by Vanya Vetto
I have no problem with Islam and nor do their womenfolk have no issues with me.
Sure, they would like more cash. But I'm fair and merciful.
I'm not far from the Abu Sayyaf.
I can feel the ripples traveling overland.
I see a pirate.
His crew is armed.
They are on a sortie.
Heading towards a coastal town.
They are after rich cashed-up Chinese or tourists, or both.
'They are IS,' says Johnny.
I'm at the swimming pool.
'They beheaded a Canadian a few months ago.'
Don't go to Southern Philipines or even Sabah, he says.
I'm really listening to you.
He's a big fan of Duterte, the Philippines President.
'Not only is he wiping out the street gangsters, he's taking IS on.'
The headlines are getting the Chinese excited.
'Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte has declared martial law on the southern island of Mindanao after about 100 Muslim fighters laid siege to a major city following a deadly gun battle with government forces.'
He's a strong man, says Jonny.
'If only our PM would do the same here.'
Jonny is trying to hook me up with a Russian whore.
'I can take you there,' he says.
Jake the lifeguard, he's a Dyak, is scrolling through Jonny's phone for fresh porn.
Julia the Chinese cashier isn't speaking to me anymore.
She thinks I'm being corrupted by Jake and Nordin, the groundsman, who spends most of the day watching porn.
A hot Chinese walks past in her swimsuit as Johnny is showing me the Russian whore, who is a chunky bitch.
I admire the dragon tattoo that starts at her groin region. and wraps around her slim hips.
I want her, I say. She looks stunning in her swimsuit.
Johnny can't help. He's too preoccupied with big-titted Russian hookers.
Most of the sex hookups in Malaysia is done on apps like We Chat and What's App and Line. It's discreet.
And Johnny says he'll take me to see her if I want.
'I'm a fixer.'
He certainly fixes things.
He's in the pool now. And I'm still feeling the ripples of Abu Sayyaf.
Duterte bombed the shit out of Marawi in Southern Mindanao.
But they haven't learned.
The kidnapping continues and Duterte will bomb them to the stone age until it stops.
The Chinese around Kuching love the guy.
I wonder why.
Su, my walking partner at the park, asks if I read the news today.
He's 76 and does a walk and shuffle combo. I'm flat out just keeping up with him.
'If you don't walk for one day, your body will remind you to walk again.'
He lives for the heat. The heat of a body warmed up in the tropics.
Gotta admit it's pretty appealing. And when those endorphins are assuring us that all is pretty good, all you can do is step forward some more.
And I hear about the news yesterday too.
He won't outright say he hates the Prime Minister.
I won't outright say that I think he's stuck with him for another ten years.
He says that Sim, the 67-year-old stock broker I first met at the park a fortnight ago, does the one-kilometre circuit in seven minutes.
He's no slacker and does it in nine minutes.
I've been parachuted into an old person's home.
And you know what, I'm quite liking it.
I'm the big FIVE-O now. I've got a lot to learn from these fitness freaks.
One step forward, says Su, and before I know it, he adds, 'you'll be five kilometers lighter.'
Kilograms?
One does live in hope.
I'm toning down my self-righteousness.
No one likes a smart ass.
But directing your own gig comes with responsibilities.
It's knowing when to pull back.
The material will come, never force it.
It's just like taking a shit, let it flow. Don't push too hard. The turd will resist giving birth.
Jake the lifeguard says if I want, I can do three kilometers. I did two the other day. He's given me a board to put between my knees.
'The buoyancy will help with your stroke.'
Three kilometers later, I had to agree.
I usually buy him a packet of Parkway cigarettes. They only cost me one buck my currency.
He'll reciprocate with a cup of coffee.
Johnny usually has his own stash of coffee.
Swimming isn't just swimming. It's socialising. It's like a good game of tennis but so much more conducive to the tropics.
Fuck tennis, I tell Jake, it's so overrated.
Johnny says swimming is his life.
I can really relate to it.
But yesterday was a scorcher.
Too hot to hit the pool early afternoon.
And too hot for walking.
I walked. I did about six clicks in total.
I hit the Seven Eleven and paid the exorbitant prices.
This is one Seven Eleven I haven't frequented I told the Malay.
And the fucking roads are dangerous, I said.
Crossing the road over to the swimming pool, I was propelled forward onto the road.
A minibus was moving fast. I managed to stop my bulk moving forward and waited for an opening to cross the road.
That was fucking hairy. Be careful what you wish for.
It nearly fucking happened.
I was doing my laps.
Man I needed a piss.
I had the board tucked between my legs.
Do it now. I stopped free-styling and went into a breaststroke.
My knees rose. And out came a stream of piss.
I started laughing.
Everyone is pissing in the pool, aren't they?
And if they weren't, then it just showed what a weirdo I was.
I giggled. I laughed louder. One mouthful of water and I'd be coughing and sputtering and maybe drowning with a lung full of water.
