The glorious and triumphant return of now-19 year old Blogger, the revival of a once-grand and dare I say influential webspace that produced daily content, and the crippling anxiety of a young woman who no longer has any time or motivation to write, and feels like any ability she had acquired in the past through repetition and sheer will alone is now slowly slipping out of her grasp. Brief history of the Blog and Blogger can be found here.

Here be personal journal entries, observations, slices of life, questions and conclusions, as well as exploration of social and political topics seen through the lens of a Malaysian Muslim, feminist, lesbian, Marxist, and horse enthusiast.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

An Expert In Communication

I volunteered to play tour host for a visit from Indonesians on Thursdays and this is my recount of what happened that day: the night before, Sau e-mailed us (and by us, I meant Khairina, Divyia, Cass and Lissa) information on the tour route as well as little bits and pieces of things we should know about should we give them a tour of the school, and since that was what we were doing, of course I read the whole thing. I read the whole thing carelessly and barely looked twice and in the morning, Cassandra informed me that she had memorized the route. She also tried to convince Hanna to take her place because she was feeling lazy, and as her partner for the touring thing, of course I took great comfort in the fact that my partner was ecstatic to give a tour with me. Hanna gave her the cold, Victorian shoulder, and we all went off the way we were supposed to go off.

Teacher didn't come in for English, so that was fun and I did my Physics homework, which I didn't know how to do because our teacher can't teach. And then halfway through BM, we had to go and prepare ourselves for the guests coming, and of course there was nothing to prepare so we just hung around the Serambi Ilmu like that was our preparation. And then the bus came and they walked out and I swear nobody could take their eyes off of these people's shoes. Indonesians can shoe shop. There was a pair of girls in identical pairs of stilettos and they were walking on tarmac, for God's sake, and they wobbled with each step and ouch. I feel their pain because their pain is my pain, as well as the pain of practically everyone who has worn heels far too high than is gravitationally possible, gravitationally not being a word.

We greeted them with smiles because that's what good hosts do and the first thing they did was take pictures in he Gallery, which seems like a bit of a cop-out for me because you just got there and you've barely gotten your bearings and already it was picture time? Whatever, though, because I am not in charge of these things and maybe when I am older I will learn adult secrets, like why they must taking pictures be the first thing on the agenda. And then there were presentations in the hall, like our video presentation regarding the school and everything about it, and they also brought along a CD and we watched their daily student lives interspersed with scenic shots of what I guess is the area surrounding their school with a voiceover of some woman talking in Indonesian speckled English. I made friends with this girl next to me, whose name is Sonia and I guess that's how you spell it but you never know with these people. Kebu people performed Asmara Dana, which I've seen something like a billion times now, but it's still fun to watch their hands. After, the Indonesians also performed. Killer singers with killer altos with their traditional music orchestra, the instrument populating which I've already forgotten the name of. Angklong? Yeah, that sounds right. I Googled it and all. And then they have dancers, too, and about three quarters through that Javanese dance, the audio went kaput and our faces burned in embarrassment on Sri Aman's behalf, but we should get used to that. It always happens at the most critical of moments. They had another dance, too, involving a mask, and that was scary. Cassandra was scared.

The tour, with Cassandra beside me, was awkward, and Nazureen didn't waste breath not telling us that. They just trailed around, occasionally asked questions. Other people were connecting to them more than I was, because of course I had nothing to talk to them, just like I basically have nothing to talk to anyone about, other than Chris or the music that I like that no one else listens to, or TV shows, which I know some of my other schoolmates also watches but I feel strangely protective of them and talking to people about them just seems wrong, so of course that left me with zero things to talk about, unless they were interested in the Bersih rallies and somehow, I didn't think so. Sau connected to them with whatever kind of Asian pop it is that these kids listen to, and Khairina speaks Indonesian, and Divyia and Lissa are traditionally attractive people, and by that I meant that they attract people, not that they are good looking, although to that I say no comment.

So they left and everyone seemed really sad and, yeah, sure, but Cassandra and I were mostly over it, us with no hearts. We re-entered class with minutes of Bio to spare. It was a good day with free food and pretty good company, better than average.

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