redux

dont say stage freeze, just do it

2009-01-08T14:16:00.003+08:00

But pretty soon he roused his resources together and began cooking a supper and singing at the stove like a millionaire, stomping around in his boots on the resounding wood floor, arranging bouquets of flowers in the clay pots, boiling water for tea, plucking on his guitar, trying to cheer me up as i lay there staring sadly at the burlap ceiling. It was our last night, we both felt it.

"I wonder which one of us'll die first," i mused out loud. "Whoever it is, come on back, ghost, and give 'em the key."

"Ha!" He brought me my supper and we sat crosslegged and chomped away as on so many nights before: just the wind furying in the ocean of trees and our teeth going chomp chomp over good simple mournful bhikku food. "Just think, Ray, what it was like here on this hill where our shack stands thirty thousand years ago in the time of the Neanderthal man. And do you realize that they say in the sutras there was a Buddha of that time, Dipankara?"

Chicago Bum

2009-01-07T05:23:00.002+08:00

I had a dollar left and Gary was waiting for me at the shack. The whole trip had been as swift and enlightening as a dream, and I was back.

Demo-crazy

2008-07-01T08:35:00.001+08:00

For the second day, this chickenboat grumbles through the waters towards Padang. Locals are immensely friendly to me and whenever they take me into their homes, I feel as though I've been adopted by Indonesia, as if this is was family.

A group of boys pick me up as I come back to town from my run to Muntei. These are boys no older than me, and we look almost identical to the Western eye. They are construction workers from Palembang, and they take me to their worksite, a bridge over a swampy stream. There we chat as they lift gravel up from boats, their legs muddied, to fill the concrete embankment. Every heave is a flex of muscle, sinewy Indonesian arms and smiling adolescent faces, the pride of labour beaming through their teeth. Later, they invite me back to their hostel, where even more boys come out to shoot the breeze with me and where I am promptly offered teh manis. Would I like a shower, they ask, because I prolly stink to high heavens. I decline and say I should I get back to the boat because it's leaving soon. As I leave, I see them hitting the showers, wet brown skin against white briefs and shower silliness. I take a second glance of course, and then walk away from this boys whom I could very well have been, or who could be my brothers.

But, no, away, because our lives are too different, I am a visitor here. As we approach Padang, someone spits out his seed rambutan seed in my direction, and I am reminded that I do not belong in this demo-crazy, where that was all right.

On the Southern Road - Redux

2008-06-29T17:31:00.004+08:00

The Southern Cross hung brightly in the sky while anothere constellation was being pointed out. tail body heart left claw right claw. Before this, there had to be NS, CD, ERS, Central, BOC, Jurong, OC41 and a credit card. The freebie that came with credit card - an air ticket, from Officer Commanding to NSF Rota Commander of Stn 41 and a plot hatched. An old book found in a store room that said Field Officer's Diary in bold black letters - it is a journal of another sort now. One year and eight months before the introduction of scorpio was a visit to Fariz's and notes kept about that visit. And then the hatched plot became an actual journey (that visit happened before the journey), a flight to Australia on a credit card's companion freebie. And in Australia too-many-things happened, including the Outback-Star-Gazing-Oh-God-Take-Me-I-Could-Die-Now and the It's-Raining-and-Pissing-Cold-and-Dark-But-Let's-Go-Eel-Fishing, but most important of all there was the Change-of-Heart. There was another change of heart in Singapore, where a poor decision was made and then made better by another correct one.

And this Change-of-Heart, after all the fire station and Australia business, is how the Southern Cross came to hang in the sky while scorpio was being pointed out. As I sat there I listened to Achil's astronomical explanations and the scary nearby-faraway waves. I held the line with which we anticipated fish for tomorrow's breakfast. It was easy to see how all these events lined up to bring me here, right here and now. This cannot be an accident, it must have already been mapped out by events which in themselves could-or-could-not-have-been accidents.

It wasn't hard to gain perspective then, with such a strong sense of history and purpose. How simple it was, to look back at the past year, before then, to realise what mattered and what didn't. Did it matter that I did not do Art at 'A' Levels just to keep the Humanities Scholarship? Did it matter that I could've gone to Law School for cheap knowing that a career waited for me? Did it matter that I was finally a Psi U brother (am I really - it still doesnt feel as real as everything else that has happened)? Did it? Did it really matter? No? Yes, no. What mattered was knowing, finally, that at the click of that button, the whole art-or-humans-scholarship-heart-or-head saga was resolved. That click that said no thank you, i will be going to wesleyan instead. You see, it doesn't matter that I don't already have a career. What matters is music - creating out of nothing - and adventure - that thump-thump in the heart - and discovery.

What matters now is learning - from things, on my own, from people. What matters now is the effort put into crew the past year (and can you do it again? i said yes to Jeremy Brown. Things have been mapped out). What matters now is Hannah and her spastic laughter and the way her pants hang on her hips, and Miles and how he drives me crazy but I still love him and can't wait to live with him next year, and Ryan, sexy beast Ryan who makes me feel so loved and whom I know loves me unconditionally, and Jeremy, that boy with his masterful dick-moves, with the girl problems, who was there for me through the Psi U ordeal, and I have a feeling he will always be there for me. And then Chip, the boy that I met too-late-at-the-right-time, Chip the boy I can't wait to see and touch again, knowing he's not judging me.

So that was what happened, how a boy ended up sitting on a beach in a deserted island between the Indian Ocean and Sumatra, listening to waves as the smell of Sampoerna filled the air. This was how I realised some of the things I already knew.

stand-in

2008-06-23T11:39:00.000+08:00

this brings me back to a time somewhere in 2004, only it's as if we're so much older now. it feels like... it must've been in the afternoon. i'd say four. i cannot remember because there were so many warm and sticky afternoons, companion to that familiar greasy feeling. rudy and i are a little tired, maybe a food coma, maybe just from all the sums done and left to be done. we walk out from the back gate of mt. sinai, that joke of a gate, to the green-carpeted oasis called the surau. many times i sat there alone waiting for him to come find me, but the law of attraction hadnt started working yet for me. but this day we went there together. there's a slight smell of urine, which rudy insists is algae. there are some scraps on the carpet but we ignore them as together, we press our foreheads to the ground. we worship apart, sometimes together, sometimes one behind the other. i know his back well, his cracking voice and the smooth curve of his bum sheathed in white. there was the desire and there was the distance.

and now we're in our twenties, slightly weathered. we're lying on our backs on the floor of my parents' room, and here is that same back (maybe more muscular now). here is nostalgia, memory, and hope. here is distance bridged, reconciled, and then spread once again. here i am once more, not knowing what i'm thinking about, a quivering seventeen year-old again.

addendum: after he's walked out of the gate, i run after him and offer to walk him to the train station. i want to tell him that i'm sorry we've drifted apart again and that i really do want to stick around to change that, again. instead i ask him if he remembers our afternoons at the surau, and he did.

twenty minutes pass, with aaahs from amina sinai, coming harder and faster by the minute, and weak tiring aaahs from vanita in the next room. the monster in the street has already begun to celebrate; the new myth courses through its veins, replacing its blood with corpuscles of saffron and green. and in delhi, a wiry serious man sits in the assembly hall and prepares to make a speech. at methwold's estate goldfish hang stilly in ponds while the residents go from house to house bearing pistachio sweetmeats, embracing and kissing one another - green pistachio is eaten, and saffron laddoo-balls. two children move down secret passages while in agra and aging doctor sits with his wife, who has two moles o her face like witchnipples, and in the midst of sleeping geese and moth-eaten memories they are somehow struck silent, and can find nothing to say. and in all the cities all the towns all the villages the little dia-lamps burn on window-sills porches verandahs, while trains burn in the punjab, with the green flames of blistering paint and the glaring saffron of fired fuel, like the biggest dias in the world.

Fiction

2008-06-20T10:35:00.000+08:00

rumours in the city: "the statue galloped last night!"... "and the stars are unfavourable!"... but despite these signs of ill-omen, the city was poised, with a new myth glinting in the corners of its eyes. august in bombay, a month of festivals, the month of krishna's birthday and coconut day; and this year - fourteen hours to go, thirteen, twelve - there was an extra festival on the calendar, a new myth to celebrate, because a nation that had never previously existed was about to win its freedom, catapulting us into a world which, although it had five thousand years of history, although it had invented the game of chess and traded with middle kingdom egypt, was nevertheless quite imaginary; into a mythical land, a country which would never exist except by the efforts of a phenomenal collective will - except in a dream we all agreed to dream; it was a mass fantasy shared in varying degrees by bengali and punjabi, madrasi and jat, and would periodically need the sanctification and renewal which can only be provided by rituals of blood. india, the new myth - a collective fiction in which anything was possible, a fable rivalled only by the other two mighty fantasies: money and god.

hon lyn would really like her camera now because the view is moving. the two of us sit on a jetty in sembawang and the twinkling lights from the shipyard, dickens's fairy lights, sing a rousing chorus with the quiet night, breaking waves and soft wind.

i cant quite decide if i like this place and i tell her that. at times like this, when we are quiet and the weather is not oppressive, there is a possibility of this being home. and then there is the unforgiving crush of humanity, Singaporean humanity, and the midday heat to contend with. here there are annoying 20 year-olds talking nonsense in my mother tongue.

there is a song in that language, its title transliterates to son of the island, and i feel like i could be that guy. but this island city is constantly taken away from me, it calls me an others; i am other-ed, robbed and excluded. when this home expels its sons like that, i cannot see its history and our ties, and that makes me sad. it says to me, you dont actually belong here, you are only fictional.

but i have talked too far, a little too far from hon lyn and the story she is telling me now. she's on a bus full of singaporeans, malaysians, indonesians, thais, and vietnamese. this bus - i can already imagine it - is travelling from thai malaysia to muslim thailand. luscious green trees speed by the windows, rubbish littering the roads. maybe the airconditioning isnt working and a hot sticky stream of air passes the windows bup-bup-bup-bup.

they communicate with a blend of malay and hokkien, maybe a little thai - no? we wish this could happen more, this mixed bag of southeast asian-ness, because we're quite sick of poms, aussies, and german gappers every time we travel. we say it's about time for southeast asia to represent.

but, ah, no, not going to happen. whereas i instantly identify singapore with southeast asia, more people feel related to japan, hong kong, taiwan or korea. after it exiled me, singapore extended its project to itself, and there are now five million mental exiles who do not feel at home in their backyard. the 550 million people around them are too strange, too... brown. their city and their other-ness in their neighbourhood are objects of their diligence and creation and now this place has become too unreal, a fiction of its own creation.

as i write this in my own anglepoise, i'm forced to ask myself if perhaps my state of exile is due to a lack of my own imagination. am i unlike my father, who, at the age of 57, wants to change his name, dreaming up a new identity and history more in line with his self-image? is that what i should learn from that old man, to fight fiction with fiction?

Anglepoised

2008-06-16T20:13:00.003+08:00

It seems like a day for big questions. I reply across the unreliable years to S.P. Butt, who got his throat slit in the Partition riots and lost interest in time: 'What's real and what's true aren't necessarily the same.' True, for me, was from my earliest days something hidden inside the stories Mary Pereira told me: Mary my ayah who was both more and less than a mother; Mary who knew everything about all of us. True was a thing concealed just over the horizon towards which the fisherman's finger pointed in the picture on my wall, while the young Raleigh listened to his tales. Now, writing this in my Anglepoised pool of light, I measure truth against those early things: Is this how Mary would have told it? I ask. Is this what that fisherman would have said?... And by those standards it is undeniably true that, one day in January 1947, my mother heard all about me six months before I turned up, while my father came up against a demon king.
Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie

You, Revisionist

2008-06-11T20:29:00.003+08:00

your story stretches cross the room to me -
i see it come my way.
this place we sit is not quite so big,
yet you can't hear you scream.

you have known me from the day i was born
but you still dont know me.
you have written me my history and
my future you want to see.

is there a girl whom i have met that
i would like you to meet?
is this when we start to pretend
girls are my cup of tea?
(i have a boy for me,
you do know what i mean.)

has it been that long since i said,
"i want a bicycle
and a new lego set."
do you really think that i'd like
a quiet village girl,
an indonesian girl?

you change your tack and tell me about
your quiet village boy dreams,
but i never had a japanese mum and
i've never lived in france.

it's me you say who can change your past
by marrying a quiet girl.
hated your name and you had it changed -
i'm afraid i'm not your name

why, you, revisionist, you
project such power onto the past.
and i would like to help but i am afraid
my dreams are mine to fuck up.
(you had your chance but i'm
sorry i'll need mine too.)

Are You A Chinese?

