THE KUALA LUMPUR FORUM (1 month to Japan)

There were three gentlemen from the Philippines and one each from Timor Leste, Bangladesh, and Pakistan.

Four of them made it to the hotel lobby photo and perhaps, one of them will be invited to pay homage to Santa Marta, sister of Mary and patron saint of housewives and restaurant workers, the portkey to an audience with the ghost of Simon Bolivar somewhere at the Quinta de San Pedro Alejandrino where the Magdalena River passes through before diving into the Carribean Sea for a long swim across the Atlantic Ocean to deliver a communique to the guardians of the Anatalya coast along the Mediterranean Sea. 

That disptach was conjured from the mist of a muddy confluence of two rivers that created the Federal Territory of Kuala Lumpur and inspired the transformation of Petaling Jaya from a 486-hectare rubber estate into a satellite town. 

A day before, the Kuala Lumpur Forum received a doctor's prescription for a confirmed hotel booking and a rush travel insurance procurement, an inbox purge and quarterly timesheets at the transit hotel, and a $100 ransom for a passport that almost got left behind. 

It was also decided during a hotel restaurant huddle that the two meetings bumped off by PR 525 be compensated with a plastic bag of mutton rendang and egg panotta for lunch, and a dinner of overladed Kambing Bhukara Briyani.

Thus was how the declaration for Santa Marta and Anatalya evolved: 

• a report submission before the ambassador checked in
• a campaigner's overview of the Belem outcomes and how the adaptation of just transition might get lost, damaged, and possibly compensated with climate finance 
• unlocking the airline gates to Colombia in a month's time and Turkiye in 8 months with an incantation from a shared agenda for the content gathering interviews

The welcome dinner was sober and dominated by a conversation about ASEAN member state beers, an abstinence whose dullness was punctuated with a cleavage spied around Independence Square, the abundance of subtle hustles at the River of Life, the erect phallic symbols of Kuala Lumpur, and a nuked beef rendang dinner at the Central Market.

It was also announced at the ensuing press conference that the Phnom Penh Workshop as well as the Bali Assembly are now in the advance stages of procurement despite a slight delay in Manila, to ensure that CSO key moments are as harmonious as the flavors of sup kambing and buttered chicken with naan bread.

In Poblacion, Supergirl and Wonderwoman dressed an old-time burger and vanilla milkshake with two cups of red wine from PR 526, bloody enough for the Blues Brothers to croon how an extra service under the red lights of Padre Burgos was politely declined, skewered into crimson pork barbecue, and marinated in 2 bottles of Red Horse Stallion. 

The morning after, the Phantom Biker crashed a car-free Sunday in Ayala Avenue to chase after bikes of various makes and collect sweat from nubile runners of diverse sizes to season an adobong baboy breakfast at the Legazpi Sunday Market.

The Holy Week went live and palm branches go on sale after the Sunday mass at San Pedro de Macati.

Pugad Baboy delivered fresh clothes but missed Marilyn Monroe at the Filling Station during a lunch of half-burgers, pizza, and root beer floats. 

Catholics officially embarked on a visual fast as the saints of Guadalupe Church were covered with the color of penance that foretold of a death in San Jose City... 

A TAIL OF TWO CITIES (with apologies to Charles Dickens)

"It was the best of times..." [Despite the PR 529 purser's best efforts to shut down an unconscious loud mouth, the call for transition from declaration to action was delivered in Kuala Lumpur].

 

"It was the age of wisdom..." [The current house was built on unreliable commitments so a smaller house by the beach in Rayong was reimagined for the tougher days ahead].

"It was the epoch of belief..." [A new frontier in the care economy unfolded like boxed roast lamb in a co-working space before the online check-in portal for TG 146 collapsed].

"It was the season of light..." [A horde of tourists chase the silhouettes of the Petronas Towers; Merdeka 118 pointed to the heavens from the 19th floor of the Grand Millenium].

"It was the spring of hope..."[Smuggled shawarma from the kitchen of Damascus were hauled as pilfered tote bags into a monorail that  passed undetected through the Habab Gate at the speed of KLIA Ekspres, then loaded into an elevator for two airport train transfers to the 5th floor of the Royal Princess where the pita wrap revealed pieces of crispy pork and an omelette].  

"We had everything before us..." [A squid infestation at the 3rd floor of the Kantary Bay Hotel in Rayong was overloaded with another omelette and cubes of a fried sea bass that got snared in the plastic chairs and tables littering Saeng Chan Beach].

"We were all going direct to Heaven..." [Fleets of krathongs from the Festival of Lights conveyed prayers to the Buddha of Wat Sunthon Thammathan and the statue of Phisuea Samut, an ogress that has been venerated as the patron and guardian of the sea]. 

ASEAN 2025 is at its tail end and in tribute, the Phantom Biker found a corner aboard PR 733 where he tapped a ballad about two cities:

"I see hibiscus blossoms all over Kuala Lumpur's trains

I see temples adorning the Bangkok landscape 

I see high team spirits despite an annual reaping..."

Back in Bakal 2, a boxed hooter from Baloc serenaded a 69th birthday that, in lieu of the anticipated onslaught of Fung-wong, intentionally under-salted the dinakdakan and tiim na pata. 

THE CONVENINGS (From Kuala Lumpur to Bakal 2 to Rizal)

There was a 2-hour sleep on PR 530 and another 2 hours on the bus to Cabanatuan.

Several drams of blended whiskey from the Lodge in Baloc induced another 2-3 hours of slumber before the blood of Christ was poured from bottled malbec into canned brytos to celebrate the convening of Almaguer in Bakal 2.  

