Chastised in Borneo is not how most would opt to travel here. I’ve heard so many locals referring to me as mad, and in fact, I agree with this statement. But my crazy brain has noble aims, including the desire to spread good messages and help organisations where I can. I may be physically chaste, by my mind is free.
So, as I move closer to the conclusion of my 100th world record attempt, I should expect to have gathered a range of stories. And that’s just what I’ve got. Perhaps I’ll share some with you. They range from the innumerable times I’ve attracted strange looks through to generosity which stuns me. Most of all, when I think of the looks I’ve caused, I’m humoured.
It was just yesterday that my host took me to visit a middle-aged man who’s preparing for his Hajj journey to Mecca in Saudi Arabia. Even though I know it’s rude, sometimes the fishing line on the device squeezes my flesh so hard that I simply have to attend to it, no matter who I’m with or what they’re doing. Yesterday, as my host and his friend discussed the upcoming holy pilgrimage on the spacious row of sofas, I felt a sting in my pants. My hands lunged down there and I pulled, pushed and wriggled until I’d freed myself. The pilgrim-to-be paused and peered curiously at me. I ignored him. It’d have been way too difficult trying to explain why I was playing with my privates so enthusiastically as he was speaking fondly about his faith mission. Thank goodness my host stepped right in and explained. The man nodded and I saw the expression on his face lighten up a twinge.
This is a story I can repeat honestly so many times I’d lose count. I’ve crumpled into chairs and onto floors while whimpering softly, squeamishly wriggled on bus and car seats alongside others, and doubled over unexpectedly in hotel lobbies too many times to remember. I’ve found myself twisting my pelvis into the most taut positions (hopefully unnoticed) in front of classes of school children as my eyes water just a tad, wrestled with my genitals under plenty of roadside trees with my back turned to passing traffic, ground my pelvis into motorbike seats while trying not to touch the driver’s buttocks, and crab-walked in pain down busy urban streets in all 3 nations that comprise Borneo.
This ridiculous, albeit hardly avoidable, behaviour has become the theme of my presence for many by-standers who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; who happened to be present when I was passing. By the time I’ve completed my 100th world record attempt in Borneo, I’d not be surprised if I’m nicknamed something like “that white man who never stops scratching himself” – because that sort of title would be absolutely true!