Conflicting Realities

Life has been filling my days with a wide assortment of realities, each stacked disturbingly neatly on top of the next—the compartmentalization required by my current existence is serious.

My proximity to the Perenthian Islands provides a prime example. I begin in my school realm, which is marked by its extremely PG rating. Here I am dressed in traditional baju kurungs, playing a cartoon type character who has never had a beer or a boyfriend, repeatedly discussing my favorite colors and the antics of Spongebob Squarepants. I am a walking Disney creature. The students I teach are 13 and 14, but due to cultural and language differences, our interactions are often limited to these strange surface exchanges.

Dilemma: Conflicting Realities

Then I hop on a boat for one hour and the rules change drastically. Even Muslims drink here, as if religious restrictions can’t be stuck in powdery white sand and cultural norms get washed away in turquoise tides. Here the beaches are sprinkled with barely concealed mat-salleh flesh and empty bottles of tiger beer and monkey juice (whiskey) pile up next to blazing night bonfires. It’s a trip. The ease with which I enter each existence is genuinely bizarre. I think too many days switching back and forth could really result in a personality disorder.

Yes

Another reality contained by the island is the underwater one. My last snorkeling adventure included a baby black-tipped shark, a massively graceful sea-turtle coated in smaller fishies, neon parrot fish that look like they’ve been colored in with high-lighters, and hordes of little silver ones crowding around to eat bread from my hand. This is a nice magic reality where no one cares what you are wearing or what kinds of liquids you consume. Apparently the sea creatures are also schooled in unconditional neutrality. I’m also working on getting my PADI open water license, which has opened up new pockets of terror and adventure within.

Giant Jellyfish

My two-week trip to the Philippines in March was another major reality shift. This Catholic country is similar to Malaysia in climate, but the vibe on the 7,107 islands is distinctly different. Past colonizations (Spanish, American, Japanese) have coated the language with a creepy politeness. I was called Ma’am everywhere I went. Prostitution is a massive problem, as 600,000 Philippinos are prostitutes and thousands of sex tourists flock here every year. Also many Germans, Australians, and other white dudes come to marry Philippino women. I sat next to one such man on the plane ride home, who described his wife as a little toy. He said he didn’t want to take her Australia because it would ruin her. “Ruin her?” I asked. “She would read women’s magazines and get ideas,” he said. “She would want new carpet,” he said. Not knowing what to say, I launched into a polite lecture of the problems of rampant sex tourism in the Philippines. His reply: “Oh, that’s what you call it? I’ve been doing that for years! It’s beautiful! That’s why I live here!” I took a break to go to the tiny plane bathroom and came back prepared to tackle this large issue from the pedophile angle, describing to him how the culture of prostitution often pulled in small children and attracted sick humans. He finally got upset: “I know those guys! I don’t like them. They give us, what do you call it, legitimate sex tourists a bad name.” I disengaged and he fell asleep, snoring peacefully.

Philippines

On a different note, one of my favorite new realities is the back of the canteen…since the mockingly cruel lunch lady disappeared, the rest of the staff have become some of my best friends.

Canteen Friends: Is and Ma Yah

In fact I recently developed the reverse problem, as one of the girls began repeatedly asking to shower and sleep with me. This week she has also disappeared. Something fishy is going on. Other than that, my relationships with those around me are slowly deepening and this is delicious. I am particularly in love with my mentor, Puan Ramlah, pictured here with my teddy bear, Mr. Bear.

Other tidbits:
I have been given a second chance at writing scripts for the school, and this one is rather more upbeat: a musical theatre piece about moral values in science? I'm taking the opportunity to write it about global warming, as legitimately educating the students about climate issues gives my life a firmer shape and a more tangible meaning. I think I want to be an environmental art teacher when I grow up, but I don't know what that means yet.

The Cat Takes a Nap During Class and Students Dance in my Room

The recycling program is just getting started. Some students and I painted nine bins to be color-coordinated with Malaysian national recycling standards. The principal saw them and dug them so much he ordered that all bins in the school be painted to match them. I pointed out that this meant there would be no more trash bins at school. “Great!” was the reply “The students shouldn’t throw away rubbish anymore!” If only it was that simple. But you can’t just erase rubbish by removing bins. That’s like abstinence only education.

Luckily I devised an attractive rubbish bin plan, and we now have gorgeous green bins to throw trash into. The students had way too much fun painting them, and now the Mural Club has a reputation for being really cool.

We just started our first mural; it’s all about RESPECT. Each letter stands for a different thing we should respect, Region Education Self Parents Environment Country Teachers. The students get to fill in each letter with whatever symbols they want, which is daunting and exciting for them.

Finally, there is a “ghost snake” at my school that likes to possess people and create hysteria. Unfortunately it lives in the grassy field I like to jog in at sunset so there are significant fears that I will be the ghost snake’s next victim. That would create a whole other reality and would certainly spice up my next post.