of people in their displays. Each spectacle was a showcase of thousands of years of tradition and a blend of many many different cultures. We arrived just a day before the Chingay Parade (translated as the Parade of Dreams) that was started as a part of the Chinese New Year but has become a symbol of the city's economic and cultural success. It's kind of like a corporate Diversity Day, but instead of a bunch of white collar white people pretending to be tolerant and accepting, the city blazes with color, lights, dancing, and a giant parade. No one had to tell me which day it was scheduled to begin. The drums started early in the morning with a Chinese lion dance in the hotel lobby. When I stepped outside, the streets were lined with barriers, bandstands, lighting towers, people, and of course, police. As afternoon grew into evening, the crowds became thicker and the performers started showing up a block or two away from the main road half dressed in brilliantly colored costumes and makeup from head to toe. No one was too busy with their preparations, however, to pose for pictures and I found myself flying through camera batteries.

When the parade finally began, I felt like a party had erupted in the middle of the city. Each float that came was representative of a different nation and came with its own set of dancers and special music. Shows from the Malays, Chinese, Indians, Burmese, Koreans, Arabs, Americans, Vietnamese, Spanish, Japanese, and Angolans (Africa) followed each other and made me feel like I was in some kind of surreal international Disneyland. The Chinese came with a wood and paper dragon held up on poles that spanned a writhing and coiling 150 feet. The Burmese came with giant elephant costumes, the Angolans dressed as fire breathing roosters, and the Malays balanced flags over fifty feet on their mouths. To make things even more interesting, drinking was allowed in the streets, as long of course as you didn't litter ($35USD fine). Surprisingly, no one appeared to have "had too much" and the party lasted until well past midnight. If you ever have a chance to travel to Singapore, it will be well worth your while to schedule your trip to include the Chingay parade. Make sure your hotel is somewhere close to Orchard Street, and I guarantee your money will be well worth it.

After the celebration, the other Americans in my program and I went to a nightclub called the Ministry of Sound and proceeded to live it up like a Friday night after finals. This place was on par with any club that I've been to anywhere else and featured four different dance floors on two levels. The music ranged from hip-hop to techno and there were a surprising number of other Americans scattered on the dance floor. I wasn't able to hear exactly why they were in Singapore, but I think one group of bald guys were from the marines. They certainly looked like I didn't want to make them angry, but they were happy enough to see another American that I doubt anything of the kind would have happened. One thing that was strikingly different from American clubs was the fact that hardly anyone was actually dancing. The bars were packed with people, but the dance floors themselves were mostly fog and beams of light with few people letting loose. Except, of course, for us crazy Americans. We were sure to live it up as much as possible since there wouldn't be another chance for quite sometime.

Now that I'm back in the quiet routine of home, I am pleased to discover that I have next week off. WIthout any reason to stick around Chukai and my school, I think I will travel to a Malaysian national park called Taman Negara and see what is advertised as the world's oldest rainforest. It is rumored that trees over six feet in diameter can be found there, rope bridges straight from an Indiana Jones movie, and hopefully some friendly jungle animals. We'll see, check back in a week.

First Day of School

2007-02-16T14:28:00.000+08:00

The principle, her glasses hanging off of her long nose, leaned down and with a thick accent asked, "Would you like to say something?"

I stood there, half expecting them to rush the stage, and leaned into the microphone to address them, but before I could begin, a quick hand grabbed it at angled it up toward my face. Giggles.

"Selemat pagi, semua," I said, flexing my Bahasa Melayu muscles. More laughter. I didn't know that 'good morning' was funny.

I managed to jerk out a few words about feeling excited and welcomed in Malaysia and how much I looked forward to working with them in the next few months. I would be teaching in this school as an English assistant for almost a year and although I was eager to get started, I had no idea what to expect, or what exactly my responsibilities would look like. Did they expect me to single handedly reverse years of history and English language neglect or was I merely a figurehead for forward thinking and "our best effort"? Long after I sat down the students looked at me with a combination of awe and amusement. Most of them have never really known a white person, let alone an American.

