By Lucy

I made a woopsie.

I keep forgetting everything is shut down Sunday for the Sabbath. I walked down to the booth to buy supplies for the day, but they weren’t open. Although the lady who fries the donuts was there, frying donuts for her family, and offered me one, but I awkwardly apologized and left.

Well, shit.

I made myself a depressing breakfast. The bananas are starting to go funky, and I’m running low on peanut butter. I don’t feel much like trying to stock up on anything when I’m gonna be gone in a week. I threw some bananas in my backpack and waited for Vlad to wake up.

Despite me telling him we needed an early start for the day, he slept in.

As he stirred and started to make himself a breakfast, I checked my email.

My inbox was flooded with congratulations.

Oh! Roopa finally published my article!

I was starting to wonder, considering that I sent that to her over a month ago. A ‘heads up it’s going live tomorrow’ would have been nice. I’m also amused by the number of people who both read the paper and recognized me in it. Gulp

Around 8, me and Vlad hit the road.

Our first destination was Kota Belud, to grab stuff for lunch. We went to the Sunday market and had a bit of a tough time finding something appropriate, but eventually we found a vendor selling bao. Then we headed to a popular local hike called Bukit Bongol. Bukit translates to ‘hill’ in Malay, and Bongol translates to… I’m not sure, actually. Google returned several answers, none of which seemed correct. I suspect the answer is that Bongol means something in the local language and will be impossible to find a translation for.

We got lost at one point and Vlad went offroading with the bike.

I half-expected the trail to be deserted, or there to only be a couple of white people, but to my surprise it was busy and everyone there was Malaysian.

They had also started at least an hour before us, which makes sense, because it was heating up quickly. Although, fortunately, most of the trail was under the cover of the thick jungle canopy, so we never really had to contend with the sun.

There was a rope running along about a third of the trail, which was severely washed out. At points, I forgoed trying to walk or climb in favour of rappelling up the steep climb.

About halfway up the hike, it hit.

I started feeling dizzy again, my heart fluttering in my chest. I checked my Fitbit; 150 or higher.

It’s a cruel joke that the signs of having a good heart and a bad heart are the same, but 150 seems a bit high. Vlad barely seemed phased by the climb, but I was progressively forced to take longer and longer breaks, eventually sitting down to let my heart rate come down. By the 3/4 mark, I was debating quitting entirely.

Credit to him, he was incredibly supportive throughout the climb, encouraging me to break as often as I needed, asking how he could help, telling jokes, trying to cheer me up and keep my mind off it.

When we did reach the top, there was a giant burn scar across it.

The view was also gorgeous.

There was the option to go to the second peak, but at this point it was so late in the day, ignoring how depleted the hike had left me, we needed time to get to Mount Kinabalu as well, so we headed down.

We had to go through Kota Belud, so Vlad stopped again to grab something from 99 Mart.

The next place we stopped was a campsite about halfway between Kota Belud and Nabalu. There’s an alpine river flowing through the town that Ismail told him was a popular spot for a swim. The water wasn’t quite deep enough to swim in and I’d already decided I didn’t feel like hauling my wet swimsuit around this time, but we rolled up our pants and waded in.

Oh, heaven! This water is lovely… I debated swimming fully clothed.

I also dropped my phone in the river! It was fine.

Once I was comfortable, Vlad took off scampering over the rocks, and came back with a geode that he’d found. Jeez, I should take him to the amethyst mine, it seems. I taught him how to break the geode open.

Eventually it was time to move on again.

At this point, the road started climbing steadily up into the mountains. It was almost too much for the scooter, but of course, my actual motorcycle riding came in handy here. Weight distribution counts for a lot when trying to help the struggling engine.

The road wound its way along this spine of a foothill, affording us great views of the jungle valley below.

Around 2, we reached Nabalu. We found some snacks and a row of benchs facing what would have been an excellent view of the mountain… if it weren’t cloudy.

I was an idiot. Climbing Bukkit Bongol was a waste of time. We should have driven right here in the morning, when it was clear. There’s hikes around the foothills. Why was I so fixated on Bukkit Bongol?

Around 3, we got back on the bike and headed back to Kota Belud. We passed some poor bastard who had pitched their car off the mountain, although everyone seems to be fine. We stopped in KB for gas, and I remembered that I needed iron supplements, but I couldn’t find any at the store. The supplement section is full of useless things, like garlic and gingko baloba.

“I have some.” Vlad says.

