On the Southern Road - Redux

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.

the straits

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.

Siao Ah...

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.

You're The Bitch

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.

Another Great Beginning

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.

Ol' Freo

I wake up late and lethargic so I have a doubleshot, which means i leave home very late (3pm!). Im in Freo by 4pm and do my own thing which includes the fire station of course, where they treat me like a VIP and give me tshirts and uniforms and tours. Dinner is a very special treat at the Mexican restaurant where I bump into two girls from the train here.

Now the sinister part of the day. Olle, Adam and I are booked on the ghost tour of the Fremantle Prison which really isnt all that scary, gallows included. When we're watching one of the re-enactments though, and Moondyne Joe is telling us to be careful and all that jazz, I get little chills down my spine because there was the most intense feeling of deja vu i had ever had. Twas as if my dreams I had one night was telling me the future, albeit not a very important one.

Transfers

every time i think about the work left to be done in jurong fire station, and i think about the journey i am undertaking now, i almost cannot see the difference. i am far away from home, my entire being is consumed and i cannot look beyond the next hour. but there is a difference, there must be a difference.

JFS took every part of me but i have left nothing there. i am enamoured by the firefighting and rescue work, but that was from the days of Central. JFS reminds me now about surviving as the leader. it was sleepless nights, worrying about my men, thinking about decisions that had been and to be made, at times even doubting my own dedication. so all the time the mantra was to try harder, be better, dont do that shit again, do that with finesse. it was about being professional and impeccable in PR. it was about being THE man among men when i was really just a boy in this field of men. now at the end of it, there is just relief, because i dont want to be in a place that doubts me even after having swallowed me.

and right now on this crazy journey, my body, mind and soul are once again occupied. but this is not new. this journey has taken me since the dreariness of work set in. at times when i was swamped and struggling to breathe, all this was a little mental oasis. now on the bus to ConFest for NYE, i am living its reality. this is a biting reality though, because we dont know how we shall carry on the journey after we get down from the bus. this isnt such an enchanting idea but it's necessary - the adventure is final. it'd have been a lot easier to stay at mayour beth's place in stratford. but it'd also have been a lot easier to stay home in singapore.

back in JFS, everything had to be done instantly because the coding could go off anytime. work would assault me like waves and lists never grew shorter. now only the present is real. yesterday's experiences have been packed away and tomorrow is a thick fog. i could climb, swim, run, as far as i have to go, but sitting on this bus going through small towns with only maggie is what i want to do now. it has been a year in the making, and i am living a year's worth of living.

The UnXpected

A visit to Adelaide FS in the morning. The firies here are fricking hot. In the SA Gallery, there's a Rodin exhibition so I fork out 5AUD for that, and it reminds me a bit of art history lessons that I had. I meet Scott and we go to the pie cart at the GPO for a pie floater, which is pea soup, with a mystery bag (Aussied for pie) drowned in it. Tres bien.


Rocket invites me to PJ O'Briens for the firies gathering tonight. It's amazing how well they treated me, and the place was great too. This event is also being held to coincide with Movember, and most of the guys are indeed keeping a moustache this month. There are the daddy beards, the goatees and the very metrosexual fuzz even. Free food, 2AUD half-pints and...


HHOTT girls to boot.. they're pretty intelligent actually! After this, I meet Scott again at Edinburgh Castle Hotel, which is just really apologetic. I take the O-Bahn home at around midnight and there're frightening drunk aborigines at the bus stop. Back in Tea Tree Gully, I have to walk for about 15 minutes in the freezing night. It's not that bad, a bit of an adventure, and the Southern Cross is magnificent.

side station

there've been times when i was physically drained, mentally exhausted, or emotionally suffocated. but never before has there been a time when the nine (eight) planets conspire to collide the three into one terrible, terrible amalgamation. the past week has been exactly like that - a mangled car crash along the PIE before corporation road exit towards changi.