2008-06-06T15:58:00.004+08:00

it's been a week since i got into singapore and already i've been asked for my race too many times. no, i am not a chinese, neither am i a malay and i am definitely not an others. so, yes, you say, i must be an indian

the straits

2008-06-06T00:08:00.006+08:00

the straits of singapore come into view and i prep myself for that usual feeling. it's a blend of anticipation, which comes with seeing the green city crisscrossed with lines, and of dread just thinking of the wall of heat that will hit the moment i exit the airport.

this place is really far away. the arctic looks back when i peer out the window flying here, and a few hours later there is the gobi desert right at the same spot. that is a lot of ice and sand between me and the boy i like. that, and an eternity of a week, is what separates me from chip and our sleepovers, tadd pretending to be a robot, ryan singing the chili peppers, miles being intransigent and hannah talking about her girl problems.

it hasnt even been that long since i was last here and i'm already getting excited for full circle moments. back in the fire station, it feels like second nature to lick my fingers at lunch, dash downstairs, gear up, and hop onto the pumper. things are a little different, almost imperceptible, but i'm just glad to be cruising down the city streets at full speed. rudy calls me up tonight and his cracking voice over the telephone is a throwback to younger days and a reminder of why he is always that guy. here and there are little reminders of what i've left - wandering around the city in the sultry heat, sitting by the river with teh love club, and even listening again to dan's diaphanous singing all the way from yorkshire.

in a few days i hit the summer road. my work here in singapore will have been done for now, nieces greeted, parents placated, and old relationships renewed. going across an entire archipelago - the world's largest - i will ask myself, what do you miss? where do you want to be? who do you want beside you? the answer i think i know ("it really doesnt matter") but i would like to believe it and stop feeling so nauseatingly nostalgic. because it's all a big cycle, a kind of tandava and chances are, my one life will blend into the next, nothing to miss, nowhere else to be.

Returning to Breaks

2008-03-26T12:42:00.002+08:00

At some point in NYC, I find myself in the 9/11 visitors' centre and somehow, I believe there were tears in my eyes. It was convenient to blame it on the sour nose, but really, I should thank the city for the fast times with such dear friends and for epic memories. I might or might not be motivated enough to tell you about Spring Break in Florida as well. For now, let's just say it involved a lot of rowing.

the violent jolt of the city

2008-01-13T03:33:00.000+08:00

it has been an entire month in nyc, a month that vacillated between boredom and thrill, routine and discovery. even though cracking the mystery of nyc in such a short time might seem improbable, it finally comes to me on the last sunday. it is a hopeful afternoon and i am sitting in the front row, far left of the nederlander theatre, listening to jonathan larson speak to me.

new york city. the hustle-bustle, unforgiving crush of commuters an tourists, the ebb and flow of human flesh, the squalor of west 41st just one block down from the goddess that is 42nd street. this is where the upper east side borders harlem, where queens residents hop on the immigrant express into town, where hippies and yuppies wear brooklyn pride on their sleeve, and where visitors like me never step into the bronx. it is times square, is rotting subway stations, is leaking roofs, is quiet and pulsing nights, is the wail and yelp of the fire department, is defiant, is amazingly recuperative.

it is defiant. it resists categorization. typically it would be called a melting pot, but that isnt true because nothing really mixes. there is a mélange of peoples - families, yuppies, tourists, couchsurfers, students, artists, immigrants, mothers and brothers all fighting and stuggling to survive. they fight and struggle to survive, and beyond that, to live. we all do it in our own selfish but necessary way. where life offers itself, spread out in front of you as opportunity does in this city, you do all you can to eke out the best living, the best life for yourself and your loved ones.

this is how we live and survive, and it must get better - that is the hope that lights the city, which rushes to fill any void or heal any wound, no matter how gaping. i look at this as an outsider but i have been swept away by this struggle for life and love in the city. after all, this job, the now-dead cat, craig, rooftop bonanzing, and late night storms, these are just my own petty ways of demanding my life, satisfaction, fulfilment and exhilaration from this city and its masses. the city, brimming life and love, the lack thereof, the fight for more.

the city, feral and fey

2007-12-24T09:10:00.000+08:00

the flock of birds circle above our heads as we suspended ourselves in mid-air, our bodies supported by this concrete skeleton hundreds of metres up in the sky. yet we knew clearly, from the gleaming city, from the vague pendular moon peeping through the clouds, that there was so much more space and matter beneath and above us.

the lights of manhattan beckon from across the east river; the unrelenting and inexorable tide of motors repulsing us. we were most comfortable yet, bathed in a soft red glow, apart from the city. still, we understood that the modern city was what we knew, what we are. these bright lights are us. within a city, every light feeds an existence, represents a purpose or mispurpose, and it is all reciprocal - i am just a light to the man across the river. how do we understand this? how do we help others understand it as well?

it is all pretty despairing. but with miles and hannah there, together with timur, i remained pretty grounded. in them is a feeling of home and now i realize home is to be found anywhere. it is meeting a fellow traveller escaping nyc by hiding in saks fifth ave, of all places; it is being 21 and reliving past years with charlie, brown, and his sister ruth; it is dinner parties and cooking in my own kitchen; it is bringing your teammate to a gay bar.

cities rise, buildings are destroyed, people change and things happen. yet tonight, standing with my feet sinking under me, the wind buffeting my face, standing astride, offering myself to the luminous night sky and the tyrannical city, i am alive with my friends, the people i have elected my family, home wherever i want it to be.

The View of Manhattan

2007-12-23T07:43:00.000+08:00

The East River flows quietly between Long Island and Manhattan, while a steel drum band plays on a platform at Grand Central. The water is murky, the dirt and grime of the city reflected in the currents. Chewing gum marks on cement; city streets and buildings always messy, untidy, harsh and sticky. the brutal city is scary, rough, and it doesnt give chances. People fall through the cracks, they are down and out, fighting for a life. in singapore, where there is no fight, everything is purposeful and demarcated, there is no room for life's essential messiness. the necessary question then, is what kind of sadness you would trade for another. Would I spurn the sadness of risk and uncertainty to embrace the sadness of unfulfilment and ennui? Tonight I go to midtown again, and when a piss-soaked woman pushes me off my scooter, i will do a little dance and give her a hi-5.

We Are Picking Flowers, You And I

2007-12-16T05:21:00.000+08:00

In my dream, I want to bring you flowers, but you are suddenly there, and we pick winter flowers off a tree together. When I wake up, Hannah is beside me and I've a splitting headache. I'm not thinking, so I wake her up and tell her about my dream. A man should not want for more. I'm waking up beside a gorgeous girl, I get to share my dreams with her, we ski for the entire day, Miles and Ryan cook dinner for us, and I am warm after a long day with Jeremy sharing Quaker tales. "Couldnt this be family?" I ask, because for once I feel at home. Perhaps. That moment will last forever, a miraculous coincidence of people, time and place.

Naive Melody

2007-12-06T23:55:00.000+08:00

It is Wednesday night and cold outside. It's one in the morning and Jeremy's cleaning his room. Me, I'm lying on his bed and screaming along to Built to Spill. I want specifics on the general idea.

It is Thursday night, Wine and Cheese is over and it seems like Jeremy has got lost in the woods. Ryan is floating above the sky and I'm the sober and responsible one. We decide to sleep outside Jeremy's door in the hallway - yes, because I am sober and responsible and this will bring him back. As we drift off to sleep beside each other, Ryan rambles on on life and love and I listen and we suck in deep breaths. Tonight he is soft and feminine, his eyes are bloodshot, his skin perfect and white. I want to think, this is college, 21, a miraculous coincidence of people and time and place, but I leave it at that, unwilling to bring it beyond what it is. We sleep, hard.

It is Friday night, and Peter and I meet. We hit his friends' first before we come back to WestCo where I show him how Ryan, Jeremy and I play. As the two of us leave for the male revue at Psi U, he asks me a serious question, and I say yes. We walk fast, giggling under our breath, its condensation leading our way. I tackle him hard, he wants to grind down one of the railings when it starts snowing. Later, we lie down beside the street, waiting for the rest of the guys, and he tells me something serious as well (I didnt think I was prepared to know, I didnt think I wanted to know). Another while later, we're sitting on Jacob's bed, and it's just the two of us. I think, this could be the night, but I know I dont want to know, I dont want to think about it. Ain't it strange that I can dream, when there's nothing I have ever seen.

It is Saturday night, and I'm taking off my clothes. But first, to get shitty enough. (On hindsight, I realise though I was wayy off my legs.) When I'm done, I go upstairs to collect my money and the birthday boy is there. Right there, on the landing, was a semester's worth of holding out, right after two nights of Not Thinking. So right there, on the landing, I was shitfaced, and I thought, hell, I thought.. I couldnt think. I couldnt Not Think. Blurry and fast-forward, I am sick over the toilet and I have no idea where my money is. I dont know where is the money I came here for. Wait, I feel sick.

It's Sunday night, and we've baked green penis cookies and a blue cake for Ryan's birthday. We've hit the sugar ceiling so we go to Miles's room to, uh, chat. I'm in Miles's recliner with Ryan. I want to be there for a long time, I tell him about last night, I tell them about last night, I want to sleep. When I wake up, I leave with Ryan. It's icy outside, and I dont think I can get back all right, all I want to do is tell him about the frickin' weekend. I want to tell him that turning 20 doesnt change much. I turned 21 and still make classic mistakes. But I think he knows, he knows what hopeless basketcases we are, he knows how we're still way too juvenile. So it's Wednesday night, I still dont have the money, and kicking myself in the head. Jeremy is eating mac and cheese and I'm screaming along to Built to Spill. Yea you've become, yea, you have become a fraction of the sum, the middle and the front - a song for the naive and the big joke we are - and now it's coming back, hasn't it come too far? I was trying to help but I guess I pushed too hard, and now we can't even touch it, afraid it will fall apart.

The Real Big Apple By Bike

2007-11-26T08:50:00.000+08:00

Destination: Valley Stream, Long Island. It's time to return the phone, the 21st birthday present I never wanted. That means 10 miles each way, all the way to to WalMart. If anyone can do it, I can. I realize though, it's not the cycling. It's about going through 8 different neighbourhoods, each one further removed from NYC physcially and figuratively. It gets quiet and busy, random and peaceful, white and then black. This is the hinterland, how most people actually live. Forget Manhattan nights, it's long commutes and Sunday shopping at the crazy fucking giant mall. So WalMart gave me my money back, and I got there by bicycle. Zero emissions, money back guarantee. Small guys taking down giantszzz.

Doorway

2007-11-24T15:03:00.000+08:00

I left the library on Wednesday to sit at Bryant Park. It is chilly and dark, but the floodlights watch the tourists as they skate and their giggles warm the air in return. This evening, none of us has anything to do so we wander around the brutal and imposing city, so far removed from nature but terribly beautiful still. The rows and rows of walls wear fire escape ladders like a messy girl who cant keep her hair out of her eyes. We sit in a park and drink, like winos. The trees have barely changed colour, the fountain is turned off, strange people around, and a gay couple full-on making out. This is the problem of the 18 year-olds in America: there is quite honestly nowhere to go.

It is time for Thanksgiving dinner. The food is, as expected, fucking ridiculous and there is obviously more than all of us could painlessly eat. Except for the fact that everything is in plastic. I ask if I should set the table, because that is how I help best. They bring out plastic table lining, plastic crockery and cutlery, and we sip wine from plastic (ugh) goblets, while taking salad dressing straight from squeeze bottles. And this is supposed to be The Great American Meal.

Tonight, I meet Marie at her old workplace, an Irish pub on 57th. To get there, I walk 20 blocks. For all that effort, this Irish pub is not half-decent. I'm beginning to think that everything American is truncated, sanitised, folded in two and then rolled out flat. Not that I dont envy Marie's previous lifestyle, I think I could get used to just working and surviving in a nothingandeverything city. We leave together, me to meet Bethany and friends. Joel is there and he's cute like a button. So I tease and taunt him. I lie on his lap and we chat. Everyone goes to Zack's show a little before us, so it's just us two as we leave Laura's place. I'm in the doorway and we're saying we should go. He puts a hand on my chest, my heart is pounding (I'm already off the wall by now) and I almost make my move. But I know, I dont really want to, because. So I dont, and it's Friday night, I'm in New York City, USA, I'm not impressed at all and all I can think of is I want to tell Ryan about my week and why the fuck hasnt Rudy written to me in so long.

East River Crossing

2007-11-21T14:37:00.000+08:00

Our car stopped last night at 209th. I say goodbye to Ryan, it is our second time saying goodbye on the road and I cannot wait to see him again. What happens if he goes to Vassar? How many more service stations will we stop at together? That's another story for another day.