You? A healthy, young male, bought iron supplements? Are you trying to shut down your kidneys?

Still, I appreciate him gifting them to me.

We got back to Ismail’s around 4. As we cooked and ate dinner, I sent this post to Vlad.

I put Red Hot Chili Peppers on and he nodded his approval.

Ismail’s son came out and spent like half an hour washing his car, which made me chuckle. What does the car have on it? Maybe some brake dust.

Ismail bought us some watermelon. Well, I suspect he bought a whole watermelon knowing he couldn’t eat the entire thing, so gifted us half rather than throw it out. Vlad turned his nose up at it. “The watermelon from my hometown is better.”

Wait, they grow watermelon in Russia??

Early bedtime!

The mouse continues to be a pest. It dragged the empty sunscreen bottle I have under my bed and chewed it open. The iron Vlad gave me came in blisters packs, and it chewed open and ate 4 of them. This mouse has a bad case of pica. How is it not dead?

Ismail took off early. The entire family is going down to KK for some reason. He asked Vlad if he can perform the chores I usually do, like sweeping the courtyard, and he agreed. I wrote in the courtyard.

“What is this?” Vlad asks, sitting down next to me and showing me his phone when he’s done.

“Hmm?” I lean over and look at the messages he’s highlighted. “Oh, you know, Saturday night. When he nicknamed me Amina.”

“I know. And you think this does not apply to you?”

It takes a minute to click what he’s saying. He’s asking me why I don’t feel like I’m kind and trustworthy.

I want to argue. That it’s just the Muslim men trying to fit me into a box they understand. Or that I was just pointing out how they don’t know me well. But…

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I said, standing up and walking away.

I threw myself on my bed and sulked.

Like many things, the wound is always deeper than what appears. I’m not just hurting from December because I was in love. I’m also hurting because after I spent 2 years putting myself back together, I trusted someone, and they shattered that trust. And this is like that, except worse. Vlad might have the purest intentions and be trustworthy, but there’s almost no path to being able to see him for the next six months. And even if there is… short of him acquiring citizenship in Canada somehow, it will be a short term proposition. This is a million times more fragile and unlikely than Kyle moving from Toronto to Thunder Bay.

“I find it hard to want to tell my story to someone who won’t commit to coming to Canada. And maybe you’re right and you won’t get a visa and you can’t, but you won’t even entertain the idea.” I text him, finally.

When I talk to him later, he points out that I don’t have to tell him my secrets. So I don’t.

I walked down to the shop. The boy who talked to me before lives across the road, evidently, because he calls me over to chat. From the glances backwards by him and his sister, I can also tell they’re not supposed to be talking to me. I wonder why? His sister is in a headscarf already.

I can’t tell what’s crueler, allowing girls to grow up without a headscarf, or forcing them to wear one from toddler onwards. Is it more cruel to deny them any time without one, or to not taunt them? It does seem more common to not force little girls to wear a headscarf, so I imagine the families that do are more fundamentalist.

The next day Vlad goes home. I feel like I should be trying to ring as much time out of him as I can before I potentially never see him again, but I’m also sort of looking forward to being alone.

“I’m going to finish the book this week.” I declare.

“That’s great, what’s next?” He asks.

“Oh, writing is the easy bit. Publishing that first book is the hard part.”

I went to Reddit. There is a Reddit page called “BetaReaders”, for if you want some random Joe to read your book in its entirety. It has some rather onerous rules, presumably because they keep getting swamped by amateur novelists who will never finish a book wanting people to read the first 10 pages of the their spelling-error ridden mess, before dropping off the Reddit. It requests each submission be edited for spelling and grammer.

Well. I’m not having much luck here.

I text Gabe. I then discover it’s been two years since I messaged Gabe, almost to the day. Funny how life gets away from you. I basically speedran the summer in Tbay.

Gabe is a professional proofreader, which includes having been sent to Thailand by a lawyer for reasons he didn’t want to discuss. I expected him to just tell me to send the draft over, and I’d just send him a couple hundred dollars for a quick spell and grammar check, but he insisted on us making an appointment to chat, and started throwing around words like “developmental edit” and “style sheet” that I had never heard of!

Gulp.

“Do you think we could find nori around here?” Vlad asks.

“Nope.” I reply.

Vlad grabs the bike and takes off. He comes back an hour later with a grocery bag.

“Tonight we are doing sushi!” He declares, “To celebrate you finishing your book!”

“You found nori?”

He hands me the package. It is not nori. It is a regular grilled seaweed snack.