i had always managed a high level of professionalism in my work and personal dealings back in station or even in cda. monday morning walking into station after the saturday night fiasco, however, i stood at the gate deliberately as i missed a call. because, shit, people can die, the whole jurong can sink into its own industrial muck, and i wouldnt give a cats ass.

one month left to ord, in what has been a most unXpected and tremendously inspiring ns term, and im in extended suspense instead of a denouement. in a while i'll have to start on the big thank-you emails and the biennial reflection. until then, im stuck with people to charge, stores to clear, and portfolios to hand over, no day, and no night, losing the plot. right about now, i'd like to see the end, hopefully with a nice song and dance finale.

nocturne (these nights)

these nights, i get half-drunk after working all day. it's the same glass menagerie now except in different ways; instead of As and Bs, now i slog every day for 1s and 0s but still there aint no satisfaction.

these days are spent rushing through emails, loose scraps of scribbled to-do lists, dreading the coding, sleepthrough nights, groggy mornings, oily equipment, deep sinking feelings, and being the bad guy.

these nights are spent with chia lun where things get a bit better but he's a bit different from in the day. other nights are spent in the bustle of cc and in gazing at rizal's hair. then we go drinking down the road and i think, how do i say it, and why isnt mister h around. later we go driving along little east coast roads and still im thinking of the same with my feet on the dash.

off i go to bukit batok now, to work now, until the next morning.

I work all day, and get half drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not used, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never:
But at the total emptiness forever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says no rational being
Can fear a thing it cannot feel, not seeing
that this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no-one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Philip Larkin, Aubade

and miles to go

this week is the closing of on the road and this week is the leaving of a dearest blood. so, miles to go with the dreary feeling in the dead of noon. past 16th, central, blood, there isnt anymore brothers to hang out with and now even the afternoon will come like night does. maybe i can take this, but maybe i cant. all i'm sure of is, i never wanted to leave central, never wanted to leave home.

on the road by jack kerouac
"It was remarkable how Dean could go mad and then suddenly continue with his soul - which I think is wrapped up in a fast car, a coast to reach, and a woman at the end of the road - calmly and sanely as though nothing had happened."

" 'Oh, man,' said Dean to me as we stood in front of a bar, 'dig the street of life, the Chinamen that cut by in Chicago. What a weird town - wow, and that woman in that window up there, just looking down with her big breasts hanging from her nightgown, big wide eyes. Whee. Sal, we gotta go and never stop going till we get there.' "

"All the cigarette butts, the bottles, the matchbooks, the come and gone were swept up in this pile. Had they taken me with it, Dean would never have seen me again. He would have had to roam the entire United States and look in every garbage pail from coast to coast before he found me embryonically convoluted in among the rubbishes of my life, his life, and the life of everybody concerned and not concerned. What would I have said to him from my rubbish womb? 'Dont bother me, man, I'm happy where I am. You lost me one night in Detroit in August nineteen forty-nine.' "

" 'I'll tell you, Sal, straight, no matter where I live, my trunk's always sticking out from under the bed, I'm ready to leave or get thrown out. I've decided to leave everything out of my hands. You've seen me try and break my ass to make it and you know that it doesnt matter and we know time - how to slow it up and walk and dig and just old-fashioned spade kicks, what other kicks are there?' "

" "All right, we wont talk.' And he started telling the story of what he did in LA on the way over in every possible detail, how he visited a family, had dinner, talked to the father, the sons, the sisters - what they looked like, what they ate, their furnishings, their thoughts, their interests, their very souls; it took him three hours of detailed elucidation, and having concluded this he said, 'Ah, but you see what I wanted to REALLY tell you - much later - Arkansas, crossing on train - playing flute - play cards with boys, my dirty deck - won money, blew sweet-potato solo - for sailors. Long awful trip five days and five nights just to SEE you, Sal.' "

and i think, this is really how and why i miss 16th, central and my blood. the wild horses and lockers and soul and courage in the face of fire and kickin down d streets and shootin d afternoon breeze, and, and really, my.

