A Malaysian Girl in Sydney

Where was I? Sydney, oh yes.

I spent my first evening with a two girls from Norway that I'd met at the commons in the backpackers' inn where I was staying. We exchanged stories from abroad, both transcontinentally and from the vast landscapes of our imaginations. A week, they said, was all they planned to spend in Sydney - and it has stretched to three already. Over budget beer, they shared with me their best Sydney moments and I diligently took notes. The Tank, best club in town ("Let's go get tanked!" the girls screamed in laughter, almost spilling the beers.) The Establishment, best place to meet 'poshies'. Kings Cross, red light district and all-rounder in Strip/Sleaze Stakes and sexy gay men. Oxford for shopping and sexy gay men, and Darlinghurst for dining and more sexy gay men. In this city, the homosexual ethos extends beyond the boundaries of the city itself, they tell me, almost whispering as if no one else should hear us.

(A quick note: I adore gay men.)

I went apartment hunting first thing the next morning after a quick jog 'round the block. The girls were hungover and I had a slight headache, but I needed to find a place to stay. A quick comb through two real estate agents in the city unearthed the perfect bachelorette pad - a studio reasonably close to the city where I'd planned to work.

'Ultra modern glass-front studio apartment in high security building with combined lounge and dining area, small kitchen with stainless steel appliances and gas cooking, bathroom, balcony, gym, sauna, lap pool, concierge, spectacular views of the city....'

At $350 a week, rent was debatable but not blatantly unaffordable, so I went to see it. The place looked even better in person - the bedroom had a glass wall and at playing voyeur up 15 floors would be challenging for some. But the agent informed me that it was mirrored glass on the exterior, and that I could walk around naked if I wanted to... "Not a warry, swee-art, no one will see yah," she said, winking. I took it.

I moved in that afternoon, my lone luggage and handbag in tow and rang the girls from a payphone. I'd told them what I intended to do here the night before and we'd scoured the yellow pages together looking for real estate agents.

"Birget, it's Asha...yes, I'm fine...listen, I've found a place! Already, yes...Surry Hills, yah...you and Meg should come over and hang out tonight...at 8? cool! I'll get the beer...the address is...."

I found a convenience store around the corner that proved a worthy refuge for singles like myself, the shelves heavy with single portions of all that is tinned, dried and powdered. I bought papers, a loaf of bread and 12 cans of cold VB.

"Havin' a big noight in, are we?" the boy behind the counter grinned at me. He must've been about 20, at most, and in possession of the greenest eyes I'd ever seen.

"Just a few beers with the girls" I replied in my American-Malaysian accent, handing him a $50.
"You must be new. I ain't seen yah come in here before. I'd have remembered yah."

"I just moved in up the street," I offered.

"And drinkin' like an Ozzie already!" He handed me my change, still grinning.

I laughed, and went back to my new home. Dropping my purchases on the kitchen counter, I realized I had nothing to keep the beer cold in...so I cracked one open and started on the papers; an attempt to familiarize myself with the local going-ons. Even off-season, rugby is big in Australia.

And I sat alone on the carpet in my bare apartment, which no longer suffocated my senses with musty emptiness but lingered of Romance and cigarette smoke, and waited for my new friends to arrive.