I after a few meetings and introductions, I was told I would be under the wing of several different people in the English language department: Puan (Mrs.) Nor Azahan, Puan Aminah, and Encik (Mr.) Farid. As it turns out, these are the three people that make my life livable. Farid is my computer man. He helped me install and pay for an internet connection in my apartment, find supplies and stores, and lent me a laptop when mine went into the shop for repairs. Puan Aminah, who I call Kak (sister) Min is my organizer. She gives me my weekly schedule, takes care of any supplies that I need in school or in my apartment, and drives me around town so I may do my shopping without falling subject to the American pricing scheme. That is, when I walk into a shop and start speaking English, the prices of everything triple. Last, but not least there is Puan Nor Azahan, or as I call her: mom (or mak as it is said here). I would probably be dead without her, or at least severely uncomfortable. She is the one who takes me to the clinic at midnight when I have a fever, brings me food if I don't have time to make it out to the grocery store, and gives me a ride to and from the bus station when I travel. She is my foster mother around here and it is with her that I feel closest to home I am amazed at how warm and open she has been with me and how quickly we became close. I regularly receive invitations to have dinner with her and her family, although I have noticed that her daughters are never present.

Separation of the sexes is another thing that I find interesting. Unmarried women above the age of twelve are not permitted to touch men by custom, religion, and culture. That means no handshakes or high fives and that I must be careful when handing one of my students something. As a teacher, I must be perceived as having the highest moral character for two equally important reasons: first as a role model for the students and second as a representative of the United States. And not only on school grounds either. Chukai is a small enough town that when I go shopping I meet no less then five people that I recognize from school or that will come up to me the next day and say, "Did you have fun at the arcade yesterday?" I cannot be seen drinking, smoking, or having inappropriately close contact with locals or my reputation will quickly sink in the eyes of those around me. Now personally, I think the separation of genders is taken a little too seriously, after all, how are girls and boys supposed to find their partners when they are always shooed away from each other? But on the other hand, if I am going to affect any kind of positive change while I'm here, both in the department of English proficiency and the view of the United States (which is somewhat hurting here as of late), I have to adhere to the cultural norms. Sometimes I am tempted to have a beer with dinner in Chinatown (the Chinese drink) to ease in the idea of differing customs, but all in good time. I think I will take more risks as I near the end of my grant.

In the classroom, I see roughly 1500 different students on a monthly rotating schedule, all with different levels of competency. Some cannot even say "my name is..." or tell me their favorite hobby. Others are capable of literature discussion groups and have a thirst for novels and conversation. The spectrum of skill can be a challenge sometimes, but if worst comes to worst, I just play charades with the class and we all have a blast. I have my own room, luckily, and access to both the internet and an lcd projector when I request it. These are serious luxuries compared to the condition of the rest of the school and I think my presence sometimes makes experienced teachers feel rather unappreciated. They have to rotate from class to class and some of the rooms don't even have a proper set of chairs. I truly get treated like combination of a celebrity and a long-lost family member, even by strangers on the street and by the people I work with at my school. After class, some even ask for photos or an autograph. No joke.

I have never experienced such open curiosity and warmth, but I quickly got used to it. I think the hardest part about returning to the U.S. will be the return to normalcy after living in rockstar status for so long.

