In Continuum.

Introducing: Múm

The first time I heard about Múm was in a video somebody made online. It was a random video with a very interesting music that got me hooked throughout the day. The song played was Don't Be Afraid, You Just Have Your Eyes Closed, and that's quite a mouthful indeed. A couple of months afterwards while surfing through iTunes for bands which have similar music to Sigur Ros, I came upon this Icelandic band called Múm - pronounced as 'Moom'. They are not exactly in the post-rock genre like Sigur Ros is, but they do make great electronic music. I'm not a big person when it comes to that genre, but if I am able to listen to the whole album on repeat for the whole day, nothing more should be said about how great the band is.

Green Grass of Tunnel


We Have A Map Of The Piano

The Taste of Nails

Come all ye lost
Dive into moss
I hope that my sanity covers the cost
To remove the stain of my love
Paper mach?

My elbow leaned against the edge of the plastic sill, where the rain ended beyond the field of my view. This must be how it must look like from the perspective of a wall - I thought. The way the thick paint washes over the old, covering the past up an inch at a time. The rain was exactly like a coat of invisible ink, coming down over the island like the brushes of a hardworking painter. The painter painted in the rain, always painting over the work he created merely a split second ago. It was as if he felt constantly dissatisfied with everything, running his brushes over the windows over and over again. It seems like an odd time to be raining this hard these days, but who do we have but ourselves to blame for the alien weather? I sucked the cold air into my lungs, feeling every inch of my chest expand slowly with every inhale, and breathed everything out again and feeling the rush of air between my lips. There was a smell in the air inside the bus, the kind of smell you get after the air-conditioning has been left on for too long. It was the stale smell of CFC, and in my mouth there was the taste of rusty nails.

I hugged myself close, having my own body as a blanket of warmth. Sitting in a bus on a rainy day, that is all you can ask for in the merciless cold. An empty bus and a rainy August morning is not a good combination, and I tired to distract myself in the hypnotic melodies that rang through my ears. But the rhythm of rain took over the beats of the drums while the gloom in my heart took over the gloom in the morning skies. Unable to defeat what was crawling out of my chest, the skies rained down harder in attempts to conquer my inner demons. But the darkness stood tall in the rain, with his chest braved against the mighty wind. There were thoughts flowing about in my head as I chewed on the nail of my right thumb. It's something that I do sub-consciously, a habit of young I suppose. I remember my mother slapping the back of my hand when I was a child, doing it ever so often even through the broadcast of a cartoon on television. She used to say that only children with mental issues chew on their nails, and the teeth make them look nasty in the future. I curbed that habit, bringing it down like a tamed lion. However, perhaps my mother was right about it after all, the way children chew on their nails because of some mental issues. Perhaps it wasn't so much about the mental aspect of things, but rather the emotional strains on their souls - on my soul. My mother wasn't in the bus that morning, just myself a couple of early commuters sharing the suffocating space. And there, I tasted my nails throughout the journey - and they tasted rusty.

In the cheerless bus I silently cursed her. But of course, I didn't mean a word that I said to myself under my breath. Like the chewing, it seems to have become a habit that I cannot shake from myself. The sight of young couples with their arms interlocked, the boy breathing in the smell of his partner's long dyed hair, while she runs her fingers up his arms ever so gently at the back of the bus. You tell yourself that you've been there before, not the back of the bus but to that warm and comfortable place once before. You remember the sensation of fingers running up your arms as well, and the taste of lips against lips as we traded hot breaths and passion. All that is left now, is that lingering smell of sweat in the air with the taste of rusty nails in my mouth. Strange to think that I have never tasted rust, but I knew how it must taste like in my mouth. Perhaps it was a sign of age, of being too used to the current state.

I breathed in deep and diverted my attention away from the loving couple. I didn't want them to notice me in the corner, sitting with my knees tucked close to my chest. It wasn't so much about the look I had in my eyes then - the way they burned with much resentment and self-admitting envy - but the empty space that filled the seat next to my own. There was something missing in the atmosphere then, something old and rusty, like the feeling that I had, like the taste in my mouth. I tried to remember how it felt like in the past, the way couples do in the back of the bus in much discreet. I failed, and I cursed some more. Like before, I didn't mean a word that I said, the words do not mean anything more than words anymore. Like nails being left out in the rain for months or years, the kind that sticks out from rotting wood in a dump. They are still nails, very much like a rotting carcass of a dog still being a dog. But they are no longer sharp, and they can no longer be used for anything more than a contrast of how bright and shiny brand new nails are. Those words escaped my mouth and were whisked away by the painter outside the bus, and with their blunt ends they pierced no hearts or souls anymore. At least not yours, which must be a thousand miles away now.

I looked only through the reflections, and the painter outside the bus made it easy to see. Envy became resentment, and resentment soon became admiration. It is a phenomenon that happens only in cases like this - or maybe just me - especially when it usually works backwards. I looked through the reflections just so that they wouldn't catch me, or feel me looking at them. But there I was with the corner of my eyes, observing every move there was to observe. It was a public display of affection, playing out like the script of a play on stage. It was Romeo and Juliet on a public bus to an interchange, it was Gone With The Wind in the backseat of a filthy bus. Both of them traded their breaths, their laughter dulled by the sound of the rain falling outside. But still, they were undaunted by the strength of nature outside, who was still trying desperately to dull the gloom that threatened my life. They were happy, and happily happy at that - if there is such a thing. There are happiness you see, that stems from the pain one suffered. But they were happy, and happy because they were happy. And here I am, writing on a blog that has the words "Happily Depressed" written on it. I started to wonder if there is such a thing as being happily depressed, and if it is possible to live a life happily in your own depression. I realized that it was merely a comforting thought, the remnants of the optimistic past. The past - I lost. I cursed, all over again. This time, at myself - and I meant it.

I wanted simple pleasures, the kind of pleasure you commonly associate with the taste of melting chocolate in your mouth. The way it rolls about in the walls of your mouth sends off signals to your brain to feel elated, to feel a lightness in your feet. That is what I went for in the past, the kind of things humans asked in return of their love for others. The way the fingers were cushioned between one another, and the simple words late in the night that brings out the tears of pure joy. Poetry of old came back to haunt me in the afternoon, as I battled with myself the fate of the card. I tried to burn it with a box of matches one day, I came close to doing it once in the sink. It was an abstract way of slitting my wrist, and the broken matchsticks that rolled about in the metal sink were like the blood that could have flowed from the gaping wound. The only thing in between myself and the simple pleasure of burning the past away was the past itself, and I found myself sitting by the edge of my desk as the rain continued to fall in the youthful evening, biting on my nails as usual. It was hard for me to do anything else, to feel anything else more than the numbness inside my chest. That was what I felt before the gloom took over, the same gloom that was crawling through my chest in the bus. It was like the body of a zombie, a living-dead, pacing the streets looking for fresh meat without knowing why. Perhaps a hint of other emotions; anger or hate, nostalgia or melancholia - anything. It was still difficult to feel anything more than nothing. Then of course, I thought of you. The rest was easy.

The virus must have infected my brain then, sending the bus into a blinding spin. Battling a running nose while being on a bus was not an easy thing to deal with. I remember the last time I was sick - the last time I was this sick. I was coughing phlegms out as I ran for the bus that had your wallet in the backseat. I gasped for breath when the driver waved me on and drove on, disappearing into the traffic. I coughed some more, and felt like I was on the verge of death. I came to, and there you were holding me up, breathing me in. I am sick - I told you under my breath. I don't care - you replied, and I didn't care. I stumbled down the narrow stairwell in the bus and came to the first deck of the bus. The rain continued to pour outside, and the school loomed up before me like a giant tombstone. In the veil of the rain, it covered most of the waters drilled and nailed onto the walls, and from the distorted images I could almost see my own name. The taste of my own nails was still in my mouth, now tasting more like iron nails more like anything else. Iron nails, a mouthful of them for my own coffin. The tombstone looks ready for me, a hole needs to be dug. A girl brushed her shoulders against mine at the bus stop as she rushed for shelter, her bare shoulders drenched in rain. I chuckled under my breath and how loud the bells of out rang. Simple pleasures, I have brought myself to a man as pathetic as this. A shoulder brush, the slightest touch.

It was the same on the way home, perhaps a little light of hope in the skies. No couples to stare at in the reflections, the painter gave up and went home. The gloom retreated back into my chest and conjured words of this blog entry you are reading now. He took out a notebook from his pocket and he wrote a couple of lines or two, and there were times when he got stuck after a long paragraph. It was hard to concentrate on the bus home, especially with the eyelids that were forcing themselves down with every passing minute, and the shaky bus that threatened to throw you off with every passing mile. But the words came eventually, not because of a stroke of genius or a light bulb of idea, but the kind of feeling everybody feels when they are alone, anywhere at anytime. To be a writer, you feel. And with the emptiness by my side then, I felt.

