Description
In this second chapter, we dive into the heart of the journey with my parents. Between the clinical modernity of the skyscrapers and the organic chaos of the local neighborhoods, I’m taking you along to explore the clash of generations.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
In this second chapter, we dive into the heart of the journey with my parents. Between the clinical modernity of the skyscrapers and the organic chaos of the local neighborhood, I'm taking you along to explore the clash of generations.
Keep your wings, le podcast.
Chapter 2. Diverging points of view. Ladies and gentlemen, in the interest of your safety... The dark circles under my mother's eyes, the physical toll of her first grueling trip outside of Europe, vanish the moment she sees me. A white smile spreads across her face as she pulls me into a long, tight embrace.
I missed you so much. so much.
How is it going, Sebastian?
My father had, timidly. He's never been one to fake indifference for very long. Our guide, Tristan, is standing right behind them, ready to go. Tristan is a local who has lived all over Asia. He speaks Chinese, Malay, and English, with a bit of Japanese too. He's been in Malaysia for over 25 years and came highly recommended by the agency as a boots on the ground expert who knows every nook and cranny of the country. Convinced, my parent had agree to his lead and probably mostly to please me. agreed to mix up sightseeing, culture, nature and a bit of lounging at the end of the trip. How was the flight?
Now that you're here, it's better.
She replied softly. I can only imagine, 11 hours in the air must have felt like an eternity for people whose first trip was to Eastern Europe for their honeymoon. We pile into the car when my father tries to impress the driver with the English lesson he had been forced to take for work.
Yeah, for sure, we come from Belgium.
My father says, puffing off his chest. Where? The guide asks. looking slightly bewildered. Belgium, I clarify from the backseat.
Ah, yes, chocolate and good beers.
He fires back instantly. My parents are delighted, laughing and hiding their own little comments. The drive to the hotel is smooth and the plan is simple. A bit of rest for the family before we start the real tour tomorrow. After dropping off our bags and showering, we head to the rooftop bar. The view is spectacular. The temperature is perfect, at least for me. And the cocktails are flowing It's a lifestyle at total odds with the one I've been living for the last 11 months. Finally, luxury and good food, yeah. Despite their fatigue, I managed to coax my parents out of the hotel for a stroll to find a restaurant.
Going to the city at night like this? Is it wise?
My father asked, already sounding panicked. Of course, I insist. There's a night market nearby and plenty of restaurants around. The three of us wander out into the bustling street of the Malaysian capital. I glance at my mother. She looks completely lost. A bit of change, isn't it?
Wow, he's still bigger than Vidas, but he...
She says naively. It doesn't take long for the first street hawkers to spot them, offering all sorts of trinkets. Being polite and not knowing how to say no, my parents get lured into a small shop on one of the main drags. I follow out of curiosity as they find themselves trapped by an insistent salesman trying to push this... hideous gold-plated watches that shine like high beams in the night.
What do we do?
My father mutters, visibly uncomfortable as the merchant tries to strap one onto his wrist. We're not interested, I tell the pushy seller, giving my parent a firm nudge in the back to get them moving. My father's face brightens, looking genuinely grateful to have been rescued from such a mess. We walk through the crowded alley of Kuala Lumpur looking for a restaurant that works for everyone. In other words, not too much of a tourist trap for me, and not too dirty or chaotic for my parents. We finally find a compromise.
I don't eat with chopstick.
My mother warns immediately. Don't worry, I tell her. It's thirsty enough here. They will have forks.
What if they don't have forks? I don't know to eat with chopstick. What am I going to do?
No stress. It will be fine. As promises, forks were provided and my mother's existential dread subsided.
There are way more people than in Villers-Poterie.
She remarks between bites of nasi goreng. I realize then that my mother's only frame of reference is Villers-Poterie, our tiny village of 1,286 people. The city is a total shock to her system, a wrecking ball to her worldview. My father, who is more used to traveling for work, mostly in France, remains on guard.
It's too much,
he says, referring to the crowds. Kuala Lumpur had 1.79 million people in 2017. The crowded shopping malls back home in Charleroi suddenly seem like a ghost town by comparison. After a meal that my parents deem quite good, we head back to the hotel for a nightcap on the rooftop. And that's when it happens. A serious conversation crashes the party uninvited while I'm sipping my Cuba Libre.