Bethany's two greyhounds greet me, and there's some time for my grand settling-in routine before we leave for Brooklyn with Laura and Annie. Manhattan is a gem across the East River and I try not to look, what I am afraid of I do not know. Laura's town house is every bit the typical NYC home, urban-minded but American-sized. We end up crashing there and walk around the neighbourhood the next morning before heading to Manhattan. Zack waits for me to go to the Jack Kerouac show.

This is Manhattan. The heights of urbanization condensed in the size of a pill. It's been too long since I left Singapore and now I can barely keep pace with New Yorkers. Taking the subway to 42nd, there are people of every category, the smell of frankfurters, and then giant neon billboards in Times Square. Sirens and yelps fight for attention amid the sound of heels, pigeons, and a busker. These are the sounds of the city. Yellow taxis drive by in an uninterrupted procession, and so do pedestrians. There is life pulsing through the streets, it is another one of those cities. I can breathe again.

You could say it is hard to keep up here, though I'm not entirely convinced about the importance of keeping up with yourself. Wouldnt it be better to get lost in the city and let it shake you around? It is not so easy to lose yourself in Wesleyan where everything is quiet and slow; it is hard to get excited. The sea of faces are a stronger comfort than the sea of individuals - there is no need to be special. Walk, pay, breathe, repeat. (I thought I already knew how to let go. I'm sure I do, the question is, how much of my other parts should I keep?)

Jack- what did you say? I see your manuscript and it is you, high, typing. You are lost in cities, wandering on the road, lost on life. You have left your family. Now, whats it like to be you in your unending, driving madness? If this is all atomic chaos, how do we know, what do we do, how do I start? How did you start?

naissance

2007-10-23T09:35:00.000+08:00

it's thursday night, 11.55pm, and i'm on ryan's balcony in Nic 6. he knows exactly how i feel, and he's spilling the beans. i'm too old, i'm dying, too far gone, done trying, downhill, down, down, down. i tell myself this all the time and now he's telling me too. "five minutes to go, ivan," he says. it's the eve of my 21st birthday.

we start off by beating quinnipiac 20-16 at the postponed old meth' under the stars. this is a bunch of hardcore ruggers who enjoy poetry, music and beautiful imagery, not very unlike jun ren and some of the rj ruggers. tonight's drink-up is at washington and vine, and tonight we celebrate our victory and my birthday. old meth' then sends me off on "the ride" nicely buzzing and looking forward to the rest of the night.

terrence and laird bring me to town on friday for a trip to the bottleshop. of course i pick up some frangelico, back from the melbourne days with marty. on the way back from horseriding, we stop at dunkin' for even more birthday treats. to be fair, this is only the first time since i've been here that i've eaten at a chain. back at home, the skies are pouring and blair and i run off to play. we scream from the centre of the grey deluge that is emptying itself over our heads. the rain is cold and so are the puddles. pieces of foss hill stick to our skin and what remains of the clothes we were wearing. today i am 21, and playing in the rain reminds me of slightly better times when i was young. this odyssey is inexorable, the rain is unforgiving. "rain is a common metaphor for rebirth," i tell blair. rain is a common metaphor for rebirth.

back indoors, blair and i share a steaming hot shower before the cocktail reception. it is 8pm and the guests are fashionably late. before long, the girls have arrived in their dresses and heels, the boys come in blazers and their thrift store vintage tees. we sit in my room, mixing drinks and eating birthday cake with the cool breeze drifting in from the open window. i ask them if i should shut the window, but they are distracted with handing out party hats. the posse brings the reception out to the hallway and down into the westco tunnels. there a pinata awaits, it is a fire truck. i widen my stance in the future, and swing the squash racquet of time and age against the past.

the 19th of october is also the night of the coming out day party at eclectic. i'm pretty fucked up by now so i greet every friend i see like we're best mates. but dom is there, looking really cute. so we dance, dance, dance the night away. his hair brushes against my face as we lean together so i can whisper into his ear. "i like you," i say in my imagination. instead, i take a gulp of water from his bottle. p-safe comes to break up the party at 2am as usual, so we go chill out, and in my stupor i fall into more mad love. we walk back together to westco in the chilly 4am dimness. he's sleeping 50 metres away from me tonight.

the aftermath. is hunting at the state park. three boys, one man, a shotgun and a slingshot. no rules, one orange vest and a runaway squirrel. no catch. we return in the walk of shame and decide instead to go for a yard sale and satisfy our sick consumer instinct by spending money on a 12' swimming pool. the school's long lane farm is hosting pumpkin fest tonight, where for the first time, i see people post-eclectic party. it is too embarassing.

to salvage what's left of our camping pride, we head off on our bikes to wadsworth falls. four boys, one man, a girl and a pot. everyone's freaking out about the setting sun but i use a little of my gravitas to calm their adolescence down. we start building a shelter and a fire, collect water, and start cooking stew. dinner time is in front of the glorious fire, feeding our tummies, the fire feeding our eyes, and good company for the soul. we dont know the time, and we have a colossal chat that gets us high on ideas. this is life, this is college life, in a secret spot in the forest. like minds, like young minds, planning to change our lives and the world...

there's five seconds to go and ryan and i are screaming. i want to cry; my party hat is falling off. i am 21. my time is time accentuated with peace, agitation, experience, wisdom and courage. my mother gave me life 21 years ago, and took me under her care. now she's sent me off to college in america. for my 21st birthday, she's given me the ultimate present - the gift of rebirth. this is my new life, this is mine and i am under my care. after the party at nics we run to indian hill cemetery but matt and i leave early. i hit on him. he goes off to sleep. 21. i wake up the next morning at 9am on ryan's floor. i had work at 7. 21. i am under my care.

The View

2007-10-17T05:26:00.000+08:00

...from WestCo 1117, looking out onto the WestCo courtyard. The view looking back on 21 years (less three days). The view almost two months out in the Wild West. The view is oddly quiet, because almost everyone is gone for fall break. The past days in school over fall break has been the accumulated rest-debt from the past two months. 21 years, two months, recharge, many more years, the rest of the semester to go. This is looking back on a very tentative two months; i know what i wanted to do, but not what did i not want to do. It's a mix of confidence and gravity with two parts vacuum and one part residual uncertainties. Everything's fine and dandy with people, classes, sports, food, weather and everything else in between. That is, until thursday nights come, and then i ask myself why i'm in a small american town with 17-25 year olds whose lives are so similar to mine. The road beckons - i have to keep moving.

The End of a Gap

2007-09-03T01:27:00.000+08:00

So, the title makes this sound like this could quite possibly evolve into a piece channelling Graham Greene, but if it does, it'll be against my best efforts. Here is a 20-year-old, turning 21, only just starting at college. What else am I sposed to sound like, other than fermented anticipation and underwhelming exhilaration?

The United 737-400 that brings me from Hong Kong Chek Lap Kok to Chicago O'Hare is steady and not excessively noisy [which is more than i can say for Indonesian aeroplanes], and it lands "excellently" as the air steward announces to us while we're taxiing to the aerobridge. As if we'd expect it to not. Leaving Singapore though, was a little more tenuous. Having worked and travelled for the past three years, I'd think that I'd be able to handle any new situation with finesse and calmness. WRONG. So i went through the gate, über-channel 8, and let out a little giggle at embarking on my latest adventure. For a while, sleeping on the floor of the Hong Kong airport while everyone twisted and turned in the chairs, I felt at home once again, the all too familiar feeling of being on the road again. Except this time it's going to be a really colossal trip. I couldnt fall asleep again.

First impressions of the United States, not amazing. Everything seemed mostly a bleak vision of urbanisation and industrialisation, faceless, cold and mechanical. Visions of Changi are not good to have at the other airports of the world. Pulling into school, luggage-less, I can only think of a shower and some good, hard sleeping. Habits dictate, however, and I take a breath, look around and Have A Moment.

This was it, the aggregate repository of four years of dreaming. Past the mugging, examinations, bad dreams and disappointment. Past the marching, brotherhoods, exhilaration and deathlessness. Past the arriving, leaving, breathing, and separation. In four years of fear and loathing, living and dying, coming and going, there was always this. This is the end of a really long gap year(s). This is Wesleyan University, Connecticut.

leaving notes II

2007-08-23T21:39:00.000+08:00

well, we scheme and we scheme but we always blow it
we've yet to crash, but we still might as well tow it
standing at a light switch to each east and west horizon
every dawn you're surprising
and the evening was consoling
saying, "see, it wasn't quite as bad as"
dashboard, modest mouse

okay, so maybe i got a little over-indulgent earlier on. it's great to move on. i'm amazed that i even had the will and determination to finish packing this afternoon. my stomache is aching and i know that things are still the way they are. rudy and i have been spending a bit of time together. says that you can still love someone without spending any time together. i'll give 'im credit for that seeing how he's really matured now. i watch him suspend me in mid-air as he sits low on the seesaw. we're chatting like that. we switch to the swing. the night is quiet and the buzz of the PIE suspends our disbelief for a while, as if we dont have to listen too much to what we're saying because of the loud traffic. did i hear him tell me that i mustnt spend too much time with "my man"? things are A-okay. nothing really matters between us, not after tonight. we've really become friends now, and we're even physical, going kayaking and climbing and running and jumping. i tell him i dont know if i can ever fall in love again. after tonight though, i know i will meet the best boy from the other side of the world. after three years, we've resolved most if not all our differences. everything remains a little sidenote now, all contextualised and its magnitude understood. it's all good, it's what i call the australia high. it's confest, new year's day 2007, lena and i come out from our tent. we have breakfast then go looking for the creepy old french dude. she's going for hypnotherapy and i tell her i think i might go too. we're lying on the ground and ants are biting me, but i concentrate on his voice and then i go far away. we bring ourselves back to the world and everything is better now. 2007 will be a great year for us, i told her last night as i leant in to smell her hair and feel her smooth shoulders in my arms. one night she calls me as i'm on the patio with stefan smoking some shit. i hated melbourne that day, but i hear her voice and she tells me about gorgeous byron bay. as i speak to her i notice the moon, and stefan and i spend the night laughing at him again. and hell was this a frickin' good year. back to central fire station again, this time with adzfar, and everything's almost as good as the original times. sure the people are mostly gone, but the workload's non-existent and the calls are still plenty. a rainy saturday afternoon, the alarm goes off while adzfar and i are licking our fingers after lunch. a quick rinse and off we go. packed at the back of the pumper it's as if i never left central. we're going at it like madmen, cutting pieces of metal away to extricate the three men stuck in their cars. we're done and we pack them off to hospital. it's another job well done. back to station. waiting for the alarm to go off again. it's a life on the edge, always on the verge of a crisis. it's the kind of lifestyle to have and keep. now here we go!

leaving notes from a small island

2007-08-23T18:37:00.000+08:00

oh, we could've been, should've been
worse than you would ever know
(the dashboard melted but we still have the radio).
well, you told me about nowhere ,
well, it sounds like someplace i'd like to go.
dashboard, modest mouse

my oft-failing memory brings me back to another time quite distinct from the present. i'm in my modified dunman high uniform, secretly gleeful that the metal buttons are finally gone, and i'm walking through ghim moh. it's the first day of orientation and huan ling and i choose to go from the main gate (i dont know why). i'm 16 with a head of floppy hair, i'm a little bit small (i didnt think i was at all back then), slightly nervous, and pretty bummed that i didnt receive a call from my OGL prior to today.

the huge clock in my sister's room approaches six ever so loudly. i'm here now because my attic-room is already empty and has started to get a little dusty. if any of you have been to my place, you'd remember how much effort and pride i took in assembling this domain of mine - a mac as the centrepiece, quiet blue walls and a strong red door. rebecca remembers kurt cobain peering down at her from above. instead, somewhere on another continent, i've been reserved a place with cork walls and fire-retardant doors, assigned to wait for a certain Mr. N. Rook.

one closet's empty now, the other's stuffed full of disappointed clothes. but strewn proud among them are a few pieces of uniforms. there's the water-, fire- and curry-proof uniform, the blue one which i've accidentally turned off-white due to a certain factory fire, and hung above these is the white one that drives girls (and boys) crazy. of course, not as crazy as for the contents of another bag, thick, yellow, and orange, and then white and hard (these are really fire-proof).

tonight is my last night on this island for a very long time. i'm a little bit bigger now (modesty stops me from saying "a lot") and i've went to jalan masjid for my regular butch haircut. i can see the sun wink at the city one last time from the window, it's time to shower again because i'm already sticky and oily. in a while some friends will come, the love club, fariz and the boys, and maybe rudy. kembangan will come alive one last time for me.

my city beats back the night with a stick as she turns her lights on. "a few more hours!" she says, and for these few hours she glows. how beautiful she must look from thousands of metres up in the sky, save for the wrinkles of streetlights revealing how she's grown. i've camped in her northeast feeling ridiculously young and unhappy, i've perspired and panted underground in her western bowels with teh boys and just feeling like i might die, and in her east i've fallen in love with the best boy this side of the sun.

