My Weird British Roommate

September 3, 2010 and ongoingThere he is. The man, the myth, the legend. I’m past the point of avoiding him. Even past the point that he annoys me a little. I’m actually at the point where I pity him. Yes, I said I pity him. I pity him because I realize that if he truly believes the things that he argues, his life is not going to be anything I’d want to live in. His priorities are curious to say the least. We’re here for one year and he wants to do things like buy a car and a motorbike, but he only brought 3 work-suitable shirts and no work-suitable pants to somewhere he’d be working for an entire year. How much sense does that make to you? When we went shopping for our house with reps from our company, the things he was most worried about were very weird stuff: a frying pan with grill marks (very picky about the size of the grill marks), strainers (multiple, actually), a wash pan (because apparently doing the dishes in the sink just won’t do), etc. Even more so, since I’ve been here, he finds something rather ridiculous to argue with me every few days. First we were talking about eating healthy and he honestly tries to convince me and others that pork is very good for you and it is bread that is giving everyone high cholesterol and heart disease. He says scientists in general are proven wrong and that conventional knowledge about nutrition is all media propaganda because Jimmy Carter was a vegetarian and this has somehow lived on since then. Think that over for a minute. Media propaganda from the Carter administration, he said. On a similar note, he argued that Subway is a sham because it’s actually worse for you than McDonald’s. Yeah, he said this to me with a straight face. However, his diet is weird, he claims he likes spicy food and isn’t a picky eater however he tries to order them “no padas” meaning ‘not hot’ because the spice messed up his stomach. Also, he doesn’t eat bread, rice, or noodles because he says they mess up his stomach; but I’ve seen him eat weird foods like Durian, octopus, and sting ray. If you got a picky stomach, fine. But be real. I don’t have a picky stomach. Other coworkers don’t have picky stomachs, so we have to ask YOU where you can eat. Meaning you’re the picky one. The list goes on, we go places where there may be women or even just general an upscale environment. He “dresses up” in a plain gray t-shirt (yes, the same one everytime), jeans (the same jeans) and dingy white sneakers (once again, yes the same one every time). We saw a Lamborghini and I made a comment that I think it’s a nice car but it’s too low for me to drive everyday. He, all of 5’7 to 5’8 and 120 lbs or so, argues with me that it’s not hard to get out of because size is irrelevant in those situations so it’s just as easy for me as it is for him. If you’re talking about a car as low as a Lambo, how is size irrelevant? He’s one of those people who is a buzz kill in conversation. People, not just me, seem to look for ways to exclude him when we’re having social or funny moments. He something says something a little sexist or calls something ‘girly’ but he’s far from a man’s man. My boss questions if he’s ever been with a lady because of how odd he is around women. He talked junk about his ability to drink, but then doesn’t drink anymore because the first times he drank here, they didn’t go well. He tries to blame the beer.
But all of that has become minor in comparison to a conversation we had about decisions. After a normal, “this is a job, you have to make decisions” statement, he reveals to us that he doesn’t believe people are capable of making decisions. He believes that the environment makes your decisions for you. He says that this is verified by science and is indisputable. That’s right, he said that all nutritionists are full of hot air and spewing Jimmy Carter-originated BS; but he believes that scientists have proved without a shadow of a doubt that the environment makes decisions for people instead of them making them for themselves. After some argument, I thought a little more about things and it made me a little sad for him. Take a moment and truly think about the ramifications of a grown man who truly believes he’s not capable of deciding anything for himself. I’m here in Malaysia, despite some job offers in America, because I wanted an international work experience before I settle into the usual working grown person role for the rest of my life. I’m beginning to think that he honestly is here because it’s the first job that presented itself. In his mind, it was “Well, I’ve spent enough time in my parents’ house in England looking for an engineering job; one became available in Malaysia so destiny must want me to go there.” And that was the end of it. Unlike me, no deep thought went into it at all. He didn’t even bring a camera, saying that he doesn’t care about pictures from this YEAR LONG overseas experience. How much do you think he’ll gain from this experience compared to what he has the potential to gain? Then I thought about it even deeper and it gets scarier. How accountable can someone be if they don’t think they make their own decisions? Can you imagine how mad you would get if you tried to ask an employee about ways to rectify a bad decision he made and he says “You really can’t be mad at me, I didn’t really make the decision; the environment around me did.” I’d be tempted to hit him in the throat. Furthermore, exactly how ambitious can you be if you think that way. I went to high school with a guy, Devon, who was brilliant. I mean, I define intelligence as the ability to learn, analyze and process information. And Devon has as much or more of it than anyone else I know. He had the potential to do great things. However, to be great, you have to consciously take a step further than being average or even being good. To use a computer example, that’s how you go from being a smart kid who became a computer hacker and step up to becoming an information entrepreneur or invent something computer-related that changes the world. However, exactly how can you start this process if you don’t feel that step is not yours to take? No one else can take it for you. One of the things that I believe shaped my life immensely is my parents’ mindset on how to raise a man. They raised me and my brother in a way - through lessons, experiences, and exposures – that as an adult we will be able to analyze situations and make your own decisions and deal with the consequences of your decisions. This is probably the biggest root of my disapproval of his attitude. But another part of being an adult is that you have to accept people’s differences and take people for what they are. This reinforces my sentiment that we will never be too close of friends or see eye-to-eye on anything important. I kind of wish I could trade him in for the cool Western companion I’d imagined to counter the Asians. Instead we’re about as different as two Westerners could be. He’s a spoiled, tiny, marginally delusional (personal opinion), white Englishman from a tiny little town in North England. But hey, it is what it is. As usual, I’ll try to find a way to deal. Selamat malam…