Come all ye reborn
Blow off my horn
I'm driving real hard
This is love, this is porn
God will forgive me
But I, I whip myself with scorn, scorn

So I wrote everything down in my notebook, and hoped that it would make it back home onto my blog. It has been a rough day in school, a rougher day on the way to school. It was a quiet day on the way home, and as I wrote the last word in the black notebook, I closed it and stared out in the world baptized by the rain earlier. Everything anew, everything save for me. I was back to square one, biting on my nails. Chewing and tasting, fighting a battle, losing the war.

I wanna hear what you have to say about me
Hear if you're gonna live without me
I wanna hear what you want
I remember December

And I wanna hear what you have to say about me
Hear if you're gonna live without me
I wanna hear what you want
What the hell do you want?

B-Side

Here it goes again. School has started for me all over again, very much the same way it did nearly four months ago back in May. Little has changed in school actually, perhaps just the addition of the fresh meat in school. I admit, calling them fresh meat is a little harsh on my part. After all, I was very much like them merely four months ago, fresh out of the army or whichever life that they were living before school started, and unknown to all the inner-workings of the school. The way the new birds flocked into the school entrance on the first day of school, gave the lot of us a sense of pride in ourselves, knowing that we know much more than they do in everything. I know that I have been in this school for merely a couple of months, but I've grown to know and learn so much in the time spent here. To see the newbies come in felt exactly like what a Corporal would feel when he sees a bunch of freshly shaved Recruits coming into his camp. The sense of elation cannot be described.

So school started again, the way it should start at the beginning of an average semester. The lot of you are probably wondering how short my holiday has been, because I've only just blogged about the school ending a couple of entries ago. The truth is, this holiday lasted for only a little more than two weeks, and that is the kind of holidays we get in my school. That is because we are squeezing a four year syllables into a three year window, which means that everything has to be finished in a shorter period of time. Our holidays are thus compromised, and we get more semesters in a given year as compared to our American counterparts. While most students may moan and groan to this system, the lot of us are actually rather thankful for the short holidays. I mean, I cannot imagine myself going through the three-months holiday like NUS, and still stand up straight by the end of it to have the same drive for school. I am the kind of person that needs a momentum, a continuum in the way I work. Three months is simply too long for a holiday - for me anyway - and two weeks just seem to be a perfect amount of time to turn my brain off for a while. Besides, as Jonathan so aptly described, the holidays with our friends are simply more tiring than school itself. Because school is - believe it or not - fun. Not that holidays aren't, but there are so many things to do that it becomes tiring after a while.

Stepping into school on Monday, I had little of the disorientation I had on the first day of school back in May. I knew where to go for my lectures, I knew where to meet my friends, and the dozen greetings on the corridors were welcoming enough. It was nice to see old faces, and at the same time meet new faces in the psychology lecture. Shem was so eagerly telling me just how many girls there are in the new cohort this time around, claiming that the ratio of girls to boys is at an astonishing number of five is to one. I had little interest in that statistic, since quantity does not necessarily equate itself to quality. Besides, I have already vowed to my 'monksmanhood' for the next three years, in view of my grades and studies. So that's a goodbye to my love life, and here I am watching it spin a million times before disappearing down the toilet.

It feels like those old cassette tapes we used to play in the past, before CDs took over in the mid nineties. For the younger generation that has never touched a cassette tape before, it sort of works like the VHS tapes with all the movies in them in the past. After you finish playing the music on one side of the tape, you eject the tape and flip it to Side B in order to play the rest of the album. I don't remember the capacity of the tapes being very big in general, unless you buy cassettes with longer tapes, then you get a longer recording. The total amount of information that can be stored on the tapes are divided into two, with equal amount on both side A and B at the same time. To me, the first semester of school just felt like Side A of this giant tape, while this semester is Side B of everything else. The last semester ended, and the mechanisms inside the radio ticked for you to change sides. You flip the cassette over, and you press play all over again. So here goes the same tape all over again, only with different contents this time.

Sitting through the new lectures, there is that same fear again. It was the kind of daunting feeling I had on the first day of school, but it was a little worse this time around. There are more modules, more projects, more assignments, more of everything basically. There weren't so many of those in the past I remember, and I was daunted back then simply because I was new to the system. This time around, despite being numbed by everything, there is an inevitable sense of dread in the air as the projects were disseminated to the students. I have yet to take the Computer Science lecture that is happening tomorrow, but already the amount or work is piling up already. Aside from scoring from this semester, there is also that legacy I am trying to uphold from the last semester, something I take a lot of pride in.

I mean, I have never been a straight A student in my life. The fact that I managed to achieve that in the last semester is something I am proud of, to tell you the truth. Throughout the holidays, I've been congratulating myself, telling myself that I deserved the break, that it was OK for me to turn my head off for a while. However, this semester started out with the same kind of fear, the same kind of dread, the same kind of horror in the past - only a little more this time around. I am afraid that I may not be able to achieve what I achieved in the past, I am afraid that I may not live up to expectations. I know in studies, the worst crime you can commit for yourself is to have expectations. After all, expectations are what make you fall the hardest once you do not achieve something desirable. However, it is not just my own expectations that I am worried about, but the expectations of my friends and family together. I am sure they are - in a way - thinking that I would attain the same kind of grades this time around. It is going to be much harder, but I am sure they are not expecting any less from the same usual suspects. And that is the kind of expectations I am dealing with, the kind that I am afraid to kiss and fall back down to earth.

Looking at the course outlines and the teachers I have for this semester, I am seriously unsure about things. In the last semester, the only problem I had in the teaching department was the COM101 lecturer. She was the epitome of boredom, and probably shouldn't be allowed in a hospital with comatose patients because she may put them to sleep with her words. She was the only problem back then, and the rest of the lecturers were actually rather interesting. I mean, Baban actually made Economics manageable and interesting, and that alone id deserving of some kind of praise from me, the cynic. This semesters, the teachers are from a totally different world. I have yet to know much about the psychology and the world civilization lecturer, but the ESL tutor is a serious pain in the ass. She is a lawyer - enough said.

There is something about her that pisses me off. I told Naz - who so happens to be in the same class along with a whole bunch of ex-Nina students - that it was a sort of retribution for all of us. We are in this English class simply because we had it good in the last English class. This time around, we are getting this cock-eyed lawyer from Hell who defined the word 'boredom' all over again in dictionaries everywhere. In fact, in the new edition of Oxford dictionary, you may just find her face plastered there like a mug shot. She is not exactly a person who has the capacity for a long of humor, and certainly a person who is pretty much on a straight line crash course with grades. Just looking at the questions she posed during the diagnostics class was enough to put me off. I mean, "Wealth Vs. Knowledge". Haven't we done it a million times before, seriously. We've learned a little about persuasion in communication studies, and the way she said "Have fun with your research topic" sure wasn't the more convincing way of letting us have fun. It was like letting a bunch of kids into the theme park with leashes tied to their necks. The irony of it all.

COM337 is not going to be an easy topic either. It is going to be heavily based on assignments and projects, and the overall grades are going to be based upon 500 marks. Yeah, 500. That is half of a thousand. There are a biblical amount of assignments for us to complete, and the worst part is that only a selected few people are doing COM337 this semester from my cohort. We are being plunged into a world of seniors that we hardly knew, and we actually have to work with them one way or another. To make things worse, scoring 90% overall is not going to gain you an A, but merely a B+. The next person that says that life is going to be easy in my school is going to have a sledge hammer shoved up his or her ass I swear.

So here I am, on the verge of everything, petrified. It feels like the seconds that ticked down to the beginning of the SOC test in the past, the way the sweat would already pour down our foreheads at the starting line, and also the pounding of the hearts inside our chests. That is the kind of feeling that I have right now for the rest of the course. There are questions floating in my head, as to whether I am going to achieve the same grades, or pass the course at all. As high as the Jacob's Ladder and as long as the rest of the run back to the finish line, all the fears are amounting to this great mountain before me right now.

But looking at the guys sitting on my left and my right, the ones who are in the same situation as myself. They all have sweat pouring down their faces and hearts beating in their chests ferociously. I am sure most of us - if not all - are petrified one way or another. The clueless look on Jonathan's face this afternoon was a clear sign of how - even the top-scorer - can be beaten. However, like I said before, to be in the league of the same people that went through the last semester with me, things are not nearly as daunting anymore. It's like being outfield for days without food, rest or comfort, it doesn't feel good for anybody at all. But to know that your friends are with you every step of the way, is just the most comfortable mattress you can lean back on out in the cold and harsh reality.

Dirty White Dog

Smeared black ink
Your palms are sweaty
And I'm barely listening
To last demands
I'm staring at the asphalt wondering
What's buried underneath where I am

A pack of hungry dogs haunted the streets at night, like wild ghosts in the shadows, looking for fresh blood and flesh. Their growls can be heard even in the early hours of the morning, as they roamed the empty streets below our home. Looking out into the empty street between my estate and the row of warehouses beyond, there was an eerie sensation of being separated from the rest of the world. It was as if the road was an imaginary line that divided this side of the world from the other, where the evil and the desperate dwells. In reality, things aren't nearly half as bad as I mentioned above, but the warehouses with their rusted rooftops and blackened windows do give me that sense of dread, the kind of feeling you get when you look upon an abandoned home. In the streets, wild dogs roamed different sectors that they drew out with their own urine, puddles of their bodily fluids mark the area in which they are allowed to go, and areas where others are not allowed to enter. One night, that shaky truce was rudely broken on the empty streets.