WARNING: Some pictures may contain graphic images

2007-01-31T21:49:00.000+08:00

Let me start with an apology and an explanation. An earthquake off the coast of China about a month ago severed an undersea fiber optic cable that just so happens to carry a good deal of data in and out of Malaysia. For the past month, I have not been able to find a reliable internet connection from which I could post, that is, until I had a connection installed in my apartment for a ridiculous (relatively speaking) amount of money. The connection, fortunately, works wonderfully unlike the connections at every school and internet café I have been to in the past several weeks. I fully intend to resume weekly posts as of this moment. That said, I have much to tell about the past month.
My time in an air-conditioned hotel at orientation came to an end and I have been sent forth into the wild to fend for myself. Well, not really the wild, but I will be without the company and comfort of other Americans from now on. My first stop away from the hotel was the house of a small family on the outskirts of Kuala Terengganu where I was to live for the next several days. I was introduced to Kamal and Rosalina and they took me into their house, fed me, and treated me like a brother they had not seen in years. Kamal was a man of modest height, coming up to about my chest, with a quiet and easy manner, but little English. His wife on the other hand, was fluent and served as my interpreter for most of my stay. They had a beautiful and modest suburban home complete with a garage and a minivan and there I was introduced to the two cutest children that I have met, Ikram and Alia. Alia, an amazingly bright six-year-old, had heard that an “orang putih” (white man) was coming to stay for a few days and had apparently been antsy and excited for days. She was waiting in the doorway for me when I arrived with wide eyes and a grin itching to turn into a giggle. Ikram, only a year old, was too busy destroying things to notice me much until I started tickling him. I had a blast with the little girl and we took turns teaching each other words in our languages. She taught me how to say hair (rambut), fur (bulu), fan (kipas), buncik (belly), and a bunch of others while I taught her how to count to five, say “How are you? Good.” We had a whole routine down by the time I left and we performed in front of her beaming parents. I have seriously never felt so welcome in a household that wasn’t my own, and not just because there was a constant supply of food on the table. They treated me like royalty and their generosity came directly from their hearts, not from obligation. For example, there is a celebration in Islam called Hari Raya Qurban, (literally translated means Day of Celebration and Sacrifice) in which the family comes together for a day, enjoys each other’s company, and gives food to the poor. More specifically, beef is given to the poor since the unfortunate rarely get meat. Sure enough, there was a bull patiently standing in the shade when I arrived: the sacrificice. After an hour or two of meeting people and polite conversation, an imam (local minister) came by dressed in a blue pair of pants, a t-shirt, and a white cap symbolizing his pilgrimage to Mecca. He was carrying a long curved knife. Ropes were tied around the legs of the bull and a small army of men forced it on its side while women, children, family, and friends gathered around to watch. The imam bent down, said a prayer, and as you can see from the pictures, the bull quickly became unhappy. I have never seen something quite as graphic, but I did manage to videotape the whole process if you would like to see the entire ceremony start to finish.
After the bull stopped moving, the men went to work. I tried to help, but my knowledge of butchery is rather limited. I wasn’t that bad at skinning, but when they pointed to the testes and then to my knife, I decided that I should leave such things to the experts. Chunks of fresh beef were carved out of the carcass and placed into several small piles, each destined for a different poor family. I still remember the smell of those piles as they sat in the sun on dirty bloodstained tarps while the sound of axes and sharp knives rang in my ears. My thoughts went to sanitation but then turned to an old man enthusiastically cutting meat from the remainder of a leg. He was over ninety years old; if he ate in this manner annually, I imagine that whatever process they use works just fine.

After the meat was appropriately cut, the women took over. They rinsed it many times, mixed it together with spices and a thick peanut sauce and simmered the mix in a huge pan over an equally huge propane burner. I was allowed to help shave some of the coconuts to make cooking oil and mix the pan a few times, but I wasn’t much help. We left shortly after the beef started cooking, so I didn’t get to taste the meat that I had helped prepare, but I imagine that it was delicious. Normally, this ceremony is reserved for Muslims only, but in the spirit of hospitality, I was allowed to take part. To understand how truly touching this gesture was, think about how often do you invite foreign guests over to your house on Christmas morning.

For me, the most heartwarming part was yet to come. At our final lunch together, right before I was to leave for my school posting one hundred and twenty miles to the south, we ate and talked together about the weekend and they asked several times when I was coming back. As I was about to leave, Kamal looked at me and quietly said, “I do not have much to give you, but thank you for coming. I hope I see you again soon.” Then he took off his ring and handed it to me. His initials were engraved on the side of the silver ring, and a oval of Swiss diamonds encircled a pale red stone in the middle. It was beautiful. “You keep this,” he said. “My brother-in-law is a goldsmith. It is no problem.” He wouldn’t accept my objections and insisted that I take the ring with me. With the exception of my own family, I have never felt such sincerely and kindness. I still do not understand what I did to warrant the kind of generosity and care that I was given, but I will certainly never forget it and I only hope that I can pay it back somehow.