Was it that obvious, me taking a piss in the water.
Of course not. Nobody noticed me pausing midway in the fifty-meter pool. They didn't notice me at the other end either. Even I was looking for the yellow liquid. Nope, it was clear.
The water was looking milky today.
I think they need to top up their chlorine.
Little things make me laugh.
Johnny was showing me his bondage films.
'Don't show the lifeguard,' he says, 'he'll get angry.'
Only yesterday the lifeguard was helping himself to Jonny's phone and watching some Jap porn.
If you just hang around, try and blend in, the real reality will open to reveal the true nature of things.
Facades are to be smashed down. How else are you going to see what's really going on?
The lifeguard is off for a few days.
I might hit the pool and see what Johnny is up to.
I tried to add him on We Chat.
'If you do I have lots of contacts,' says Johnny, who is 67.
And lots of porn too, I add.
Johnny is the dirty old man of the pool. That much I get.
The wanton lady is always smiling.
She's not jaded like the rest of them.
She's from mainland China.
She gives her very best and personally I think her wantons are the best on the street by a long shot.
She married a local.
I knew she had a daughter but wasn't aware that the autistic boy sitting at the table next to me was her son. He's flicking through a Chinese paper and making grunts and groans.
He's in his own little world.
I try to make small chit chat but the boy is in his self-enclosed world, totally oblivious to the fat aging tourist.
Then mum comes and puts on his shoes and dad takes him and his daught
er back to school.
Alex is always bitching about management.
He has a stall next to the wanton lady.
He sells noodles and rice dishes. His prices are great and he's quick.
He tried to short change me ten Ringgit.
The twenty Ringgit notes look like the ten Ringgit notes, I was telling him the other day. And now he's trying to short change me.
'Very sorry,' he says. I'm sure it was genuine. But he only just went out to change my twenty note. He really doesn't sleep much and is always dozing off.
Bang bang. "Wake up Alex,' I say and order a dish. Or I might just bang the table next to his stand to remind him that the world is waiting for him and his wonderful dishes.
He isn't' the best cook but his fried noodles is great value for five Ringgit. He tries his best and is always good for a toothpick after my meal.
'I don't need to be the best cook for the prices I charge.'
Totally agree.
He worked me up and I complained to Cindy about the piss weak coffee.
It's cheap too and I have no right to complain.
Since then, Cindy has been a bit frosty.
'Your coffee is great,' I eventually say. I was showing her a menu of a trendy cafe that charges nine Ringgit for a coffee. So of course her coffee is fantastic. How can you beat one ringgit and fifty cents? By buying your own. But you don't get the crazy ambiance drinking coffee alone in your hotel room.
He was totally crazy and didn't hesitate to sit at my table. Sure, you can have a cigarette. I had an old smoke I pulled out of my bag that I rested on the table.
He started mumbling.
The two Chinese Malaysian tourists from the mainland looked on.
One of them handed over a half-finished cup of coffee to the weirdo.
'You won't understand him,' says the older of the two.
'My grandmother died and they buried her the next day.'
I got that much.
'Leave him alone,' said the older of the two, 'he's a tourist and doesn't want to be disturbed.'
Another crazo, a woman in her thirties, a big gut but a pretty face, is also trolling the streets.
She's eyeing me up and smoking a cigarette.
Mr. Wacko at my table is now going on one. He's got my attention. I look over to the two Chinese then back at my new coffee buddy. Every time I look at Mr. Wacko, his head moves in recognition. His head is swiveling now as I look back and forward quickly.
The question is, who is the whacko?
It could be me.
'Wanna fuck?’
Miss Whacko just cruised past me again and leaned in to ask that.
Do I want a fuck. She wasn't half bad.
Do you want a fuck?
I couldn't make this up even if I wanted to, could I?
The one-legged lifeguard said to take a look at that hot chick getting out of the pool.
I don't know why he has only one leg, I never asked. His fake one was resting on the table.
I looked.
I had my glasses off.
I fumbled to get them on, by that time she was walking past us.
She was the same one I saw the other day with the dragon tattoo, right?
But this time she was wearing a white bikini.
She's Chinese and white as alabaster.
She walked past us.
Legless and I just got an eye full while we can. I could see her pubic hairs underneath her white panties. They were almost transparent.
The kind I like.
Hey, wait, says the legless lifeguard, 'she's wearing a g-string, not panties.'
She was walking away from us now to get her stuff.
Sure enough, a string was going up her gorgeous bum cheeks.
She picked up her bag and paraded past us again.
I could see her nipples standing to attention under her white and transparent bikini top.
Water does lovely things to some material.
I'm sure I could see her nipples before, but this was a side way profile - the moment she walked past me, the seconds turned into minutes.
On the first pass, I was too busy looking at her crack to notice her erect nipples through the transparent top.