“It will work.” He insists.

“You have fun with that.” I laugh.

We sat there for a couple of hours, as he tried to make maki rolls out of sticky rice, overcooked shrimp, and seaweed snacks. It was not great… but it was fun. And it was also edible.

We talk about anime’s. Back in Russia, he’s even got a bokken sword. Nerd.

The next day is somber. Again, I don’t want to hustle him out, but I also feel like I’d rather just get it over with. He says Ismail said he’d drive him around 1.

Dean texted me out of nowhere. He was wondering what the situation here is like; he’s thinking of going on vacation after Dryden.

Not great! Bangkok has had 18 days straight of temperatures over 42 during the day and over 30 at night. The nighttime temps over 30 is when things start to get dangerous; most humans can only survive 6 hours over 36 degrees, or 99 Fahrenheit. That covers midday; 10 to 4. But if it isn’t dropping overnight, it’s probably staying warm well into the evening and morning.

I find it kind of amazing how long I have survived out here without AC. The worst time is 10-2, when the sun makes it too hot to think. But at night, it’s nice. I usually fall asleep with the fan running, partially for some white noise, but by 1AM it’s cooled off enough that the fan actually makes me feel cold, and I turn it off.

1PM comes and goes. I excuse myself to go for a nap. I get up around 3. Turns out Ismail was waiting for Vlad to say he wanted to leave, and Vlad was waiting for Ismail.

Vlad comes up to my patio and hands me a wooden stake. He made a signpost that says Toronto, although the kilometers listed on it are wrong. Even if it’s miles, it’s wrong. But…

“Wow, you did this? Thanks!”

“Yes, as a surprise!”

He grabs me and pulls me into a hug, before turning around to descend the ladder and beaning himself on the low roof, falling down the ladder.

I die laughing. “You made it up and down that ladder for two weeks without doing that!”

“I had to make a dramatic exit!” He says, popping up, before running to the car, where Ismail is also laughing.

After he leaves, I change the background of my phone to his picture.

Back to writing, I guess.

I’ve developed a new habit. Sometimes I play those little games Youtube has; it’s a quick brain break, no purchase or download required. I started watching Babish’s ‘new’ channel (new meaning over a year old, but I never checked it out). I’m not one for “ranking” or “unboxing” videos, but listening to his dulcet tones cracking dirty jokes in my ear while I play CookieClicker soothes my soul.

In the evening, the entire place it taken over by kids.

As I always say, I hate other people’s kids. Especially because this lot are being chaperoned by two teachers who don’t look out of their twenties. Room 4 holds two boys who look to be about 7-8, which means they are sharing my bathroom.

It quickly goes off the rails. When I go to the bathroom, I find poop on the floor.

Now, I’m an empathetic person. I know squat potties are common in rural Asia and some kids don’t understand how to use a regular toilet. But these kids were unholy terrors for the 3 days they were here, and destroyed everything they could reach, so my sympathy dried up fast. There’s not understanding and then there’s not caring. These boys quickly figured out the teachers wouldn’t (or perhaps couldn’t) hold them to account, so they made no attempt to reign themselves in.

The only good thing is that there is a drain in the floor because the toilet stall is also the shower, although no one in Asia believes in levelling the floor, so it’s still hard to clean. Also, the trench outside the bathroom is where the drain goes, so now we have human feces just floating around 20 feet from where I sleep.

Yay.

Before bedtime, I watch Ponyo. I’ve never watched it and I need something upbeat to cheer me up.

3AM is the time when no one is awake (unless you’re in a big city. Even Tbay is dead at 3AM).

I stop to watch the stars when I go to the bathroom. Even the dogs are asleep. Vlad has finally crashes around 1. I am alone in the world.

That always terrified most of my compatriots. Josh and Rich, nothing was more soul destroying to them than the idea of being completely alone, which is where we always differed. As social as I am, everyone knows I need some alone time every day, and solitude feels familiar.

I recall, when I was young, me and my mother would talk about why some girls get knocked up young or flit from boyfriend to boyfriend. I always rolled my eyes at them, the girls who hated being alone so much they’d settle for anything. I’d rather be alone forever than be who I am not.

I’m also realizing the way my preference for my own company is isolating me.

One of my strengths is having nothing to lose. Seeing the ticking clock means I have nothing to gain by building for a future. Of course, I suppose that wouldn’t stop some people; some will claw for anything and everything, bolstered by the idea of a last minute Hail-Mary. Personally, I’m in the space where finding out I might survive past 60 would destroy me.