It was a November night in Taiwan a few years ago, and the midnight television program was interrupted by the furious barking of the dogs downstairs. It has been a commonplace for the residence in the area to hear such an uproar. But it was a little different that night, the barking of a single dog pierced through the rest, as if it was calling out desperately for help. I turned off the television and pulled open the window to receive the chilly winter night air. It all smell too familiar, with the wind brushing up the dust from the empty road and bringing it upwards into my nostrils. But there in the corner was the usual pack of dogs, barking at a helpless white dog curled up in the corner. It made a desperate attempt to escape, but the rest of the dogs rounded it up next to a row of motorbikes, and threatened to tear the fur and skin off. I started banging at the windows, trying to distract the stray dogs from harming that white dog, and it worked miraculously. The dogs away with their tails between their legs, like defeated soldiers running back home to their masters. Only, they didn't have masters to run home to, and neither did the white dog had anybody to hold on to.

I'll wear my badge
A vinyl sticker with big block letters
Adherent to my chest
That tells your new friends
I am a visitor here: I am not permanent
And the only thing keeping me dry is where I am

I can only imagine how it must have been like for her, being pushed out of her group so roughly like that. But then again, with a leader with politics in mind, it is not difficult to imagine such a thing happening. Like a friend so aptly described to me earlier, social politics in school is just like a game of mahjong, and we are the tiles used in the game. We all start out in the same box, piled on top of one another until we are being poured out onto the table. People bring the tiles in on random and put them into groups, and throughout the game we start to kick tiles out because we don't need them, or we do not like the way they look in our hand. So the tile that was kicked out remains on the table until somebody decides to pick it up and put it into their hands. The same happens to this owner though, because once you feel that this tile is useless, you throw the tile out when it is your turn and the same cycle goes on and on throughout the game until the very end.

At least that was what happened to her at the end of the last semester, when her group started to crumble under their own pride. In any argument or disagreement, there cannot be a single party that is at fault, even if one person is so obviously at fault. There are times when the person in your project group causes disputes and provides a negative energy to the group. I suppose in the context of a group work, such things are inevitable in nature. However, I don't think it is right to kick a person out like a bag of trash just because he or she is of no use, or no interest to you anymore. Perhaps it is the sentimentalist inside of me speaking, but I am sure you wouldn't want people to treat you the same, if the day should come whereby others make the decision about you, instead of you making decisions about others. The truth is, I do not approve of her being in my group. But at the same time, I do not approve of what you did to her either.

You seem so out of context
In this gaudy apartment complex
A stranger with your door key
Explaining that I am just visiting
And I am finally seeing
Why I was the one worth leaving

D.C. sleeps alone tonight

Days passed without a trace of those pack of dogs again. Peace was restored to the lonely streets downstairs, with the same lamp post providing the only source of line along the road. Cars were parked with their bumpers to bumpers, the heat of the engine could still be felt from the hood of the car. In between those cars, a familiar white shadow emerged carefully. Threading its way cautiously through the open plaza, it came to the bottom of the window where I was just a few nights ago. I was there again, looking out into the distance when I saw the white dog again, this time with a better view than a few nights before. I could see the battle scars that it had suffered from the numerous fights it must have had throughout the days out there, wandering the streets. The dirt that coated the dog must have been there for ages, not even the rainwater could wash away the filth that covered the dog then. It staggered a little up the stairs, sniffing the air as if it could smell my presence there, and with its head raised up high it saw me and started wagging its tail.

I don't know why I did it, but I waved at the dog as if it was a friend of mine. It was no different from a dog on the streets we see, the way they all look and smell the same as they ran through the streets and the gutters. Yet, there was something about that white dog that caught my attention then. It crept closer towards the bottom of the window and started circling the ground, like a dog would as it prepares to go to sleep on a certain spot. It was already close to midnight, and I don't suppose the rest of the dogs would come back to bully this white dog any time soon. So it remained there peacefully for the rest of the night, and probably the first good sleep it had in a very long time. I've never went downstairs before, always looking from the safety of my window. After all, it was a stray dog and it's not like you want to be too close to anything foreign. But somehow, there has always been a tint of sympathy for the dog from me, a feeling that is hard for me to explain.

You seem so out of context
In this gaudy apartment complex
A stranger with your door key
Explaining that I am just visiting
And I finally seeing
Why I was the one worth leaving

I have seen my fair share of groups dissembling, cliques falling apart because the bond between the individuals crashed after a period of time. The problem arises when there are some people who are more attached to the group than the others. You see, there are people who are so attached to the group initially, that when it breaks up, they have nowhere else to go. I understand that these people might have caused you a lot of trouble, that there must have been disagreements along the way that must have caused you to let this person go. But at the same time - like I mentioned in the thread titled The Politician - I don't think what you did to the person is right; is humane at all. It'd be like throwing a sailor out into the vast ocean without a life jacket because he has been stealing food from the kitchen. I'm sure he has done wrong, but is it worthwhile to dump him out in the open and allow him to die like that?

I was a part of that group of people once, the kind of people that others would dump out into the ocean. It'd be hard to imagine for the new friends that I have made, but I wasn't the kind of person back in the high school days. In truth, I am still used to the concept that a group may break at any time, that people are going to change sooner or later. They are not going to remain the same just because they feel comfortable in where they are, because there is always somewhere out there which may have better opportunities. I've been 'let go' a lot of times in the past, sometimes without a life jacket as well. Being out there in the ocean, I learned to live on my own and breathe on my own, without the need of other boats to pick me up. It was the pride inside of me speaking, telling myself that being picked up was the most pathetic thing in the world to happen to me. But in truth, being picked up and cared for was exactly what I wanted to have and to feel. But no one came back in Junior College, nobody came to my rescue. And I continued to drift, and I remained that way for the longest time. I entered army afterwards, few people remembered - and even fewer cared.

The district sleeps alone tonight
After the bars turn out their lights
And send the autos swerving
Into the loneliest evening
And I am finally seeing
Why I was the one worth leaving

For the next couple of nights, the white dog came to the window often. I threw leftovers from the dinner down to the dog, and it would happily nibble on the bone. It never asked for more, or barked at me for giving too little. My aunt warned me about stray dogs, telling me never to touch it if I do see it downstairs. I understood her warnings, and stayed as far as I could whenever the dog tried to follow me into the car. I knew what kind of trouble it might bring if I become too friendly to the dog, but at the same time I did not approve of how the other dogs were treating it. The way they fought in the night at each other, or the way they threatened to kill each other caused me to be sympathetic to this stray dog. It must have been strange for a young boy like myself, to be throwing food out of the window to a dog I've never actually touched before. But I guess deep inside, I knew how it must have been like to drift in the streets, to be cared and loved by nobody out there. I am better off at least, with a family and a small circle of friends to lean back on. What did the dog have? What did the dog have?

So they fought on in the streets after I left, like dogs would to other dogs. Even in our world - the human world - people still behave very much like wild dogs on the streets, fighting intruders and kicking others out of their social groups. People seldom stop to wonder just how primitive they seem sometimes, how low they make themselves become once they treat others the same. Once again, I must say that I do not approve of her in my group. But at the same time, I do not approve of the way you guys so conveniently disposed of her. Hopefully, she will move on and forget about the things that you did to her. I don't know her, and I have little emotional attachment to her like I do with my current group of friends. But try being cut loose, try being disliked by the group of people you've grown so attached to. It's like begging for food being thrown out of a window in a cold winter night. It's like a dirty white dog curling up in the corner with nothing to hold on to. That is how she feels, and a dog is what you should be feeling about yourselves. You dogs.

World Before Columbus

If your love were taken from me
Every color would be black and white
It would be as flat as the world before Columbus
That's the day that I lose half my sight

If your life were taken from me
All the trees would freeze in this cold ground
It would be as cruel as the world before Columbus
Sail to the edge and I'd be there looking down

Those men who lust for land
And for riches strange and new
Who love those trinkets of desire
Oh they never will have you

And they'll never know the gold
Or the copper in your hair
How could they weigh the worth
Of you so rare

If your love were taken from me
Every light that's bright would soon go dim
It would be as dark as the world before Columbus
Down the waterfall and I'd swim over the brim

Those men who lust for land
And for riches strange and new
Who love those trinkets of desire
Oh they will never have you

And they'll never know the gold
Or the copper in your hair
How could they weigh the worth
Of you so rare

South By South East: Epilogue

As the games were played in the night, the melodies echoed itself through the innards of the guitar, it was evident for all of us that the trip was coming to an end in a few hours. It was Wednesday night, and we were just hanging out in the bedroom and talking over a game of Scrabble. Like everything good, it had to come to an end inevitably. The last night was also Jonathan's birthday, and we secretly ordered a cake to be sent up to our room at midnight as a form of celebration. I played the guitar while the rest sang a birthday song to him, and that was the perfect fullstop to our last night on the island. We were all drained from the kayaking, and certainly from all the digestive work in our stomach that night. But it was a satisfactory trip indeed, and I'm sure we all had fun as we all returned to our rooms to call it a day.

