I’m looking for somewhere to sit.

It turns out to be surprisingly difficult. George Town doesn’t seem to believe in benches. There are a few along the waterfront, and the parks have a handful too, but everywhere else you apparently have to buy a coffee or a meal if you want to give your legs a rest. The rest of the city is built for passing through, not for staying. I do know a quiet bar that’s usually open late.

So I keep walking.

A car dealership selling electric vehicles. For a moment, I wonder whether I should be working on rolling out EV charging infrastructure across Southeast Asia. I’m halfway through a potential business idea before I remember that I’ve never been particularly good at hustle culture. A litter of puppies darts across the pavement. I instinctively look for their mother. She’s watching me. Fair enough.

I keep walking.

The hostel is hosting a themed evening. Something involving costumes. I realise the reason I don’t want to go back isn’t the hostel itself. I just don’t feel like organised socialising. I want to sit somewhere and let the day settle.
Maybe that’s why I always end up hanging around the smokers. I don’t smoke. But smokers seem to have figured something out about conversations. Nobody has to perform. Nobody has to network. You simply stand there until the cigarette is finished, and if someone says something, they say something.
A 7-Eleven. Time to stock up. Cup noodles are on offer. Crazy Wednesday. I’m genuinely unsure what day of the week it is. Apparently, it’s Wednesday. A Pepsi Zero and a 100Plus it is.

I keep walking.

A group of boys are marching behind a fence with drums and bagpipes. The church beside them is lit up and looks like a grey-and-white medieval castle. A motorbike is loud enough that the entire street ought to send it an invoice. I need to cross the road, but it’s busy. It makes me think of Vietnam. Strangely enough, the traffic felt safer there. No less chaotic. Just more cooperative. Here, it feels as though the cars accept that pedestrians exist, but would much rather they did so somewhere else.

I reach the bar. It’s closed. Not because it’s late. Just because it’s Wednesday. The shop next door is closed too. It’s actually quite funny. There’s a food court around the corner, though. Surely that can’t be closed as well. Even if it is Wednesday.

I keep walking.

There are fifty different dishes to choose from. I can’t be bothered making any more decisions. In the end, I settle for the same beef stew I had the other day. I lean back and look up at the ceiling. Huge ceiling fans hang above me. They keep a row of flags in constant motion. Historic Malaysian flags? State flags? I don’t know. I don’t really need to. The evening call to prayer begins from the nearby mosque. At the next table, someone opens a Carlsberg. I sit somewhere in between, eating my beef stew and dictating into my phone.

It strikes me that this is probably the most accurate description of my evenings.

Not sightseeing.

Not reflection.

Just a long chain of observations.

A litter of puppies.

A closed bar.

A motorbike.

A bowl of beef stew.

The evening call to prayer.

One thought doesn’t push the next aside.

Each one simply drifts by.

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