Yesterday, I found myself in an afternoon meeting on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur, fully aware that I needed to make my escape before 4:30pm.
In the Klang Valley– and, let’s be honest, any major city in Malaysia– traffic jams aren’t just an inconvenience; they’re a built-in feature of daily life. And during Ramadan, they reach apocalyptic levels. Thousands upon thousands of cars hit the road at the same time, all engaged in an unspoken, high-stakes race to reach their respective destinations before it’s time for Iftar.
Fortunately, the meeting was moving along smoothly, and it looked like I’d be out on time. And then it rained.
Oops.
For reasons no scientist has ever cared to explain, rain and traffic jams go together like kuih ketayap and teh tarik— and not in a good way. It’s just one of those unbreakable laws of the universe, like how your boss is always late when you’re early or how washing your car immediately triggers a monsoon.
Everyone at the meeting instinctively knew we had to flee or risk being stuck until well after 7:30pm. Not eager to loiter, I made a break for it, bracing myself for the journey home.
At exactly 5:05pm, I set off– just 20km to go. The first few kilometers were deceptively smooth, tricking me into a false sense of optimism. And then, as I approached the Damansara Toll, reality hit me like a brick.
Everything came to a standstill.
My car joined what was once a highway but had now transformed into an enormous, motionless parking lot. As the minutes crawled by, the podcast I was listening to started making me drowsy. I needed something stronger to keep me awake.
Enter my 80s playlist.
Since I was alone, there was no reason to hold back. Full karaoke mode, max volume. Take On Me came on, and I went all in. My performance was so over-the-top that, had a-ha been within earshot, they might have immediately retired from music.
Just as I was dramatically bobbing my head and passionately pleading with an imaginary figure to “take me on,” a car abruptly cut into my lane.
We were all queuing to turn left, and this particular genius decided to swoop in from the right at the very last second.
Rude.
It was too late– and frankly, too awkward– to honk. Instead, I opted for the next best course of action: a slow, deliberate lane change to pull up beside the offending vehicle. Then, channelling the raw disappointment of every Asian parent who has been presented with a bad report card, I slowly turned towards the direction of the car and delivered a silent, devastating head shake– the kind that says, “You have failed me and I hope you reflect deeply on your decision.”
There was just one problem.
The driver didn’t see me.
He was too focused on maneuvering his car through the jam, probably just as desperate to get home as I was. My grand moment of righteous traffic vengeance? Completely wasted.
And so, as I continued my slow crawl home, I hear the opening chords of Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car filled the car.
Such is life.