A Bad Bill of Health

Date: 08/25/10

On another note, I met a Nigerian student who lives him my apartment complex. He’s a lbig dude named Uwa who approached me saying he wanted to talk to me sometime about eating healthy. So I hit him up another time to figure out what he’s talking about. He and an older Malay Indian lady served the Herbalife supplement that’s gotten so popular to people for free at a location in the complex. First they take your height and put you barefoot on a scale that apparently knows absolutely everything; weight, body fat, age in wear-and-tear of organs, water composition, level of internal fat around internal organs, 1-10 point scale of athleticism of the person, etc. Somehow I figured the scale was gonna spit out some foolishness; I was right. The scale said I weigh 87 kilos (about 190), which seems to be about right. According to her chart, I’m about 30 lbs (14 kgs) overweight for my height, 1.83 meters (6’1. 75 or so). 30 pounds. I know I’m not small, but would you respect me as a grown man at almost 6’2, 160? I put a picture below of how I looked the last time I weighed 160, how am I supposed to get respect as a grown man at that size in 2010? No sir, I don't want that. The scale said I’m almost 25% body fat (last time I had a body fat test I was below 10%), I was a 3 on a ten-point scale of athleticism. I’m a few months removed from being an all-ACC athlete and I was going to the gym doing double cardio before I came to Malaysia. According to the scale, my organs are significantly older than I am in wear-and-tear, and I have an extremely high almost dangerous level of fat around my internal organs and all kinds of craziness. Now, I know I’m predisposed to high cholesterol in my family, that’s a fact. But all this other stuff is garbage. They say they want me to take the supplement as dinner, which they serve for free, and I will see a notable change in the numbers. I’m gonna play the game and see what happens because they not actual salespeople but just people who publicize the product; they won’t sell it to you even if you want them to they say. Healthier is always better and I know about the cholesterol history so anything is worth a quick try. But you heard it hear first; those test numbers were some BS. We’ll see what’s up after a week or two of taking this stuff for diner. But anyway, I got my music popping, it’s almost payday and I should be getting the Internet and cable soon. I’m feeling alright at the moment. Selamat malam…

