To My Norwegian, And Australian, Buddy.

You can always depend on your Norwegian friend to fight on your side if ever you suddenly get into a brawl for no reason other than, it's-so-quiet-in-here-let's-have-a-bit-of-punch-up. Same thing goes with an Australian mate. You can depend on him to come to your rescue when you are up against two Cypriots drunk as skunks, especially when the fight wasn't going your way because you had miscalculated what these two could do with their elbows. The Australian buddy would join the party out of nowhere, half drunk himself, took a big swing at the Cypriots and he got them on the floor faster than you could figure out the meaning of life. After that he'd wink at you and say, you alright, mate?

Out of respect for their sense of comradeship, you too want to show your Norwegian, or Australian, friend that they too can count on a Malaysian friend to fight on their side should they suddenly find themselves in a brawl, which is quite frequent, usually over something big such as he doesn't like the other guy's shoes, or the cap. You sit quietly in a corner and your friend is at the bar to take his drink, chatting up a girl and before you know it a guy comes up from behind to push your Norwegian, or Australian, friend. He starts to talk tough. Your friend looks up trying to figure out what just hit him. Before you could even give your eyes half a blink, a fight breaks out. A few guys join in to beat your friend. You don't think. You just run towards the bar to join the fight. You jump with a front kick hoping it will land on someone's jaw. It doesn't. You fall to the floor. A guy comes in to give you a kick. He's got his leg up, leaving the other on the floor. You give him a quick jab to the knees. He falls down. You hear kneecap comes off. And you get excited. You want to hear more bones broken. You get up. You have the advantage. These guys are tall giving you a clear opening for a nice shot to the jaw, and the nose. You receive a blow to the ear, knocking your sense off balance long enough to keep you swaying like a coconut tree during a severe monsoon. You can't use locks in this type of fight because the arms move like rotor blades that it's almost impossible for you to grab one for a good lock that can dislodge the joint. So you just keep punching and punching and punching until you wake up to find yourself in a clinic, nose bleeding, ears ringing. A pretty nurse looks you in the eye and you feel half your nose is missing and it's painful even to breathe because it feels as if someone has ripped off your nose with a wrench and poured turpentine on it so it sizzled like steaks on charcoal fire.

I hope to meet up with you guys one of these days. If you happen to be reading this blog, which I doubt, do email me right away. It's me, The Scrooge. Aramco 1989. I am so lonely trying to get used to the idea of making a living on land, and not smell of saltwater, sweat, grease, and diesel.