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.

Returning to Breaks

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 city, feral and fey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...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

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.