Music as a Cure-All

Date: 8/25/10

“Music is the rhythm of life,” a wise man once said. That wise man was me. As much as I tell other people that, how’d I get away from it for such a long period of time? Just a few days ago, I was a little frustrated with things. One of the subcontractors at the jobsite was holding up our schedule (which would get us, not the subcontractor, cussed out next time we have a meeting with the client) and I seemed to be the only person from the management team on site that cared; I had to talk to the boss about what we could do to aid the problem. They took our company car. We still don’t have the Internet in the apartment. I was gonna have to switch rooms into a room that was currently bright pink. And it got ridiculously hot again, which always seems to make people a little more irritable. I won’t say I was losing it or anything, but I wasn’t in the best of moods for a short period. Then something miraculous happened. I stopped using my iPod just as a device to search for available wi-fi but bought some new headphones and turned on the music. I had put the Roots’ new album “How I Got Over” on my iPod but hadn’t given it a good listen yet. I just let the album take me away. Before I knew it, I would be waiting to cross the street somewhere or riding in the car bobbing my head. The subcontractor got more manpower and machinery at the sight so now they are working at a much better pace. The project manager is giving us rides back and forth to work and we got news that we will have another car soon. They painted the pink room white and gave me brand new furniture for the move. And even in the Malaysian heat, “The Fire,” “Walk Alone,” and “The Day” among others by the Roots were keeping me cool. In addition to the usual suspects like Nas, Lupe, Kweli, Wale, and NC’s own phenomenal talent J. Col. There’s a reason I always had my iPod in during my years in college. I don’t know where I’d be without it.

Things I wouldn't have guessed about Malaysia

Date: September 29, 2010

I'm interrupting the cycle of catching up on the old entries before adding the newer ones, but it's my blog, I make the rules, so get over it.

I'm writing this blog because I think this is informative and covers a lot of the initial questions i get asked about Malaysia so far. When I got here, some things surprised; some good, some bad, some ugly. LOL.
Let's start with these roads. I guess maybe I don't think about the whole "Asians are the worse drivers stereotype" as much as most people. But the roads are utterly ridiculous over here. the best word for it is 'anarchy.' They seem to think that because they drive small cars, they have to drive in extra close quarters all the time and don't have to signal (you have to move your finger ONE INCH to turn on a signal) or be 'gradual' about any of their actions on the road. Plus the roads, and parking lots seemed absolutely packed all the time. I was on the brink of having a heart attack the first few times I rode somewhere here. And it's normal to them, I was in the car with my boss and a car rips through 3 lanes of traffic and ends up almost sideways in front of us so he has to hit the brakes. I didn't hear one horn, one word of road rage or anything. I had to look around like "Am I the only one who caught that?" Our current company car is a long pickup truck with manual transmission. Plus they drive on the other side of the road and have the steering wheel on the other side; meaning I'll have to operate the stick with my other hand. But I still think I'll be the safest driver on the road, I'm still more worried about someone else hitting me. On a related note, the cops here are corrupt too and take it out on the drivers. They frequently stop people looking for something wrong, from expired road tax to using your cell phone, as an excuse to say "If I write you this ticket, it will be $200. But if you just hand me $100 instead, I'll let you go." They have a reputation for doing this a lot right before major holidays to get extra spending money. Crooks. Next, there are quite a bit of Africans here. My complex is full of students from the colleges in the cities. I didn't expect to see Black people here but I've met people from Uganda, Zimbabwe, Burkina Faso, Ghana, and the most notorious, the Nigerians. They have a terrible rep worldwide I guess. The first things anyone says when they hear the word 'Nigerian' is "You'd be better off just staying away from all of them." Rough stuff. Most of the Africans I met have been cool people though. But I guess I live with the students and not the trouble makers. Plus I relate most to them socially. I found a Christian church, tailored to young people. I didn't know how that would work out here in a Muslim country. Shoot, they police have the right to arrest you if you're a Muslim and they catch you eating instead of fasting during the day time; I wasn't sure how accepting of other faiths they would be. In a country where food (Malay, Chinese, tradition Indian, and Muslim Indian known as Mamak), movies (the best and cheapest illegal DVDs in the world), and household items are so ridiculously cheap, some random things tend to be ridiculously expensive. Why is a fairly standard charcoal grill 6000 ringgits (about $2000 US)? 200 ringgits (about $70 for a small microwave)? 3500 ringgits (about $1150 US) for the iPhone? Well, I guess I understand the last one. Still random surprises in pricing sometimes though. Moving on, there are no seasons. I repeat NO SEASONS. It is hot, humid, and rainy all year long. Period. Better keep an umbrella or rain coat in your bag. You don't know when the downpour is coming. And I wish my British roommate and some of the locals would adopt my philosophy of wearing either undershirts of beaters. You know it's gonna be humid out, those huge sweat stains on your armpits and the middle of your back and chest aren't cool; even if you are 10,000 miles from home, Do Better. My bad, wrong blog. Last (for tonight anyway), I'll just say that a lot of things we have come to use as the norm in the US and special or upper echelon here in Malaysia. I'm sorry, I'm not amazed that your restaurant has a tv and air conditioning, I'm used to it. I'm also used to restaurants handing me printed checks, but hand-written bills and 70's style cash registers are the norm here. The gym I go to is like the best of the best in the area, and therefore is more expensive than others. But 'best of the best' means it has dance/fitness classes, trainers, and enough machines for many people to do the same exercise simultaneously to some recent music. It's a nice gym, but this is just how gyms operate back home. And it's virtually impossible to buy in bulk here. I wanted to get some juice to last me at the house for a while, getting more than about a half litre is next to impossible here. Very different. But I'm about to head home for the night. I'm working 10 or more hours a day, 6 days a week. So I'm gonna try to get some rest at a decent time. Selamat malam...