there're a few bags in my other sister's room. most of these memories are inside here, with a bit more. tomorrow morning i leave before the sun comes up again. the indonesians have always held on to the idea of merantau, sons going away from their birthplace for pengalaman. my father left home at 18 for singapore, my great-grandmother from china. my father, to everyone's horror, married a chinese girl. i, to everyone's horror, went to australia, caught a little hippie, and am now going further.

this is history and it's also the present. many people have led my life through the centuries, and i'm sure someone got to live happy to 39. you see, it'll all work out for me. 15 years old and dreaming of Cambridge while stuck in China, many years of hating a place, a few months of loving it, travelling, mugging, saving lives, it all comes down to this. this, is the end of a gap. i'll tell people i took a three-year gap. i did all that stuff and now it's over. off i go, back to school, because we're made for better things than this.

i'm sure i'll be back, rudy'll make sure of that. and oh, one last thing. i dont know how the hell i'm getting to middletown after landing in hartford, but it doesnt matter at all.

dont say never give chance II

2007-08-05T21:52:00.000+08:00

harry potter new book. mint condition. never loved. retail price 59SGD. now selling for 40SGD. postage maybe included.

dont say never give chance

2007-08-04T13:19:00.001+08:00

"i've early birdie tickets (50 pcs) to womad (one day ticket) 24, 25 or 26 Aug for $48 with no ticket handling charge. aiyah $2 discount but still a saving riiiight...i can even do a free normal postage!"

watching, quitting, kayaking, curing, sleeping

2007-08-04T13:08:00.000+08:00

leaving everything behind

2007-07-30T02:12:00.000+08:00

the full moon comes out tonight on a day when i begin the process of leaving and detachment. i used to be pretty good at this, but the last five years have been about attachment and building bridges, so expect a few missteps.

two weeks ago i quit all my jobs, upped, and headed down under. saying goodbye to gorgeous gavin today, i realise that maybe i dont want to be the leaving, as much as i dislike being left. there's been something like a suspension of disbelief in the past months. it was as if i never had to leave and i'm spending this perfect life in singapore. now there's no denying the change anymore, and i'm starting to hope again for more time. if there's anything the past year should've taught me, it is courage, understanding and love to cope with change, separation and all sorts of other upshetting things. if thats the case, im not off to a good start seeing how much i'm missing Gorgeous Gavin and Beautiful Byron Bay.

i fuck insects

2007-07-25T20:43:00.000+08:00

we live in exciting times. the coach drops me off in byron bay earlier than i expected, and i found myself thrown out in the freezing east coast morning. the streets were limp and lifeless. with nowhere to go, no warm bed, nothing to do, i decide to pad up and try to get warmer. that takes a good ten minutes in the bus stop, during which i realise that there's no point in lying down in the cold, so i decide to walk around town and and then to the beach to watch the sunrise. that becomes the single most colossal decision of this month and sets the tone for the rest of the day.

as i look into the frigid distance at main beach, there are three hotties canoeing out to the julian rocks and there are... dolphins. two pods of dolphins just playing around, their black fins occasionally breaking the surface, just like in television. not bad at all.

i go towards the lighthouse with my haversack in tow, but it's getting warmer and i actually begin to perspire for the first time in a week. tshirt comes off, and so do shoes, and what a sight i must've been as i trekked along. a carpet snake comes out of hibernation to greet me. i say hello, we take a few pictures together, and he scoots away, so we go our separate ways.

up the lighthouse where the view is not so special (except if you psycho yourself into believing it is because it's the "easternmost point of the australian continent"), there's a volunteer chick showing people how to spot whales. she lends me a pair of binoculars - free - and i stand there for an hour with her and some other retirees from Blighty. well, of course there're whales, their shiny black backs catching the sun's rays and my heart melts from watching their gentle and quiet strength. they send a spray of water up, their tails pop up from the water when they dive down, and i'm thinking, this is fucking incredible.

afternoon was spent trying to be a surfie, the waves were wicked for an amateur, and we kept going at it till it was dark and too cold. we get back into town at six, and as far as i'm concerned, it could be midnight. im freezing, just wearing my boards, and i run into the hostel which two boys (this is Cute French Guy if i ever tell you about him) at the lighthouse recommended to me.

so i'm checking in, and for once i'm on the other side of the counter, and i'm playing the person who's My Favourite Guest Because He's Cute and Funny and Crazy Cool. i open the door to my dorm, and there's a dorm party going on. before i can say bugger off, they're offering me free chocolates and get this, surf lessons. thats, uh, good. so, free room and board from tomorrow onwards, free surf lessons, cute french boys and free internet. things are looking good.

before i left sydney, i told darius from confest that something will definitely happen, and many things have. it's amazing then, how in the midst of all this change there's still a very reassuring sense of continuity. ladies and gentlemen, everything is under control.

addendum:
i go with boys from dorm to cheekymonkeys and cocomangas, and for one night only, i'm living the east coast backpacker life. in a while though, the loud and bad music and overall ugliness of british gappers makes me leave for the warm comforts of bed. but not cute frenchie's.

AND THE CURE!!!

2007-07-24T20:24:00.000+08:00

i've actually got a facebook account now, after so many years of holding out against friendster. paul from the inncrowd adds me to his facebook and i'm really delighted because he's such a cutie, and i really liked him from when he was in the hostel. ALSO because he's "IN FUCKING SYDNEY TOO"! so we meet today on oxford, and i wondered if something was up.

i'm sitting outside stonewall, the sun is full in my face and two council workers are doing what council workers do, or rather, not do. he appears looking really pasty and white, but cute. we settle down in battuta and i go for lemon twist tea by reflex. we're chatting for a little while about nothing really, when paul just came out and said it. which made things easier. we then spent hours on that little table beside the window watching boys and discussing our experiences. i'd jump him, but not yet, maybe when i have a joint and we both have jobs.

it's amazing because last we met we'd been trudging down selegie in the swamping heat, perspiring and looking for ah-balling. now we're walking down city streets together in jumpers, in the sydney winter, watching boys, and huddling together because of the cold. it's awesome, fucking amazing.

it's also really grand how i was working just last monday and now i'm cavorting around the harbour bridge and opera house and blue mountains and oxford street. things are happening so quickly now, and i simply do not have time for moments. it's all a whirlwind of dashing madness. this is 16, 17, 18, thinking of possibilities. it is now, on the train to byron and nimbin. to indonesia, to packing, saying goodbye to friends and then leaving. it's all happening now and i'm afraid i'll miss it. but we'll see, there's still the ocean to reckon with.

contentment eludes words

2007-07-02T10:16:00.000+08:00

words come from lonely friday nights; words are the despairing exasperation of fat thighs and uneven chests. they are the friends of irresolution, unfulfilled wants and abandoned needs made real. when those things that exist only in imaginations are pronounced and enunciated, they are made real, expanded in consciousness and reality. but they are also confined, locked in alphabetical order. when lumps in the heart are put into text, they are known, catalogued and read like recipes for dinner.

then comes a time like tonight, 10pm at a bus stop in the east waiting to go to work in the quiet monday city. a swelling rises against the revolutions of tyres and rattling auto-parts. someone whispers, things will happen and it'll all be better. someone sits beside me in the front seat of the upper deck on the bus, and says to me, here we go! something says you dont know me but i make you feel frickin' good. there is no name, no way to say i know you, i've known you before. this is a sensation that drowns vocabulary and decimates grammar. it comes but leaves no mark on an empty page. so, when it goes and i get off the bus onto crazy and dark Indian streets, i forget what it feels like; i cannot call it back to play again when i like.

synapse

2007-06-05T08:47:00.001+08:00

i was walking through katherine - on the tail-end of my journey, the return trip on the ghan - feeling so self-assured, knowing exactly what i was doing, all because i had saved a bit by walking into town instead of taking a bus. i was bored, though, because katherine on a sunday afternoon had the combined energy of two ants on a treadmill.

by this time, i considered myself highly experienced with turning down aboriginal requests for, variously, money to buy meat, cigarettes, and spare change. the style i adopted had evolved from flat out "no", to "hell, i need money too, can i come with you?" so imagine the warmth of familiarity in my heart when a group of three aboriginals approached me for some kindness on a desolate street. at that very moment i decided to employ a new tactic, because i was an aboriginal from taiwan who could not speak english, was very glad to be on their land, and would love to be in possession of some kindness too. THAT worked like a charm because god knows prolly the only thing aboriginals cant stand is someone exactly like themselves.

motordreaming

2007-06-05T01:15:00.000+08:00

there's something about little india that makes it a great joy working here at the inncrowd. it's the swash and the wash of humanity; the lingering of body odour from foreign workers, watching them tired, sweaty, dirty but very happy (or terribly unhappy and Angry sometimes); it's the vagueness of what everyone else is saying, and the opacity of even the language which they speak; it's the romance of baskets of unknown produce from an unknown land feeding an unknown man with an unknown family in an even further land. the streets on sunday become the campus for thousands of foreign workers, who gather here like posing schoolboys, to see and be seen and to eat and drink and look at the local produce of the female kind; five-foot ways lining the streets become opium dens for friends to gather around a spread of thali, cheap beer and the kind of mirth that comes with long-awaited idle.

it's no wonder then, that something always happens while i'm making my way to work every day. it's in the smile of a bemused traveller, the different way a shop looks today, the concert down in the open space, or the man dead pissed and out cold on clive and campbell. tonight on the bus 67 there, i fall asleep as always and dream of the road. im running past a busy road, but am too slow, and am knocked down by a motorbike in the last lane. everyone gathers around to help me and i laugh because maybe i'm dying. the crowd clears for the motorcyclist who knocked me down and it's... rudy.

rebellion

2007-06-02T03:44:00.000+08:00

my pen dropped into the toilet bowl just as i pressed the flush button in CCSG. as i realised that this would prolly be the best way to lose a pen (i lose one every day), an uncontrollable fit took over me and i laughed myself shitfaced much to the chagrin of the supervisor. amidst all the grease and coffee in the cafe, there's always a light mood, and we never take ourselves too seriously. it's the only way to stay sane.

it really is the only way, faced with the challenge of university, moving, getting what i've been pining for, the unending madness, everyday quiet placating the big and crazy Confusion which demands more, more, more monotony and routine before it lays itself to sleep for tonight. If I could just take the piss about all these things, hold up this sense of kefe, then perhaps one day, i will tell myself nothing really matters, and on that day, I will know it to be true.

Dunce Dreaming

2007-06-01T09:26:00.000+08:00

I'm rushing into the PAC at RJ because I think I'm a little late for this staging of Macbeth. As I burst through the double doors, they're already announcing cast credits at the curtain call, so they call out for me... and put a dunce hat (it's more like a pail) on me. I'm determined to not be late for the next staging so I rushed to Mac's, but lo and behold, they're already well into the Porter scene.

At Mac's (not the same one, it's not a dream, and yes, what was I doing there?), I bump into Agnes where we start to yak about regular catch-up stuff. Turns out that she's in UNSWAsia, and still trying to decide if she will go to Sydney. So I ask her how she took the news that school was closing down, because that's always one of our secret wishes back in primary or secindary school. True enough, she tells a tale of how she gets into class late to see her classmate alone in the classroom, who then shouts to her animatedly, "No need to come school la, no more school, school close down already!" So be careful what you wish for, because it might very well come true, just very much later on... at the wrong time.

Dont Look Back in Anger

2007-05-27T11:55:00.000+08:00

Six solid days in theatre, 2000 people, all assembled to witness the Bard's genius. Now that it's over, I can call it 'Macbeth' and damn hell I will. My personal experience in this play was one of long journeys, shuttling between work and work, late exhausting nights, putting up with twats, and repetitive monotony. But thats just being bitchy. It was heaps of fun too, a great learning opportunity, a very memorable experience, and meeting fabulous, dedicated and talented (not to mention good-looking) people. So, I'm looking back on this with great fondness, not in anger. Well, at least the party had free curry and booze.

Weekly Digest

2007-05-21T16:12:00.000+08:00

it's been yet another good week, something very common in recent months. night cycling with liyana, squash with rudy and general mucking around has been great fun.

i turn to rudy as we're sitting on 158 to the train station, and tell him how im beginning to realise that i will actually miss some parts of this place very badly. and this really boggles me - how come im only beginning to enjoy myself a few months before i leave? it beggars belief, irony.

This Ain't A Scene, It's A Goddamn Arms Race

2007-05-18T19:23:00.000+08:00

One would think that getting someplace from home on a Friday afternoon would be a cinch. Ahmad and I were woefully mistaken, leaving my home for Marina Country Club to catch the Ubin ferry. So, thanks to a cabbie from 846th stage of pre-incarnation, the apparent non-existence of Punggol MRT station, the ghost town that Punggol is, and the cheek of Singaporeans to turn their nose at running hitchhikers, we were well late.