This trip has destroyed me, in ways. Finding people who have less than me underlined that I actually have quite a bit in my life. It always requires a bit of strength to change your identity, your view of your self. Who am I if not the underdog? The littlest cancer patient who can never get ahead?

I’ve also realized that that’s my approach to relationships as well. I assume no one is trustworthy, so I pick people whom I cannot trust. Because if it’s all the same, why not?

That needs a recalibration.

The kids left before I even got up. They have some sort of school event. I finished my chores early Wednesday morning and tried to go for a bike ride around 9. The bike was acting strange, though… wobbly. I leaned forward over the handle bars to see what it was.

At that point, the shaft that held up the handlebars collapsed like wet tissue, and the bike threw me to the ground.

It was a slow motion crash. I rolled with the little momentum I had, and the only thing that hurt was my palms where they hit gravel on the road. I got up and dusted myself off, then checked the bike over.

The handlebars were fully bent. What caused that? Rust? Something else?

I walked the bike back to the house, then got my laptop out and sat on it.

I finally finished my book! And by finished, I mean it’s finally a complete draft from beginning to end! Yay!

The kids came back around noon. They all have takeout, and the garbage is full before long.

When I go to the kitchen for something, I discover the lid of my tote open. I scan it. Nothing seems to be missing… and kids are curious. Later on, I find it open again, and I can’t shake the feeling they must be taking things even if I can’t quantify it.

I go up to the patio to talk to Ismail about it. He says he also found them leaving the water on, and he’ll talk to the teachers, but he counsels empathy.

There’s a small white cat that keeps coming around begging for food. I think the kids are feeding it.

The only good thing about the kids being here is they chase away the strays dogs.

I dread going to the bathroom now. When I go in to brush my teeth, there’s poop on the floor again. There’s even poop on the toilet cleaning brush.

GAH!

One thing I did notice is that it’s only ever the far stall that’s dirty, not the near stall, so I decide until the kids leave or it gets poopy, I’ll just use the near stall and leave it.

The kids spend the evening running around the courtyard, screaming.

I know I should be glad there’s kids running around, playing outside instead of on their phones, but it annoys me. First and foremost, because they keep leaving a mess, so I’d rather they stayed inside and not make a mess for unpaid me to clean up. Secondly, the fact that there is no soundproofing in my see-through bamboo hut and I’m stuck listening to them at full volume. And then there’s also just the language barrier and the fact that every time I dare step out of the bamboo hut, they also go silent and turn to stare at me. It feels like I’ve been transplanted into the village of the Children of the Corn.

Eventually I get tired enough to drift off. Around 1, I go to the bathroom. My stall is still safe.

When I get back out, I noticed the cat over by the garbage. I go over to chase it away, but it’s too late. There’s empty takeout containers and greasy leftovers smeared everywhere.

Oh, I give up. I’m annoyed at Ismail for this as well; I’ve asked him what to do with the garbage so it doesn’t overflow, and he won’t tell me. He’ll be up before me in the morning; he can clean it up.

It takes me a while to fall asleep again.

I sleep in. I’m awoken by the sun shining through the bamboo slats. It’s 6:40.

When I go outside to the bathroom, all the cars are gone and there’s not a kid in sight. All the garbage has been cleaned up too.

No such luck in the bathroom, though. There’s even more poop in the stall.

Gotta love the dedication.

Ismail comes over, “I’m going to a seminar on tourism. I’ll be gone ’til 2, maybe later. Can you check the rooms when the guests check out?”

“Sure!”

“The new volunteers are coming by today, maybe this afternoon. Show them around, leave the rest for me.”

“Got it.”

I put off cleaning the bathroom. What a mess.

The kids come back around noon. They have lunch, leaving takeout boxes everywhere, shower, and head out around 2.

I check the rooms. Nothing is particularly dirty, nothing is left on.

I go check the shared bathroom. Still dirty.

I go to turn the showerhead on to clean up some of the poop, and discover they’ve snapped the handle off of it.

Fantastic.

I text Ismail in case he wants to buy a new handle before he comes home. I try using the hose to clean it, but the water pressure isn’t there. I close the door and leave it for later.

Around 3, the new volunteers showed up.

