Our Trip Continues. . . Hello, Malaysia!

Photo by Johen Redman on Unsplash

This post details events that occurred earlier this year. I am taking my time processing these events before publishing. Thank you for staying with me.

Not Enough Time

After an absolutely thrilling three days, we leave the elephant preserve (EP) and head back to Bangkok. Mr. J and I agree we have to come back and stay for a week. It was absolutely not enough time with our elephant. We have 36 hours to taste the city. Mr. J forgets details. We wake up to meet a tour guide. “What are we doing today?” he asks. “We’re touring the city!” I say. (This is not entirely true, of course. We are instead hitting some main attractions.) After the tour, Mr. J asks, “What are we doing tomorrow?” “We’re going to Malaysia.” “Is D coming?” Mr. J asks. “Yes,” I say. “And A,” preemptively. “Oh,” he says, sounding somewhat surprised. At the airport, he asks, “Where are we going again?” “Malaysia.” “Oh, that’s right,” he nods.

An Incident At Customs

The flight between Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur is only two hours. We land, gather our things, and head to the exit (Kelur). At the departure point, all of our passports are rejected. A very helpful person who appears to be law enforcement asks politely if we have filled out digital admission forms. We have not. He turns us around and we head off to fill out the forms. Of course, they want everything from flight number to time in country. We each fill this out on our individual phones at our own pace. A finishes first, then D, then me. Mr. J is having trouble. I turn to A. “If I say anything, he’ll think I’m being condescending. Can you. . . “ “Of course,” A responds, stepping towards Mr. J. “If you let these women help you,” she says, pointing to one of the women clearly designed to help wayward passengers such as us, “it will go a lot faster.”

Once Mr. J indicates he has finished, we head back to the customs gates. D, A, and I go through without problem. Mr. J, on the other hand, is standing on the other side of the gates, still trying to get in. It dawns on all three of us at once. We should have left someone with Mr. J until we were sure he got through. I am particularly hard on myself, asking what in the name of all that is holy was I thinking, presuming Mr. J could execute this? A asks Mr. J to see his passport to confirm he is putting the correct end into the reader. After a half a dozen more tries, Mr. Security Guard tells Mr. J to go to the manual entry point. But Mr. J doesn’t want to go to manual entry. He stands there, willing his electronic information to be sufficient. But it is not. Of course it is not.

With Mr. J on the far side of the customs bay, and A, D, and I on the other, we all walk towards manual entry. I hold my breath, willing Mr. J not to make any smart aleck remarks, while also willing him to be together enough to get through customs without further delay. He is waved through. Three of us exhale with relief. Mr. J, on the other hand, is just thrilled to have an actual stamp on his Passport.

The Long and Winding Road

I appreciate my writing has a pattern. “He’s going to die.” “He’s getting better.” “He’s really getting better.” “Damn it!! He’s not getting better and I can’t believe I fooled myself into thinking that he was.” “He’s going to die and I have to get used to that.” “I really think he’s getting better.” “Is that degenerative brain disease, or is he just being a dick?”

It’s not what anyone would call a traditional story arc. But it’s my story arc. I managed to experience all of these emotions while on this trip. And at regularly scheduled intervals, of course.

Central Market

A and I leave the boys behind and go visit Central Market. I am looking for a headband with generous coverage. A is just looking. We find all sorts of things, including a shirt for Mr. J, headbands, a bandana for D, and a fun pair of pants for A. We are both pleased with this trip. “I would like to come back,” I say. “But I’m not sure Mr. J has another trip in him.” A, as always, is completely honest with me. “I’m not sure he has it in him either,” she says. “But he seems to be doing okay, even though he’s functioning below what might previously been considered normal.” This is true. He is doing well within his circle of love. “Maybe one more trip,” I say, trying not to be wistful about it. “One more,” A agrees. “At least.” I am holding on to that.

Perhaps a bit too hard.

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