The irony of being so stressed to get to our island getaway was not lost on us and gratefully we were allowed to wind down on the ferry. Crossing the island on wheels, the boys getting hurt, soaking in a pool of chlorine, Puaka-climbing and quarry hunting, we passed one bridge many times. This was the bridge where an RJC girl had drowned, back when I was in primary school, the incident that introduced "sluice" to our collective vocabulary and something that must have been branded in the memory of her schoolmates.

So we took time, a few minutes each time at the bridge to remember her, as we would want to be if we had died horribly at a sluice gate a world away from home. Though, truth be told, months away from D-day, if I were to die a world away from home, I'd like it to be in a blaze of glory.

And please remember me.

son day

2007-05-06T14:33:00.000+08:00

Behind the bar at CCSG

Jackson is a polar bear

"yet, here's a spot!"

im sitting next to the witches' "cauldron", which is atop a high table. as i turn my head to look at it, chan bee bee's obituary stares back at me. you gotta miss this lady.

Why I Travelled the Island

2007-05-04T21:28:00.000+08:00

For friends, no less. It's a good time to visit Jun Ren again, only my second time and long overdue. It's also finally time to give Sherman and Victor their souvenirs from down under. What it wasnt time for, though, was to get to know Corinne better. So no-one else turns up at St. James and i'm very very late. She's nowhere to be found so i get to go home at 3a.m. and, dead tired, was a little grateful for that. What a pity, if only she knew that i travelled the island for her too. Maybe then she'd be a little happier.

Odyssey

2007-05-02T03:05:00.000+08:00

The argonauts said that it was the journey that mattered, not life. We, the argonauts of an ailing sensibility, say that it is not living that matters, but feeling.
The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa

Two funerals, the plodding completion of Pessoa's epic, and a new job seems to herald something, though i dont know what it is just yet. Wei Yang and I pay a visit to DHS@ Mt. Sinai and it's... complicated, for lack of words and an intellectual laziness. Chan Bee Bee passed away from cancer about a month ago - no chance to thank her for her immense help in math; she prolly doesnt know that her handwriting and math tips are still on my bedroom wall right now. Note: Googling her name, it's apparent the influence she's had on so many kids like me.

Maybe it's the miasma of April, or maybe it's global warming, but now seems to be the time to take things in perspective. Well at least as long as there's a school in this campus, we can be certain they're not gonna tear it down.

i take a deep breath and tell wei yang to take my picture

dhs paraphernalia crowd the concourse area. it's shocking, but gives way to high mirth in wei yang and i...

...this being one reason why. i mean, seriously, guys. plus her hair! and if you look closely into her picture, you can see the fat dhs mascots in the background. because dunmanians really think the ideal bmi is 250, which isnt difficult if you're playing the gu zheng all the time.

and heartbreak central. the squash courts are now... chinese and english drama rooms. how fucked is that? i mean... it's parquet flooring! learn to play squash you knobheads!

and of course, how could they ever understand the potential of lt 2.5?

Goodnight and Stories

2007-04-30T21:41:00.000+08:00

She's an old lady 86 years old. When she was a new bride in her early 20's, she was left with her toddlers and infants by her husband. She never did see him again. Undaunted, she brought up her family singlehandedly, never remarrying. She knew where her dog of a husband was, but she refused to have anything to do with him again. In her aging years, she got senile and perpetually hungry. All this in the care of loving children and grandchildren.

So when she died yesterday, it had to be after dinner. It had to be when her children were in Malaysia. It had to be a month after her own husband died. It had to be anti-climactic, just when everyone least expected it. Now, thats a woman. Goodnight.

soon, she too will go up in flames.

ello vee ee

2007-04-28T21:17:00.000+08:00

hon lyn, second of the gang to die this year. of course, the love club commemorates the occasion in the way we know best - low on efficiency, high on spirit. thats how we had ended up going out thrice to not buy a present, waiting a whole day for someone who doesnt turn up, and also driving all the way up the island at 1am.

and it doesnt matter, because, hon lyn, you're 21 now and you deserve something mega; you see, thats how much we love you. and at least you gave us prata and veggie chips.

A Room With A View

2007-04-23T01:16:00.000+08:00

Separated with his partner, Olle comes to Singapore on his way back from the mines in Indonesia. He seems to be coping well, so well in fact, that he starts to enjoy my company very much. Throw in a room with a view and he's really, really, enjoying himself.

singapore, alive

2007-04-21T11:14:00.000+08:00

there are the moments when you sit down in exasperation and frustration at sink-ah-po. and then there are times when you realise, really, that sink-ah-po is a state of mind, as real as it can be externalised. and thats exactly what the love club did today.

today we went camping at sembawang beach, we had our usual, um, logistical and motivational problems. an hour after meeting at yishun mrt station, we were in mag's home snacking on biscuits, contemplating if we should just scrap our plans and go for dinner.

of course that was not an option - we would never be able to swallow that. so we set off, five intrepid amateurs, for our little adventure. the goal in mind was to relive our obs, when we camped at sembawang as part of the three day sea expedition. of course we say "relive" with a little creative licence. no more 5bx, no need to flatten cans to recycle, no sentry, and best of all, yes illegal fireworks.

so somewhere in between stuffing our faces, playing touch rug, laughing ourselves shitfaced, getting frightened by the dark sea and taking in the sunrise, it did feel for a moment like we were 17 again, except that there would be no school on monday.

You, Are In Bad Shape

2007-04-20T08:53:00.000+08:00

Well at least thats what a 1986 Jakarta SEA Games bodybuilding gold medallist says. But honestly, between working like a dog every day, and, uh, sleeping and eating, i find it very difficult to work out as much as i'd like to. This being the gap year, there're heaps of things I want to do, some of which I'm doing or have done, but still, the list is long and time is rapidly running out. Well, actually, most of all my feet are itching again and I'm aching to get on the road again. And this time, I'm afraid because maybe I'll never be able to settle down after all. Maybe I have a little too much velocity.

我也是新加坡公民

2007-04-15T00:42:00.000+08:00

已經太舊沒這個樣子操筆了。應該有五年了吧。自上次對峙汎寫了那封信之後，就停止跟他交往，也停止以這縻熟悉的語文表達出心裡面的話。不過，三月剛和他交談的我，也該是時候要回屬于我的那份。一直以來對朋友講華語都敢到很害臊，到底是為甚縻，自己現在才了解。

從十五歲開始，就對中學感到很厭倦。討厭在新加坡生活亦討厭這裡的人。心裡是這縻想，但不自覺的是，自己的心肺肝腎都是刻著新加坡這三個字。在濱海藝術中心剛看完了annabel chong的自傳，現在就完全了解了。雖然人能脫離這個小島，心卻不能把這島國置在身外。

這裡的每一個小細結都已是生活中的大部份，爸爸吻這媽媽的樣子，跟小販老伯伯叫東西吃，或者是求胜心切的態度。幸好在離開之前嶺悟，因為若是毫無自覺就投入陌的環境，可能就像她一樣，走下不回頭的路

grace kelly crimes

2007-04-13T02:07:00.000+08:00

like a hollywod princess, a european legend of elegance and dignity, the changi chapel invited us in with her whitewashed walls and bright cheery courtyard. we enter unsuspectingly for another run-of-the-mill war museum (LP Singapore has a boxed text titled "Do mention the war."), and the beginning few parts did little to convince us otherwise. Call me a sucker if you wil, but the next parts soon got me choking back a crest inside my chest. there was something deeply moving about the stories of comrades surviving the prison camps together with good humour and good luck. decades later, they'd meet again in entirely different circumstances, their fates irreversibly diverged. a few more years later, they'd pass on and then their children would visit and pen such devastating notes of gratitude, nostalgia and admiration. and herein, perhaps, lies the appeal of this museum. it's so understated and comes from behind to throw it's message over your eyes, instead of hitting you over the head with it; translating the camaraderie and fraternity of these brave men and women into modern-day sentences.

In other news, i tied a knot on a cherry stem using my tongue.

Where are you from? The press?

2007-04-12T18:11:00.000+08:00

The much-awaited Khatib Bongsu hike takes place today after morning gym. Ahmad and I, plus Eamon. We set off with a homecooked lunch in our bags, binoculars too, with no map, and just a general sense of direction. And well, it isnt too hard to find. The hike begins fairly easy enough as we slip pass the "security" at the beginning of the track. Just ten minutes into the walk and we lose sight of the last HDB block. Birds are singing somewhere behind the leaves of the tree, so we never get to see them. What we do see are massive bird's nests and bird's nest ferns (after a little debate). There's also a scoring system for spotting cool stuff, naming it gives you bonus points. So there're papaya and coconut trees, tapioca and banana plants, a snake, running streams and empty mangrove ponds. We pass by the first obstacle, contractors putting up the "shoot at sight" sign, by waving them away. Dithering a little bit and stopping every five seconds to peer at things, the sky turns overcast and starts to piss down (hence the lack of pictures). The ponds begin to fill up as we trudge along through puddles of water, Ahmad with his brolly, Eamon in his jacket, and I in my, uh, trash bag. Rain aside and an hour and a half into our little hike, we meet our last and final obstacle in the form of A Civil Servant. Dressed in his statutory board-issued office gear and driving his trusty Toyota (prolly from years of toiling behind his desk), he scrambles to us in his leather shoes, avoiding puddles, screaming, "Where are you from?"

Strange looks are exchanged. Me, "Uh.. nowhere in particular."

"Did you take any pictures? Are you from the press?"

No, NO!"

He tells us to turn back and even tells us to walk carefully, lest we fall and our insurance companies sue him for making us walk back in Stormy Weather. Born-and-bred Singaporeans, we accept his as yet unproven authority and make our way out without challenging him (Eamon is too wet and tired to bother). Emerging from the wilderness, we go to the park gazebo for the lunch, eating on the floor with our hands, much to the bemusement of Yishun primary school children passing by. So, while the Singapore Troubadours suffer a moral setback at the hands of the Civil Service, Australian Backpacker Eamon gets a right instructive introduction to Singapore 'Burbs, Wildlife and Government.

And.. we go to the NS40 exhibition at Orchar Road, where we get to wield rifles in the middle of the city. Uniquely Singapore! Nothing is disallowed, every is just yet to be allowed.

歷史的塵埃

2007-04-11T23:20:00.000+08:00

人說北方的狼族　會在寒風起　站在城門外
穿著腐蝕的鐵衣　呼喚城門外　眼中含著淚

Sometime after the 30th lap, I realise that the method of letting my mind wander to forget the fatigue is working too well. I will be 25 when I graduate. In German English, that is not very nice!

1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7

2007-04-07T23:42:00.000+08:00

Salsa class again after so long! Ahmad comes along, and we're confident that there'll be girls for us to dance with. And there are, pretty girls, shy girls, good dancing girls, bad dancing girls, old girls and fat girls. Just as well, there are girls. We're talking about our ex-girlfriends as we wait for my Dad at Bugis. He wants to buy a wedding anniversary present for his old girl (my Mum. now I can say I've been out shopping with my Dad before). This might not sound very gay, but I'd really like to meet a nice girl soon! Matchmakers welcome, thank you very much.

Shit and Piss

2007-04-05T22:41:00.000+08:00

An interview at InnCrowd, where we discuss literally the prospect of me cleaning shit, piss and vomitus. Shopping for a new bike at Sungei Road. Except the sellers look like tricky ex-cons so I think I might need some back up to even ask for the price. To Botanic Gardens for the Gala Pyjama Party, with chaat items in hand for a picnic. Sitting on the grass as the sun sets, the ground gets a little wet as it becomes cooler. With a book, food, water and all the time in the world, there was nothing to tell me I wasnt in King's Park or the Royal Botanic Gardens as I drifted in and out of sleep while waiting for "Music and Lyrics" to start playing. We're on the road again!

Public Transport in Singapore

2007-04-05T22:23:00.000+08:00

So the government wants to get more people out of their cars and onto buses and trains. They've done ERP, COE, transport rationalisation, upgraded service standards, sent out new trains and buses but still it's not enough. Well, I'm not sure how many people think like me, but I might have a very good suggestion. You see, the reason I drive when possible is so that I dont have to meet Ah Bengs blasting horrid cheena techno songs on their mega-blaster mobiles, crazy aunties pushing you aside to get that seat, smelly Dunman High kids on the way home and stupid underaged couples making out near the doors. So, if people without civic-mindedness were booted off the trains and buses by our under-utilised transit security staff, perhaps more people would start boarding and stop driving. And, ooh, perhaps even public executions by the rifle-wielding SOC and army dudes. Thats good economic sense (I think).

