If my Dad were Malaysian, his name would be Peter.

I’m sitting on the top deck of a ship in Halong Bay, surrounded by jungle-covered islands, and am lulled into an almost trance-like state by the slow rolling of the boat, the hot steamy air, and visions of dragonflies dancing just above the water. And then…

KILLING ME SOFTLY WITH HIS WORDS
STRUMMING HIS LA LA LA LA

…???! It’s Peter, the friendly 70-year-old Malaysian man, singing karaoke on the floor below. Karaoke at 8:30 in the morning. I go downstairs to see if there’s some sort of rousing morning party taking place that I was not invited to, but no, it’s just Peter sitting alone in front of the TV screen with mic in hand. A couple of crew members go about there business cleaning up the remnants of breakfast, but, for the most part, they pay him no mind.

I immediately think of my Dad and how he would love this man and his karaoking ways. Just swap the boat lounge chair for a red leather recliner, and this could be a scene from my parents’ living room. It actually makes me a little homesick. I lose myself to thought of family and friends and what they all are doing right now, when…

KNOCK THREE TIMES…ON THE CEILING IF YOU WANT ME!
TWICE ON THE DOOR, IF THE ANSWER IS NO-O-O-O!

And now I think a visit to Malaysia may be in order…