It’s been three months exactly since I left London to begin my travels (!!). So now seems like an appropriate time to pause and reflect on how I’ve found it all so far. I’m also starting to put some plans together for 2019, which is an exciting yet daunting prospect.
It’s 9th December: everyone at home is getting prepared for Christmas festivities, and some friends I’ve met along the way have gone home to celebrate the holidays in the company of their loved ones. I wouldn’t say I’m homesick yet, but the idea of missing Christmas at home is bittersweet, as it’ll be the first one I’ve ever spent away from my family. But a Christmas and New Year spent in Bali awaits!
I’m already feeling a sense of nostalgia for the beginning of my trip, which I know sounds ridiculous but like a friend said: when travelling, three weeks feels like three months. So, being gone three months essentially feels like three years. Maybe a slight exaggeration, but emotions are heightened x100 out here. I’ve now parted ways with two of the people I have spent the most time with along the way, so right now feels like the end of a small chapter.
I’ve enjoyed the beautiful places I’ve visited, as well as the hikes, the beautiful sunsets, the ocean, the food, the spontaneity, and the uncontrollable fits of laughter. I’ve adored getting to know all of the gorgeous humans I’ve come across; learning about them and their lives (when I truly connect with someone, I feel like it’s more than a random coincidence that we’ve entered each other’s lives, however cliché that is). I’ve loved challenging myself: learning and experiencing life in a way I never have before.
The end of a chapter of course means the beginning of a new one. I’m looking forward to what will come over the next few months. In the new year, there are pencilled in plans for a friend to visit, and for my Mum to come out and spend my birthday with me, which would be super special.
I have also recently confirmed that from February, I will be taking a job in Northwest Vietnam, teaching extra-curricular English to young children! Although it wasn’t originally on the itinerary, I think it’s going to be the perfect opportunity to settle somewhere and make it home for a while. I am looking forward to meeting and creating relationships with the children, who I’ve heard are adorable.
(I’m aware of all the ways that teaching English can be problematic across non-native speaking countries, especially in South East Asia. But I feel reassured by the fact that classes are supplementary and lesson plans are according to a curriculum: it’ll be less formal and more fun.)
I intend to carry on seeking, learning, developing, exercising my curiosity for everything and everyone as I continue, I’m HUNGRY.
In the first seminar of a module I took in my final year of uni, the tutor asked the class to introduce ourselves by stating our names and where we understand ourselves to come from. A place we identify with, and see ourselves as belonging to: having formed who we are. He said it didn’t have to be where we grew up, or where our family are from, but where we see as home.
When we’d all done so, he explained how his husband was once asked this question, and when he responded with the answer, which is San Francisco, it wasn’t enough. The person repeated the question as if they didn’t believe him: ‘where are you really from?’. He wasn’t believed because he’s black, and an assumption was made at that moment, that he couldn’t just be from San Fransisco.
This struck me, and I’ve often thought about it since. It made me rethink assumptions that I make about identity, as well as general assumptions that are made within western society just from appearances. As a white British woman, I’ve been afforded the privilege of never feeling different in this sense; I’ve never been second-guessed when it comes to the assessment of my origins, or of where I belong.
Since arriving in Georgetown, the capital of Penang in Malaysia, this is something that has been on my mind a lot. Generally, my experience of being English whilst travelling South East Asia has been straight forward, and in a lot of ways, too straight forward. I can get by easily without even having to attempt to speak another language, with the locals or other tourists. This incites in me a sense of shame, from the fact I don’t know how to speak another language, and also that there’s no pressure on me to even try to.
Obviously this sounds ridiculous in a way, because I made the decision to visit countries that are English-speaking, and I know there are places in the world where I wouldn’t get by so easily, but it still strikes me that I can visit such a vast array of places that don’t require me to adjust in this way.
Georgetown is bursting with cultural diversity, and as the capital city of Penang this is perhaps expected, but it has a completely different feel to any other place I’ve experienced on this trip. From street art and vibey indoor and outdoor exhibitions, to small boutique shops full of arty handicrafts, Georgetown is a dream for creatives. There’s also the amazing food, which is unbelievably tasty for the price you pay (I paid £3.95 for a massive Indian meal including naan, mains, rice and two drinks last night).
For a bit of history, Penang became part of a trading route of the Straits of Malacca during the 16th and 17th centuries, which attracted people of all descents to live with Malays, including Chinese, Indians, Europeans, Persians, Arabs, Siamese, Burmese and others. It became a lucrative trading post and continued to draw many more Chinese and Indians during the second half of the 19th century because of thriving rubber and tin industries.
The melting-pot of culture created in these years has carried through to today. There are merely streets between China Town and Little India: in both places you feel as if you’re walking through the respective countries. It’s a sensory overload, full of bright colours, amazing smells, and traditional music. The dominant religions in Penang are Islam, Buddhism, and Hinduism. There are beautiful mosques and temples within metres of each other, and all religious groups here are generally tolerant.
In a place like this, the question of where someone really comes from becomes all the more loaded. Ethnicity, race, and religion, exist here together to make up a melting-pot of varying and exciting multiculturalism, where people aren’t one or the other.
This concept is expressed perfectly in a photography exhibition I visited in Georgetown by Daniel Adams, titled ‘Why is your English So Good?’ Which explores the ‘widespread problem of racism and ignorance in Britain and Ireland’. Adams was a student at Falmouth university who was subjected to ‘stereotyping’ and ‘aggressive slurs’ as a half-Chinese and half-English person.
Each photo is captioned with a personal experience of a Malay who has either studied or lived in Britain or Ireland, and has been victimised in this way. An image that illustrates this problem, which has the same title as the exhibition, is of Jason Vincent. He is sat on a bed with English words written across the walls above him, and with a pad in his hand with the word ‘English’ scribbled on it:
He recalls:
‘An English guy came up to us for a filter. He ended up sitting and speaking to us. We were having a conversation but he seemed a bit pretentious. We then told him that a few of us were from Malaysia: Shaz, Shaun and I. He then proceeded to say, “how come your English is so good though?”’
The question echoes the Mean Girls scene which occurs when the character Cady states she’s from Africa, and Karen responds with the question: ‘so if you’re from Africa, why are you white?’ Which explores perfectly the ways race and identity are understood from appearance in Western society.
The person who questioned Vincent assumes that just because he is Malaysian, he should be unable to speak such good English, in the same way that the person asking my tutor’s husband where he is from, didn’t believe he is truly American because he is black. Neither assumption is necessarily made with malice, but it does demonstrate ignorance that is perhaps fuelled from a history of racism, and in some cases will directly demonstrate racism.
I’ve only been in Penang for three days and already it’s been my favourite place on this trip so far. I’ve met the most friendly, open and interesting people who’ve welcomed me by sharing stories about their lives and who’ve invited me to join them to eat. I’ve been shown the beautiful streets and buildings of Georgetown by a tour guide, and I’ve walked through them myself, following a map to find all of the street art. I could stay here for a lot longer, and I intend to follow the tour guide’s advice, to explore Penang slowly and make sure to not rush through it.
