Border Crossing: Malaysian Edition, Part 2

The train was jolting awkwardly, and with alarming frequency. It was 11:30 p.m., and we were bound for the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur. I had the luxury of having two seats all to myself, but try as I might I could not get any sleep.

Oh, jesus.

In front of me were a pair of raggedy foreigners. The man was wearing green and white checkerboard shorts and sporting a beige snap brim fedora on his head. He was musclebound under his white shirt. The woman had dirty blond hair in dreads and was wearing a multi-colored striped poncho. Her face was tanned to the point of outshining her eyes.

I was near the front of my car, in the second row back. On the wall at the front there was a large flat-panel television (about 42") playing soap operas and cartoons. At one point it played the movie Poseidon, regrettably. God, what an awful movie. I swear I'd've enjoyed an Ernest flick more.

As the train rumbled, and my interest in my books waned (and since I could not write, what with all the swaying), I focused on the family sitting across the aisle from me. I have no idea whether they were Singaporean or Malaysian. They were a man, his wife, and their three children: a girl, about 16; a boy, 9; and another boy, 4. Their skin was the brown of a varnished dresser, their hair black as the wiring of a screen door, looking tattered. They were quite beautiful.

The girl had my attention the most. She was gorgeously simple: a red turtleneck and blue jeans, with light sandals. All her skin looked sweet. Her hair was in a bun, and she had a smile white and full. Her fingernails were sharp, and she had a precious, fragile neck. I had her in my mind.

A few minutes later, we arrived at the last stop before entering Malaysia. We disembarked and headed mindlessly past relaxed guards into the spacy hall of the customs check point. It was dimly lit, cavernous, and all concrete: whispers and sounds hurtled across the open areas before being absorbed by the only things there to absorb it: people's clothes. In a family of 4, a boy was playing with a yo-yo; a woman, traveling with her husband and parents, chatted intensely with her mother while waiting in line; and a solitary man in front of me stumbled through the clear plastic gates that headed the queue. I had my passport handy, and was ready to use the bathroom as soon as I got through the tangles of this bureaucratic process here.

I was officially out of Singapore a few minutes later. Unable to sleep, I turned over in my mind the thoughts of the adventure, of the rush and fracas to accomplish what little might have been done in what had barely been a full day there. I thought kindly on the couple who graciously offered a seat at their table, so I could eat before leaving the zoo. I remembered awkwardly the accents of the people, wishing how I was not deaf so that their speech did not necessitate repetition. I blandly recalled the hours spent lost in search of my hostel, always taking the poor advice of well-meaning strangers that my destination was a long walk away -- when really it was just two blocks over, past the motorcycle shop and the night market.

There were 7-11s everywhere, all over the place. I snapped pictures with humor, thinking up witticisms to be used as captions when I posted the pictures online. Trees could not be found, except in richer areas, or in the wilds of the city. The streets and sidewalks were amazingly clean, desert of litter and trash. The public transportation system was crowded always, but nevertheless easy to navigate.

And I saw a beautiful girl at the zoo, who smiled at me as I walked through the jungle-themed archway of the entrance. She was tearing the stub from tickets, and handing the remainder back to patrons, like myself. I blushed at her, and thought to make sure to see her again as I left. I wanted to say hello to her, to walk up to her and simply tell her how beautiful she was, and to make her blush. But when the time came for me to leave, she was not there. No matter. I had a train to catch, to Malaysia, to the next stage of my journey.