Cross-Cultural Conversations

Observations by a Malaysian studying in Australia

My Name Is Pueblo Guadalajara

After touching down at the Kuala Lumpur International Airport from Melbourne, I didn't immediately head towards the immigration counter as I accompanied my friend, who was on transit to Hong Kong, to look for the transit counter.

By the time I reached the immigration counter there were already 2 long queues, but thankfully they were the Foreign Passport Holders'. The Malaysian Passport Holder Counter had no queue at all, and I happily made me way towards it.

Suddenly the woman behind the Malaysian Passport Counter hand-signalled me to go to one of the 2 queues. I was puzzled, but I did as told. All sense of happiness drained from my body as I, already tired from the uneventful journey, queued in a long line, behind a family of 5 Pakistanis talking in what I assume is Pakistani.

"Is this how they treat a worn-out, hardworking Malaysian student from Geelong who is otherwise very eager to enjoy his holidays?". "What's the point of being Malaysian if you end up having to queue in the Foreign Passport Holders' Counter at a Malaysian airport anyway?". At that point I wish I was back in Australia, where the locals actually get to queue in the Local Passports Counter, although of course being a foreigner I'd have to queue in the Foreign Passports Line anyway.

The woman who motioned me to queue behind the Pakistani family was now having a conversation with an airport official, and both of them kept looking at me, my Malaysian passport in my left hand, laptop bag hung on my right shoulder, and my bagpack on my back. I realise that I'm considerably good looking , but I wish they would stop staring at me with such intensity as it was making me uncomfortable.

The airport official came up to me, and asked to see the bright red Malaysian passport I was holding in my hand. I gave it to him. "Oh, you're Malaysian after all" he said and motioned for me to proceed to the counter which I originally intended to go in the first place.

I handed my passport to the woman behind the counter. "Oh, you're Malaysian after all," she said. Not only do they both think I'm handsome, they both say exactly the same things. "What did you think I was?" I asked, trying to sound as polite as I could even though I was still sour from having to wait 10 minutes behind the queue when I could've not waited at all.

"I thought you were Mexican or something."

posted by: Tembaga2 at 16:08 | link | comments (1) |

#1  11 December 2003 - 16:21

 

Mexican??? I've never thought of that *guffaws*

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