Within a short period, a super Chinese Malaysian man skidded to a halt and I got in. He was determined – saying it’s Chinese Malaysian hospitality – to buy me lunch. And I got a lot: the equivalent of a whole chicken plus extras which I wolfed down. This man insisted I allow him to buy me drinking water, and then drive me nearly 60km to the next bus stop, saying, “Don’t talk too much; just accept what I offer you – it’s our way”. I bit my tongue and was given a bus ticket as well as a large Malaysian banknote to pay for a hotel room.
Late that night the bus parked in Kota Kinabalu. I wasn’t worried because in my pocket was that large banknote. I booked into a cheap hostel from where I was treated to an overhead view of a busy Christmas celebration in the pedestrianized street below.
It didn’t matter when or where, Malaysians – especially the Chinese Malaysian community – were fabulous to me. I was being handed free bottles of drinking water, snacks and even free meals. All I wanted to do by that stage was write and tell the world. I was still amazed by the way Malaysians were treating me.
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