Reve

2007-04-04T22:08:00.000+08:00

Kampong Glam, by night, strolling along with a map in my hand feeling every bit the traveller, except my car is parked near Masjid Sultan. Encik Zach is there, and so is Hazin with his fiancee. The streets have a certain charm, nameless, dimly lit and calm. It feels like nothing can change tonight.

Who Do You Call?

2007-04-03T14:23:00.000+08:00

Jan, Jac and I go to a place where we can "walk and eat", namely Katong. It's a sweltering day, and a second outside aircon is a second too many. Jan and I are singing the Ghostbusters theme while Jac keeps snapping pictures. To the city to toss the ball around, and then more aircon. It is too hot to do anything at all!

Saying goodbye to them, Azi and Vik show me around their BTC, which was the reason why I would've taken up NUS Law's offer. The arches and the quadrangles are a beaut, but I decided I wasnt missing enough. I pick up Jie Ming on the way to Jun Ren's house, where instead of being the awkward meeting I thought it'd have been, we were all at ease and talked cock all the way to eight. Looking back to the past few days, I wonder at how unnecessarily nervous and anxious about so many things. Maybe if I learnt to lighten up a little, then my bowels would be better!

Ten!

2007-04-01T13:49:00.000+08:00

The Dutch come today while there are two parties to attend at night. Kevin is late for the Sheffield reception at Shangri-La but neither of us really care, so we stroll in, underdressed, at stuff our faces. It is certain, I do not wish to go there. The Sunday Fool's party is later at night too, since Mr. B is going away. As the guests go home, we all come out to play. There's too much food, alcohol in abundance, bad music, one bicycle and no rules. So we're all kinda pissed off our tits, even if only for the fact that there're absolutely no guests to pander too. As people start to pass out (from tiredness or drink), vomit or run away, I make my way out at four in the morning. Mot is there, and with my face on his soft neck as we hug, maybe I didnt want to leave. Maybe I was smashed.

100

2007-03-31T13:35:00.000+08:00

The most painful feelings, the most piercing emotions are also the most absurd ones - the longing for impossible things precisely because they are impossible, the nostalgia for what never was, the desire for what might have been, one's bitterness that one is not someone else, or one's dissatisfaction with the very existence of the world. All these half-tones of the world's consciousness create a raw landscape within us, a sun eternally setting on what we are. Our sense of ourselves then becomes a deserted field at nightfall, with sad reeds flanking a boatless river, bright in the darkness growing between the distant shores.
The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa

A little tennis game with Jie Ming is squeezed into the middle of the day, but the rain thwarts our plans. Half way through the game, the court gets too slippery so we sit down in the rain listening to Mayday, and dreading the the university replies (update: both rejected!). On my mind is the meeting with R later, and I sort-of dread it more than.

But it is a dream. The ohm from Concave Scream is left over, so I am calm when I face him. When we hit Changi Coast Road, we're chatting like old friends and I dont miss him anymore. Planes roaring overhead drown out our voices and the Manic Street Preachers, but we're part of the road, so we just listen harder. At the beach, it's disgusting and packed, so we stand a little, staring off into the Straits.

There is something about two boys - running barefoot, chasing each other, tossing a frisbee, swimming across the river, skipping rocks, smashing fish, climbing railings, scaring ghosts - that is so incredibly exhilarating and athletic, the serotonin high still lingers inside. At the end of the night, chatting in the car at R's carpark, just like years ago on the taxis, I know we're friends again. Not hundred dollar friends, and we both know it, but something more. And a night like this, not hundred dollars, but something more.

Hush

2007-03-30T01:36:00.000+08:00

So, Jie Ming and I, both Espy virgins, go watch Concave Scream's Hush together. Somewhere, ten seconds into the first song, I get the shiver-shake moment that "Safari Pete" speaks of. Whow! And really, isnt this whole night just a huge shiver-shake moment? Except it's a really quiet moment, not so loud, like Concave Scream promised at the beginning of the set. This is meant to be a huge weekend, one filled with disappointment, healing, resolution, driving, exercise, food, party and farewells. But tonight, the first night, if anything, has been inspiration and hope.

Back in 2005, Jie Ming and I went to the Mayday concert which was loud, emotional and buzz. That was the punctuation for Central-BOC. Now, to punctuate this weekend, we go to Hush, and it really is that, quiet, sweetly nostalgic, and comfortably emotional. Perhaps that is the way it is as we turn 21, everything starts being less Love and Hate, and more Give and Take, and we start to settle down into our small quiet lives. Maybe once in a while we will go mad at a Cure concert, but in between these wild breaks, we'll all be a little more comfortable in our skins, nicer to ourselves and inner ears.

Tomorrow, I will see R, and it has all been settled in my mind. Just pack an eski, frisbee and some stuff into the car, and the land and water and sky will take care of everything else. Same goes for the future.

Tummy Mouse

2007-03-29T01:17:00.000+08:00

The thing about ex-friends, people who used to be so close but are now strangers, is that they are not alone. From way back in secondary school, six years ago, I had began to lose sight of myself. The same also for parts of JC, which meant that these buddies had only made friends with an approximation of myself, a projection. That is why, now, it is so hard to go back to Huan Ling, for example, and get nostalgic. Because I do not know very well, or remember, the person that they knew and remember. For that matter, I am my own ex-friend, and that's why if you're an ex-friend reading this, you're not alone. But it's getting better now, we're getting chummier.

It seems to me that the toilet has bore witness to many changes of mind and realisations. Appropriately enough for the venue, my mental tempest can only be paralleled by my bowel movement, or there lackof. It all started in 2001 when things began to go a little crazy, and when I got the first bout of tummy mouse. Over the years, it's come and gone inasmuch the same way as I vacillate between personalities. Many a time, I get stressed/ nervous/ frightened, and I can feel the constipation right there in my tummy. One day, past all these purgings, everything will be clear, completely detoxed. Oh, what a day that will be.

Nikhil Dreaming

2007-03-28T08:36:00.000+08:00

School's over and Nikhil and I are walking through Ghim Moh towards Buona Vista MRT Station. Nikhil's half-Chinese so we talk about being mixed, and he likes it quite a little. He loves studying Punjabi too - in Punjabi, there are many different kinds of words for jewellery. Precious stones formed from heat and pressure are called this while precious things like gold and silver are called that.

I Want to Go Home

2007-03-26T08:50:00.000+08:00

I decided to continue... until I had got over my pain by comparing it with other people's, or had worn out my own story through sheer repetition.

But continuing, it is too difficult. Two years on, I am having the same jitters as if I had met you just last week. The sadness is too real to forget still, and the reasons are even more apparent, though less distinct. It is the green light on the other side of the river, it is there but it comes and goes and at times it is blur around the edges, though some nights it is sharp and pierces my heart through my eyes. That is why it will never be worn out, it takes different shapes, it is never the same thing. It burns and rises again from the ashes to fly, circling above my head. Home is a feeling I buried in you, so maybe that is why, thinking about you, all I understand is the longing for home, the yearning for you. I'm tired now, off to bed, perchance to dream of a better home.

Badger Badger Badger

2007-03-25T13:59:00.000+08:00

A little trip to Dharma's new Bukit Timah home (welcome to the club, bitch), meant the scheduled twenty minutes on the cab, and the unscheduled one hour walking around trying to find the place. Well, as Dan says, schedule one hour for mistakes. Getting there, I'm fed heaps of frickin' good South Indian food, not to mention ice water. Mmm ice water...

Night is Geylang for durians and whores, pretty ones, no less. Karyn and Dan are leaving tomorrow, and I dont want them to go!

Where's the Biatch?

2007-03-24T13:53:00.000+08:00

The Zoo and the Night Safari! What more is there to be said! We pack our lunch and dinner and are on our jolly way!

This stupid bird caught a fish it couldnt eat.

Mmm. Polar bears.

Mmm. White tiger. Highlight together with the flying squirrel from the Night Safari.

Dan and I think the baboons are just hilarious.

We're outside the puma enclosure.

This warning is outside the puma enclosure.

This fat lard was sleeping.

As we're walking past thu puma, we cross paths with four dudes who were whistling "Maneater". We break up in laughter because that song had been stuck in our heads on Thursday. Later, these dudes help us take a picture at the giant tortoises.

There're simply too many otters!

Soundbites
"No archer fish! There's nothing here! Go home!" - Zoo dude whom we asked for directions to the archer fish. Ok, maybe we made the last two up.
"Again, we're in a zoo.'' Karyn to Daniel and I after we keep discussing which animal would taste better.

Karyn, Dan and I join in the free buffet at the Panasonic Asia-Pacific Family Day 2007. The magician was really bad.

Prang!

2007-03-22T13:37:00.000+08:00

Karyn and Dan from Canada drop by Singapore for five days while going through Europe and Southeast Asia. We're all easygoing so it's like we're old chums except we've only met last night. The National Museum has a great exhibition on Arab culture, Living Under the Crescent Moon. Since I'd already planned on going, I invite them along and we all go together.

Who wants to look at the musuem?

Some parts of the Museum are free on some parts of the day, but we decided to go the whole hog and pay the entrance fee. But boy, the museum was huge, and after four hours, we'd only coverd less than a quarter of it. Too much history and culture to take in at one go, so we fled the museum with our tails between our legs.

Lunch!

The view from our picnic spot.

The boys are a little defective.

My frisbee's in my bag so we decide to get some food and picnic at the Padang and toss the frisbee. That is, until a thunderstorm threatens, and the SCC threatens us too. So we cut short our frisbee game for some ice kachang under the Esplanade Bridge. Next to the water, sheltered from the rain, they're stuffing their face on mediocre ice kachang when they suddenly choke and realise that the Merlion's right THERE. Picture-taking is in order (of course) and we try to bully the other tourist groups (7 & 9).

Karyn and Dan do their mandatory shot.

While Karyn takes this gorgeous one.

Next stop, Raffles Hotel's Long Bar for the Singapore Sling ("How colonial"). We get a little lost, oddly enough, and my credibility as a local is cast into doubt. In my defence, we were underground. It's true though, that until now, I havent really explored my own city, and all this outings with travellers are making me feel like even I'm on holiday too. Grrreat. This is like the extended summer vacation-December/June holiday-spring break-block leave-gap year. Wicked!

25SGD cocktail. We all share one, and we're the colloquial bums to the bemusment of the business types in the Long Bar.

We try to make it look like Karyn's throwing peanut shells while drinking her Singapore Sling.

Onwards, Life

2007-03-21T19:38:00.000+08:00

R Dreaming

2007-03-20T23:09:00.000+08:00

It's been too long and R asks me to come out, so I do. On hindsight, I'm surprisingly calm, without any of the palpitations or constipation I'm so familiar with. The smoke's too thick to breathe, but his proximity is apparent. After two years, he finally says what I'd been holding my breath so long for. His arms are around me, and I'm feeling like a foetus. It's as if I was never alive until this moment, and now everything's coherent, it all falls into place, and I can let go of this cosmic sigh, the first breath that gave life to everything.

For real now, R has really asked to meet me, though I know that this time, I'll need to breathe a little first. And know that there isnt any point, really, in holding my breath anymore. All in a dream, all in a dream

Klaviertastenreinigungsmittelfloschen

2007-03-19T13:04:00.000+08:00

With a June Bug in our hands, KM8 to ourselves, I realise that over the past month in Singapore, I'd come pretty close to a routine.

Eric from ConFest comes by town on the way to Phnom Penh from Cochin. It's a pretty good idea to meet up again to spend the day together, so I pick him up at his hotel room, which is unfortunately Hotel 81 Princess. (Yea...) We cheat our way on buses to get to Vivocity, only because everyone has been talking about it, and we both went to get a bit of consumerism in. Dont know what the fuss is about really - it's just like every other mall we've never been to - so we just slide along, singing songs from Rocky Horror and talking about Jim Sharpman, his ex-flatmate's brother.

Im tempted to go look at the new Sentosa Express trains, and since it's so cheap, we've nothing else to do, and the musical fountain's closing, we decide to get in.

Now, the musical fountain's something really special. It's a horrendously tacky show that gets all the Indian and Chinese tourists ooh-ing and aah-ing in genuine glee. But for the very fact that I've been wanting to go since, I dont know, six, it was huge for me too. Plus it's free. Would've been better with a joint, we agree. Back at KM8, we realise the routine's been broken, so it's onwards, life.

Gunshot Dreaming

2007-03-18T02:21:00.000+08:00

Well mates, I've a gunshot to my right foot. It's frickin' painful but really please dont call the ambulance or anything, it's only a gunshot. Someone nearby says let's all go have the operation now! But no, really, thats quite a bad idea, because i'm so tired and all i want to do now is to go to bed. And yet the wound will prolly get infected right? Maybe if i sleep this way. Or that. Tomorrow I'll go to the doctor's. I promise.