New Terminology

Date: August 22, 2010

As someone who will be spending the better part of a year here in Malaysia, I’ve decided that it’s best to have my friends help me pick up some Malay while I’m here. Although it doesn’t seem like a language I’ll ever use again once I go back to the US next year, it’s still a show of respect to try to pick some up. But I have to figure out a way to have fun while I’m learning too. So I decided to teach my Malay friend Seelan (pictured at bottom conducting a safety meeting), who speaks both Malay and English as most people I work with do, some English terms from my vocabulary that he doesn’t know; the first term “Laid Back.” Seelan is the safety officer at the site I work at. In America, safety officer is a position that requires an uptight butthole because of the steep consequences of on-site accidents or fines. Unlike the US where there is a very strict safety code (which is expensive if you break rules), the safety standards are much lower here. On our jobsite, you can see workers 20 feet off the ground tight-roping a 2”x4” and hammering nails(pictured below along with other dangerous feats), people riding the crane hooks up to the tops of boring machines, and even men walking around the site wearing bath towels (many of the general workers like in shanty style housing built on site). So the safety officer here has to take a much more ‘laid back’ approach to his job because safety is not a high priority of the management. I see dangerous actions and am immediately concerned, but he knows that he’s at the point where makes the proper recommendations (so that they can’t say he didn’t try) and then the rest is up to management whether he can buy the proper supplies or not. From there, he just has to make sure people are wearing hard hats and boots on site. The next term was “Eye Candy.” We decided to go for some drinks and were trying to figure out the appropriate venue. There were a few determining factors to be considered – prices, food, parking, distance from current location- but the eventual winning factor, Eye Candy. Since being in Malaysia, I’ve yet to really even be in a venue where there is an abundance of nice looking women to look at. Also, the search for nice lower half continues as I can count on one hand the women I’ve seen with any booty or hamstrings since I’ve been here. But it’s always nice to have women walking around to look at as you drink and tell jokes. We ended up at a nice bar in the main ‘action’ strip of a mall called the Curve. It was a good choice from an Eye Candy standpoint; even though the same absence of lower half still persisted. Seelam is starting to look like a good candidate for the road dog role that I’m not sure my British roommate can fill. Although he’s a bit older, he’s got a similar sense of humor to mine and seems like someone I would party if I worked with him back home too. Good person to find at this early stage of the trip. From last night’s trip to the movies (only $3 or so here which is wonderful) to see “The Expendables,” I’ve decided that my British roommate is odd socially. We were two straight guys going to the movies, a fairly normal situation, right? Wrong. He seems to follow me around like a puppy at times. If I walk to the other side of the sidewalk to get a little personal space, I look over and he has wondered over and is 11 inches away from me again. We get up to the ticket counter and there are four cashiers, all of which are open. Why is he right on my shoulder as I’m ordering my ticket? I literally had to tell him “Dude, those counters are open” to get him off my shoulder. Once we enter the cinema, only about 40% full, take a wild guess where he sits? You guessed it, right beside me. No one-seat guy buffer or anything. I think he’s probably be better at scaring fun away than helping to find it. Maybe he’s just out of his element, maybe he’s truly as odd as he currently seems. We will see. I’m glad I met my backup plan. Well, Selamat malam…

