STORIES, STORIES

The publishing industry is famous for being in the business of networking, but I didn't realize how much of it I needed to do in my job. We go to so many events to "show face" as we say here, just shoot the shit and make small talk and recycle anecdotes with a steady stream of strangers. Every so often, we meet interesting people from different places and backgrounds.  That's the stuff movies are made of, but all apples lose their shine.  My colleagues and I were out on a weekday until the wee hours of the morning networking. And singing along to Argentinian music. We were back at work a few hours afterwards. ~END~ This post is part of a series of photos and stories very creatively called 100 Days of Malaysia .

One Friday night after work, like many in my stay here, I ordered in from Pizza Hut. Pizza to me is a symbol of: * Freedom. Especially when paid for with my own hard-earned money. * Being "international," because it's not traditional, home-cooked food. It's not a rice dish. No, I don't think it's a symbol of poverty, because I can get cheaper food. It's not a representation of my bad relationship with food, or my social standing, or my education. Pizza makes me defensive about all of that. ~END~ This post is part of a series of photos and stories very creatively called 100 Days of Malaysia .

I know how to eat using my hands (in lieu of utensils) as it's common in both Saudi and Maranao cultures, but I don't do it often now that I'm "not home." For some reason, it feels to me like such an intimate thing to do, only in the presence of family and friends around whom one is comfortable, but also, because it's just a bit more convenient and less messy to use utensils. Here in Malaysia, people eat with their hands, normally when having traditional food, no matter their social status or the event. I love the confidence with which this is done, and wish I wasn't so messy at it so I could do the same. There was always that little part of Maranao culture that sneered at people who ate with their hands or didn't know how to eat with utensils. It's never serious, this sneering, but it's there, this underlying accusation that you are uncultured, uneducated, uncivilized because you eat with your hands. It's always "cuter" t...

Having spent the majority of my life in Jeddah meant that my pedestrian skill level is pretty much zero – I was not allowed on the streets, didn't drive, had no access to public transportation nor sidewalks or the outdoors except to and from a private car. There was a 5-year gap in my late teens when I lived in Manila as a university student, but that was a decade ago, and even then, it was a mostly a "sheltered pedestrian" existence when I was led around, often literally by hand, by either my brothers or cousins.  These zebra crossings mean nothing to me. My Malaysian co-worker Azzarul and I were crossing the street in front of our office a few days ago. He was strolling. "Azzarul, come on, walk faster, there's cars!" I yelled. "No, just relax. These lines are for us. They can wait. Watch," he said. And he slowed down even more, exaggerated-like, as cars paused to let us pass. "See? That's the Malaysian way." He was...

Aun Joo, as she is wont to do, sprang on us on Sunday morning and dragged us all out for breakfast, which led to lunch, which led to more people dragged out to go to All Aboard , a gaming community centre, which led to tea, and then dinner.  I managed to force everyone to play BSG ( just like the good old days ) except I totally failed in retrospect. Nobody enjoyed it (except me for the nostalgic rush and my excitement for all things nerd-culture) as I bungled explaining the game since I hadn't played it for about 4 years. All Aboard was exactly the kind of place we needed back in Jeddah - a place where we can throw our money to play games and chit-chat all day without external hassle. Here, you can rent board games (range is US$4 to US$14 per game unlimited time), or bring your own game and rent a table for US$4 the whole day. I could only imagine what this place was like on Tabletop Day.  But that also feels like a lifetime ago. It's been so many years ...

Diversify yoself before you wreck yoself. My weekend read was Bloomberg 's cover story on Saudi Arabia's Deputy Crown Prince and alpha millennial Mohammad Bin Salman. It made me feel like Saudi was a lifetime ago. ~END~ This post is part of a series of photos and stories very creatively called 100 Days of Malaysia .

Open floor plan workplace means I get to look at everyone's screen when I pass by, and in fairness to me, it's part of my job to do so (to make sure all is going according to plan, you guys). Me: What the hell are you looking at, Riz? Riz: It's Friday night, Ness. I want to find this dish for dinner. It's delicious. Do you have this in Saudi? Me: Why you so old, Riz? Riz: Shh. If you're interested, I think they might have it in Heritage Row .  Me: Where's that? Riz: You don't know where it is? It's the happening place in town! Bars, clubs, restaurants. (To everyone) Guys, Heritage Row is still a happening place, right? Everyone: (mumbling) Riz: It was a happening place 10 years ago. ~END~ This post is part of a series of photos and stories very creatively called 100 Days of Malaysia .

For a time, I only went to one restaurant - the one right downstairs the office - for lunch, everyday. My cigarettes in tow, a few copies of magazines and newspapers to catch up, order my iced coffee and Mongolian chicken chop, and have my one hour break from publishing insanity. The owners are a middle-aged Malaysian Chinese couple who also man the restaurant, and who have known me for most of the years I've been here in Malaysia. We always chit-chat about work, a bit about business and politics and current events, and they've always treated me like a regular, which I was. One fine afternoon - and this is a story I've discussed at length with co-workers - of exceptionally stressful deadline-chasing at work, I ran down to Pasta Boy Cafe to chill out. As I sat smoking, a middle-aged guy walks in with his family of four - his wife and two teenaged kids. He sat in the smoking area at the table next to mine, and while his family followed suit, he started coughing wildly and ...

The whole point of living in Southeast Asia is noodles. This is my favorite pan mee  dish (Chinese name which translates to "flat flour noodle"). It's like a wider, thinner fettuccine noodle, no sauce, just mixed with egg, salty dried fish, ground meat and scallions. It's a little bowl of magic. The servers place chopsticks on my table and I wave them away, because please, spoon and fork for this forever ajnabi. I usually enjoy my noodles with a glass of iced milk tea and the latest Bloomberg . ~END~ This post is part of a series of photos and stories very creatively called 100 Days of Malaysia .

Everybody loves food truck food. Even better, it’s one of those things that people are so proud to declare their love for OMG. I can’t help but hear the undertone of condescension – deliberate or not – when I’m in the midst of friends trying to outdo one another with their love for food truck food along with all the other novelty, kitsch items that our perpetually hipster generation gushes about. OMG YES, I just LOVE being POOR, it’s so BAD , is really what I hear (and also say, let's all be honest). Whether it’s buying things at flea markets, or living without furniture, or driving a beat-up car, I guess we get so tickled by the idea that we’re just not poor enough to have to really, unironically suffer through them. I feel this the most when I get my food from the food truck parked outside our office here in Petaling Jaya, Malaysia. Unlike the food trucks in popular culture, this one is a stark reflection of not only tradition and culture in Malaysia, but also of how h...