Pink on the Inside.

We’ve been here just over a week now and have really started to get a taste of local culture – literally, a taste. We laughed about having spaghetti and hamburgers for dinner, but lately the food has had much more of a traditional flavor. More times than not, we love it. But when served something that’s harder to stomach, there is no shame in dousing it with sweet chili sauce. Chili sauce is to Malaysia what Ranch dressing is to middle class Americans. It can go on anything and everything, just like home.

This past Sunday we attended church with John, Joyce and Rachel at a Brethren church in Ipoh – a denomination that is led by elders, not a pastor, and where women don’t speak (so help me, Jesus). It was a simple building with wooden pews and a piano. We sang hymns, the elders took turns reading scriptures and a guest “pastor” gave a message on the importance of being hospitable Christians, even outside the church. The service last roughly two and half hours followed by a fellowship time where instead of servicing coffee and cookies – we had spicy rice noodles and tea. Everyone was incredibly friendly and curious in the way anyone would be seeing new faces in their congregation. Brian and I sat behind several elderly women during the service and I continued to watch them during the fellowship time – my theory was supported yet again – old church ladies are the same in every church, in every denomination, in every country I have traveled to. Dressed to a tee in their Sunday best and the chattiest of Kathys there ever were. It’s comforting to know that some things are universal.

Other things – not so universal. Like eating pumpkin flowers and chicken feet. The Malaysian/Chinese/Indian/Filipino version of pumpkin soup contained fried pumpkin flowers, boiled chicken feet and a little onion. The pumpkin flowers tasted mostly like carrots… and the rest like chicken stalk. I have eaten chicken feet before, in Peru, and it’s far from the worst thing that has happened to my little blonde head but it’s still slightly unnerving to see them floating around your dinner. To Brian’s request, we were also treated to a Malaysian road-side treat, chendol. It comes in a plastic bag (like when you buy a fish at Walmart) and is basically coconut milk, brown sugar, shredded flower that looks like little green worms and of course, kidney beans – all served over ice. Let’s get serious, it was weird. But when it’s 90° and 100 percent humidity and you’ve been working outside for three hours, the fact that it was cold sold us. And if you can get over the texture, it’s good stuff.

While so many things we are experiencing in Malaysia are new and different, so many things are the same. Yesterday, we were invited to have breakfast with John and Joyce in their home – a small apartment built into the school. Joyce cooked us bacon and eggs and they drank out of mugs that said “Abeline Dad” and “Abeline Mom.” I think I’ve given my parents similar mugs from Waynesburg University. And while there were a lot of traditional Asian decorations in their home, there were also family portraits and classically bad ‘80s photos of them with their children and really bad hair and enormous glasses. Apparently the ‘80s were a universally rough time for fashion.

And with that, I am continuing to understand that the human experience often transcends ethnicity. In all the richness of cultures around the world, there is an overarching human culture that oven gets overlooked, but when seen, is a stark reminder of the frivolousness of so many ways we divide and separate ourselves from those who seem so different. As much as I love traveling and seeing the world and exploring different ways of life, I love home too. And I love being reminded that home and the world aren't all that different and that well, we're all pink on the inside.