I'm not exactly sure how often we are going to have such overseas trip; if it is going to be something we will do every holiday. To be honest, the destination matters little in relative to who I will be visiting the countries with. On the taxi ride home, Jonathan and I were already planning on going to Changmai this coming December, and I think it'd be another round of great fun with these admirable people as company. Like all good trips, it is always the company that makes the trip rather than the trip itself. It mattered little if we were all conned at the local village with the overpriced hotdogs, or the cheese and ham sandwiches that didn't have cheese and ham. The fact that I was with those people made everything worthwhile, and it has been a great trip in retrospect.

I am thankful to be associated with these people, glad that I am going to be attached to them for the next couple of years. With them, the possibilities seem to be endless, and the unpredictability of everything is something that draws me back every time. I suppose that is the kind of friendship everybody should have, the kind of friendships that makes you feel like you are part of something good, something beautiful. It doesn't matter that by the end of three years, we are all going to take different paths and meet different people along the way. I guess the fact that it happened, is something worth smiling about. I know, it was only a mere trip to Bintan; merely 40 kilometers away from Singapore. But I guess to me, it meant a lot more than a simple trip abroad out of impulse. It was the sense of belonging that I felt, to be the most precious of the trip. More than the experiences and more than the great seafood, the kind of feeling you get only with certain groups of people in your social circle.

The next holiday is still a long time away, and the next semester hasn't even started yet. But here I am, hoping for the next semester to begin as soon as possible. I know it sounds out of character for a person like me, wishing for the school to start. I mean, I was the kind of kid back in high school, wishing for holidays to last forever. I was the kind of soldier who wished for weekends to last for eternity as well, dreading to go back to camp for another week of mental torture. But here I am, telling you that I am actually looking forward for the school the start all over again. I can't say how I am going to do by the end of the semester, or if I am going to score straight As all over again. All I can say is that when I am in the league of these admirable people, nothing is too daunting and nothing is too impossible to achieve. Even if you fall flat on your face, it is always comforting to know that there are people around you who will pick you up, even if you've ran out of strength to do so. Besides, Changmai is waiting at the end of the road. What better motivation is there?

Thanks people, for such a great trip overseas. I am looking out for more of those in the future, and that's for sure. For now, meeting you guys in school shall suffice, because everyday in school with you guys is one more day of adventure worth having. Thank you once more, for being yourselves.

South By South East: The Sea

Aside from the sun that greeted us an hour earlier in Bintan, we were also greeted by the soft patting of raindrops on our window sills. The clothes that were hung outside to dry were drenched all over again, but that mattered little because the sea was where we were aiming to go to for the rest of the day. Day two of the trip, and I was worn out by the lack of sleep in the previous night. It seems like I wasn't the only person with such a problem, but an invisible disease shared by E-fei and Juliana. I stumbled down to the restaurant with Joel at 9.30, local time, and found the other boys already wolfing down their breakfast. It was a great buffet breakfast, and the fact that we paid $150 for the rooms and a breakfast such as this one, made everything taste even sweeter.

Like I said before, the sea was on our list of activities today. The rain in the morning did not stop us from reconsidering that option, because the clam ocean was just too inviting for us to do anything else. After breakfast however, I climbed back into bed immediately and tried to fall asleep again. But sadly, that didn't happen because the television was too loud and Joel had no intentions of sleeping at all. So there I was in bed, pretending that I've fallen asleep, when in truth I was merely tumbling around within the sheets. It felt like the days in camp when somebody comes to the door and wakes the whole bunk up, the way Shen came to our door and told us that we should start doing something for the day. It was already midday, and all I wanted to do was to switch off and sleep the rest of the day away.

I was surprised at how much of me still possess the ability to play ping-pong. I held on against Cheryl pretty well at the table, considering the fact that she used to play for her school team. I remember the lessons my uncle gave me in Taiwan while I was back in the grade school days, and those lessons finally came into good use. At least I was finally good at something, aside from all the atrocious badminton playing in the previous day. But in my defense, we were playing outdoors with the wind blowing to our disadvantage, and it was hot as hell down at the courts. Anyway, I ate the salad in everybody's plate because nobody seems to like raw vegetables save for me. I was officially labeled as the giraffe of the group, a nickname in which I wasn't too sure about. With the dried sweat and the heat of the day, there was only one place to head to: The Sea.

The sand felt soggy between our feet because of the rain in the morning, but the sun was already peeping out from between the clouds by then, and the beach was practically empty when we arrived. We rented kayaks, and made our way down to the shores where they were. It reminded me of the past when Samuel, Krishna and I used to spend our weekends at the Sembawang Sea Sports Club, pedaling our kayaks in the Northern shores of Singapore, onto islands we were not supposed to be on. Kayaking is one of those rare outdoor activities that I am actually not against, and something I look forward to despite the fear of deep waters. We kicked off from the shores and aimed for the coconut trees at the other side of the island.

Halfway through the trip out into the horizon, E-fei began his madness. The man has something for capsizing in the middle of the sea, and wanted everybody to experience it for some reason. So there he was, rowing his kayak everywhere just to tip everybody over just for the hack of it. The funniest thing happened when he tips himself over as a form of demonstration and is unable to get himself back onto the kayak afterwards. When he finally did so, someone would take his oars and pedal away at light speed, leaving him stranded in the middle of the ocean. I hijacked Jonathan's cool turquoise boat because it was the fastest of the lot, and remained that way all the way back to shore. I spent most of the time away from the rest, as they struggled to tip each other over. It was amazing how quiet it was in the middle of the sea, how serene it felt as the sun blazed down upon our shoulders. I felt the weight of the air then, how surreal it felt in my lungs and how clear the waters were. Floating there, borne by the waves, it was the greatest feeling ever.

Like all good Singaporean, we jumped into the swimming pool to clean ourselves up. I felt bad about it, but it was the fastest way to clean yourself up with all the chlorine in the waters. There is something about the sea that can never be compared to the pool though, something about its vastness that attracts me. I suppose it is the idea of pedaling in a single direction for thousands of miles and still be obstructed by nothing at all. I like the feeling of being pulled by the waves towards the shores, or the way the sand would be disturbed with my footsteps through the waters. Perhaps it is the magnitude of the ocean, and the idea that every bit of you is attached to a greater body of water while you are in it, the idea of it is inviting I suppose. It is like being a part of this great scheme or plan, to be swimming in the bay knowing that this same body of water is connected to the South China Sea, the Pacific and the Indian Ocean. The waters are much calmer here, but then the idea of being part of the menace of the ocean makes you feel so small against mother nature, and at the same time so alive.

On Bintan, it is actually illegal for you to find a cab driver, pay him a certain amount of money and have him drive you around for a certain period of time. I suppose the reason for it is that there are limited number of cab drivers on the island, but there tourists coming in and out all the time who might need the same services. Anyhow, we broken the Bintan laws by hiring a cab driver that very night after our kayaking trip to drive us down to the other end of the island and back, all for just seven dollars each. Because it was an illegal thing to do, we had to meet the driver at the back of the hotel after our showers, and we were off towards the restaurant on the other side of the island.

Like I mentioned before, there is something odd about the roads in Bintan. There are no street lamps around, which means that if you are driving at night, you only have the light from the front of the car as the guide. It was already darkening by the time we were on our way, and the driver didn't seem to take the darkness into account as he sped way over the speed limit down the expressway. Overtaking trucks, speeding and making sharp corners, the eight of us were holding on to our lives as we pretended everything was OK. Traveling down a stretch of road with no lights whatsoever around you was quite a harrowing experience, considering the fact that our fates lied in the hands of this cad driver alone. He drove to a nearby town for petrol, and the way the towns people stared at us gave us the creeps. I mean, we could have easily been shipped off to a remote part of the island to be robbed and killed. But in truth, the only dangerous thing about the driver was the way he drove. He was so close to a lamp post that stuck out in the middle of the road at one point that I actually thought we were going to crash. The car even had to trot through a dozen different terrains just to get to the restaurant. Everything from gravel road, to mud roads, to tarmac roads, to roads with a dozen potholes. At long last, we arrived at the restaurant at the other side of the world - and yes, it was empty.

It was a sea-side restaurant, with the resort glimmering all the way on the other side of the bay. We could see it from where we were, glimmering quietly into the night. We were all alone in the outdoor restaurant that sat above the waters down below. We could smell the salty sea below, and beyond the edge of the restaurant were the murky waters that sloshed against the wooden pillars below. We tried to peek through the surface, but everything was way too dark. Besides, our stomachs were growling mercilessly by then. It was probably the best seafood dinner I've had in a long time, though the crab wasn't all that fabulous. Everything else we ordered were at a good price, and incredibly good. So all the risks we took on the road to the restaurant was worth it, as we finished the food in no time.