Merry Christmas

2006-12-25T18:45:00.000+08:00

Christmas was different this year. There was no Santa, no cookies, no TV specials, and most notably, no family. Instead, the other English teachers and I went down to Chinatown and made ourselves a Christmas that will certainly be worth remembering. We went to a small café not too far from our hotel and they apparently knew we were coming. Balloons were strung from the rafters and trees and three large platters of food were waiting for us. To wash down the fried noodles, chicken wings, and dim sum we were given pints of beer which made the thin Santa hats lying on our table look completely appropriate for the occasion. A Chinese choir came out of nowhere and even though we didn’t understand the words, we understood the tune and sang right along with them. After they finished, they lined up to give each of us a handshake, a more than genuine smile, and a “Merry Christmas.” The owners set up a karaoke machine and even though their selection of English language music was a bit limited, we all grabbed the microphone and sang like we were at home. This was my first Christmas away from home, and as strange as it is to not have a stocking or presents, it was enjoyable nonetheless.
On the other hand, adjusting to life as an outsider is not always a party. I get stared at everywhere I go. Men, women, and children alike act as if they have never seen a white person before. And in some cases, it’s true. Westerners are not at all common in these parts, and apparently, especially those who are blond and blue-eyed. What’s more disturbing isn’t necessarily the attention to which I’m not exactly accustomed, but the fact that every car that goes by is filled with people craning their necks to catch a glimpse of a table full of Americans makes me feel like an attraction rather than a person. Some are bold enough to come up, introduce themselves, and start practicing their English, which more often than not is in need of some practice. This happens at least once a day, and instinctively, I feel that they must be talking to me because they want something or they’re trying to sell me a cell phone. But here, it’s just not like that. They seem to be, in fact, simply curious.
I recently found out that I will be stationed in a school in the district of Kemaman about one hundred miles south of Kuala Terengganu where I have been living for the past three weeks. To put things in perspective, Terengganu is a state roughly about the size of Georgia, Kemaman is a district about the size of a County, and Kuala Terengganu is about the size of New London, CT. There, I will be assisting in the teaching of English and (I hope) math, science, and a sport of some kind. When I signed up for this post, I was told that we are expected to become a part of the community, not just another teacher and after waiting for what feels like a lifetime, I’m more than ready to start. I hope that if I’m posted to a community small enough I will be able to make people stop staring at me because I’m different and instead smile at me because they know that I’m there to help and learn. I get the feeling that most people look at me as a traveler or a tourist and once I’m able to actually able to communicate with them, in whatever language, they’ll realize that I’m pretty much the same as they are, just with different skin.
The best time that I’ve had in this country so far happened just two days ago. I was in the market looking for Christmas presents when I saw a couple of children playing ping-pong on a rough table with a plank for a net. I used to play quite a bit when I was in high school and college, so I decided to ask one of the boys if I could join. The kids, both looking around fifteen or so, looked at each other smiled. I don’t know if they understood English, but they understood that I wanted to play. One handed me his paddle and the other said, “OK”. We worked out the score in broken English and hand gestures and played a fierce game of ping pong, if such a thing exists. He beat me 18-21, but at least he didn’t crush me mercilessly. A small crowd had gathered, maybe twenty people or so, and a young man maybe in his thirties stepped up to table and raised a paddle. We played and he won, but I still managed to squeak out an admirable score. The whole affair had become quite a spectacle and gathered a large enough crowd so that the third and final game actually had an audience that cheered now and then when someone scored. Everyone seemed to have a good time and whenever I go back to the market, I recognize faces and they recognize mine with a familiar nod. If I could make a daily habit out of something like that, I will be a rich man. Oh, and I lost the third game too, but at 19-21, I should have had him.

Not in Kansas

2006-12-13T20:12:00.000+08:00

Six days ago, I flew into a small town on the eastern coast of peninsular Malaysia called Kuala Terengganu. While the Malaysian capital, Kuala Lumpur, was a surreal blend of fashion, shopping malls, modernism, and urban life, Kuala Terengganu is, in fact, not. The city is split in half by a shallow and murky river that pours into the South China Sea. The monsoon rains have done a wonderful job of keeping the riverbanks high, but wherever storm drains empty into the river, plastic bags and bottles bob into the river, reminding me that I’m now in a place that is in a struggle between development, responsibility, and purity. Not only in an industrial sense, either. Many Malaysians desire to be considered one of the developed gems of Southeast Asia, and in fact have a series of aggressive government programs to be considered a developed, rather than a developing, country according to specific criteria set by the United Nations. Those programs include developing a sustainable healthcare system, attracting foreign investment, and most relevant to me, improving English proficiency of the entire population. According to what I’ve been told by state officials, many Malaysians want to become major players on the world economic stage and the best way to communicate in that arena is through English; after all, the U.S. buys over half of Malaysia’s exports.

