On the Other Side of the World

Have you ever loved a food so much it hurt? For those of you that have seen Mike's KFC series you know what I'm talking about. We went to a resort on the beach for dinner last night and there was a pasta station. When I ate it I wanted to cry. Maybe it was because it was just so good, or because I hadn't had it for awhile, or maybe because partway through my gastronomically ecstasy, I realized how long it would be until another moment so blissful. Maybe that's the beautiful thing about food: by enjoying it you make it so there's left to enjoy. It's kind of like falling in love with canceled TV shows, which apparently is a passion of mine (Arrested Development, Firefly, Wonderfalls).

Also of note at that incredible dinner was this weird dessert thing called Sabu, Sebo, or some combination of the two. I can best describe it as chewy fish eggs dowsed in coconut milk and watery, unrefined molasses which also might be from coconuts. It was bizarre and excellent, enjoying a place in my stomach next to the two helpings of pasta (one Fetuccine Carbonara, one Spaghetti Napoliatana), the steamed fish, grilled chicken, daging, mushroom soup (thankfully called "sup" in Malay), two servings of bread pudding with chocolate sauce, a cornbread type of pudding, rice (of course), and something vaguely related to lima beans.

The beans are worth mentioning. They were served as cut up little green squares with bulges in the middle and tucked away in the salad bar. Since they looked fun I took one and bit into it. The half that was still in my hand showed distinct layers of husk and soft beany flesh, which is almost always a bad sign for the gourmand. If you bit through one layer to another layer that tastes better, you probably weren't supposed to put the rough exterior in your mouth at all. This wisdom proved to be all too accurate as my mouth soon puckered and dried out involuntarily. I quickly spat out the husky bean, momentarily thankful that since people didn't speak English, they wouldn't understand what I was doing. I've made the same mistake before, believing that bodily noises, such as sneezes, would likewise be nonsensical to non-English speakers.

The dinner at the resort was something of a celebration in my mind, as it marked the end of a semi-useless and wholly painful training/orientation period. We'll now be moving on to the real part of the program starting on the 28th when we get handed over to our new schools. Sarah and I will be going to Hulu Terengganu, where we'll be living at her school, SMK Matang, and I'll be commuting to my school, Imtiaz Kuala Berang, by moto. Needless to say, I'm super excited. Hulu is an hour away from Kuala Terengganu, so it'll be a bit more remote and I'll have empty roads to ride on.

So looking back on the whole orientation time there were definitely some sunny patches. One of our language teachers was talking about the pronunciation of "car" in English and shared this gem with us:

"My English instructor told me you don't say car with an 'r'. Car only used by black man in New York."


There's a couple of ways we can try to make sense of this pearl of wisdom.
1. This man is insane.
2. Since I've only ever heard and said car with an 'r', myself and everyone I know is actually a black man in New York.
3. Something might've been lost in translation between the teacher and his English instructor.
4. The English instructor is a genius.

If we take the last explanation as our prefered one, my job as teacher becomes a whole lot better. Why? Because if he's right, that means I'm not supposed to teach only the truth, but also interesting lies. The Instructor knew he was messing with his student, and he did it so that one day in the future I would hear this ridiculous fact and it would make my day. I'm going to lie to my students as much and as interestingly as possible, because if they ever learn the truth, they'll be incredibly confused and will finally experience real learning.

Students: Good morning, Teacher.
Me: Don't say "Good Morning." Say Whattup. Only pedophiles in Arizona say "Good Morning."

Students: I have fifty Cents.
Me: It's pronounced fitty. Only prohibitionists from the '20s say fifty.

Students: I want to go to America one day.
Me: It's pronounced Awesomeland. Only 19th century sharecroppers say America.

So to all of you back in Awesomeland, eat a little pasta for me. Remember, it's all the sweeter if loving something hurries its destruction.

-Ez

PS New photo albums:

Part 1.








Part 2.