In Continuum.

One of the questions, in particular, caught my attention during the course of the interview. The question was for the celebrities to name five non-musical sounds, and it is a question that I have never thought of before. When it comes to sounds, the first thing that comes into my mind is probably something related to music. Be it the voice of my favorite singer, the sound of guitar strings being strummed, or the sound of piano in an empty hall. At least those are the things that come into my mind first when we speak of favorite sounds. However, the thought of having a favorite set of non-musical sounds has never come to mind before, and it was certainly a thought provoking question on my part. So this entry is my attempt to list down a couple of sounds which I love to listen to on repetition, things that I'd gladly play on repeat for the longest time on the stereo. These sounds - to me - never gets boring, and surpasses even music on some strange, unknowable levels.

To begin, this sound is probably a favorite with a lot of people out there. The sound of rain is perhaps the most common sound in anybody's favorite list, if there is such a list out there in the first place. There is something beautiful, something profound in the repetition of rain on the window sill, something really peaceful even though everything is probably messed up outside the comfort of your home due to the rain and the wind. I guess the storm outside creates a stark contrast between that and the stillness of your room on a rainy day, an illusion that blinds us from the true chaos around the world. It makes us feel safe, makes us feel like a baby in a womb perhaps. It works a lot like static when you flip through the channels on your television set and comes face to face with a blank one. I don't think they have those buzzing screens any longer, but at least they had those in the past. It was the perfect medicine for insomniacs around the world, and the rain works pretty much the same as static on television. The droning sound that comes again and again, over and over, and there is just that unexplainable beauty in falling asleep amidst a storm.

I guess to be more specific, I do prefer the sound of rain on a tin roof more than anything else. I recall this one time when the boys were out in the fields, and it was a long march through the narrow gravel roads in our training area when the clouds started to form above the crests of trees that ran parallel to the roads we were on. In accordance to military safety regulations, all personnel have to take refuge under a shelter of some kind when a storm approaches with visible lighting, and the storm that evening as we marched down the long gravel road was perhaps too near for anybody's comfort - even the hard-headed officers who knew only to push forward mindlessly. So we found an old warehouse in the vicinity, an old worn-out building that must have been there for more than ten years. The warehouse was built solely with metal pillars that looked more like the rib cages of the building. On top and around the skeletal structure were planks of tin walls and roofs, nailed or screwed to the pillars a long time ago. It looked like a fragile place, almost too fragile especially with the storm coming down on top of our heads. However, we were willing to risk the possibility of a collapsing roof and a floor littered with broken glass for the night, just to wait for the storm to pass. Everybody welcomed a break halfway through the outfield, and there was no better place than under the shelter of a tin roof in the rain.

I remember sweeping away the broken glass and making myself comfortable on the ground. It was a long day, and the days that led up to that day weren't a walk in the park either. The longer the rain, the longer the rest. And the boys took out our SBOs, placed our rifles down next to our legs and stretched ourselves out on the dusty ground. It was a dirty and old place, and I remember this old and tattered sofa in the middle of nowhere, with springs coming out from the seat, poking through the cushion. Our OC explained that foreign workers used to bring prostitutes to this warehouse just to have sex, and the sofa was his idea of an evidence. Whatever purposes the warehouse served in the past, it was our little haven as the rain on the tin roof slowly hypnotized the crowd, until everybody started falling asleep one by one, though we weren't actually allowed to. The rain didn't stop for a long time, and neither was that smile erased from my face. Even amidst this old creepy warehouse with broken glass everywhere, it was still possible to feel safe, to feel at home - though however remote. It was the rain, the rain on the tin roof I'm sure, and that is the first of my favorite non-musical sounds. 

The second non-musical sound I can think of right now is probably the sound of my mother speaking with my ears to her back. The first of my unusual choices of non-musical sounds, but I do honestly love and miss those times when I used to press my ear to my mother's back, and just listen to her words from inside her body. I guess in a way, that must have been how I heard my mother when I was still no bigger than a palm, floating inside my mother's stomach like a tumor of sorts. It has a calming effect on me, or at least it had that effect when I was still that anxious little child, feeling scared and afraid of everything that comes within my comfort radius, which wasn't pretty big to begin with. I was the kind of kid who was uncomfortable in any form of social setting, be it my grandmother's birthday gathering or a random shopping mall in town. I was never the kind of kid who would make eye contact with a stranger, let alone talk to one. 