Now, not that I want to generalize or anything, but there’s always a few ethnicities that make me nervous. South Afrikaans, meaning white people from South Africa, are on that list. They’re almost always born with a silver spoon, and it shows. They showed up, having taken a private taxi from KK (meaning they spent 120 ringgit on the drive), had two bags each, and they hadn’t brought any cash with them and were surprised there were no ATM’s nearby. The man seemed pretty chill with it, but the women did not like the accommodation. She logged into the wifi and found it lacking as well.

Ismail came home about half an hour later. He’d brought them dinner and another half a watermelon.

They didn’t even touch the food. Within half an hour (so they’d been here for less than two hours) they’d decided they didn’t want to stay, and asked Ismail to drive them back to Kota Belud immediately so they could head back to KK. He agreed and asked his son to drive them.

I cannot roll my eyes hard enough.

I put their dinner in the fridge for me to eat later. The kids had also left behind a couple of takeout boxes, untouched.

So I had a quiet evening.

What a long day for Ismail. 8 hours at the seminar, plus dealing with the kids and now these volunteers.

Friday was quiet. No guests. I spent the day messing around on my laptop. I asked Ismail if he could take me to the laundromat the next time he went to town, and he had his son drive me at 3 when he went to pick up a package.

It was insanely windy, actually. I spent the morning chasing around anything that wasn’t nailed down. I hoped for rain but was disappointed.

I’m looking forward to leaving. I’ve done everything, I’ve finished writing. I’m just eating my way through everything I can’t take with me and counting down the days.

Saturday dares to be interesting.

In the evening, some Australian guests show up. Rented a car, travelling around Sabah. The airline lost their luggage, it will show up tonight.

I relocate to my patio for the evening, watching whatever on Youtube.

“Do you mind if I join you?” The female guest says, popping her head up the ladder.

“No no, by all means. I’m just killing time.”

“So, what’s it like around here?” She asks.

I ramble a bit about Sabah.

“And where are you headed after this?”

“Well, I have to go back to KK for a conference on May 1st – “

“Do you mind… what kind of conference?”

“Oh, it’s for a volunteer organization called Soroptimists.”

She smiles widely. “I thought so! I thought, what is a Canadian doing in Sabah, volunteering?”

Wait, what? She’s a Soroptimist too? That’s… amazing! And hilarious.

“Are you giving a presentation at the conference?”

“Oh, no, not planning on it, although you know Anthea. It wouldn’t be the first time!”

We chatted for a couple of hours before she had to excuse herself. She mentioned spending a couple of months in Calgary during the winter, so she already has the Canadian experience! Also, apparently they sent the Calgary Stampede to Australia one year?

Her and her husband went out to find some dinner, so I accepted the slip for their luggage delivery and waited in the courtyard.

I also had my voice call with Gabe about publishing my book. So many choices! He was very patient and explained everything to me.

You know what’s funny is that when I first start writing, there was a line between romance and fantasy that was never crossed; if you had an explicit sex scene in your novel, it was smut and that was where it stayed, in the adult section at the back of the bookstore. Now, with Booktok and “Romantasy”, it’s common as eggs. Which is good because it means I’m not longer edgy, and also bad because it means I’m not longer edgy.

As an aside, my grandmother died of breast cancer that metastasized to her lungs. She spent about a year being technically able to talk, but it hurt and tired her, so we just wrote letters. She complained about the lack of books at her care home, and it occurred to me that, with Amazon, I could ship books anywhere for free… so I sent her books! And one of the books I sent her was smut, which was slightly nerve-wracking, and I half-expected a “What the heck have you sent me”. But it didn’t come. Her next letter mentioned she enjoyed the book and finished it, with zero comment about its explicit content, so I have no idea what she really thought.

I mean, old ladies get urges too!

I wonder what happened to it when she died, if Charles packed it up or if it got put on the shelf of books for other care home residents to read. I like that idea better; scandalizing old ladies for years to come.

In any case, I sent along the file to Gabe and he’s working on it as you read this.

In the evening, Fiona’s luggage showed up. The power also went out as we had a brownout, which caused everyone to wander the neighbourhood with flashlights. Without the AC inside, it was too hot… except for me, suffering without AC for a month.

When Fiona’s luggage arrived, I put it just inside the entryway door, which I called a vestibule and got ribbed for being too fancy!

I was hoping to talk to Fiona in the morning, but her and her husband did not surface until late and they basically just checked out and hopped in the car. Oh well. I guess I’ll see them later.

Not much happened Sunday. I packed up. I’m going to miss the rice fields, the view of Mount Kinabalu, the iguanas running across the courtyard and the croaking of the geckos at night, but I am glad to be moving on.