Kuala Terengganu shows this strain despite itself. Old and decrepit buildings stand right next to brand new cars, businesses, and parks. There are at least five different construction sites within a mile of my hotel to prepare for a Malaysian version of the Olympics next year. Here, there are beautiful museums flanked by lush tropical greenery as well as open sewers. The main industries around here are fishing and petroleum. All day, fishing boats can be seen slowly going up and down the river and their catch is displayed, fresh and wriggling, at the open air market not too far from my hotel. This market is exactly what I pictured Aladdin running around in when he was young. Rows and rows of spices, fabric, clothing, local delicacies, and fresh fish fill the tents as the attendants patiently await customers. There is less city hustle and bustle than in the national capital, but people still crowd by the piles of food and cloth. This place seems to be a local community center, as children play in between stalls and small groups of friends roam around together, talking and laughing. And even though goods are bought bartered and sold here in the same way they have for centuries, almost everyone has a cell phone and a motorbike. Women with only their feet, hands, and faces visible sweat in the hot equatorial sun and chat away on their phones, sometimes while riding their scooter!

The people here, on the other hand, have been warm, friendly, patient, and extremely generous. Our hotel feeds us excellent local food five times a day, and every tour or museum visit is always accompanied by a catered lunch with some related officials or directors who are extremely polite and welcoming. I feel like I’m being treated like royalty and I can’t wait to start returning some of that kindness through my classroom. I want to start teaching, but I’m afraid that I would do more harm than good until I’m taught a little more about the language, culture, and teaching methods.

First Wave

2006-12-05T17:26:00.000+08:00

After around thirty hours in the air, I’m finally in Malaysia for the first time in my life. I met twelve strangers from all over the U.S. I assume I will get to know very personally in the next year or so who are also teaching English out here. They all have brilliant research projects to talk about, stories about their travels that make me feel like I’ve been living in a box for the last twenty-two years, and on top of it all, they are good, decent, and fun people. With everything they are and everything they’ve told me, I’m surprised that anyone will talk to me, let alone go out to dinner or grab a beer with me. There isn’t a whiff of arrogance or selfishness in the group, and instead I feel everyone is really eager to learn about our new home and excited for the challenges the will come with living in a completely different society.
We all landed in Kuala Lumpur early on December 1st and immediately fell into friendship. Part of me feels like I’m watching a reality television show that could end at any minute; there’s this eerie feeling like I’m not really on the other side of the world, none of this is real, and any morning I will wake up back home from some extended dream. But it is most definitely real and I am here, so I’m not going to waste anymore time in question. We’ve been all over the city and have seen things so different from what I know that I can’t help but wonder what else I have missed out on elsewhere on the globe. What is most striking about our new city is the collision of tradition and modernity that, from what I have read about, is an issue with the country as a whole. These pictures show the world’s largest set of twin towers, beautiful gardens, hip internet cafés, parks that are home to some of the world’s most endangered species, and ornate eight-story shopping malls within miles of the desperate poor. Malaysians seem to struggle with the exact composition of their collective identity; graceful and seductive models advertise dresses and jewelry while the government legislates against form-fitting female clothing. Since the country is prodominently Muslim and Malaysian history is rife with European colonial dominance of one form or another, it seems as though many look to tradition and religion to instruct society as a whole instead of their past. They seek to live in the world as a modern, savvy, marketable people while at the same time honoring the Islamic traditions that bind together their society in an intimate way that just doesn’t happen in the U.S. It is, like me, foreign.
Anyway, the city is awesome. Crime is pretty low with the exception of a purse snatching or drug charge here and there, and there are so many cheap and delicious places to eat that I think I’m going to sneak back here every weekend just to try something new. I head for the beaches and the smaller city of Kuala Terengganu in a few days, so I’ll be sure to live it up here in the meantime. I’ve also had the honor of spending a day in the U.S. Embassy and meeting the ambassador to Malaysia, Christopher LaFleur, who is extremely interested in our educational efforts and incredibly amiable. There is apparently quite a desire for Malaysians to speak better English and that need has made programs like ours quite important both politically and economically and throughout our time here, we will not only have access to the best the U.S. government has to offer, but also the national and local Malaysian government. We have received quite a few briefings from various Malaysian and American officials, and each one makes me realize how lucky I am to be here right now. We are going to a beautiful and exotic place where we will be, from what I’ve heard, welcomed with open arms into a very close-knit community. To be honest, I haven’t been so excited about starting a new job in all of my life.
Keep in touch and your emails are more than welcome.

