
You wouldn’t believe what I did at the Malaysian Custom last Friday.
When I was young and needed to travel overseas on my own, my dad always made sure that all the new items I carried across the border would have the original packaging removed. Each and every item. As I grow older, I deduce that if the items are for self use, it is OK to carry them over from one country to another. Where does the line being drawn? I have no clue. I am sure travellers visit places overseas and buy souvenirs for friends. Some are pretty big ticket items (like the Swiss watches). Who would shop overseas and declare all their goods at the Custom and get themselves taxed?
Seriously?
Last Friday morning, as Cynthia left our home and headed to the airport, she smiled at me and said, “See you in Malaysia tonight!” I smiled back and said, “No no no! See you in Singapore next week!”. The truth was, I did not give Cynthia a firm yes that I would drive all the way and visit her over the weekend. Call it a semi-surprise visit or an internal struggle yet to be sorted out. I hadn’t even packed my bag that early Friday morning.
I knew she has to work over the weekend and I have thousand and one things I could do in Singapore. But then … why not make someone happy and besides, I always love a little adventure. I had no idea where and how to get to PJ Hilton.
So I packed my bag in a hurry (still needed to go to work for half a day), brought along a new brainless book, grabbed my Spanish classical guitar, and … that should be enough to keep myself entertained.
Except, I had this sudden urge to attempt to write some songs during this road trip and I have stumbled upon a nice neat toy a while back that condenses the entire home recording studio into a hand-held device! I just had to buy that before heading to Malaysia!
Fast forward to the Malaysian Custom, one friendly officer asked me to open the car boot and he pointed at my shopping bag and asked, “What is it inside?”
“Erm … it’s a recorder,” I replied gingerly and already cursing my own stupidity.
He took it out from my shopping bag and clearly had no idea what it was. It is definitely not something you can commonly see in all good electronic stores. Carrying with him my brand new toy, he consulted his group of officers (must be like 6 or 7 of them gathering by the desk … very intimidating!)
“You need a permit for this,” he smiled.
In any other given days, I would have loved his friendly smile. I said, “I don’t understand. It is just a recorder. More like a MP3 player!”
“I know, I know! Well, you will need a permit in order to bring this into Malaysia. But I shall tax you instead. It is much better that way,” he said.
“Tax me?! But it is for my own use!” I gently protested.
“Do you have a receipt?” he asked.
Now, how stupid I was?! I could have said: no, but I remember it cost 10 bucks. Instead, I passed him the receipt. He took out a calculator, punched in some numbers, and said, “The tax is 30% and that will be RM 175.”
I was nearly in tears! I pleaded with him that I bought it just before lunch and I planned to use it to record my guitar this evening (I didn’t dare to show him my mint condition S$1,500 guitar at the back seat that has a receipt inside … the best place to keep a receipt is with the item itself, no?). I even tried to strike up a conversation with him on music. To tell you the truth, he must be the most sympathetic and friendly Malaysian Custom officer I have ever met.
After much deliberation with all sort of analogies I could think of (he was very patience too!), he did not bulge and kept telling me that he was just doing his job. Reluctantly, I took out my wallet ready to hand him RM 175. He was taken aback and said, “Don’t you want a receipt? You have to pay the tax over there.” He pointed at somewhere far.
That’s it. I wasn’t going to walk! It would be a walk of shame! And I would be haunted by this stupid moment of mine for the rest of my life! I counter suggested that I should just throw away the packaging right here right now. He was shocked slightly and smile, “Sorry Sir, I have already seen the box!”
“But it doesn’t matter! I will rip the box apart. And you won’t see it again! Besides, I wouldn’t be able to sell that in Malaysia right?” I insisted. OK, my heart would bleed because I do keep all my toys inside the original packages all the time. But between RM 175 and heart pain, I would choose the latter.
As I attempted to take the box from his hand, he stopped me and said, “Let me ask my supervisor.”
The supervisor looked really cold and stern. Actually he did look very scary. I was not sure if I could muster enough courage to face him.
The officer presented my case. the supervisor kept quiet at first and then let out one command in Malay. He didn’t even bother to look at me! The officer returned and asked, “What passport are you holding?”
Huh?! Now only you ask that from me?!
“Singaporean passport!” I held my breath.
“Next time, please don’t do that again,” he said. I was in such a relief that I even shook his hands!
Gosh, isn’t that a bit out of proportion?! 30% tax?! For something that I actually use. Lesson learned. Always listen to what daddy say. He has more grey hair than me for a reason.