Five days earlier, the first convening finally arrived in Kuala Lumpur to chase emails at the lobby of the Berjaya Times Square where Ah Hei concocted its Michellin Bib Gourmand-listed meat bone tea (bak kut teh) from 16 Chinese herbs to lead an ingress to an egress.

That was enough to salvage Session 1 and fuel the briefings of Session 2 despite the distracting perfume of what is said to be the best grilled chicken wings in all of Kuala Lumpur but definitely not the case for a spur-of-the-moment nasi lemak at Jalan Alor.

Indeed, the sight, sound, and smell of Jalan Alor is a proper sequel for The Clash of the Titans who hijacked the wifi signal of Manhattan V to enable the notetakers until they were smitten by a podcast and have to be revived with grilled lamb chops and the Malaysian version of Oysters Rockefeller.

That is probably why The Facilitator took control of D-Day to ensure that the ensuing work plan will publish a communique that will nudge the Lao Initiative into concluding the first convening as listed in the agenda of a PMU meeting on [1] how to properly queue for a crispy beef roti, [2] explain the dried prawns in a sauteed pork intestines, and [3] understand why Chinese fried pork ribs have a pink hue.

There were tall beeers too --- Danish Carlsberg, Singaporean Tiger, Dutch Heineken, Irish Guinness --- and high buildings --- the Petronas Twin Towers and Merdeka 118 --- to celebrate Sek Yuen's Bib Gourmand-listed roasted pipa duck and coming to terms with a golden pulp of Musang King Durian as a result of exceeding expectations and confirming three goals for FY 2025-26.

And so it was that grilled SNR steak was offered at the second convening in Bakal 2 and left-over Bicol Express for the third convening in Rizal where two $50 bills were lost, found, and married...

THE UNEMPLOYED 3: A Consultant in Kuala Lumpur

it was the wet biryani

a virtual account unlocked for the seeker's liberation of a hostaged last pay as PR 527 poured two cans of beer into a bento box of half-burnt kretek butts  

but online check-in won't budge from a confusing arrival procedure to manage five paid sessions at the Ramada Hotel

and review the Bangkok framework

that was the red shirt

daylight for a night tour 

royal guards throw bolts of wet shoes at a spire and the minaret while the rain waltzed with the twin towers to warm a cold haram dinner in Bukit Bintang

 beer, kaoliang and whiskey

a duel of fish skin and roasted chicken in honor of a departing keisatsu who traded a salted egg shrimp for the mountie's poached fish and a Sarawak love song 

Hanuman is not a beer

she is a proud uncovered breast herding monkeys from Batu Caves into guardians of the Putra Mosque who cover Chinese tourists with the Prime Minister's maroon robes 

a Saturday night fever

it was the masked lady who absorbed all the pheromones in PR 528 for a white lady in the bus who summoned the virus to Baloc with a case of Red Horse on a Sunday night...

JOHOR BAHRU

The mural along Jalan Tan Hiok Nee is alive.

It performed a dragon dance a little over an hour after clearing 41.4 kilometers from Changi Airport to the Johor Bahru Checkpoint, a rain-induced Malay buffet dinner at Lepak Corner and real sleep in a real bed at Amari Hotel, and claiming my badge and goodie bag at Pesada Johor Internasional.   

It doesn't matter that the bus driver's zipper is open throughout the trip, that the immigration officer at CIQ never heard of APCW 2023, or I was served hot teh tarik instead of the cold one I ordered because the Straits of Johor may sound big but it is actually narrower than the 1.056-kilometer Johor-Singapore Causeway. 

In Johor Bahru, the rains fall at 2 pm and stops after an hour so by 4 pm, I changed into Indiana Jones to explore the Old JB Town Heritage Food Trail where I had a late big lunch of Restoran IT Roo's (circa 1960s) famous Hainanese chicken chop, so huge that I left some on the plate to offer to the memory of the wealthy Indian family who built The Red House and to the gods of the Johor Ancient Chinese Temple whose main gate is the subject of a young street photographer.

That was on Monday and a pint of Guinness stout at McGregor's while the RWI fellows opted for small glasses of weak Tiger Beer after a futile search for Jalan Wong Ah Fock's recommended must eats, that same day I confused with Tuesday and the side event I excellently moderated I was told, perhaps the result of a more palatable boxed free lunch despite a 15-minute technical glitch.

Yes, Tueday was the big day but Sang Heng (circa 1950s) remained closed, maybe forever, and I don't really like banana cake so I left Hiap Joo Bakery (circa 1919) for a pack of kaya buns at Salahuddin Bakery (circa 1937) before a late afternoon breakfast of kaya toasts, soft boiled egg and hot tea at Restoran Hua Mui (1946) that should have been the sop kambing I craved for because dinner, although free, is a disappointing bowl of fish that someone choose for me because I asked him to. 

On Wednesday, Grab took took me to JB Sentral to be swallowed by the throng making its way to Singapore, an hour too early but late enough for the CIQ immigration officer who fell asleep while stamping my passport that was held up at the Woodlands Checkpoint because my approved electronic arrival application to Singapore is for single entry only, something that the talkative coach driver did not tell until our arrival at Changi's Terminal 1.

But "life is a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get" (Mama Gump).

I got an early check in from Jewel 5 hours into my flight back to Manila which means 5 hours of enjoying the hospitality of SATS Premiere Lounge's bar and kitchen, had an entire row for myself at PR 508,  and was delivered at Hop Inn-Morato from NAIA Terminal in no time despite the rush hour traffic. 

Johor Bahru was almost dry and halal so a young Barbie Doll dedicated a Johnny Walker Black for us in Bongabon while an older and familiar version of her piled heaps of lechong baboy over a case of San Miguel Premium All-Malt after 8 hours on stage at the Palayan City convention...