I distinctively remember one of my grandmother's birthday parties so many years ago. Neither of my grandmothers are around now, but my parents used to hold annual birthday parties for them, and always when we were back in Taiwan in those days. I never liked my relatives, and I still do not fancy them any more than before. Though the discomfort isn't nearly as strong now, I was a kid who would attempt to bury my face into my mother's back whenever some relative approached to comment on how cute I was, or how much I have grown over the years. My mother used to carry me on her back, and I remember trying to avoid my relatives' questions like a suspect would to the questions of the interrogator. They didn't have a torch shined in my face, but I guess they didn't have to have such a tool to make me feel like running away from them forever. But there my mother was to my rescue, answering all the questions posed at me, directing their attention away from me. I listened to the way she answered those questions as I pressed my ear tightly to her back, hearing more than just the sound of her voice but also that faint sound of her taking a breath between words, and the pulsating heart inside her body. It took me to place I remembered a long time ago, far away from those annoying relatives who still bug me till this day. Something about hearing someone's voice through his or her back, something so infinitely serene. 

We've all been in an enclosed space, being trapped in a lift or locked yourself inside a cupboard while playing hide and seek as a kid. At least I've had those experiences throughout my life, and I remember hearing the ringing sound in my ears for the very first time. Trapped in between those hanging clothes in my parents' wardrobe, I remember hugging my legs close to my chest and breathing softly just so that my sister wouldn't find me. It was foolish to play hide and seek in my current house, since it is hardly big enough for anybody to hide, or enough hiding places to begin with. It wasn't long before she found me tucked in the back of the cupboard, and I remember the terrifying moments before the wooden doors were pulled open from the outside, and the light from the windows streamed into the closet, blinding my eyes. But the moments leading up to the opening of the door, all I heard was the ringing sound in my ears and the heart beating in my chest. Take that ringing sound in the ears, and put it in a wide open space, and that is one of my favorite non-musical sounds. 

The tonner is probably one of the favorite vehicles in the military around the world. It works as every possible vehicle you can think of - everything from an armored vehicle with a full weapon system, to an ambulance if you need it to become one. In Singapore's context, the tonners are usually used to transport soldiers from one point to another, but more for the transport of food and garbage to tell you the truth. In India, it had one more function, and that was to transport the workers - ourselves - from one firing butt to another in the middle of the night. We were the working party for a particular live firing session, and I remember being transported from one place to another day after day, just setting up the firing butts, sticking the planks into the rocky grounds and making sure that no one would steal those oil barrels. The top of the tonner was removed while we were in India, leaving only the metal frame that previously supported the giant plastic roof. 

At night, the boys would lie on the wooden benches and watch the constellations above our heads. There were moments of silence, and it was strange to hear that ringing sound in my ear all over again despite being in an open desert. Everything was just so quiet out there in the desert, not even the sound of animals we usually hear in rainforest. It was a cold night, probably the equivalent of an air-conditioned room with a broken remote control. The temperature was plunging, and the melted Kit-Kat bars hardened all over again in my pocket. But I wasn't too concerned with the dropping temperature, but rather the fact that I was in an wide open space, hearing that familiar sound I heard for the first time while being stuck in the closet in my parents' bedroom. There was something infinitely fascinating about being in an open space like the desert, and still hearing those bodily sounds you hear only when you are alone and feeling claustrophobic. It was a clash of the sense, feeling enclosed and opened at the same time, the kind of feeling you get only in India, when you are away from any forms of life. It is a little hard to describe, but I felt like I was in a different dimension somehow, just because I heard those ringing sounds in my ears, how silly is that? How very silly, indeed. 

Summer was when the money was gone
You'd sing all your little songs
That meant everything to me