i can see for miles,
i can see your face
within the miles
that lie between us.

away with the sea,
the sea that lies
between you and me.
the tears, they float
away with the sea.
aswefall between us

about cambridge and my fire station

it's all about the feeling. the sea, it's a sea of possibility. it's about doing pretend-ns, and blastin' down d streets. one would think that things would run dry in jurong but now it's learning new tricks. bizarre as it sometimes is, most other times it's about regularity and that makes it okay and maybe we'll all get past today. it's about knowing for sure now that one day next year things will be flying and i wont be the left anymore but the leaving. it's about the possibility of long hair and cold wind and motorbikes down long coast roads, and baby we all know the road is life. it's about knowing that pits lie around the corner but really if everyone was a little less hung up, we all really just get past because nobody's gonna die babe.

the city's aflood
and our love turns to rust
we're beaten and blown by the wind
trampled in dust
i'll show you a place
high on a desert plain
where the streets have no name

this road will never end

back to life also means going back to routine and surprises and dragging my feet and losing track of time. and all that is happening is great and terrible at the same time and maybe i should just remind myself, before i get too emo, that this was how it was, everything's just like how it was before, as my father put it, the intermezzo.

whats new is weights. i've actually a routine now, that i even follow. whats new is that i actually find girls like tammy sexy. whats new is that i've begun not to mind the morning train rides. as i see it, great times [or not] with my rota is just a good sleep away. whats new is erwin and everythings back to normal for him and he has prime spot on my handphone wallpaper.

whats old is the overwhelming urge to go back to smoking and drinking. whats new is how unbelievably close i am to actually doing it. whats old is that im really going back to schopenhauer-ND-asian boy mood every day. whats new is that dharma and i havent spoken in so long that she doesnt even know how cool i think im becoming. whats old is my father - he's turning 55. whats new is that he's getting his cpf that, according to him, the government planned on hoarding. and he's telling amazing stories of boozing and skipping a grade in secondary school.

whats old is that i see rudy and i freeze up and i see aprilyn and i freeze up. whats old is that i have a magnificent friend in harith but more than anything else im hung up that he's gonna ord in two months, without me. whats old is the weekend after weekend that i dont visit my old rota. and it fills me with a miserable dreadful feeling that things with central are changing that my ol' brothers maybe arent that ol' after all. whats old is that things keep happening and i keep blocking them out but there never are enough happy places to go to.

so yea. this is an old familiar feelin'. of new and old and yes and no and everything is jumbled up and everything must go and maybe i too was born on a train. this road will never end, hell, it prolly goes around the world.

embarkation/disembarkation

so, the past three months. not quite a blur, but was out of it for the most part anyway.

plucked
sunday morning and the boys were out for high-rise. my bags were packed and ready to go. sgt khairul and azli just sleeping as they always do. im sitting around in the dorm just thinking i cant believe im here and maybe what i meant was i cant believe i wont be here anymore. elias comes round to pick up me up in his green suv. one last trip with him, just blasting good ol' mj down the streets. tengku who has just finished raising the flag hails us down and kisses me through the wound down mirror. rauff at the gate, barrier up. deep breath and im out of there

i dont think i can do this
not that i'd like to say anything much about the worst experience of my life. but i deserve some kind of reward for the civillity and restraint with which i have treated the boc people. so here. this was a bunch of rude, loud, uncooperative, arrogant, lazy, impatient, self-important and selfish people. shant even mention the high standards required from them because they dont even meet the basic minimum as a working adult or young adult. of course there's puah and ishak and mavis and anthony and mr dn. but the rest were really..shit. and my suitemates. ugh dont even get me started

pop
a non-event, really.terribly disappointed that more people didnt turn up. dont know why, but this changes a few things.

