Monkeys, Policemen, and Immigration Officers (Part 4)

I had to file a police report a week after. I needed one so that I could apply for new travel documents at the Philippine Embassy. Of course, I didn't tell them that the monkeys took my passport. Actually, I just let my Bahasa-Melayu-speaking friends do all the talking.

It was funny. One of them had been staying in Malaysia for almost ten years. The other had been here for almost seven. They had never set their feet inside a police station in all the years they had lived here. And there I was. Barely a month in, dragging them in.

The police station incident was just part of the first act. The second act came in a few months after. My new passport took too long to process, leaving me with an "overstaying" status by the time that I was able to apply for a student pass. That was my first trip to the Immigration Department in Putrajaya. The second trip involved an entirely different storyline. I'll probably tell you that one next time.

Now when friends have problems with their passports and visas, I have the guts to tell them not to sweat it out. I've been through some awesome things. I've seen how God, favor, and - okay - good looks can help turn tables around.

I don't miss policemen and immigration officers though. I sure hope I won't run into them in the near or not so near future.

Weee!

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) 

Monkeys, Policemen, and Immigration Officers (Part 2)

Some monkeys weren't as stubborn or as fierce. Some of them were just plain naughty, or "jahat" as the Malaysians say here. One afternoon, I was typing stuff out for my thesis. I had some wheat bread at arm's length and a jar of jam. Bread and jam kept me alive throughout most of my postgraduate days.

Suddenly, this tiny creature peeped into my window. I stared at it, unsure of what I should do (my previous monkey run-in was still fresh in my mind). The monkey stared back at me. Suddenly, with one swift movement, he reached out for my bread. And - just like that - he took my break-lunch-er.

There was nothing that I could do. I only found myself screaming out, "Monkey!" I grabbed the jar of jam and brought it close to my chest for safety.

In all fairness to the monkeys at my Kolej, they were somewhat neat and tidy. My friends from other Kolejes said they went inside unattended rooms, opened cookie jars, threw trails of powdered milk and sugar around, and played with liquid soap and shampoo. The monkeys at my Kolej did no such things. At least I didn't think so.

One hot summer day, I left my window open so that the breeze would come in. The worst thing that happened was that I woke up a jar of peanut butter short. I tried looking for it behind my books, underneath my papers. But I couldn't find it. I was sure of it. A monkey pilfered the loot in my sleep.

I miss those monkeys. There aren't any of them around my new neighborhood. Tough luck seeing them around my workplace, too. Those two areas are too developed, too civilized, too modernized. The day I see them outside my window once again would be the day pigs and monkeys fly.

Does the monkey want a cracker?

(to be continued)

Monkeys, Policemen, and Immigration Officers (Part 1)

We were talking about monkeys the other day. Lunchtime conversations at the office are always unpredictable. Somehow, the topic turned from our varying secondary school education systems, to Malaysian All-Girls Schools, to flashers, then finally to the monkeys that frequented my officemate's classrooms.

I've had several face-to-face encounters with monkeys, too. Make that a lot. My university dormitory (they call it "kolej" here) was up a hill surrounded by trees and - consequently - monkeys.

They only came out at certain times - afternoons, near dusk, close to what I believed would be dinner for them. I watched them cross the street one. An entire clan with fathers, mothers, babies hanging upside down from their mummy's bellies, and young adolescent monkeys made up the unusual procession. They gave me quite a shock. I didn't know there were that many of them around.

One other time, this relatively medium-sized fellow kept me from going up my room. He bared his teeth and snarled at me and I made a U-turn while letting out a tiny scream. Another monkey blocked the other entrance to my block. I stood paralyzed with fear. Should I wait for the monkey invasion to die out?

But I had such a long day and I wanted to retreat into the comfort of my room. I did what any tired girl would do.

I bared my teeth and growled at the naughty creature.

Nothing happened.

I stomped my feet.

The monkey remained immovable.

I danced like a wild animal. Eventually, the creature flashed its sharp incisors before he said goodbye.

Bye, Monkey. Bye.

(to be continued)

I Survived AH1N1 (Part 6)

I was discharged from the hospital almost a week later. I was worried I wouldn't make it in time for my university registration. I was worried my meals, my stay, and my surprise accommodation were going to cost me.

It turned out that I didn't have to worry much. Registration was still ongoing. And my whole hospitalization was free.

I only had to worry about coming out of the hospital looking weird and funny.

They gave me a duck-billed face mask. When I put it on, I really did look like I could go quack. And then they asked me to wipe all my belongings with a disinfectant. And then I had to put them all inside these big yellow bags labeled as "hazardous waste." I had to wash myself with a weird red chemical. They took every precaution to get all traces of the virus out.

Then again, I was free to go. I was led through a maze of hospital corridors, and was brought to my surrogate family who were there at last to finally fetch me.

I grinned at them sheepishly through my duck-billed mask.

We didn't know there would be more adventures up ahead.

* * *

I'm sure there was something - some lessons to be learned from that whole experience. Don't get too stressed out before taking a life-altering flight? Make sure to get lots of Zzzs and Vitamin Cs? Be grateful for everyone looking out for you, who'll wait in the hospital during the wee hours in the morning only to find out they can't see you because they'll risk getting the disease, too? Be grateful for the people at home whose concern and understanding are indeed heartwarming? Be thankful Malaysia has awesome quarantine facilities, because, gosh, what would have happened to me and my entire surrogate family if we all just shared a big group hug and then we all got AH1N1 and then we wouldn't know we'd all be carriers of the disease?

Yeah... Those were some lessons well learned. So, here's a t-shirt for everyone who survived AH1N1, too.

Quack.