Have you thought about your pension?
My mother has point blank. Here we go again. I fire back.
Your mother is right. It's time to stop this nonsense and think about your future.
My father has. I'm thinking about my present. The way things are going, there's no guarantee I'll even have a pension at 67. It will probably be later. By the time I get it, I'll be too tired to travel or do anything. A whole life spent slaving away just for a pension at the end? This holy grail that's supposed to motivate you for decades? A reward after years of stress, lack of recognition and piling bills? I've worked as a freelance journalist. I've lived that pressure. The crap day, the erratic hours, being on call day and night. I don't want that anymore.
And when you have to pay rent?
and insurance and bills what will you do when you come home who says i'll have a house or that i'll even move back to belgium with real estate's price what they are it's unlikely i'll ever buy property anyway why get into debt and be chained on for years what's the point what's the total price and sacrifice for this so-called stability that's really just a knife to your throat i refuse to step into that cage not now anyway brows furrowed eyes averted not another word was spoken we went to bed angry. But by the next morning, the tension had eased and the smile returned. The journey could finally truly begin.
Description
In this second chapter, we dive into the heart of the journey with my parents. Between the clinical modernity of the skyscrapers and the organic chaos of the local neighborhoods, I’m taking you along to explore the clash of generations.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
In this second chapter, we dive into the heart of the journey with my parents. Between the clinical modernity of the skyscrapers and the organic chaos of the local neighborhood, I'm taking you along to explore the clash of generations.
Keep your wings, le podcast.
Chapter 2. Diverging points of view. Ladies and gentlemen, in the interest of your safety... The dark circles under my mother's eyes, the physical toll of her first grueling trip outside of Europe, vanish the moment she sees me. A white smile spreads across her face as she pulls me into a long, tight embrace.
I missed you so much. so much.
How is it going, Sebastian?
My father had, timidly. He's never been one to fake indifference for very long. Our guide, Tristan, is standing right behind them, ready to go. Tristan is a local who has lived all over Asia. He speaks Chinese, Malay, and English, with a bit of Japanese too. He's been in Malaysia for over 25 years and came highly recommended by the agency as a boots on the ground expert who knows every nook and cranny of the country. Convinced, my parent had agree to his lead and probably mostly to please me. agreed to mix up sightseeing, culture, nature and a bit of lounging at the end of the trip. How was the flight?
Now that you're here, it's better.
She replied softly. I can only imagine, 11 hours in the air must have felt like an eternity for people whose first trip was to Eastern Europe for their honeymoon. We pile into the car when my father tries to impress the driver with the English lesson he had been forced to take for work.
Yeah, for sure, we come from Belgium.
My father says, puffing off his chest. Where? The guide asks. looking slightly bewildered. Belgium, I clarify from the backseat.
Ah, yes, chocolate and good beers.
He fires back instantly. My parents are delighted, laughing and hiding their own little comments. The drive to the hotel is smooth and the plan is simple. A bit of rest for the family before we start the real tour tomorrow. After dropping off our bags and showering, we head to the rooftop bar. The view is spectacular. The temperature is perfect, at least for me. And the cocktails are flowing It's a lifestyle at total odds with the one I've been living for the last 11 months. Finally, luxury and good food, yeah. Despite their fatigue, I managed to coax my parents out of the hotel for a stroll to find a restaurant.
Going to the city at night like this? Is it wise?
My father asked, already sounding panicked. Of course, I insist. There's a night market nearby and plenty of restaurants around. The three of us wander out into the bustling street of the Malaysian capital. I glance at my mother. She looks completely lost. A bit of change, isn't it?
Wow, he's still bigger than Vidas, but he...
She says naively. It doesn't take long for the first street hawkers to spot them, offering all sorts of trinkets. Being polite and not knowing how to say no, my parents get lured into a small shop on one of the main drags. I follow out of curiosity as they find themselves trapped by an insistent salesman trying to push this... hideous gold-plated watches that shine like high beams in the night.
What do we do?
My father mutters, visibly uncomfortable as the merchant tries to strap one onto his wrist. We're not interested, I tell the pushy seller, giving my parent a firm nudge in the back to get them moving. My father's face brightens, looking genuinely grateful to have been rescued from such a mess. We walk through the crowded alley of Kuala Lumpur looking for a restaurant that works for everyone. In other words, not too much of a tourist trap for me, and not too dirty or chaotic for my parents. We finally find a compromise.