A Day Off

2007-03-16T10:03:00.000+08:00

Actually, more like a week off. No work left for the rest of the week until Sunday. So whats there to do except to sit around in the pool?

Indigestion

2007-03-14T17:57:00.000+08:00

"Stop it, you're giving me indigestion!" Thats for the kids of CCHY, who'd been so obnoxious for the past three days. Grrr. Only 120SGD over three days wouldnt cut it normally, if it were not for the great outdoors - sun, high elements, the sea - and the good company from the other camp instructors. Cute boys and cute girls, not the students please, and everything's a little better.

Maybe I'm a little elitist, maybe I've high standards. But when kids cant form a circle when told to, cant reply to "How're you?" and bring soft toys to a two-night camp... My, my, what future is there?

Hey Capoeira!

2007-03-11T22:07:00.000+08:00

Capoeira, blowjobs, spankings, mafia, maid abuse. That is why CCSG is so vulnerable to lawsuits, as Mr B and Laura know.

And finally, next week, a break from making coffee and balancing trays (nampan-nampan). Back to the bush!

Down By The Water

2007-03-11T17:49:00.000+08:00

A day on the river is just chilling out on the lawns of the ACM, and partying with good ol' St. Pat's.

Eager Beaver Kindergarten

2007-03-10T19:21:00.000+08:00

Crazy nonsense from the OG box at the bus stop off Victoria Street.

Having went to bed last night still feeling sore and lousy about the messed up interview, I woke up today surprisingly early and perky. Got emails out of the way, feeling better to read the love waves drifting in from the internet from a few corners of the world. Kinokuniya to buy a frickin' awesome birthday present for Kevin's 20th, and to watch The Swimming Instructor with Matthew, which is a terrible terrible thing to watch on a Saturday afternoon when there's lots of other fun to be had. So, things are looking up again after a slight dip last night. Thats the way things are, wickedly random, grabbing you by the scruff, like a shrine dedicated to nonsense in the middle of the city on a hot Saturday afternoon.

You Just Gotta Keep Moving

2007-03-09T23:33:00.000+08:00

Those who still bother speaking to me at all will know that yesterday and today were the Wesleyan Interviews. Now, now, no speculations from any quarters please, or halves or thirds for that matter. It's pretty evident to me that everytime something seems to have gone well, it didnt. No reason to break the trend now, and I dont recall having put out any great karma on the world recently, so am pretty certain I didnt clinch it. Well, at least Rachel Chang and Rachel Isserlis will be very glad to find out that I'll go to England now.

It's fucking terrible for me, however, that now in my heart of hearts I know I'm not getting the scholarship. Not because of any particular reason, except my own crazy mind getting ahead of itself, spreading all the bad vibes onto the stars and sun, and damn, didnt the interviewers feel it. And also, if I feel this way about it now, how terrible it will be have it confirmed in April. No, the only way to go is keep to moving.

This afternoon I paid a visit to Parliament House, because, I told Kevin, it's so near. There must be more, no sitting in the dark allowed, no sitting at all, go, go, go, go, go. More, more, more, so my mind can suck it up and not implode for not getting that damn scholarship...

Letter to MJ

2007-03-07T21:48:00.000+08:00

hello ming jing!!!!!!!!!

oh my god i'm so excited to write you now!! ah!!! well, i decided to write you because today in singapore for the first time in so long and i decided to go bedok reservoir to run like we did. except this time, i made use of the new overhead bridge across the PIE, and as i was running across i still remember how i felt back when i ran from bedok reservoir to PIE only to realise that there was no bridge. oh dear, nostalgia.

and what about you? how's Upenn? you're prolly overachieving still and having a lot of fun, or are you not? tell me everything, from how you found a new doctor to when're you going japan? and who're yout there with? now i miss you all of a sudden and i remember when we used to share cabs home and i'd make you teach me math.

when's your 21st? is it over or coming. haha do i sound overexcited? pardon the lack of structure!

yours
ivan

If They Want Me

2007-03-05T17:52:00.000+08:00

aidan and i meet after so long and we do nothing but talk at botak jones's clementi kopitiam. we're talking mostly about the wesleyan interviews on thursday, or at least thats all i can remember. actually thats all i can think about right now. oh Damn...

serendipity

2007-03-04T23:59:00.000+08:00

kelvin and i first met serendipitously at karen's home, possible only because she invited me to her class party. in the past four years, i studied for the a's, took it, and got my results. i took TP too, and passed the first time.. kelvin studied for his a's (with a little help from me), took it, and got his results friday. eight days ago, he took his TP and passed it the first time too. now thing's have come full circle, the celestial bodies agree, and we come out at night to celebrate, just like the first night we met at his home. except this time, he drives me home from all the way from jalan kembang melati to lorong kembangan.

the bright spot in the centre is the moon

and..ooh..

Fire Dreaming

2007-03-04T00:08:00.000+08:00

I'm in a fire station, one of those new ones that look more like office blocks. Say, Bukit Batok Fire Station. RJC is located in this building (ie it's a school, not a fire station) and it's about 2004. We're going about our normal school day when the school catches fire, from the parapets to the ceilings. Some Rafflesians escape by climbing over the school fence (post-dream note: ha! how typical!) into the surrounding fields. Me, I'm just standing there, talking to someone as the fire spreads down the false ceilings and classrooms. Rafflesians are still everywhere, picking up books, picking up desks (What? Yes. The kinds we had for exams in the hall). There's a girl on the sixth or so floor walking towards the spot where there once used to be a parapet. She's crying and slowly she just walks straight off it. Everyone stops and screams, the kind of anguish the school felt that Friday morning in 2003. At the ground floor where the corpse is splattered, councillors - I see Lindy's face - are recovering the body and all the other matter. There is a sense that students are jumping because they're trapped by the fire so all the councillors keep looking up hoping they wont get squashed by another jumper. Immediately I tell the person I'm speaking to that I'm going to that part of the sixth floor to stop people from jumping. On the way there, I meet Alina who tells me that, oh, it's not a surprise that girl committed suicide. Apparently she had a huge acne problem and thought falling from height was a better solution to it than burning her face off.

Diaspora

2007-03-03T23:53:00.000+08:00

The Substation's 2nd Singapore Indie Doc Fest (Independent Documentary Festival for the many uninitiated who had to ask me) is coming your way from 06/03 to 10/03! Yours truly went for 2SIDF's preview today at the espy's library and am already very excited for the main dishes. My favourite of the four was "Colour Wash and Spin", a 30 minute piece by Singapore resident Anna Christin Mallon. Here she discusses the concepts of roots and identity, of what it means to be Singaporea, German, English, Chinese, European, Western, whatev.

Interviewer (the interview is conducted in English): So, if a person speaks Chinese he's Chinese?
Boy (Chinese, Singaporean, about 5): Yes.
I: If he speaks "Indian" he's Indian?
B: (Smiles shyly) Yes.
I: And if he speaks English he's English?
B: (Nods head)

I Want To Go To

2007-03-03T15:13:00.000+08:00

Rainforest World Music Festival, in Sarawak's Borneon jungles. W6za and Okeiko have an invitation to go and now i'm invited too. Ah...

Picture by Sarawak Tourism Board

Notes from the Past

2007-03-02T00:27:00.000+08:00

A little writing on an order chit from CCSG was stuck inside the The Postal Service's Give Up CD case.

Soup of the Day: Tomato
Upsell: IMT and apple crumble
86: maple walnut, ny cheese, choc opera, chix pie

"despair is the sudden calm in the cafe on sunday evening. the perspiration of fear as i see, things will never be... (overleaf) ... it is seeing something and then not, and... then seeing again and knowing that this is the way it will always be... and it is the certainty the..."

God, I needed a pill.

Carry On!

2007-03-01T23:14:00.000+08:00

It's been raining for the past 48 hours and time to meet "Ron" after so long. This time he's driving and just for the hell of it we go poofta hunting at Ortfay Oadray. Evidently he's been there for, say, physical purposes before, as he's being a very adequate tour guide. There's the carpark where richer ones flash their Beemer headlights at mansluts, theres the footpath where adventurers - like us, but of another kind - stroll along in the dark night, theres Atongkay Arkpay where the family men come down from their fully-paid condominiums for the history spots and boys, and there's the Under-overhead bridge where we get mistaken for a couple but nevermind. For those who think there's no alternative-subversive-underground fun to be had in Singapore, bring yourself to Ortfay Oadray tonight!

Disclaimer: "Paul" means no offence to pooftas by calling them pooftas. Why, he might even be one himself. "Paul's" visit to the aforementioned spots were in a purely investigative (of the journalism type) spirit, so dont be a dirty-minded knobhead. "Paul" does have platonic friendships with people like "Ron", so stop judging either of us.

Serial Monogamist

2007-02-27T22:31:00.000+08:00

The National Library is having an exhibition, Aksara, which traces the script of the Malay language(s). It's pretty cool, especially for speakers of the Malay/Indonesian language(s), to see how Malay used to be written in little squiggly lines too. From Pallava to Sanskrit to Arabic and now Roman script, it's now a big pity to see that Malay is being squandered into the mangle of English it now is.

It's also time to do things that had been put off for so long. Like going to Mr. Bean's for tea with Nik. Like going to Marina Promenade to run together with all the hotties in full view of the Singapore River skyline. Now it feels like life as it should've been since I-forgot-when.

If He Wants Me

2007-02-26T23:02:00.000+08:00

Mot and I meet up without anything in mind except to spend some time together. Soon we're doing the normal thing of going to beach while listening to Oasis with the windows wound down. We dont quite reach the sea this time as we end up at SAF Yacht Club but the music part is working out fine. Theres something about the seabreeze and Mot's look. Theres something about the way he's standing in front of me. Well, it doesnt matter to me anymore. He's gonna have to make the first move because I sure as hell am not gonna mess up the groove im in right now. Fucking pooftas...

Expositions

2007-02-25T22:20:00.000+08:00

Okeiko and W6za come back from KL and are leaving for Darwin tonight. What I'd do to go with them! We pack spaghetti for them and it's so odd to be the host saying goodbye this time!

After having been a Stage Club member for almost a year, and putting off doing anything at all for that duration, I finally go for an audition today. For Macbeth, no less. It's a cosy little affair in a clubhouse of which the same can be said. Everyone's prolly been in about, oh, seven productions. Me, I've just been G.A.R.B., which, something tells me, doesnt really count anyway. Hell, there's even Mr Mac as Macbeth. I'd be very lucky if I could get a role at all. We'll see.

Siao Ah...

2007-02-24T21:18:00.000+08:00

Standing on the sidelines of Chingay, I spy Derrick and Min Zheng, two of my favourite boys from their year. Min Zheng says I've an accent now, which is a very frightening thing to be told, especially for me. Dharma, you reading this? I have an Accent.

The car's parked in Central, so I had to walk back to station after the parade ended. (On the way back is the Fort Canning Tunnel where the National Library used to be. They tore down a grand old red-brick treasure trove of memories to build a hole in the ground just so they could name it.) As I was about to leave, Eddy pulls up in the ambulance, arriving in base after a call. We end up talking 'till 2am, and I'm persuaded to join CDAU so we can ride around on ambulance calls.

Now, this is a tempting thought. Barely half of my life as a fireman was spent turning out for calls and if I can continue to do so, it doesnt matter even if I'm an officer riding around on an ambulance getting 2.80SGD an hour. All I want is the heady rush that comes with the coding from control room, the sliding pole, jumping in in various stages of dress, the sirens, beacon lights, beating traffic, helping people, finishing a call and returning to base with an unrivalled satisfaction. I want that, I want to be in a fire station again.

1, 3, 5, 7, 11

2007-02-23T19:59:00.000+08:00

Tonight's the much-anticipated salsa lesson for Surya and I. We're already dancing in the afternoon on the floor of CCSG so we're set for the night. For anyone who thinks salsa is difficult and/or boring, rest assured that if we can do it, so can you. A guy has come alone, which is all right, except that he seems to be handicapped in laughing at himself. Everyone is awkward for him, and when he leaves the studio on the pretext of answering a call, I dont expect him to come back. He doesnt, and how terrible, because somehow it feels like I could've been him. Check out Groove to find out how you can learn to, uh, meet lady friends. I go here because it's right outside the Outram NEL MRT Station, and if you know me well enough you'll know it's the truth.

After salsa class (I always wanted to say that), Surya brings me to GasHaus where her boyfriend Luke is running the house. It seems to be a proper enough place to go watch live bands, get a cup of tea and diss the PM, if you're in a band. The main point of going there though, is to meet Luke, and in a sense to obtain his blessings for us to go dancing together.