On this side of the island, the sea became a lot more menacing. The sea retreated towards the horizon, the seabed exposed like the belly of a dragon. Shadows of the fishes waddled in the shallow waters, while the others escaped the blinding lights from the restaurant. After a beer or two, we leaned over the edge to watch the Barracudas in the waters, as well as the rest of the seabed that was bursting with life. The waters have retreated with the tide, dirty moss and other trash could be seen littered all over the place. Strangely enough, there was a light bulb sticking out of the mud in the middle of nowhere, as well as the unfortunate dead fishes. It was time for us to go back, and we bid farewell to the owners of the restaurant as well as the angriest parrot I've ever seen. With our stomachs filled to the brink and our minds satisfied, it was time to go back to our hotel.

The Greek Gods

There is a story about the Greek Gods that goes like this.

They were bored one day,

so they created human beings.

But they were still bored,

so they created love.

And they weren't bored anymore.

One day, they decided to try love for themselves.

And finally,

they created laughter

so that they could stand it.

I like this story.

But it is after all,

a story.

If only.

If only.

South By South East: The Night

The swimming pool was probably where the trip really kicked off for the lot of us. After the dreadful episodes with the local price tags, we headed for the swimming pool - which was free by the way. Taking off our clothes, we jumped into the swimming pool and learned the art of sliding down a water slide. I remember being mortally afraid of those slides ever since a child, especially after the incident at the theme park in Taiwan when I flew out of the slide and rammed my ribs into the side. It was an experience that was hard for me to shed from my mind, and standing at the top of the slide with the water gushing downwards, I closed my eyes and took the leap of faith. I ended up in the pool with everybody else, and the cold chilly water attacked my nerves from every angle possible. But it was great fun, as we soaked ourselves in the water under the dusking skies. It turned into a soft shade of orange, with planes taking off from the airports nearby, soaring away quietly into the clouds beyond.

Gabriela, Terri and Shenny were already at the resort a day before ourselves. They planned the trip a few weeks before we did, and were at the same hotel on the very same day. We met up after our trip to the pool for dinner together, and the lot of us felt terribly under-dressed standing next to them. I mean, there we were in jeans and t-shirts while they were in little black dresses and make-up, for no apparent reasons too. It is not like the night club in the hotel itself has a lot of people, and the occupants of the hotel were mostly Caucasians or Japanese families. We started to wonder who they were dressed up for, but I guess in a way it didn't matter too much. We were sitting at the same table that night at the restaurant downstairs, and it was probably some of the best food I have ever eaten.

It was an enjoyable dinner, with the rest of the island slowly being drenched in the encumbering darkness. It seems like Shen has been - once again - tricked by the locals. His baked rice of sorts was smaller than he asked for, while the rest of us had too much. I for one had no problem wolfing down my share of the food, though the price tag was mind bending. But like I said, we threw the worries behind and finally found our satisfaction and fun. I think I was high at the table after a glass of water too much, and the lot of us went down to the club afterwards.

That was the first taste of night life on Bintan for us, and to say that we were underwhelmed would be an understatement. The club - called Silk - was empty, with just a few patrons sitting around, tapping their feet to the music. The band was actually rather decent, at least they were playing tunes that weren't the kind of music you would find in a local club. I won't say the club was shabby, or in any way substandard though. But the number of people that visited the place just made the young night a little old somehow. The red lights under the counter gave everybody a red glow on their faces, but that wasn't enough to heat up the atmosphere at all. We were all sitting in the corner of the club, sipping our drinks quietly while slapping each other on the back of their hands as part of a game. I think Gabriela, Terri and Shenny had a lot of fun slapping people and being slapped, while the rest of us stared into nothingness for the rest of the night. We were like zombies in the club, and I felt bad for the bartenders who were watching us from behind the counter. The music wasn't exactly appealing, and there wasn't a lot of atmosphere to soak in anyway. So I proposed to head upstairs for cards, and everybody jumped at the chance like a box of hot cash by the side of a road.

Hotel rooms are a naturally scary place, just thinking about how many people have slept on the same bed as you. I guess it was the strangeness of being thrown into an unknown room and forced to sleep in it for a couple of days. There was an incident that happened on the first night that freaked me out, to be honest. The door to the balcony was left opened, and we were hanging out in the second room when someone asked for water. I remember that the we have a jug of water back in our room, so I volunteered to get it myself. Upon scanning my card in the slot, I opened the door to hear a shrilling laughter of a woman coming from the inside of the room. I stood, frozen on the spot for a moment and scanned the darkened room for a while. Apparently, because our room is so close to the ground floor, some woman must have been downstairs when she started laughing, and I had to be there when she did so. With the door to the balcony left opened, her laughter traveled through and freaked me out at the door. That was the first sign of what the night had to offer on the island of Bintan.

Standing out by the balcony, E-fei enjoyed his cigarettes while he dared me to climb from my balcony to his on the third floor. I did so, and did it twice at that and earned myself three bottles of mineral water. Anyway, it was quite a sight standing out there on the balcony, if you can ignore the wet shorts and underwear hanging on the edge. The skies were clear on the first night, with no clouds whatsoever blocking the view. In the distance, the sound of the waves sloshing on the shores could be heard from where we were, and all was peaceful in the compounds of the hotel. I had the sudden urge to take a walk down at the beach, but nobody was too keen on doing so - since it is the month of the Hungry Ghosts after all. The stars were up there, and like the skies in India, they were aplenty. I told the guys about seeing Orion up there. Not just the belt, but the whole damn Orion in the skies. It'd be great to see him that night, like the old friend that follows me to every country that I have been to so far. It'd be great, but the night was growing deep and our eyelids were forcing themselves down over our tired eyes.

After a small chat, the two others went to sleep while I laid in bed, wide awake. I felt uncomfortable in every position I was in, and there was a reluctance to change my position somehow. The silence of the hotel room was deafening, and it was hard for me to fall asleep with that kind of silence despite the fan whirring above our beds. Despite the exhaustion, my mind refused to drift off into the dreamland, constantly beckoning me away into my wakeful state. It must have been an hour or two when I finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

In 2008

It's still a couple of months to 2008,

But one thing is for sure.

With these artistes coming to town,

2008 is looking incredibly good already.

Guess who?



and...



Yeah, I know.

I know.

South By South East: The Cons

As do all tourist spots, there are tourist traps being sprinkled all over the place. Even in Singapore, it is possible to be charged at prices that are considered to the locals as being outrageous. But that is the kind of thing they do anyway, because they always treat tourists as rich and idiotic travelers all over the world. It takes a smart tourist to evade these traps, but it also takes a lot of efforts and researches too. Not a lot of people are willing to do that before a holiday trip, which is why it is not unusual for the tourists to bring a lot of cash with them wherever they go. However, that wasn't exactly the case for us when we first thought of the idea of going to Bintan a little more than a week ago. I mean, the thought of Indonesia automatically translated to cheap-everything. We didn't bring a lot of money with us, and we certainly did not expect the tourist traps to be as ridiculous as the ones in Singapore. But they were to our dismay, they certainly were.

This is probably the biggest con on the island, amidst all the other ridiculous cons. The moment you step onto the buses and requests to be taken to town, they will take you to a place called something-Oleh Oleh. It sounds like a welcoming place, but it certainly wasn't the case at all. They take you right out to the entrance of the place, and then ushers you into the town center. By the word 'town', you would expect people walking about and minding their own businesses, with streets bursting with life, right? But this is what something-Oleh Oleh had to offer - nothing. It was a temporary town built from nothingness by the locals just to contain tourists, and the shops were replicas of the other. The streets were completely empty when we arrived, with local music playing from a distant corner of the village. We were really hungry by the time we arrived, and there was a desperate search for restaurants. But everywhere we went, the menus were ridiculously expensive with everything being priced at two digit sums. It was crazy, the way a simply plate of local dish would cost fifteen dollars, but being in the middle of nowhere we didn't have much of a choice. We chose a random restaurant at the end of Bintan's 'Orchard Road', and settled ourselves in - for the big con.

There is something strange going on on the island then, and it all seemed like a practical joke of giant proportions. If you are going to order from the menu, it'd be wise to ask when food they have before ordering. Because out of the ten dishes that we picked, about eight were not available for one reason or another. It might have been because of the fact that they were cheaper food, but for some reason they just didn't have it. We were forced to eat the more expensive food around, and they didn't seem inviting at all. The waitress smiled at us with much awkwardness, and we matched that with our own forceful grins. We ordered our food that didn't taste all that great, and they were in pathetic proportions with that kind of prices. Shen was probably the worst off in the whole con at the restaurant. He ordered cheese and ham sandwiched that didn't have cheese and ham inside. Replaced by those were vegetables and probably just those all over the place. It was later replaced by a hotdog, which he tried to chow down until he found strange gooey substances underneath the bread. It was a strange meal, and the lot of us were confused.

The worst part of this con is the fact that there is a hawker center just around the corner from where we were, and they were selling food at ridiculously cheap prices. But that place is meant for the locals and off the main road, which must be why it receives little attention from the stupid tourists such as ourselves. Everything was cheaper there, and everybody ordered their second round of lunch with the locals staring at us and thinking," Damn, they found out about this place". That is just one part of the con, and it gets worse throughout the day.