I don't eat with chopstick.
My mother warns immediately. Don't worry, I tell her. It's thirsty enough here. They will have forks.
What if they don't have forks? I don't know to eat with chopstick. What am I going to do?
No stress. It will be fine. As promises, forks were provided and my mother's existential dread subsided.
There are way more people than in Villers-Poterie.
She remarks between bites of nasi goreng. I realize then that my mother's only frame of reference is Villers-Poterie, our tiny village of 1,286 people. The city is a total shock to her system, a wrecking ball to her worldview. My father, who is more used to traveling for work, mostly in France, remains on guard.
It's too much,
he says, referring to the crowds. Kuala Lumpur had 1.79 million people in 2017. The crowded shopping malls back home in Charleroi suddenly seem like a ghost town by comparison. After a meal that my parents deem quite good, we head back to the hotel for a nightcap on the rooftop. And that's when it happens. A serious conversation crashes the party uninvited while I'm sipping my Cuba Libre.
Have you thought about your pension?
My mother has point blank. Here we go again. I fire back.
Your mother is right. It's time to stop this nonsense and think about your future.
My father has. I'm thinking about my present. The way things are going, there's no guarantee I'll even have a pension at 67. It will probably be later. By the time I get it, I'll be too tired to travel or do anything. A whole life spent slaving away just for a pension at the end? This holy grail that's supposed to motivate you for decades? A reward after years of stress, lack of recognition and piling bills? I've worked as a freelance journalist. I've lived that pressure. The crap day, the erratic hours, being on call day and night. I don't want that anymore.
And when you have to pay rent?
and insurance and bills what will you do when you come home who says i'll have a house or that i'll even move back to belgium with real estate's price what they are it's unlikely i'll ever buy property anyway why get into debt and be chained on for years what's the point what's the total price and sacrifice for this so-called stability that's really just a knife to your throat i refuse to step into that cage not now anyway brows furrowed eyes averted not another word was spoken we went to bed angry. But by the next morning, the tension had eased and the smile returned. The journey could finally truly begin.
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Description
In this second chapter, we dive into the heart of the journey with my parents. Between the clinical modernity of the skyscrapers and the organic chaos of the local neighborhoods, I’m taking you along to explore the clash of generations.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
In this second chapter, we dive into the heart of the journey with my parents. Between the clinical modernity of the skyscrapers and the organic chaos of the local neighborhood, I'm taking you along to explore the clash of generations.
Keep your wings, le podcast.
Chapter 2. Diverging points of view. Ladies and gentlemen, in the interest of your safety... The dark circles under my mother's eyes, the physical toll of her first grueling trip outside of Europe, vanish the moment she sees me. A white smile spreads across her face as she pulls me into a long, tight embrace.
I missed you so much. so much.
How is it going, Sebastian?
My father had, timidly. He's never been one to fake indifference for very long. Our guide, Tristan, is standing right behind them, ready to go. Tristan is a local who has lived all over Asia. He speaks Chinese, Malay, and English, with a bit of Japanese too. He's been in Malaysia for over 25 years and came highly recommended by the agency as a boots on the ground expert who knows every nook and cranny of the country. Convinced, my parent had agree to his lead and probably mostly to please me. agreed to mix up sightseeing, culture, nature and a bit of lounging at the end of the trip. How was the flight?
Now that you're here, it's better.
She replied softly. I can only imagine, 11 hours in the air must have felt like an eternity for people whose first trip was to Eastern Europe for their honeymoon. We pile into the car when my father tries to impress the driver with the English lesson he had been forced to take for work.
Yeah, for sure, we come from Belgium.
My father says, puffing off his chest. Where? The guide asks. looking slightly bewildered. Belgium, I clarify from the backseat.
Ah, yes, chocolate and good beers.
He fires back instantly. My parents are delighted, laughing and hiding their own little comments. The drive to the hotel is smooth and the plan is simple. A bit of rest for the family before we start the real tour tomorrow. After dropping off our bags and showering, we head to the rooftop bar. The view is spectacular. The temperature is perfect, at least for me. And the cocktails are flowing It's a lifestyle at total odds with the one I've been living for the last 11 months. Finally, luxury and good food, yeah. Despite their fatigue, I managed to coax my parents out of the hotel for a stroll to find a restaurant.
