Malaysia to me is a beautiful place. I love the tropical trees, the markets in the street, but mostly the people I meet. I love the beautiful children and how they point at us from behind windows and doors or their parents legs. I love the modesty of the women, the colors of their dress, the smiles of all. I love how most towns have a night market that seems to draw out the entire community to eat at the plastic tables under hanging lanters with Malaysia soaps playing on the TV from the small outdoor restraunt stalls.
Yesterday we spent over 8 hours on the Jungle Railway train, passing through thick pockets of forest, wide dirty rivers, mountains, rock cliffs, and many small rural villages-with scattered wooden shacks, a small store, lots of playing children and a beautiful mosque. It impressed me to see these towns and although I only saw them as a passer-by through the window of a train I saw people who seem to have their priorities right-with the mosque being the focus point of town-the only building that seemed it wouldn't fall over after a strong wind storm. The mosque was beautiful and big enough to hold the towns people. The people's houses stood small beside it-simple wooden shacks, basic shelter.
I'd like to think these people live simple faitful lives-happy with what they have, with a strong sense of community and no lack in their basic needs. When the people from these towns get onto the train I don't observe any signs of suffering or hardship, they all seem put together and talk happily amongst themselves. I wonder if I were to get off the train in one of these villages what I would discover. I know every family, and every village has their problems but from a passer-by on a north-bound train life here in Malaysia seems quite beautiful.