We're sposed to visit Am at his home after this but I've to go on my own now. This is a very tall order - I've not been in Tampines in years and also have a special knack for gettting lost in HDB estates. Avenues, Streets, Lorongs, Roads, Drives apparently have some kind of hierarchy and order that is completely lost on me. Little wonder then my shock and awe at people who can even tell the directions based on blocks ("Orh.. blok 267 ah.. near 153 lo.."). Dont get me wrong, I'm great at directions. I know my King George's Ave from St. George's Rd but I cant decipher the numbering of various Hougang Neighbourhoods. While some estates seem to have themes like nuts (Cashew, Walnut..) or operas (Figaro, Fidelio..), there doesnt seem to be any rationale in making Avenue 3 turn into Street 52, except maybe five less two is three.

So there I was, alighted from bus 28 opposite Tampines N2 Shopping Street, thinking I might as well have been in a Bangkok soi. It takes another half-hour and a few frantic/raging calls to Michelle before I get there, at which time they say we're all going to the kopitiam. Singapore, land of #04-7890 and sipping teh-o-kosong-bao-peng with roti john special at the 24 hour kopitiam.

POW, wow

2007-02-22T13:23:00.000+08:00

Harith Bizarro calls me out and after much bitching we decide to meet in our old haunt, Little India. As is very typical, I get there early and he late so I'm hanging out alone at POW for about two hours. Our theme for tonight is "I Remember When I Was a Backpacker Last Month", but Harith states plainly, "So, slippers and shorts right?"

It's been a bit more than a half-year since we last met and it starts out a little awkward but things begin to warm up. His pint of Hoegaarden and my stubby of VB lubricates things just enough, and the tension in me eases somewhat. We're speaking fondly like old ns kakis again.

On the walk back to catch the last train, our conversation turns to what exactly happened in the last few days. But really, who knows and who cares why things turned sour? Nothing much matters now, we're mates again. The placid night holds in it some kind of expectancy, the kind that makes it placid, not still, not calm, the kind that brings with it some kind of tremulous sensation in each ticking of the second hand.

It is trying to say something, though it was not apparent then. But now, putting thoughts down, sketching a mind map, it is clear. This new independence, confidence and willingness to be with myself, seems to have put a rest to the unresolved feelings towards abandonment, perceived or otherwise. More specifically, the benefit of hindsight made it clear how badly Harith must have wanted to get away from Jurong. It felt so real then, it still does, the silver sharpness still glistening in the back of my mind. But I understand it enough now, enough to shine a little bit of light in that corner, and know it for what it is, know that it itsnt a threat anymore.

Open Eyes

2007-02-18T04:18:00.000+08:00

We go to Wild Wild Wet in the morning and again, it's a first for all of us. Man, was I even alive in the past year? It's a CNY crowd, which means that of course it's packed, but with MIO's only. The place is pretty small and the rides arent even scary at all except perhaps for this one ride. In any case, it's a chance to swim and get some sun and exercise, not to mention that they're paying.

I have to go visiting after that while they wisely decide to go to Bukit Timah. This is the year that the aunties start asking for me about my girlfriend, of which there is none. For that matter, boy or girl, whatev, maybe I dont want anything now because it's great as it is and I dont want to spoil it. (But if twas R, I take that back.) Cue awkward smile, pretend to be the asexual boy I was a decade ago and keep stuffing my face so I dont have to talk. Ugh.. Chinese New Year will never be the same again. Not after puberty, NS, leaving the country and studying overseas. Now I am almost the adult son who needs to carry on the family name (which name?), challenge my father for the patriarchy (what from whom?), and be able to discuss cheerfully When I Will Come To Be Filial To You Too (when? where?).

Is it any wonder then, any wrong, that I dont want to have to be here anymore?

Money and You Get Rich

2007-02-17T03:51:00.000+08:00

Chinese New Year this year raises the spectre, as it does every year, of horrible Hokkien Chinese songs extolling the importance of money and getting rich and/or the its direct link to the happiness in the coming year. Well. And too many relatives in a too small, cramped HDB flat with too oily food. Here's hoping that the two Estonians will provide much needed company, or if the need arises, sufficient distraction.

Reunion dinner is a boring steamboat affair (again) and we proceed to eat until we are too stuffed or sweaty or in pain from all the chilli. Already the ploy to save my sanity by using the Estonians is paying off. After a little resting and dozing off, we go to River Hongbao, which, once again, will be the first for all of us.

We park the car at Central and then walk down most parts of the Civic District towards the river. I'm beginning to like the city the way I did when I was still in Central.

Fireworks this time round arent such a massive affair, but was still breathtaking nonetheless.

River Hongbao is an orgy of sights and sounds that abuse the senses with red, horrid, tacky, jarring statuettes and songs. This can only be the work of a group of Chinese organisations, at the instigation of the STB, to draw people from all over to usher in the Spring Festival in the traditional Chinese way. Oh, for godssakes. Okeiko and W6za know immediately when they see this that it is, unfortunately, a literal and figurative money tree.

Away from the madding crowd, we visit a temple

Estonia Coming

2007-02-16T02:19:00.000+08:00

With the prodigal son coming home, the family has also entered a new phase as hosts to travellers from around the world. Today a couple from Estonia will be coming from Chennai and Mum has cleaned, baked and cooked, and my sister has, well, just cleaned herself. As for me, the room just needs a little packing and it's habitable once again.

Vilmar (W6za) and Annika (Okeiko) have their backs turned to me, facing the canal as I go to pick them up at Kembangan MRT Station. They have very little stuff and seem to be tired and dirty, how typical. They're fed and cleaned and rested, by which time we're pretty cool with each other so Chinatown seems like a good place to go to, even for me, it'll be our first time there.

A crazy rude man shouts at Okeiko, "No photo, no photo! You want, you buy!"

Mmmuah chee.. after so long

The way Hon describes this elephant, I just HAD to come see it

It's noisy, red, commercial, packed, hot and sultry. It isnt so bad, at least not as tacky as the day I was shopping at Giant for the BBQ stuff

You're The Bitch

2007-02-15T01:17:00.000+08:00

The party at Central two days ago was to celebrate LTA Zen's completion of his two year RC stint. This must have been sweet relief for him because being a Central RC must feel like being the Jurong OC, what with the workload. He was there the first day I stepped into station, he was the one who picked me for the rota and he was there for my first call, he was there for my first fire. His name was the one I'd listen out for when 16th was the supporting contingent for the 33rd POP, he was The One who was also from RJC. He made me drop the LTA after I completed BOC, and he always seemed to be someone great to confide in, to joke with. I could only hope to be as good an RC as him. So here's to you Zen, you must be glad it's over.

And today when I go to the War Memorial Park, just being a tourist, he's there, doing his job as 1st Div infocomms officer. Haha! I go over to him and we chat fondly, how great to be an infocomms officer.

Night time is meeting Fariz, and he's driving because he just passed his Class 3. As usual he's being a fucker and makes me pay for oil. I refuse to pump the oil and pay the 8.60SGD we can muster up and he goes on a hissy fit! Haha! Fucker brings me to Lower Pierce Reservoir and we have a picnic of Gardenia bread and plain water. He makes me piss on my own waterbottle, we piss ourselves silly because of the reservoir, and chat with two Bangladeshi workers on their CNY break. The night ends with fucking around in his room as blokes do (really, pisser) and Feyaze never did finished his stupid stockcheck, dammit.

Great Valentine Aussie Barbie

2007-02-14T19:32:00.000+08:00

Back in Alice, I realise I'll be back just in time for Valentine's Day and I have none. But, why, just call the Love Club over!

This card comes free from Cold Storage Siglap Centre while we're buying the beef. It just "happens" to be in all our pictures

Blender is for the banana smoothies - bananas, icecream, ice cubes and milk

Sweet potatoes are to be mashed with butter

Food - sausages and steak with burnt onions, grilled capsicums and tomatoes

Just lick the back of the card a little...

Everyone says I'm so very dark now

We right little Valentine messages on the back of the cards

On you get your message by picking the card out of the green bag

Ah.. poor single fuckers.

Another Great Beginning

2007-02-13T19:26:00.000+08:00

The first day back home is packed chockful with a visit to the hawker centre (not market), grocery shopping at Giant (not Cole's), working at CCSG (not the farm) and visiting the fire station (my own Central!). It feels as if the trip hasnt ended, so maybe being home isnt that bad after all.

Dividends

2007-02-12T19:02:00.000+08:00

Morning is just a rehash of last night except we're dirtier because there hasnt been a real shower for either. I'm sitting topless in the passenger seat as Daryl brings us home. The wind is passing us by and I want to scream, which I do. We stop for three spots fishing for barra but fail quite miserably. Well, at least money buys us barra at Fisherman's Wharf again, just like the first time, but here we bump into Teddy and Ayumi, my trainmates who inspire laughter in between their Japanese-Korean attempts at English.

It's time to say goodbye, and this is the final entry On the Southern Road. But I know, when the police pulls us over on the way to the airport, there is no need to say goodbye, because, well, too many things can happen. You just gotta have faith, faith, faith.

Lords of the Flies

2007-02-11T18:41:00.000+08:00

It's my last day on the trains and I've fallen into a sleepy routine. The seats in front turn around to form the most comfortable bed I've ever had on the trains. Meal times and movie times are scheduled finely. Meals are simple affairs, consisting of yesterday's leftovers, Home Brand canned food and one orange. The staff know that I'll be interested in the expired chips special and I am, so I buy two (it's a treat)! Reading, listening to Max Kingsley Jr, sleeping and spacing out at the window take turns like they're learning to waltz.

Darly picks me up and we head straight for Lichfield National Park. It's a one hour drive on the road and another hour off it. Daryl's 4WD goes over rocks, crosses streams and breaks stumps like only a man's car can. We arrive at the campsite and set up camp but immediately the mudflies attack, so we hurry up and jump into the waterhole. up here in darwin, the waterhole is surrounded by familiar tropical trees, a much welcome sight. The water is sparkling clear, crystal cold and there are a series of falls so we sit under them, letting the water wash everything away.

Sick!

2007-02-10T17:55:00.000+08:00

Kristie and Erin from back in the IP pick me up at Todd Mall after farewells with Dan. They've prepped a picnic and we're going to the West MacDonnell Ranges today. We try to channel Peter McDouall Stuart's spirit for a little bit at Serpentine Gorge but fail miserably. Ellery Creek Big Hole is the most beautiful place I never thought Alice Springs could have. There's so much fun to be had swimming and we're eating for too long so by the time we've left we're already late for my train. There's no point stressing about missing the train though, it'd just be oddly funny at this point of a trip in which nothing bad has happened. So we sing to The Audreys, play with stuffed toys, and poke our heads out of the window screaming bloody murder. By the time we fly into the railway station, the train doors have already been locked but I'm just in time so they let me in anyway. As Kristy puts it so well when I sms the girls goodbye, "I bet no one else on the train was swimming in a waterhole an hour ago."

Warmer Weather

2007-02-09T16:18:00.000+08:00

They climb to the top of King's Canyon in drag and at the top, they wonder at all the space that doesnt seem to end. Where do they want to go now? Home. Maybe that is the purpose of travel, to go to the ends of the world in order to appreciate the place where you came from, to understand your relationship with your origins,because, perhaps, proximity breeds contempt.

Mercury reads 47. Yes, it's celsius.

Queen of the Desert

2007-02-09T15:55:00.000+08:00

Our favourite tree, the ghost gum. It can decide to drop leaves or even certain branches if the going gets tough

This morning only four of us from the tour group want to go for the King's Canyon Rim Walk, presumably because of a segment called Heart Attack Hill. When the guide, Matt, comes, I realise he was the one behind the bar last night at dinner. We strike up an instant friendship and go on the jolly way.

I'm naked in the waterhole

She's a cool French lady who even did the Marrakech marathon last year

Matt is, very surprisingly, a qualified airline pilot

The Uluru Climb

2007-02-08T15:16:00.000+08:00

the Mingo Mob.

The Anangu dont want us to climb but still it is open. I decide that cultural sensitivity can wait until I'm older. I'm fit now and my knees are still working so I'll climb it. It's a convex slope so what you can see from the ground is only a quarter of the way up. It's very safe but because I'm like an ant on the Rock, it feels as though I might slip off or get blown away.

The view is magnificent, of course. Sun rising over the red earth in a slight mist and Kata-Tjuta greets us from the distance. The way at the top is funny, running down a slope so the momentum brings you up the next one. Who cares about the painted white lines? I dont, and have a ball of a time climbing up and jumping down everywhere.

My bushfly cemetery

Mt. Connor and the land and I

No more SPAM sandwiches!

My Hotel Room

My Hotel Swimming Pool

My Hotel Room Service

My Hotel Dartboard

Dan brings me to see the crazy stars on the boardwalk. The stars are terrific and just sick. I wish the stars could take me. I wish I could take a picture properly