oooo hah for borneo

Bhong was in a coma for three months. After having his car shot by enemies while serving with the Malaysian Armed Forces, he miraculously survived while his driver and assistant died at the scene. Bhong lay in his hospital bed unaware of the world around him. As time passed his soul struggled with life and decided to let go. When he died he entered heaven. Bhong witnessed his friends and family weeping over his body, he met up with old friends who had passed on years before and he went to enter the gates of the heavenly kingdom. Upon reaching the gates, Bhong asked the attendant to let him in. Instead of a warm welcome to his new resting place, the attendant served him a glass of water and gave him directions for a path that Bhong should follow. After following the orders Bhong found himself alive and awake, returned from his coma and rejuvenated. “You cannot fear death” Bhong told me, “for God decides when it is time and no one should be afraid”.
Bhong was a 52-year-old Chinese Malaysian. He had a prominent scar on his right arm, which was a remnant from his 68 stitches. And along with that wound he had steel pins in his face and neck, although no one would be able to guess it from his youthful features. As my guide in Borneo, Bhong was a prime resource for colorful tales, useful survival information and opinions about life. “If you are stranded in the jungle do not look to the sun for direction, follow the water for you will surely find a village along a stream”… Bhong began his survival tips, “Only eat what the animals eat, or else it may be poisonous and deceiving” and “don’t drink the water from the stream as there may be poisonous roots, only drink water from the vines”.
As our guide for 2 days, Bhong acted as a father figure. Surprised to find himself in charge of 7 young American ladies, Bhong completed the job with determination and took it upon himself to guard and protect us from all evils (including curious Malaysian men). Bhong chauffeured us around the Sarawak region for hours on end acting as a soccer dad taking his whole troop on a trip. We visited some orangutan, ate some local food and then traveled to stay with an Iban tribe in a traditional longhouse. I have no idea where the village was. All I know is that we were close to the Indonesian border and it was 2 hours from modern day civilization.
The longhouse played home to 24 families that formed the tribe. The house was over 50 years old and was a long stretch of rooms built atop stilts. The Chief was a fascinating man whose name I can no longer remember because I could not pronounce it. He was 88 years old and although he appeared frail with age, he was a powerful Iban warrior in his past. His body was tattooed all over including the shields on both shoulder (the sign of a warrior) and a tattoo down his throat (the sign of a head hunter). The Chief had cut the heads off of Japanese enemies from years ago when they invaded Malaysia and it was a kill or be killed world. The heads of the casualties are still strung across his door, and the hairs of his victims are displayed on his sword sheath with a blood stained blade beneath.
My stay with the Iban was interesting to say the least. Deciding ahead of time that I was going to “rough it” like I did in India, I brought not showering toiletries and only on change of clothes for my 4 days of travel…bad idea. I have never smelled so foul in my life. I was not expecting to be caught in a jungle downpour, hiking through the mud and being shown the village down a river on a thin boat in a rainstorm. But hey, it would not have been an adventure without those details. The people of Malaysia are very kind. This was the first country where I was stared at everywhere I went for they found this tall white girl very interesting. It was funny because the people I met could tell that I was part Chinese (something that rarely occurs in the states) and they looked at me as though I was a completely foreign object. It did not bother me though as I found walking the streets familiar to walking within Chinatown when visiting my grandma or like shopping in the Asian food stores with my dad. It was just that it was not a store or a small area of a city rather these people composed their country.
I was pleased to find my favorite Asian candies, my favorite soybean drink and lychee fruit everywhere. I ate my food with chopsticks and drank my tea and although the country was completely foreign it felt a bit like home…funny how that happens.

I have had an epiphany. As the people in Malaysia were fascinated with me, this foreign white girl walking the streets of Kuching, I began to think about how it would be in the United States. It is all about the diversity that I grew up around whether it be completely significant or not, but because there are so many mixed races at home and so many various ethnicities sharing communities we no longer stare at the foreign or different from self. The Malaysians see the Chinese, Malay and Indian but the white European races are rare. So when a group of 7 young white women walk around it is a very odd spectacle that is not often seen. At home I do not think twice about seeing a Japanese family, Chinese, Indian, Muslim…the list goes on yet their appearance does not phase me as the Malaysian were phased by me. It was a very interesting aspect of a more secluded culture.