We wanted to try to go-karts which was listed in the brochure, and it was listed that it costs just a little over twenty dollars for a ride. So the lot of us jumped at the chance and took a free ride down to the go-kart center and away from the central of cons. Only, we weren't aware that it was merely a jump from the boiling water into the fire, because it was yet another tourist trap altogether. In the end, twenty eight dollars is not for a single hour ride, but a ride that last merely ten minutes. A twenty minute ride would cost forty odd dollars, and a half an hour ride would cost you somewhere in the vicinity of fifty dollars. We were appalled by the rates, and turned back immediately from the go-kart arena. I started to wonder how in the world they managed to run the place for as long as they have, with the riders of the go-karts being the owners themselves most of the time. That questioned troubled me throughout the day, and remained the same when we tried to rent rackets for badminton games.

It is commonplace to rent courts even in Singapore, but renting balls and rackets as well - that's something new. We certainly didn't expect to pay for the rackets and the balls, but that was exactly what we were asked to do at the counter. Something about the idea had little appeal to us, but it was a choice between renting those rackets or to do nothing at all for the rest of the day. So there we were, at the basketball/badminton court with three other Singaporeans, playing those games in the middle of the holiday resort. It was rather odd for us to be doing so on a holiday trip, but at the same time it mattered little to us. I mean, it was better than doing nothing at all.

A lot of other things were meant to trick tourists into spending unholy amount of money there. Jet-skis cost forty dollars for about fifteen minutes, and that to me is just unreasonable. That is not to mention the price of the food at the hotel - though they were good and in good quantity, they sure were expensive. It was strange to think that the island had such a cheap accommodation, and yet everything else is so expensive. I guess this is the classic case of one gaining some and losing some, and we were sure losing a lot in our wallets. By the end of the first day, I wasn't sure if I was going to make it till the end with the amount of money I brought. But what the hell, it didn't matter very much then anymore. The thing about holidays - I've come to realize - is that you should stop wondering about how much money you've spent. Because that alone is capable of spoiling the whole holiday for you.

From then on, we tried to spend as little as possible, staying away from the expensive activities and doing everything else. The free coupons offered a free snorkeling session in the bay, a free coconut and eighty balls at the driving range. Those didn't appeal to us at all, and what did appeal to us was the archery, but every arrow that costs two dollars. Which was why, we stopped thinking about the money and tried to have fun our own way - to be in the company of one another. And that to us - at least for me - was the most important aspect of it all.

South By South East: The Hotel

The hotel came into view from over the hill where the golf course was. The first hint of the hotel presented itself to us in the form of a row of carefully trimmed bushes, with flowers of a dozen different colors making up the words "Welcome to Bintan". Only, the bushes for the last two letters were being destroyed and were withering when we arrived, so the bushes actually read "Welcome to Bintuii". We turned the corner at the junction, and there it was before us: The Hotel.

You would expect to have a substandard hotel after you've paid just a hundred and fifty dollars for the room as well as the breakfasts, added to those a bunch of freebies. At least that was what I had in mine before I started off this trip. After all, it isn't very easy to find a hotel for three days and two nights for just $150, but that was exactly what we found through the directory. The pictures we saw on the website were fancy, but we believed them to be pictures from the villa, instead of the rooms that we thought we were going to stay in. However, upon arriving at the hotel, it certainly did not look like it would accept a room rate of $150 for three days and two night. It was too grand and too beautiful to be that cheap, and as we paid for our rooms, I still had my doubts.

We were greeted with cool glasses of Jasmine tea, and the rather empty lobby with a common area in the middle. I did expect the hotel to be pretty unoccupied, but perhaps not nearly as empty as it was when we arrived. It isn't the school holidays period in Singapore, and it certainly is the case for a lot of countries in the region. But still, it was so empty that we could hear our own footsteps bouncing off the wooden beams above that crossed each other like the webs of a spider. A single triangle of light shone down from above where the tapered roof is, and the lobby ended off with a sort of balcony where you get to see the swimming pool below, followed by the beach just beyond that and then the ocean that stretches out into the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, just standing on the edge of the balcony with nothing in front of you as you breathe in those ocean air. You start to wonder if it is possible for you to sail in a straight line from where you are and then come back to where you are without anything coming in your way. Because standing there before the sea, everything just seemed infinitely possible.

We checked into our rooms soon afterwards, and here's the distribution: Joel, Jonathan and I in room one. Shen and E-fei in room two. Juliana, Cheryl and Kerri in the third. All our rooms have an oceanic view, and that was exactly what I made sure as I pulled open the curtains. It was a standard looking hotel room, and nothing too fancy about it. Two beds were there, with one extra bed being brought in soon afterwards. The television had everything we have in Singapore, including the local channels - which was surprising to me. We quickly dumped our luggages and met up with the rest to head out to town for our lunch. That was when it started drizzling outside the hotel, the first sign of the monsoon being upon us throughout the trip.

The hotel is actually a five star hotel, and that was clearly stated under the photographs of the presidents of Indonesia in the lobby, which makes it even more surprising that the accommodation was so cheap. Like everything cheap in this world, there is always a catch hidden somewhere in between, and I shall touch on that a while later. But first, here is what the hotel is like. It's not one of those hotels you see in Singapore that competes with the other buildings for the skyline. Like the Raffles Hotel, it is pretty short building, but it stretches wide onto either side of the land nonetheless. There are multiple pools around, with a lot of bars and cafes all over the place. The beach isn't the biggest beach in the world, but at least it felt more like a beach than the ones we have in Singapore, which are either synthetic in nature or just simply too crowded with families out on their family days.

The massage parlors look out into the ocean, with the basketball and volleyball courts being the same. However, like everything else in the hotel, they were empty. The employees of the place were just looking at us wherever we go, hoping that we'd spend our money for their services. It was a strange feeling to be stared at like that, which must have been why we wanted to get out of the hotel as soon as possible. However, that soon proved to be a mistake, and all we wanted to do was to get back into our rooms.

South By South East: The Journey

It started with a Tuesday morning that was completely unexpected. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I had to head down to the Immigration Building to get my passport expiry date extended. There is a new rule in the country that you cannot exit the country six months before the expiry date comes up, which to me is a rule just as unnecessary as banning chewing gums in Singapore. Why give a two year extension, when you are going to prevent people from going overseas within the last six months? Just give us an one and a half year extension, at least that'd make much more sense. That information was fed to me through a phone call by Jonathan while I was comfortably asleep on Monday morning, a day before the trip started. It was already late in the afternoon, and it was about five minutes till the immigration building closes back then. The only option left was to be the first in line on Tuesday morning, get my passport extended and take a cab straight down to the ferry terminal on the other side of the island by nine in the morning. It all sounded like a harrowing task, but a task I was willing to take.

You won't believe the amount of people desperate to get out of the country at eight in the morning. Upon arriving at the immigration building, a line was already formed before the glass doors that acted as the entrance, with the line itself wrapping around the entire building like a giant serpent of sorts. It was a queue that was longer than a line for the Rolling Stones concert, and there I was at the very end of it all, amidst a bunch of foreign workers who sat around with their breakfasts in hand and talking in a different tongue. I was anxious to get my things done as soon as possible, but the queue before me was daunting at best. When the glass doors were pulled opened, the giant serpent slithered through the opening and dispersed inside the building, as if it was being digested by a much larger animal. People were rushing up the elevators, escalators, and were bumping into one another all over the place. I for one, took my time getting up to the second floor where I was met with the Malay lady behind the counter, who had the following conversation with me.

Malay Lady," When is your flight?"
Me," In an hour. It's a ferry actually."
Malay Lady," How old are you this year?"
Me," It's written there, 1986. I'm 21 this year."
Malay Lady," YOU HAVE YET TO TAKE THE OATH!"
Me," Yeah, I know. I have an one year window. I know."
Malay Lady," YOU HAVE YET TO TAKE THE OATH!"
Me,"...I know. I have now till the next August or something."
Malay Lady," YOU HAVE TO TAKE THE OATH BEFORE YOUR NEXT BIRTHDAY!"
Me," Yeah, but that's ten months awa..."
Malay Lady," OR YOU WILL LOSE YOUR CITIZENSHIP!"
Me," I know. I know. Now, about the expiry date extension."
Malay Lady," YOU HAVE YET TO TAKE THE OATH!"
Me," OK. I swear that I have my loyalties for the country, I am not a spy and will not bomb any government buildings because I am a religious extremist. Even if I want to kill employees of a government building, perhaps I will do so only to you by stamping expiry dates all over your face. There, my oath. Now, chop my damn passport and be done with it. I have a ferry to catch."

OK, I didn't exactly say the last line, but that was exactly what I wanted to say as I sat there before the counter, being rudely scrutinized by the lady at the counter. It was as if I was some kind of political refugee, trying to escape the country or something. I WAS trying to escape the country though, but it was only for two days. Besides, if I really want to escape the country, I'm probably not going to end up on an island such as Bintan. The Malay lady gave me the expiry date extension with much hesitance, for a mere six months from my December expiry date. Great. Now, to the ferry terminal we go.