Going to the city at night like this? Is it wise?
My father asked, already sounding panicked. Of course, I insist. There's a night market nearby and plenty of restaurants around. The three of us wander out into the bustling street of the Malaysian capital. I glance at my mother. She looks completely lost. A bit of change, isn't it?
Wow, he's still bigger than Vidas, but he...
She says naively. It doesn't take long for the first street hawkers to spot them, offering all sorts of trinkets. Being polite and not knowing how to say no, my parents get lured into a small shop on one of the main drags. I follow out of curiosity as they find themselves trapped by an insistent salesman trying to push this... hideous gold-plated watches that shine like high beams in the night.
What do we do?
My father mutters, visibly uncomfortable as the merchant tries to strap one onto his wrist. We're not interested, I tell the pushy seller, giving my parent a firm nudge in the back to get them moving. My father's face brightens, looking genuinely grateful to have been rescued from such a mess. We walk through the crowded alley of Kuala Lumpur looking for a restaurant that works for everyone. In other words, not too much of a tourist trap for me, and not too dirty or chaotic for my parents. We finally find a compromise.
I don't eat with chopstick.
My mother warns immediately. Don't worry, I tell her. It's thirsty enough here. They will have forks.
What if they don't have forks? I don't know to eat with chopstick. What am I going to do?
No stress. It will be fine. As promises, forks were provided and my mother's existential dread subsided.
There are way more people than in Villers-Poterie.
She remarks between bites of nasi goreng. I realize then that my mother's only frame of reference is Villers-Poterie, our tiny village of 1,286 people. The city is a total shock to her system, a wrecking ball to her worldview. My father, who is more used to traveling for work, mostly in France, remains on guard.
It's too much,
he says, referring to the crowds. Kuala Lumpur had 1.79 million people in 2017. The crowded shopping malls back home in Charleroi suddenly seem like a ghost town by comparison. After a meal that my parents deem quite good, we head back to the hotel for a nightcap on the rooftop. And that's when it happens. A serious conversation crashes the party uninvited while I'm sipping my Cuba Libre.
Have you thought about your pension?
My mother has point blank. Here we go again. I fire back.
Your mother is right. It's time to stop this nonsense and think about your future.
My father has. I'm thinking about my present. The way things are going, there's no guarantee I'll even have a pension at 67. It will probably be later. By the time I get it, I'll be too tired to travel or do anything. A whole life spent slaving away just for a pension at the end? This holy grail that's supposed to motivate you for decades? A reward after years of stress, lack of recognition and piling bills? I've worked as a freelance journalist. I've lived that pressure. The crap day, the erratic hours, being on call day and night. I don't want that anymore.
And when you have to pay rent?
and insurance and bills what will you do when you come home who says i'll have a house or that i'll even move back to belgium with real estate's price what they are it's unlikely i'll ever buy property anyway why get into debt and be chained on for years what's the point what's the total price and sacrifice for this so-called stability that's really just a knife to your throat i refuse to step into that cage not now anyway brows furrowed eyes averted not another word was spoken we went to bed angry. But by the next morning, the tension had eased and the smile returned. The journey could finally truly begin.
Description
In this second chapter, we dive into the heart of the journey with my parents. Between the clinical modernity of the skyscrapers and the organic chaos of the local neighborhoods, I’m taking you along to explore the clash of generations.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
In this second chapter, we dive into the heart of the journey with my parents. Between the clinical modernity of the skyscrapers and the organic chaos of the local neighborhood, I'm taking you along to explore the clash of generations.
Keep your wings, le podcast.
Chapter 2. Diverging points of view. Ladies and gentlemen, in the interest of your safety... The dark circles under my mother's eyes, the physical toll of her first grueling trip outside of Europe, vanish the moment she sees me. A white smile spreads across her face as she pulls me into a long, tight embrace.
I missed you so much. so much.
How is it going, Sebastian?
My father had, timidly. He's never been one to fake indifference for very long. Our guide, Tristan, is standing right behind them, ready to go. Tristan is a local who has lived all over Asia. He speaks Chinese, Malay, and English, with a bit of Japanese too. He's been in Malaysia for over 25 years and came highly recommended by the agency as a boots on the ground expert who knows every nook and cranny of the country. Convinced, my parent had agree to his lead and probably mostly to please me. agreed to mix up sightseeing, culture, nature and a bit of lounging at the end of the trip. How was the flight?
