Anything Else Was, Well, Anything Else

It sucks to be away from my family for three days.  But it is best to stay positive.  So I have decided to discard an entry drafted during my business trip and replace it with this shiny, happy one.

Malaysians are the friendly bunch.  That naturally includes those who are soaked in Malaysia for quite some time.  It was good to catch up with old friends during my trip – those whom I have known since school days and those whom I have met at various junctures of my career.  One, I presumed, saw me leaving the office.  He took the effort to chase me down the building and down the street.  Turn left, turn right?  He took the right turn.  So did I half a minute or so before him.  On my way back to the hotel, I was busy concentrating on walking among some of the most hideously maintained roads in Petaling Jaya.  I leaped from one platform to another, dodging low hanging trees and cables and avoiding suspicious looking objects on the ground.  Suddenly, I heard someone called my name.  I turned and it took me some time to recognize who he was.  “It is [me]!” he exclaimed.  “It is you!” I exclaimed, doubled his enthusiasm.  Marriage must have done him good.  This Indian buddy of mine seems to have gained some weight – a sign of prosperity and happiness as we Chinese believe.  He was wearing a pair of trendy spectacles.  Perhaps that slowed down the face matching algorithm running inside my brain.  His wife is expecting.  That is good news.  I invited him over to the hotel I was staying for a drink in the evening – like I have for everyone I have talked to – “Meet me at Uncle Chilli’s. You can find me there every night.”  He did not turn up that evening.  I suppose a husband with a pregnant wife at home has certain priorities that must be respected.  I do not know for sure.  But that much I can imagine.

There are only two reasons why I camped at the hotel’s pub Uncle Chilli’s on every evening.  OK, maybe three.  First, that is the only location in PJ Hilton that provides free Wi-Fi.  I missed my Internet access, to catch up with my friends on Whatsapp and to catch up with news from all fronts.  Second, the Filipino band was good.  Really good.  Third, I don’t mind having some cold beer after a long day at work.  Only on the last day of my stay have I spotted a lineup of girls who appeared to be Filipinos at the back of the bar.  Maybe they were legitimate customers.  I do not know.  Looking at the human interactions that took place in the dark, I sensed a great disturbance.  But hey, I was there for the free Internet, great music, and overpriced crap beer.  Anything else was, well, anything else.

Filipinos are the musically talented bunch.  I am not sure if this extends to those who are soaked in Philippines.  The band that captivated my attention for three straight nights has four vocalists – Muscle Man, Bad Boy, Sexy Goddess, and Singing Queen.  Their dance moves were tightly choreographed.  It doesn’t matter what size, gender, age, and sexual orientation you are, there bounds to be one whom you would fancy.  My buddies unanimously worshiped the Sexy Goddess.  I pointed out that the good looking decently shaped Singing Queen sang so much better, and she danced with so much fluidity.  Unless you have an inclination towards tiny, demure, young, and cute girls, Singing Queen has got to be the one who owned the stage.  They shrugged and said, “Who cares”, further sealed the argument by pointing out that Singing Queen’s black dress and blue stocking did not match.

But, who cares?  Besides, I have not seen anyone attacked Whitney’s I Will Always Love You with such bravery, confidence, and improvisation without deviating too much from the original legendary delivery.  Singing Queen has my vote.

One Western buddy with me that night has worked in Singapore for quite a few years.  He observed that while girls in Singapore may look pretty and cute, they are lacking of that something.  He then looked up to the smoked filled ceiling desperately searching for the missing words.  I could see that he was drawing inspiration from that Sexy Goddess of whom he fancied.  In my heightened sense of cognitive intelligence thanks to glasses after glasses of bad beer, I offered my explanation, pinpointing what the girls in Singapore may be lacking of.  That appeared to hit him hard.  And he went, “Ah ha, that is it!”  Alcohol is a wonderful drug.  We so easily concur with one another under its influence.  In my opinion, it is not what’s on the surface that makes a girl looks sexy.  It is what radiates from within.  And that something is …

OK, next topic.

For two consecutive evenings, my buddy Kah Lok took me out for dinner.  I am grateful that he and his lovely and happy wife took the trouble to accompany this lonely man.  22 years we have known each other.  He too is under the spell of prosperity and happiness.  “I have grown fat,” he said with a distained look.  “Well, friend, this is a happy sign,” I replied.  On day one, before we parted after our Malay meal, he promised he would take me to eat the “All In” clay pot chicken rice tomorrow.  He emphasized the word “All In”.  He described the content with vivid details.  He even drove pass where he would take me the day after.  The food in Malaysia is good.  I could not wait to taste the “All In” clay pot chicken rice.  I literally dreamed about it.  And I thought of it the whole day.  My mouth watered when we finally arrived at the open food center the next day.  Rows of stoves filled with red hot coal ready to turn rice, chicken, Chinese sausage, salted fish, condiments, and sauces into “All In” clay pot chicken rice.  The chef behind the stoves perpetually has a burning cigarette dangling at the corner of his mouth.  I was too far to examine closely if any of that long ashes mixed with the “All In” product by accident.  Ignorance is bliss.

For those who have previously stayed in PJ Hilton, you may wish to know that the hotel has undergone a major renovation.  It is about time.  Now, the room looks modern.  There is a wall mounted flat panel television.  The old stinky carpet and curtain are gone.  Part of the bathroom wall is now replaced by floor-to-ceiling glass, tastefully shaded by the blinds.  The bathroom now comes with open compartments that store different kinds of towels.  There is no door separating the shower area and the dry area.  Only a partial glass wall.  What I love most is the “rain shower jet”.  The water jet is a big disc mounted up onto the ceiling.  I hate to waste precious water. But the gentle caress of the rain shower at full blast gives forth a unique experience that I am Tarzan and here is Congo.  I used to tease my friend in Singapore why such rain shower facility is at all desired.  Now I know that I am wrong and she is right.  Mounted on the walls at either side of the bed are two reading light.  There is even a pillow menu that provides five different types of pillows for different needs.  There is still no free Wi-Fi inside the hotel room.  Otherwise, it would have been perfect with me playing Tarzan underneath the rain shower while watching National Geography clips on YouTube.

The three days business trip seems to have come and gone.  So are the 22 years, come to think of it.  Kah Lok insisted that he is two years younger than what he really is.  “Look friend,” I said, “This is 2012.  It is 2010 no more.”

“Even an obvious fabrication is some comfort when you have few others.” – Margaret Atwood, The Penelopiad