Jonathan was kind enough to meet me in the morning at Lavender, and the both of us cabbed all the way down to the world's end. Now, I know in the last entry I called the Raffles Marina Country Club the place at world's end, but the Tanah Merah ferry terminal is on the other side of the world's end - another world's end altogether. If you think that the Changi Airport is the Eastern-most end of the country, the ferry terminal is even further. It is located in the faraway corner of the island, tucked away like a shameful piece of furniture in your house. On the map, it is merely a dot amidst everything else, and away from any forms of civilization altogether. Our trip there was a fast and swift one, but one with much haste as well. The gates were closing at fifteen minutes to nine, and we only had fifteen minutes to get there by the time we were on our ways. It was a ferry that we had to catch together, and our friends were already waiting at the terminal for us. The female drivers stepped on the gas, and we were flying down the expressway quicker than the wind.

The ferry terminal reminded me greatly of the one I visited for three months in a row back in the army days. It all looked vaguely familiar, with the boats bobbing in the choppy waters by the pier, with the sides bouncing around dangerously. Jonathan and I met up with the rest of the gang, and we loaded ourselves up onto the boat - again, with much haste - and found ourselves seats at the front of the boat. It was deja vu all over again, with the familiar view from the front of the boat and the way the boat felt under our buttocks. Like the Penguin boats that we used to take back to Tekong island with much dread, it was a familiar feeling altogether. Only, we weren't exactly going back to that dreadful place, but to a holiday resort off the shores of Indonesia. The boat even had a little cafe in the middle of it all, and that's something not found on those damn Penguins.

The sea was rather calm on that morning, with the morning sun bouncing off the surfaces and making giant shadows of tankers and other cruise ships in the coast. We were just a small boat compared to those, as one of them loomed up so close next to us that the waves it created threatened to tip us over. That must have been the turning point for Cheryl and Kerri, as their heads started to spin at a hundred miles an hour. Seasickness has never been a problem for either of us, but I guess the waves took their toll on them, as Kerri started puking into the barf bags provided. She must have been the only person vomiting her guts out then, and the lot of us didn't know what to do. Shen bought her a cup of hot tea, while I desperately tried to hunt for garlic pills. But on a passenger boat like that in the middle of nowhere, it was as good as looking for a buried treasure chest in the seabed of South China Sea. Anyway, the girls tolerated their urge to vomit the rest of their organs out, and the boat continued its journey towards the island.

It was almost an hour ride, with Batam pulling up on our right and the rest of Malaysia on our left. Bintan was still nowhere to be seen, but there was something strange about traveling towards the equator. You just feel a little hotter than usual, though much of the prickling sensation must have been due to the psychological effect of things. But the prospect of the sea was appealing, and I pictured the white sands between my toes, purer than the ones at Sentosa. The clear waters clean enough for you to drink - if they weren't seawater - and fishes playing hide and seek between your legs. It was a great way to distract myself as the boat broke through the waves, and it didn't take long for the silhouette of the island to appear in the horizon.

Bintan looked pretty much like any other island that I have been to by boat. Green trees covered the most part of the coast, and it was hard to tell from where we were how different the life on the island is from where we came from. The harbor jutted out from the coast abruptly, a man-made structure out of a natural coast line. The girls were just glad that the land was in sight, while I was in my seat, feeling the heat through the darkened windows and the lack of sleeping slapping me in the face. It was already hard for me to keep awake, but the rest of the trip laid before our feet with much excitement. It took a while for the boat to dock, and when it finally did, the passengers exploded out of the hatch doors like seawater. We were officially on the island, and we were welcomed by a thick smell of the salty waters as well as the scorching sun, signature of the equatorial countries.

There was already a bus waiting for us outside the terminal, and it looked sort of like one of those mini-tour buses rock bands would sit on on their tours. We scrambled onto the bus which was dominated by us for the most part. Eight of us, all friends, traveled down the highway of Bintan at ten or twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. That is how the people drive on the roads of Bintan anyway, always above the speed limit. Like all good tourists would, we started taking pictures on the bus, making ridiculous poses and talked about what we were going to do for the rest of the trip. I tried to overcome my fear of waters, and turned down the chance to snorkel. But everything else sounded appealing, and I threw the thought of drowning out of the window. After all, I was already on the island, and it wasn't so much about "Why" but about "Why not?".

The roads reminded me of the highways in Malaysia, the way it would stretch on for hours without lamp posts along the road. Little cars passed us by for the most part of the journey because of the small population on the island, and it was evident that the island was still very much under construction. It was the closest you can get to the nature despite the holiday resort just around the corner, and the skies looked particularly different in this part of the world as well. The clouds just looked more delicious for the lack of a better word, but that was the first word that emerged in my mind when I first saw them. Yet again, it was probably one of those psychological things all over again.

But it was just a freshing feeling, to know that we were away from our homes on this random trip that came out from a random comment made by somebody over dinner. It was an impulsive trip, with everything pretty much planned on the spot and done out of spontaneity. But I suppose that is the beauty of it all, the way the eight of us arrived at the hotel soon after and checked in. That was as far as the planned trip went to be honest. For everything else after that, we left to fate and our own wild minds to discover and explore.

South By South East: Prologue

This is what happened to me when I got home from Bintan.

I crashed through the door and was received by my mother's look of acknowledgment, as if to say," Yes I know you are home and you smell stinky". I smiled, and dumped all the wet clothes into the washing machine. Something about this household chore reminded me of the days in the military. I guess in both cases, I have been forced to do my own laundry, and the same urgent sense of exhaustion ran through my body as well. There has been a severe lack of sleep for the past few days, the kind of insomnia you get with hotel rooms. At least for me, hotel rooms have never been the kind of place to induce any forms of sleep. There is something about the silence in the hotel room, or the fact that a thousand people have already slept in the same bed over the years that scares me. I'm sure there is a phobia for such a fear, the fear of hotel rooms, though I am quite unsure.

Anyway, that has been the case for me over the past few days, despite soaking up the sun, sand and sea. My body ached to the movements of my muscles, but that did not prevent me from keeping awake either. In my mind, I plowed through the things I'd be blogging when I get home, but with the room drenched in darkness, the notebook being ten steps too far away and the fact that it wasn't helping me in falling asleep kept me from doing so altogether. I committed everything to memory, and told myself that it'd be the first thing I do once I step foot into my own home. However, that wasn't the case the moment the detergents were poured into the plastic tray in the washing machine, and the water started running through the tube at the back. The moment that happened, I went to the bathroom for a face wash, hoping to wake myself up from the long overdue sleep I've been deprived of. In five minutes, I did the exact opposite.

I fell asleep, and remained that way all the way till five minutes to midnight. At least I did come up with a suitable title for this trip of mine I had with my friends, which was a brilliant one if you ask me. I don't suppose I will be blogging about the trip in details tonight, because there is something about sleeping in our own bed after so many long days overseas that is irresistibly alluring. The way the blankets are folded into soft white clouds, the way the hollow in the pillow sinks into itself - I cannot resist the temptation. So here I am, typing a prologue to the long series of entries that'd be done tomorrow. I am tired, and I need a lot more sleep than what I already had. In the mean time, I guess I am just glad to be home.

Till the next entry.

At World's End

Silently, I wish to sail into your port, I am your sailor
Quietly, I drop my weight into your sea, I drop my anchor
I sway in your waves, I sing in your sleep
I stay till I'm in your life

It was a little before ten in the evening I suppose, and the bus stop was crowded with late-night diners and school girls who were on their way home just before curfew. It was then when I received the invitation to a friend's birthday party, the first one in a long time this year. Suddenly, all the people turning twenty-one this year decided not to hold birthday parties, or at least I was not invited to any of them, between April and August. Finally, Lynette decided to invite myself and a couple of other usual suspects to her party. The only problem then was the location of the party itself. It wasn't at Downtown East - which would've been considered as far already - or any other holiday resorts in Singapore, but the Raffles Marina Country Club all the way in Tuas. The word 'Tuas' stared out at me through the message, and it was as good as being at the end of a rainbow. Aside from factories and warehouses, it was hard for me to imagine a holiday resort located there at all. I vaguely remember visiting one of them eons ago, when my father brought the family to the golf club for lunch. But that was a decade or so ago, and I hardly remember anything that happened last week.

So the party happened last Saturday, and the bit in the message about it being in Tuas was not a joke as we previously hoped for. You know how it is as a child, when everything seemed longer, bigger, or taller than it really is. I remember the pavement that lined the monsoon drains at the back of my house, and I used to call it the Silk Road because it seemed so long to walk from the entrance to the hawker center in the HDB estates. It takes less than five minutes for me to walk the same distance now, and the same can be applied for the journey to Tuas. When I was younger, my father drove the family to the country club for lunch, since he was a member there. The journey was seemingly endless, and I remember picturing ourselves in the middle of Thailand by the time we arrived. So the false impression of the distance remained with me, as Corinna and I cabbed from from Serangoon MRT station. The journey itself cost us more than twenty dollars, and that was probably the most I had to pay for a single ride in the taxi.

