Monkeys, Policemen, and Immigration Officers (Part 3)

I went to Publika again following my trusty tablet-slash-GPS. It led me through Jalan Duta, a road that passes by Malaysia's big Immigration Office, the one that looks like a huge Middle Eastern castle.

I've had two run ins with the immigration department in Malaysia. I once visited their office while it was still in Putrajaya. I visited it a second time when it was relocated to Kuala Lumpur several years later, you know, because stuff like that happened to me all the time.

I blamed the monkeys in my old school for the first run in. The literal moneys, not the figurative ones. It was my first day inside the campus. I was super excited because, after days of Sungai Buloh quarantine and after days of being under house arrest in Kajang, I was finally able to explore the university on my own.

I had a map with me. I wanted to look for my classrooms before classes started officially. I didn't want to wear a dazed and disoriented look on my first day of school.

I held everything inside a yellow clear book: my map; my class schedule; my offer letter. And my passport.

I would frequently flip through the clear book when I went around the university. I leafed through it to the page where the map was to make sure that I was still on the right track

I had almost made it back to my kolej when I started to feel that something was wrong. Too much nasi lemak? It wasn't that. I began browsing through the yellow clear book. My passport was no longer there.

I tried retracing my steps. But it was to no avail. I couldn't find my passport anywhere. I sent my surrogate family an SMS: "Please don't panic. But I think I may have lost my passport."

I had to give them some credit. They didn't panic (or at least I don't think they did). Two of them even helped me put up lost and found signs around the university. But it was no use.

The monkeys probably took it.

Give me my passport back.

(to be continued)