The Day Before

2006-11-29T00:34:00.000+08:00

I have barely left the east coast of the United States. I was born and raised in coastal New England and attended the same high school as my father (and had some of the same teachers). When I graduated, in the spirit of seeking adventure and finding what else was out in the world, I decided to study at UMBC (www.umbc.edu) and study biochemistry. My father works in a research laboratory and from a very young age let me see the wonders and intricacies of performing experiments so small, only the imagination could really bring to life what was happening. I’m not saying that the science was an illusion, but rather I needed to imagine cells, proteins, drugs, and DNA as if I could hold the molecules in my hand if I was to appreciate the incredible complexities of each experiment. Enamored and fascinated with figuring out how the body functions on a molecular level, I trusted that my experience in college would be the long start of a research career that would hopefully be capped with a Nobel Peace Prize, or, well, at least a stable job. I left my family, friends, and home to start in Baltimore and in fact did not know a soul in the state when I first arrived.
Four years later, I finished my degree and began to realize that it was time to act like an adult, live as a responsible citizen, pay my taxes, and get a real job. If it is seriously time to start laying down the foundation of who I will become in the next several years, how can I honestly start that process if I have no idea what the rest of the country is really like, let alone the rest of the globe? And how can I decide how to live in the world if I have only seen a tiny portion of it?
In Baltimore, I caught a glimpse of a little more diversity and sought out other cultures and languages with the energy and passion that I had first used to study science. Any chance to mingle with and learn about other cultures was both refreshing and reassuring, as there are times when I grow disgusted with the intense commercial homogenization that seems to characterize American lifestyles, and in that context, studying at the fifth most diverse school in the nation was a blessing. I learned how to say “Hello,” “How are you?” and “Goodbye” in French, Spanish, Polish, Hungarian, Slovakian, Mandarin, Burmese, and Thai, in addition to realizing that the world I have seen so far is a miniscule part of the whole.
I have always dreamed of studying abroad, but have never had the financial means to do so, until now. I luckily graduated with no debt, no obligation, and no reason not to take a risk and head to somewhere dramatically different, somewhere that is the polar opposite of what I already know. I looked at programs that offered jobs in Thailand, China, Japan, and finally Malaysia. I do not fluently, or even functionally, speak the language of any of these countries, but the promise of seeing something on the opposite side of the spectrum was seductively appealing.
My academic advisors thought that I was wasting my time seeking out adventure since I really belonged in graduate school, patiently carving out some ounce of knowledge that may or may not end up with some importance attached to it. There was one, however, whose words motivated me and gave me the courage to strike out on a rather different road. Dr. Michael Summers in an informal interview, told me “when you are faced with two choices, one safe and responsible, the other risky and with great payoffs, always take the second.” I think he was right; if I decided to head right to a job or graduate program, I would always wonder if I made the right decision, as I will most likely never have a chance to do anything like this again in my life. Thanks Dr. Summers.
As it turns out, I leave tomorrow for Kuala Lumpur and could not be more excited. I have a camera, a laptop, and a plane ticket, as well as a job teaching English waiting for me when I get there. I imagine that I am in for an experience unlike anything I could ever comprehend from where I stand, and I hope to share that with you, the reader, in the most vivid way possible. Such a shocking difference in culture, language, lifestyle, and career will certainly be challenging and show me a little bit of who I am, but I have a feeling that whatever I discover will make quite a difference in the path I choose afterwards. Every week, I will sit down and write about my time in Malaysia and post a couple pictures of where I’ve been. Let me know what you think and I’ll do my best to respond as quickly as my surroundings permit. Internet access may be spotty, so I don't know if I'll be able to keep my promise on weekly posts and diligent email responses, but I do promise to make every effort possible.

Thanks for reading!

Some more pictures of where I grew up:

Mystic, Connecticut on a rainy evening.

The CT Thames River coastline. Groton in the foreground, New London in the background.

Industrial Connecticut

I used to work in this building.

But not anymore.

Downtown Mystic

On the Mystic River.

War of 1812 Memorial, Stonington Borough

Vermont