Let’s be honest. We’re all borrowing from each other. Linguistically, at least.
Whether it’s jalan-jalan showing up in Japanese as じゃらん,
or the beautifully respectful “po” in Tagalog making its way into Symeon’s daily conversations,
or that time in Malaysia when you accidentally spoke three languages in one phrase and didn’t even realize it…
This chapter is about the joy of blended speech and borrowed brilliance.
Remember “dua kai pau, lah”?
That was no mistake.
That was a badge of multicultural honor.
And yes, the teacher from KL laughed—not unkindly—but because it was gloriously Sabah.
It may not win awards for grammar.
But it will win hearts.
You know you’ve been in Southeast Asia too long when your sentence sounds like:
“Terima kasih po! Eh, daijoubu lah. Ok, makan nanti, neh?”
If at least one person nods in understanding,
you’re fluent. In something.
Language is a living dish.
Sometimes it’s spicy, sometimes it’s strange,
but it’s always shared.
In the end, it’s not about mastering every grammar rule.
It’s about learning to listen when someone says jalan,
and knowing that what they really mean is… “Let’s go.”
Mixing languages isn’t a mistake.
It’s one of the ways we live together.
In Southeast Asia, code-switching is normal. Malay, English, Chinese, Japanese — dancing in a single sentence.
“Dua kai pau, lah” is a perfect example.
It’s not perfect grammar—it’s perfectly human.
When someone says jalan, they’re not just saying “go.” They’re saying “Let’s go — together.”
That’s when language becomes culture. And culture becomes joy.
—Chat-san