The Epitome of Ordinary

Margot, Kim and I order a combination of traditional fry bread, tosei (a plain Indian crepe) for Margot, roti telur bawang (flat bread filled with egg and onion) for me and roti pisang (filled with sugared banana) for Kim, from Restoran Nasi Kandar Rafiq, the mamak across from our apartment complex in Taman Cosas. A man skirts around the hard-backed yellow chairs crammed under every available surface in the open-air cafe, and arrives at our table in one well-timed, head-waggling flourish. He drops our plates, one by one, onto the table, and nods politely, eyes averted, as we thank him, before sidling back towards the busy grill. We wait, cutlery poised, as a second, much younger Bangladeshi man with a burgeoning pot belly, and a shy smile that lights up his boyishly good-looking features, comes teetering over with small bowls of chunky Indian dahl.

On weekend mornings, I sometimes venture over to the mamak with my book, currently the humanitarian epic, “Three Cups of Tea”, and sit in the far back corner reading, and nursing three cups of my own Teh 'C', hot tea with evaporated milk, and sugar on the side. Rafiq, the owner of the mamak, always stops by my table to ask about Yoda, with a warm smile that reaches his kind, brown eyes. “Where is your baby?” he inquires, with his soft, accented, English. Sometimes Kim, who steals wi-fi from the laundromat up the road spots me on her way by, and swoops in in her long black dress to sit across from me, ordering 'iced kopi” or iced coffee with condensed milk. After each order, we take turns remembering to say, “kurang manis”, which translates to “less sweet”, since every drink in KL seems to be garnished with a pound of sugar.

On weekdays, we catch the T304 into work, which leaves every half hour from the bus stop directly in front of the Astaria. More often than not, I catch the bus at 7:30 am, moving about the apartment stealthily so as not to wake Kim and Margot, so that I can go to the gym for an hour before work. Sometimes, I sleep in, and Margot, groggy with sleep, her hair frizzy and wild, croaks, “are you awake” through the crack in my door. When I answer, I hear her floral patterned pink and turquoise slippers retreat across the linoleum, and I roll onto my side to greet Yoda, who coils himself around the door jamb and approaches my bedside, ready to be scooped up for an early morning cuddle.

Sometimes, when I am in the apartment alone, it rains. And the rain is so heavy and sweet, that I stand out on the balcony with Yoda cradled in my arms and we watch the big watery drops splash into puddles that span the length of the courtyard. And in this silent reverie, a thousand memories wash to the surface. An image of the swollen river near our house, working all of the garbage that collects along its rocky outcrops downstream, so that it looks almost clean when we cross over the steel bridge above its raging surface on our way home from the “pasar malam” or night market, where we purchase thick wedges of sponge cake and drink fresh coconut water, straight from the husk. Of four salty heads bobbing in the ocean during a particularly violent storm in Kuantan, rain whipping salt water into our throbbing eyes. Of my first days in the city, giving myself over to the streaming skies, pummeled with the feeling of letting it all go. 

And these routine moments in my life here, which seem too banal to write about, are the things that I will ache for when I go back to Canada. For the way that Margot runs screaming from the rats that come scurrying out of the rancid pile of garbage near our stairwell. For Kim and Margot doing the tango as we return home from the Green Man, their oblong shadows dancing along darkened street sides. For the shirtless Chinese man, who waves to us each morning from his balcony, as he lights incense and places ritual pineapples on his well-tended altar. For the dodgy looking hamburger cart, that wheels itself into place like clockwork each night across from the 7 Eleven outside of our apartment. For the Arab shop where we take our lunch each day. For guitar lessons with entirely too much eye contact. For the taste of a Tiger beer.

When I first arrived in Kuala Lumpur, I was disoriented by the stark contrast between my life in Canada and the way that people live here. But now, this place just feels like home. And as I prepare Yoda for his long journey back to Canada, contemplate saying goodbye to Kim, Margot and Danae, and begin to wrap up the loose ends of my life here in Malaysia, I am deeply saddened that this chapter is almost over for me. I have found so much of myself here in this place, through the people I have met, and the many experiences I have had. But, as with every story, where there is a beginning, there must be an end. And so, it is with a heavy but hopeful heart that I prepare to leave this city, and embark on my next journey. Because, in the end, life will evolve, and there will always be new places, and spaces, and moments in time to move into. But this place, and this experience, has shaped me in ways I cannot even begin to describe. And that is something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

Margot, Kim and Danae - Girls night out at La Bodega