Wow, that first entry was whiny, wasn’t it? It’s okay, I’m not going to kick my own ass about it too much. I know there’s a whole learning curve to any new place.
Anyway, things are looking up. I think the bank thing is all straightened out, knock on increasingly depleted rainforest hardwood (Sarawak’s main export!). Tingang is pretty cool. We went to a bar last night and he told me about how he’s only a couple of generations removed from one of the upriver (former) headhunting tribes. He said his family photo album has pictures of dudes with full-body tribal tattoos and distended earlobes and penis piercings (well, not in the picture, but he heard they had them—who knew indigenous Malaysians invented the Prince Albert?).
I had this weird vision of one of them being dropped into Silver Lake in LA and asking some tatted-up rockabilly guy with those fat plugs in his earlobes for directions because he’d think he was from a neighboring tribe.
It made me think about how different it must be to live in the place where your ancestors lived. Not many Americans are native to America. Except, well, Native Americans. But the Law family? Who the hell knows? We’re English-ish, I guess. I think my mom’s side is Irish. But way-back Irish and way-back English—mostly we were just the four of us, this little island.
I’ve never been to Europe. Maybe if I went, I’d get all emotional and see my people in every face and every brick of every old cathedral. But it’s hard to get excited about visiting a place that tried to conquer the rest of the world. I mean, there are old English buildings in Singapore if you want old English buildings. You get sick of being everywhere, of seeing jolly, red-cheeked Santa Clauses in tiny Chinese villages.
Also, everything in Europe is just really fucking expensive.
Okay, maybe I’m still a little grouchy today.
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