indonesia
back to mad tripping with holiday mates! definitely another memorable trip. three near death experiences! falling into the swift river, knocking into a becak and murder by disgruntled taxi driver. not to mention the mad con trip by Samuel the fat ponytailed man and his young pretty girls and the "discotheque" where the dj is his friend. taking off and landing, feyaze getting stranded in singapore, fariz almost getting stranded in indonesia, wak getting stranded on his jetski with crazy-mad fisherman with killer paddle. times for mad laughs and A HOLE IN MY POCKET

landing
as fariz says, you know your holiday's over when...for me it's over when i really discover what a frickin pain in the ass it is to travel to boon lay two mornings out of three. and back! but jurong fire station's more than that. it's about fruit trees and large yards and a really HUGE rc dorm. and it's a lot more kampong than central is, everything's so laidback with slippers and night lectures on the verandah. and it's about a really cute oc [not in that way], cpt lee who's so willing to teach, and harith who i swear has got to be my secret twin. and it's about rota tiga again, at least something im familiar with. two shifts, four lives saved [one to be less capacious]. already by my second shift i've gained notoriety for most number of calls [three! hah! nothing!] and for proceed calls. julienne's nonplussed to know that i'll be protecting her life and property

so many things to do.with work, and with resuming life after putting it on hold for two months. things with central have changed in a way i dont quite understand yet. but at least elias remains my work-hubby. next week i visit him and his newborn son. dharma i know what you're sayin' but be patient. im not even joking about what a surprise you'll get

miasma

i remember very clearly one [wednes?]day in 2003. 'twas a hot afternoon and i was all changed outside my J071 ready for a run when i saw a message had came in while i was in the spex gal toilet. D mentioned j. prufrock, something andy loh had showed us in prac crit class before. now i keep returning to j. prufrock every now and then, except it's not because D [inmate on pulau tekong now] mentions it but because of Circles.

really, it is impossible to say just what i mean! too much of the time. how do i tell a 21 year-old subordinate who gives waaay too much information to shut up because i dont think you know what you're talking about even though you have all of three years on me except nodding and sighing? how do i tell the PMT im staying up to do desk the whole night because i just feel like sitting here and watch you concentrating on left ventricles and wonder at your jawline as you're glancing sidewards at me except to grumble and slip away to sleep? how do i tell the guys that i am already really afraid that any one of us is going to leave because then a part of me will die except to flip the middle finger and walk away without turning back?

rachel wonders when i will learn golden reticence. but because i dont understand, dont know, or dont like what i want to say, it is as if i throw all my balls in the stand at one time hoping that at least one will hit a bottle.

now and tomorrow

the hot paramedic trainee. that sexy firefighter from the next rota. i cant seem to get to sleep! it's nice to imagine im different from all the hormonal ns guys but i must concede otherwise [well i am, kind of, but thats another story altogether]. theres just something about the coding, tck-tck-tck when a call comes in at the watch room, fire light coming on in the dorms, down the sliding pole, sirens, blinkers, street junctions, call texts, black telephone in the firepost. so i might screw up here and there now and then, so there's that slim chance of actually staring down death's throat. but, oh, i dont care really, this is all too great. this time, now, 18, life. who could sleep?

also, i feel really fat. haah never felt this normal, and it's giddy. greeaaatt!!

look how i've grown! [redux]

aimei and i are both very pleased to discover that - surprise surprise - i have actually learnt something over the past two years! nine pm at kembangan mrt station [third door, never more, never less] to send the uk gang off. my dear fellow ja'dye was listening to my newest dilemma - go for boc [firefighter's ocs] or stay in central fire station where i am so deliriously happy. two years younger and i'd be vacillating, wringing hair and shooting off ten consecutive smses. but now nooo - i catch myself midsentence because i find i actually have the answer. so now it is me spending my one more year in central, more corpses, more fires, more time with the band of brothers. no more saving myself for some abstract utopian future. this is happy now, so happy doing ns, very happy in central.

hurtling

hurtling, originally uploaded by abcdefghivan.