Man, my powers of observation were vanishing fast.
They were perked nipples. I could see them pushing the material up like tents.
But wait, I'm wasting too much time on them when I could be looking at her gorgeous ass. Wait, I missed the pussy shot as she walked past me the second time. I did manage to look at her angelic face, it didn't pull a face, was composed the whole time.
'Aren't I gorgeous and I don't mind you saying it.'
That was the look on her face.
And she didn't mind us looking, not one bit.
I was in a right funk. Everyone was talking about her.
'Did you see that hot chick?' says Eddy, another Chinese who was doing laps.
We all did. We were blessed.
If ever there is an incentive to swim, she was definitely one.
My local Pizza Hut offers free ice tea while you wait for your delivery.
'You deserve a free drink,' says the sign next to the jug of ice tea.
I couldn't agree more.
It was meet and greet the Malay Muslims.
Lights, action, now what was my line again?
I gate crashed a table of engineer students.
I knew it wouldn't take long before they bored of me.
I managed to leave at the right time.
My timing is getting better.
We talked politics.
The election is coming up.
They are deluded and stupid, I said.
Allah Akbar.
Nope, no knife to the throat or kidnapping.
They are a passive bunch in this part of the world.
The only girl at the table, half Malay, and Chinese, kept on giggling.
Her boyfriend cottoned on to the thought that a white cock was appealing to her.
I left at the right time.
But not before ordering another pitcher of ice tea.
The giggling girl at the table hungry for white cock told told the waitress not to bring it.
But I insisted she bring it.
'Wonderful feedback is only a click away,' I promised.
The pizza cost me ten Ringgit but I drank that amount in free drinks.
It was a wonderful night meeting and greeting the Muslims.
I won't pull this shit again till a couple of days. Give them enough time to forget that Vanya Vetto character.
They won't even remember me when I introduce myself as Jack Russel.
What can I do about depression, asked the lady who stores bags at the little shopping mall across from my hotel
I had been monkeying around. I even had a coconut as a prop.
I had to think hard about this one. Depression has followed me for years. Only recently have I learned to avoid the black dog. Anxiety, I'm still working on that, but have a few tricks up my sleeve.
She doesn't know that my anxiety was a result of an Islamic terrorist attack, but she really doesn't need to know that.
She was in her late twenties and genuinely wanted my advice.
The funnyman routine stopped.
Huh, she shut me up.
I was telling her how I bought some cakes, handed over the cash then demanded it back.
'Only fucking with you,' I told the cake seller.
'I'm just rehearsing for my role,' I said. Malaysia is a great place for rehearsing. It's a developed country, and despite what people say about the county, I think it's got so much potential.
She laughed.
I told her about my Pizza Hut story.
'Jealousy is always a problem,' she said.
But she was laughing at every word that came out of my mouth. I think it was upsetting the boyfriend who preferred her angelic laughs were directed at him.
'Bananas are good, full of potassium,' I a
dvised. I forgot to tell her the power of coconuts.
She had financial worries and at one time wanted to end it all.
Low self-esteem?
Well fuck those cunts who put you down. Fuck them every second of the day. Consider it a personal fatwa against the asswipes of this world.
I said now was a good time to pray to Allah.
'He will listen to you,' I added. 'But you may need to suffer and endure some more before he intervenes.'
I had to put it in Islamic terms. I'd be a sham if I didn't. I was speaking like an Iman and she could relate to it, that's all.
I said keep on hating. Swear your little pretty head off. Fuck the 'keep positive' crap. You don't get electricity without a negative right?
I could see she felt better. I continued my rounds.
So much has been said today.
I've advised her to get the license to sell Smith's chips in Malaysia. But if you can't fund me, then you are wasting my time.
She wanted me to invest. Fuck that.
The Chinese lady says she works for a financial company.
She had asked me all kinds of questions. I just made up silly answers.
When I asked them back, she backed off.
Poor soul. I was only acting.
But if anyone can get the import rights to stock up every supermarket with Smith's chips, they'll be fucking rich.
Lays, and other local brands, are crap.Smith's uses real Aussie potatoes.
Why do they have bushfires in Australia, asked Peggy, the fruit lady?
People who live in the fire zone deserve to be roasted, I said. Our trees need high temperatures to self-seed.
'But nice to live in the bush.'
Nothing nice about living in a potential oven, I told Peggy.
Her car is a beat up rust bucket, parked near her fruit stand.
'Someone smashed into it,' she said.
Always the way.
I usually buy sliced papaya from her. She's in her early sixties, stooped from hard work and prefers me to call her Madam.
She deserves that. But I just love teasing her and calling her Peggy.
Peggy Sue.
It's an Oldie, ain't it.
She prefers Madam.
'My sister gave me that name,' she says.
It's a name she loathes.
How about marking down the price on a slice of pineapple, I ask.
It's not six yet, she says.