Now that you're here, it's better.
She replied softly. I can only imagine, 11 hours in the air must have felt like an eternity for people whose first trip was to Eastern Europe for their honeymoon. We pile into the car when my father tries to impress the driver with the English lesson he had been forced to take for work.
Yeah, for sure, we come from Belgium.
My father says, puffing off his chest. Where? The guide asks. looking slightly bewildered. Belgium, I clarify from the backseat.
Ah, yes, chocolate and good beers.
He fires back instantly. My parents are delighted, laughing and hiding their own little comments. The drive to the hotel is smooth and the plan is simple. A bit of rest for the family before we start the real tour tomorrow. After dropping off our bags and showering, we head to the rooftop bar. The view is spectacular. The temperature is perfect, at least for me. And the cocktails are flowing It's a lifestyle at total odds with the one I've been living for the last 11 months. Finally, luxury and good food, yeah. Despite their fatigue, I managed to coax my parents out of the hotel for a stroll to find a restaurant.
Going to the city at night like this? Is it wise?
My father asked, already sounding panicked. Of course, I insist. There's a night market nearby and plenty of restaurants around. The three of us wander out into the bustling street of the Malaysian capital. I glance at my mother. She looks completely lost. A bit of change, isn't it?
Wow, he's still bigger than Vidas, but he...
She says naively. It doesn't take long for the first street hawkers to spot them, offering all sorts of trinkets. Being polite and not knowing how to say no, my parents get lured into a small shop on one of the main drags. I follow out of curiosity as they find themselves trapped by an insistent salesman trying to push this... hideous gold-plated watches that shine like high beams in the night.
What do we do?
My father mutters, visibly uncomfortable as the merchant tries to strap one onto his wrist. We're not interested, I tell the pushy seller, giving my parent a firm nudge in the back to get them moving. My father's face brightens, looking genuinely grateful to have been rescued from such a mess. We walk through the crowded alley of Kuala Lumpur looking for a restaurant that works for everyone. In other words, not too much of a tourist trap for me, and not too dirty or chaotic for my parents. We finally find a compromise.
I don't eat with chopstick.
My mother warns immediately. Don't worry, I tell her. It's thirsty enough here. They will have forks.
What if they don't have forks? I don't know to eat with chopstick. What am I going to do?
No stress. It will be fine. As promises, forks were provided and my mother's existential dread subsided.
There are way more people than in Villers-Poterie.
She remarks between bites of nasi goreng. I realize then that my mother's only frame of reference is Villers-Poterie, our tiny village of 1,286 people. The city is a total shock to her system, a wrecking ball to her worldview. My father, who is more used to traveling for work, mostly in France, remains on guard.
It's too much,
he says, referring to the crowds. Kuala Lumpur had 1.79 million people in 2017. The crowded shopping malls back home in Charleroi suddenly seem like a ghost town by comparison. After a meal that my parents deem quite good, we head back to the hotel for a nightcap on the rooftop. And that's when it happens. A serious conversation crashes the party uninvited while I'm sipping my Cuba Libre.
Have you thought about your pension?
My mother has point blank. Here we go again. I fire back.
Your mother is right. It's time to stop this nonsense and think about your future.
My father has. I'm thinking about my present. The way things are going, there's no guarantee I'll even have a pension at 67. It will probably be later. By the time I get it, I'll be too tired to travel or do anything. A whole life spent slaving away just for a pension at the end? This holy grail that's supposed to motivate you for decades? A reward after years of stress, lack of recognition and piling bills? I've worked as a freelance journalist. I've lived that pressure. The crap day, the erratic hours, being on call day and night. I don't want that anymore.
And when you have to pay rent?
and insurance and bills what will you do when you come home who says i'll have a house or that i'll even move back to belgium with real estate's price what they are it's unlikely i'll ever buy property anyway why get into debt and be chained on for years what's the point what's the total price and sacrifice for this so-called stability that's really just a knife to your throat i refuse to step into that cage not now anyway brows furrowed eyes averted not another word was spoken we went to bed angry. But by the next morning, the tension had eased and the smile returned. The journey could finally truly begin.
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