Lost in Translation

Date: August 18, 2010

Soul Food. Try explaining soul food to Malaysians whose only impressions of American food are McDonald’s, TGI Fridays, and KFC, and Kenny Rogers’ Roasters; that’s right, they have Kenny Rogers’ Roasters here. When is the last time I saw Kenny Rogers’ Roasters in the US? Drawing a blank, but I digress. I knew it was a futile effort before I got deep into the explanation. Like so many other things here, it was lost in translation. When I say lost in translation, it could literally mean that something was misunderstood in vocabulary. Or it could mean a misunderstanding in content or just an issue that arise that I didn’t expect to be an issue which became one. Or you just experience of see something that has you at a loss. As much as I like the food most places I go, it was a little confusing the first time I sat down at a restaurant and they give you a fork and spoon; no knife. All cutting duties fall to the spoon. Or they bring you warm water, tea or juice unless you specifically ask (and in many cases, pay slightly more) for ice in your drink. Hmmm, that’s new. Just like the hose found behind the toilet many places instead of toilet paper; wouldn’t we aiming a hose up my butt wet up my clothes? I’ve walked in and seen the entire bathroom all wet; it’s my guess that whoever used it before me got themselves wet too. I’d still grab some napkins and make due before I use the squat toilet you find some places. It was about as odd as the cold showers in a designated shower area without a tub or shower curtain. I’m sitting here right now with my hair half cut because these Malaysian plugs are destroying my clippers and I have to let them cool down. They’re louder and vibrate harder than even, the guard broke quickly, and the shapers started smoking less than 2 minutes into use because of some difficulty adapting to this new system. Once I let them cool down and do just enough to finish this bang-up job of a cut (due to the rush, it’s not gonna turn out good at all), I think I’ll put my clippers away and leave them there; if not send them home. I wasn’t aware there would be such a difference; lost in translation. I decided to get a sheet set that I wouldn’t get back home, something colorful that had a more Southeast Asian feel. I found a set that fulfilled my criteria, I talked to the Houz Depot (Yes, that really is what they’re home improvement store is called) representative and from what I could decipher, the set I had had everything I needed. I come home and put it on my bed and it’s only a fitted sheet, a bolster case (an oblong pillow case) and two pillowcases; no cover. Now I have to go back and find a cover because my rightful cover was lost in translation. My room in general is a story. I arrived first to our three bedroom two-bathroom condo, so naturally I took the largest room, which also happened to be the only one with air conditioning (“AirCon” as the locals call it) installed. The 2nd bedroom is small and has no view. The third bedroom is bright pink and has a bunk bed clearly made for toddlers just learning to count. Almost a week after arriving, I found out the Filipinos coming next are married and the master suite I’m staying in is theirs.. They better get the bunk bed, pink paint, and the flower-shaped light out of there or I’m not giving my room up. I was supposed to go from working in the office to working out on the site two days ago. However, every time I plan on going there is some kind of hold up at the last moment much to the site boss’s dismay. He doesn’t appreciate these translation issues. It’s hard enough trying to understand some of my coworkers both in the office and on-site, the one place I should be able to depend on full understanding of all English speak is at home with my English roommate, right? Not really. American English and British English are not the same language. I find myself asking him to say things over repeatedly, either because of the thick accent or the oddly chosen (in my eyes anyway) vocabulary. Is it really easier to say ‘washbasin’ than ‘sink’? Do you really not understand what I said about my pants until I use the word ‘trousers’ instead? What about the word “rubbish” makes you say that instead of ‘trash’? But I try to clear things up with him to avoid possible a lack of clarity. Sometimes it’s harder than others. Wish me luck. I threw in some pictures of things that had me scratching my head the first time I saw them here. Selamat malam…

