End of the Honeymoon

My mornings start the same way every day. First I hear the slight, subtle coo-ing of roosters that gets louder as the minutes pass. Then, right on cue, the call to prayer, blasted by the local mosque down the street. At any other time of day, I might consider this song melodious and beautiful, with its lulling rhythm and calming repetition, but at six-something in the morning, it is just too early. I roll over, trying to ignore the noises outside, but the sounds of Malaysia have invaded my fortress. Yet again, I must accept that I am waking up in this strange, foreign country. 

Almost three months have passed since I first arrived, and the dream-like vacation world that I once lived in here is long gone. I now see the rusty nicks, ragged tears, and gaping holes that exist in Malaysia. 

Photo courtesy of Trisha Huynh

There is disorganization in the schooling system. Entire days of school are canceled for ''motivational'' assemblies, which consist of an ''esteemed'' speaker talking at hundreds of students for hours at a time. Teachers choose not to attend their classes due to more “pressing” issues, such as paperwork, ultimately leaving classrooms full of students to learn independently, although what usually ensues is independent napping. Students are not held accountable for their work or their behavior, resulting in copy-cat assignments and wild, rowdy lessons. 

There is inequality among genders. In the Muslim world, and in Muslim-run Malaysia, men are the leaders. They make the important decisions. They are considered strong and recognized for their cleverness. 

My girl students have dreams of becoming doctors, engineers, scientists and athletes. They tell me of the impact they wish to make in the world, of the mark they want to leave on society. And yet these dreams are simply just that — dreams. These girls will most likely grow up to become the housewives of their kampung, just like their mothers are, just like their grandmothers were. 

Photo courtesy of Trisha Huynh

There is inefficiency. In this country, everything is based on hierarchical status. Nothing ever gets done quickly — or at all — unless you know someone. After getting robbed, my friends and I called the police only to get no reply for three hours. Then we contacted the director of the state's education department. After a few phone calls to friends, the director was able to get the police to the robbery site within fifteen minutes. It is all about connections and calling in favors. 

I never thought that I would turn into one of those people, the type who sees cultural differences and only focuses on the negative, complaining that ''things would be so much better if...'' And yet, here I am, stuck in Malaysia, stuck in this quick-sand-like mindset. As devastating as this may seem, there are two silver linings. 

First, at the end of the day, getting to know my students on a personal level keeps me content. They struggle to find English words buried in the depths of their brains simply to exchange a silly story, offer an opinion, or ask a question about America. I am honored to work with such a genuine, curious and accepting group of young adults. 

I cannot say how much I really impact them in the classroom or through planned programs, but our snippets of conversations make everything I have to acclimate to worth it. 

The other silver lining is a big one. The size of the sun, I'd wager. Seeing the negative side of Malaysia is all part of the pathway for cultural assimilation. Give me more time, and soon I will be able to give a reason for the inefficiency, for the gender inequality, for the educational disorganization. After that, I will be able to see things through a Malaysian lens, not an American one. And that is exactly why I signed up for this crazy year-long adventure.