I realize now you're not to be blamed my love
You didn't choose your name my love
You never crossed the seven seas

The Raffles Marina Country Club is tucked away in a remote corner of the country. Right next to the Tuas industrial estate, the club is pretty much the last hidden paradise in Singapore in the sense that not many people bothers to visit the club - since it is located so bloody far away from everything - and it is indeed a beautiful place to begin with. It is a club where the rich people would park their yachts and cruise ships, and you can find rows and rows of them bumping against the pier, as they floated just beyond the harbor. Stepping off the taxi and into the front lobby, the emptiness of the place struck me as being somewhat of a rarity in a place like Singapore, especially on a Saturday evening. On either side, there were deep dark pools, with stone fishes lined on the edges as they spat water. Two giant staircases curled up towards the second floor where the suites were, and our footsteps bounced off the marble floors and pillars. The grandness of the place itself struck me with much surprise, because I certainly do not remember such grandeur when I was here as a kid.

We came through the lobby and onto the pier, and before us a dozen boats floated quietly on the shores, as they bounced softly against the jetties. A few visitors spent their time in the giant tent that was the bistro, with a soft scent of baked fish and spring chicken in the air, mingled with the salty taste of the sea. The second link between Singapore and Malaysia stretched out into the horizon on our right, with the lights from the checkpoint already turned on despite the sunset being an hour or so away. Beyond that were the hills and the forests of Malaysia, emerging out from the sea like a mysterious island. All around us, the mist of the morning rain hovered above the waters, and the sun was like a curious child that peeped through the hole in the sky, watching over us just before it takes its leave on this side of the globe for today. The peace and serenity in the place struck the both of us, as we paced the edge of the piers and peered over the railings to find fishes in the murky waters. It was surprising to see so many boats there, with the sea just under our feet, and yet the silence that encumbered us was deafening at the same time.

I realize now you're not to be blamed my love
You didn't choose your name my love
You never crossed the seven seas

We walked till the end of the pier, with the lighthouse just being around the corner. It wasn't one of those fancy lighthouses you'd find in foreign countries, but to see a lighthouse in Singapore was in itself, surprising. The sun was about to set in the West, and we were directly in front of it. We estimated the time that it would take for the sun to disappear over the horizon, and decided against the growling of our hunger stomaches to catch the sunset. It was casting its golden shadows on the waters, with the ripples of the sea breaking its form with every passing boat or breeze. Ships sailed by in silence, occasionally blaring its horns like a whale singing in the deep. Cast against the golden background, the silhouettes of the boats seemed so small and so distant all of a sudden, and the two of us just sat there and talked about everything - but mostly the sunset - as the fishermen and boaters busied themselves in their yachts.

I was curious about the name of the island in the distance, and wondered how long it would take for me to swim over. I have the fear of water, but that didn't prevent me from dreaming about the open waters. The mist in the distance prevented me from judging the distance, but it seemed to be a further than it looked, sitting there in the middle of the sea like a single tower of dark cloud. A sail boat passed under the sun, and it looked like a picture you would find on the cover of a postcard. Only, Singapore is not going to invest money on postcards with such an ordinary scenery on it, because it doesn't represent Singapore. You are probably going to find Merlion, the banks that defines the skyline in the city, as well as other statues and ancient buildings that is scattered all over the island. Not a random scene in the bay of Tuas, with a sail boat sailing by under the setting sun. Too common and too ordinary for the rest, but perfect for the both of us as we sat there in awe of nature's wonders.

Oh, sweet creature
I know exactly how you feel
Your clock is ticking, tick tack tick tack
Your heart is beating tum tum tum tum tum

Instead of a private jet to fly me to Mongolia, I had the urge to buy a yacht instead - if I am rich enough in the future. There is something about sitting on top of a bobbing boat as it is tied to the pier, or anchored in the middle of the sea. With your fishing rods tied to the back of the boat and a picnic mat spread out towards the front, it'd be nice to have glasses of wine and French cheese, as we admire the sunset or sunrise from the middle of nowhere. I've been living in this part of the world too long, with every corner of this island dominated by the sound of something all the time. You start to wonder if there is a piece of Earth left, not polluted by noise or the ugliness of human beings. Even there, there were styrofoam boxes floating in the sea, but I guess it was inevitable to have those. I guess I just want to sail out into the open sea one day, and feel how it is like out there away from everything that I have grown so used to.

It was getting late, and we were joined by Ahmad as he cabbed in from his place. It was amusing to see Ahmad being so enchanted by the scenery there, as he literally walked towards the sunset and nearly off the edge of the pier itself. Sitting there in the sun, he was minutes away from lifting himself off the ground, attaining Zen in his own time. It was indeed a beautiful sight, as Corinna and I celebrated by taking a bunch of pictures of the place and ourselves. We felt like pollutants all of a sudden, tainting the place with our presence. On out side of the island, we saw the giant ugly building of the Super company behind, with the towering chimneys of factories along the shores. But in between Malaysia and the island I mentioned above, I wanted to sail through like a straight arrow, and continue right down until I hit the first shores. It'd be quite an adventure, and I shall do it one day when I have nothing to hold on to in Singapore any longer.

Silently, I wish to sail into your port, I am your sailor
Quietly, I drop my weight into your sea, I drop my anchor

The party started about two hours later than expected. Guests started arrive in droves, people that we didn't know greeted the birthday girl and gave hugs and kisses on the cheeks. Ahmad and I stood amidst the crowd, lost and disorientated all of a sudden. The setting was brilliant, with the smell of baked fish and spring chicken still lingering in the air. But there was something about the people there - at least for me - that made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. It was perhaps the presence of all those people that I didn't know, the way they talked and the way they dressed just seemed like they were from a completely different world. I felt that it was so hard for me to connect to the place itself, the way everybody conversed with each other with the both of us thrown into the back of their minds. It was inevitable, since we have never seen those people in our lives. But deep inside, there was an urge to escape the party and run back into the darkened pier. At least there, I may find better company with myself and the thoughts I'd conjure in the deep silence by the sea.

The crowd chattered away as the dinner was served, blabbering away about topics I could hardly relate to. It wasn't necessary for me to mingle around and socialize, but for some reason I felt like I needed to do something there and then. The guys disappeared outside the restaurant for cigarettes, while the girls took pictures of themselves and the birthday girl, laughing at the top of their voices in the most shrilling pitch imaginable. They all looked as if they came from a club, or perhaps they were heading for the club after the party. Whatever the case may be, I just felt like a human from another twilight zone, another dimension altogether. They were talking about senseless thing, surface-deep things that concerned little about me. Not that I wanted to be the center of attention in any way, but it made me wonder how it was possible for these people to talk about what they talked about, and call those a 'conversation'. The urge grew as the awkward atmosphere expanded in size. I wanted to leave, and that was exactly what I did soon after my horrendous dinner came.

I realize now you're not to be blamed my love
You didn't choose your name my love
You die a little in my arm

I pictured myself running into the pier with somebody in my hands. Somebody, a person without a face. We jumped into my yacht that was parked at the very end of the rows of ships, with the lights from the tent slowly disappearing behind us. We were both bugged by the awkward atmosphere back where we came from, and we were just exhilarated by the smell of salt in the air, as the sea water sloshed away beneath our feet. You took off your high heels, because they threatened to have themselves stuck in between the wooden boards, and I commented about how crazy we were to sail out into the open seas on impulse. It'd be a wild adventure, and despite not knowing the other person who tagged along, she agreed on this wild venture into the unknown with me. It'd be great fun, and the engines of the boat started to move. Water splashed in the back of the boat, sending them into the air and resembled the stars in the night skies. We chose a random coordinate on the map, and we were out of the harbor without telling anybody. It'd be rude to leave the party like that, but we did it anyway, with our logic governed by our young stupidity and emotions taken over by excitement. Just sail away into the night, towards the Northern Star in the horizon, and see what happens afterwards. It'd be fun, wouldn't it? It'd be fun.

Only, I was back at the lobby at ten at night, sitting on the sofa with soft rock music coming from the bar next to us. Ahmad was surfing the net with his laptop, while I spent most of the time staring into nothingness. Something was on my mind, a fear was creeping my chest. It might have been a fear of not having the dream come true, the dream of sailing off into the night with an unknown person. It'd be the most likely outcome in fact, that it'd remain as a dream that was conjured out of boredom at the party. However, on the ride home in Corinna's parents' Mercedes, I found out that it was something else that was bugging me. Something - else. It was the face of the person that could have been with me, as I hop over the edge of the boat and started the engine. The person that could have been there, who wasn't and never will be. The air-conditioning in the car grew increasingly cold, and I hugged myself as I shifted closer to Corinna's warmth. As we sped down the expressway and away from the hidden paradise, a sense of melancholia overthrew me. And I found myself falling out of the car and onto the expressway, shredded into a million with nobody stopping for me. Nobody stopping for me at all. At world's end that day, I found a dream of the past, lost forever in the coming tide of time.