Two Lessons Learned

Date: 8/14/10

My food tolerance boundaries have already been tested today; I’m happy to say my stomach is holding up pretty good so far. In 23 years in various parts of the United States (and a brief stint in Mexico), I’d managed to stay away from a lot of those “we might as well eat this too” foods. But today, my 3rd full day in Malaysia, I had quite a litany of different foods including chicken feet, spiced fish heads, pork mint soup, a salad topped with marinated oyster, coconut water (which you drink directly out of a skinned coconut) and most notably, Durian. Durian is the seed of a regional fruit (pictured below) got its claim to fame as the only food that Travel TV’s Bizarre Foods star could not bring himself to swallow. My boss, my British coworker, my boss’s friend, and I pulled up to an all-Durian street market where we could pull up to our table, park and grab some of the fruit off of the table. The seed, which grows inside of a blowfish-looking spiked fruit, has a very strong and odd odor and taste to go along with a very mushy, rotten custard-like texture. The texture was simply too much for me. I did what the Bizarre Foods star couldn’t and swallowed my first bite; but that was it, I had had enough. My British counterpart enjoyed it and had quite a bit. He underestimated how long and strong the odor lingers in your mouth though. It’s been almost 5 hours and I still taste it slightly even having only one bite. So I can imagine what it feels like for him. Needless to say, I tried it and I think I fulfilled my responsibility there. As I looked around at how popular the market was and how much people were enjoying the overly fatty and unhealthy ‘delicacy,’ I wondered to myself: This stuff is so popular that this place truly survives selling nothing but Durian and Durian products? They make cakes out of this mess? Once again, it made me realize just how different things were here. To be fair the coconut water, which is served out of a peeled coconut (also pictured below) was refreshing. As we were leaving, one of the native workers who was laughing at my face as I took the first bite of the Durian mustered up his best English to teach me my first Malaysian lesson of the day; “Live to Eat.” The natives insist that Malaysia has among the best and cheapest (Even at fairly upscale restaurants, I may not have to pay more than about $7.50 US for a meal, $3 or less most places) food in the region if not the world and that it’s irresistibly enjoyable almost everywhere you go; I would agree so far (except the Durian). We eat at a lot of street front cafes or street side bazaars (pictured) which are especially good and cheap. Now, some of the food is extremely hot and it will get my eyes watering and nose running; that will take some getting used to. This ain't like hot wings back home. Lesson two came through observation and analysis, everything is bigger in the US; therefore, everything is smaller in Malaysia. 90% of the cars driving on the wrong side of the toll-filled roads (it just seems weird) here are tiny, smaller than Corollas back home. Not to mention the droves of motorbikes, which are much smaller and less powerful than motorcycles. Our refrigerator is probably 60% of the size of most that you see back in the states. We went to the store to look around and buy some things and I asked the woman the absolute largest size the shower shoes I was looking to buy came in. Size 10. I wear 11 or 12. Am I really that big? As I looked at the pants with my British roommate (also significantly smaller than me), 80% of the pants are size 30 or smaller in the waist. Of the remainder, 85% of those are 32 or 34. I can count on one hand how many I saw that were 36 or 38. I don’t recall seeing one single 40. The size large shirts look like my undershirts. Much different from the states. Luckily, that also applies to prices. When converted to US dollars, most things here are about 30-45% of the cost back home; except for microwaves and grills which are much more expensive oddly enough. Gas costs about 2 ringgits (about $0.62) per litre. This is very encouraging financially to me as an American and double so to Tom, who hails from the ridiculously expensive United Kingdom. Also, I got to see the jobsite where I’ll be spending most of my year and other jobsites the company is working on. Most people in positions of power speak some English, but I’ll need to brush up on my Malay to communicate with most of the workforce. But the job still seems to be a great opportunity in the making. I also got to see the wonderful large and intricate model of the complex I’ll be working on. The model I built on my internship was impressive, but nowhere near this model in size detail or accuracy. Furthermore, I got the news that eventually we will be getting cable paid for by the company also. Once again, back flips would be in order if possible. Some things still need to be worked out, but another good day so far. It’s only 6 pm though. Another entry may be in order before the night is over. It is my first weekend in Malaysia after all. Selamat petang Malaysia…