Foreign Matters

Immigrants always bear the brunt.

Seriously. Ever since some bright spark in prehistoric times decided to take a blissful joyride on that floating log in the rushing river, people have been been on the gadabout - travelling constantly from place to place and occasionally setting up camp and willingly remaining stranded in a foreign land. Fortunately these days we can depend on far more reliant methods than a rickety waterlogged branch.

Braving the dangers of the roaring river and killer piranhas wouldn't be the worst of his predicaments of course since the moment that adventurous soul disembarks from his trusty log onto foreign soil, he'll be faced with the suspicious, unwelcoming stares of the natives.

Probably an animal survival instinct, we have always been suspicious of the untested, untried and unknown. Even more so when it's a relative stranger from abroad who's come deliberately a-knocking at our proverbial door in search of a new job - and a better life.

After a few months or so of overworking the sod till the point of starvation, we start laying blame at the poor fella's door instead. Dirt and disease. Famine and failures. Rape and robberies. Let's not deny the unfortunate fact that more than a few of the so-called foreign workers have veered off the righteous path in search of the easier ( albeit desperately felonious ) shortcut - but surely there are a handful who are honestly here in search of that promised land.

Lest we forget, almost all of us here are immigrants in a way. Somewhere along the line, our intrepid forefathers once took the path these brave souls are taking now, whether we're from the banks of the Ganges, the hills of Fujian to the hinterlands of Java. Hell, even Adam and Eve must have packed their bags ( probably a fig leaf or two in their Samsonite ) once for their one-way jungle trek out of Paradise so there's hardly anyone who can sufficiently claim that their blue-blooded ancestry dates back to the first living amoebae that ever set pseudopod on that particular piece of land.

So let's not sneer at their hardship.


Rangoon Ranger
Which is why I say we should all embrace our husky foreign fellows. Especially the more comely ones who have brought a higher level of testosterone goodness to our fair land. Think of the perfect Pakistani pappadam lifting sandbags at the construction site. That virile Vietnamese beef serving you soup in the restaurants. The sexy Surabaya slavegod cleaning the windows during lunch break. God, you gotta know that the whole raging rhethoric had to lead somewhere.

And this doesn't even have to do with the bevy of hunks bathing half-naked on a daily basis at Big Bicep Barry's factory.

Well, this one leads to Beautiful Bhimraj, the indisputable jewel of Rangoon. Fresh out of the verdant forests of the Myanmar, he has made his way here to live a dangerous life as a mall security guard and the moment I saw him, I was this close to offering home, house and hearth to the ravishing dark and beguiling-eyed Rangoon Ranger. Of course, I spoke a few words to him as he in turn stuttered prettily through the few words he possessed - all while I imagined the Rangoon Ranger forcefully slammed against the elevator wall moaning ecstatically as my fingers travelled up his raging Mandalay.

Didn't get his number though since he was obviously the bashful sort - and spoken English didn't seem to be his forte ( looking manly and utterly delectable in a suit was though ). Still, I had some plans for that nightstick of his.

Unfazed by my reprobate behaviour, Charming Calvin only smiled and told me not to be naughty.