Of stereotypical prostitute attire and graffiti

It was supposed to be a lone voyage but a friend volunteered to tag along. I didn’t have to think twice (okay, maybe I did haha), she was my whenever, whatever food-wine-beer-coffee-unhealthy junk buddy who was always just a text away and we’ve witnessed each other’s heartbreak-fling-casual exploits and debacles that would guarantee us countless express source of amusement. One single word will literally send us both on the floor laughing with uncontrollable tears from delight, repulsion or embarrassment set off by a single memory (mostly it was out of mortification with the things we did or maybe the people we did!). I was the bully and she was the classic partisan (completely useless with navigation, accommodation and decisions if you ask me).

First Destination – Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia  (and so it begins…) 

I do have the defense ready – you see, one thing you need to understand is that while the heat from where I come from ranges from 25-35 celsius (better than Mexico’s and some other country in the middle east perhaps), the humidity level here is just completely inanely at a staggering percentage of a hundred. Okay, while that may be an exaggeration, I’m pretty sure you get the picture.

So, because I knew that we’d be infinitely walking about in the heat, I decided to wear this little undersized tight walking shorts in KK. Bad idea, a real bad idea.

Me: Have you ever seen a single person wearing shorts?

Friend: Nuh-uh. We’ve been here for days but we haven’t really seen anyone wearing shorts that short (bats her eyes with complete derision).

Me: I think they think we’re prostitutes.

Friend: Uh-huh. Most likely.

We didn’t really have the energy (or maybe the common sense) to go back up the hotel and change so we just went around town looking like how exactly we looked to the people around.

We are both pretty intelligent individuals. We were so goddamn smart none of thought of bringing a universal charger. So we went around the mall looking for chargers and spent half the day trying to barter with the vendors because the prices were ridiculous back home (and in my head I had a classic manual calculator with the exchange rate constantly being displayed).

The highlight of the day for me was not really eating at Little Italy at the counsel of a colleague who has been around Asia but what we bumped into afterwards. He said the food pretty much tasted like authentic Italian pasta. Indeed the food was great although a bit pricey compared to the other restaurants we went to (okay fine, more like mini makeshift restaurants we went to).

While making our way around the little downtown centre, we passed by this derelict lot/space which was graciously blessed with street art or more universally acknowledged as Graffiti. While I was quite certain that it was not as superior as your NY graffiti (like Crash and brit Bansky- whom I just recently learned about thanks to a friend J), it was just really rousing coming across something as spontaneous as organized graffiti in the middle of a hot-devoid of humans-featureless provincial site. I knew I had to return the next day.

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