Jetlagged

And so 2010 begins with the announcement over the plane speakers, the stilted English of the non-English speaking flight attendant. Adjacent to my seat, the lanky, brown-haired man/boy folded into his tiny seat like origami, unfolds. He pulls a shiny blue party hat onto his curls and blows on his noisemaker several times.

I remain awake in my seat, as I have been and will for the next eight hours.

Truth be told, going back to Malaysia was a shock to the system. For the first week, I was overwhelmed with the number of people (Gold Coast has only 500,000 inhabitants), the human and traffic jams. The humidity was suffocating. My folks had moved to a new housing development, far far away from where I had grown up. My friends were miles away. The shopping centres (read: meeting places) were no longer within a 1 kilometre radius. The extra car had been sold and this new area was completely off limits to any means of public transportation.

But then, I grew accustomed to it. Having my family around, having Matt Matt call me Koo Koo, having to rely on others for transport. Joking around with my brother about our impending (and dreaded) resemblances to our parents. Trying to read Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged (accidentally stolen from Wendy's House in Bangkok) through my mother's talking, Korean soap operas on the computer, Barney-the-purple-dinosaur on the TV and the dogs' barking. Seeing friends through scheduled meet-a-thons at delicious (4 times), Dome (twice) and other cafes I'd missed so much.

And so a month passed much too quickly yet much too slowly. Quick, because I hadn't had the chance to meet so many other people; slow, because there were people in Gold Coast I missed.

"How are you doing there?" A friend asked.

"It's crazy," I confessed. "I have no privacy. I'm surrounded by people all the time. Yet I know, when I'm home, I'm going to miss everyone."

The prophecy held true. I really miss everyone.

Art

"Which book do you think I should get her?" AN asked, our arms full of potential Christmas gifts, as we browsed about MidValley's MPH.

"Jodi Picoult, Cecelia Ahern..." I rattled off a list of the usual people-pleasing authors.

"Do you read those?"

"No... the stuff I read, most people consider boring." I pounced upon Mendocino and Other Stories. "OMG, I didn't know Ann Packer had a new book (yes, I am aware now that Mendocino was one of her earlier works)!" I turned to AN, hugging the book to my chest for effect, "I love her stuff, she knows exactly how to put into words, the feeling, the emotions."

Because we were caretakers of each other's habits and expressions, weren't we, witnesses who didn't just see but who gave existence?

The next day dressed in some random model's bebe dress (size XS a tad tight - must have gained 5 lbs in Malaysia by now), I checked out the resultant photos on KJ's borrowed DSLR and realised the appeal of each picture depended on how well the emotion was captured.

We later killed some time at the Petronas Art Gallery whilst waiting for Di. Raja Shahriman's sketches and sculptures were dark and almost violent.

And then I thought about the amazing band I'd caught at Hard Rock Cafe, Penang, of the passion in the vocalists' voices.

And then it occured to me. "Art is what happens when you make emotions tangible," I marvelled to KJ. This rare nugget of profundity was completely lost on him. I got a grunt in reply.

Returning to the scene of the crime

On a random whim in the midst of a hectic day, IT drove us around my old neighbourhood. Everything seemed the same, but on closer look, was not. The peeling paint, the rusty gates had been renovated. I suppose with the spike in property prices, the original tenants had moved on to less pricy suburbs.

My former next door neighbour, Aunty Raji, had moved. TLY was working in Penang; ES in Canada. Similarly, the rest of my friends were pursuing their careers interstate or overseas. Ah Peng, the ancient kedai runcit owner had sold up and retired. The corner cafe Hot Chocolate, was remarkably enough, still thriving in spite of its insipid nominal drink.



My kindergarten, Villa Maria was still standing. "Was I a very serious kid?" I asked my mother, chancing upon a small photo of my childhood self like the others, unsmiling and pensive (see below), in her wallet. She shook her head.

I was Minnie Mouse for the school play. Turns out Mickey was in my high school all along. The extra foot and 200 pounds or so kind of threw me off for a while.



My former home had been bought over by the Rich Turd of a Neighbour Whose Multimillion Ringgit Monstrous Construction Inconvenienced Us Greatly. Apparently, the property (valued at MYR2 million in 2003) is now used as the domestic help's living quarters. The brown gate whose parameters I had often been forbidden to trespass was now gone, in lieu of a grey brick wall.

Why yes, Chinese DO eat everything

The smaller version of these looks really gross. Like an eyeball attached to a stick.


This is especially for KG. Geoducks (pronounced gwee-ducks) - another (apparently) tasty (not to mention expensive) abhorration of nature. Ignore deeply unappetising physicality.

Sights and sounds, City of Angels

"Twist and Shout" exhibition at the new Bangkok Art and Cultural Centre, BACC


Wat Po


Reclining Buddha




Mahboonkrong, the Sungei Wang of Thailand


Friendly kitty. Ended up being the inadvertent subject of several tourist shots.




Outside the Siam Paragon. Seriously, the place is turning into Orchard Road.






Legendary Bangkok jam


The Makkasan station of the new train line which joins to the airport. It starts next year, but as we'd arrived on a public holiday in honour of the King's birthday, we got a free test run.


Heliophobic flight attendant on the SkyBus who insisted on drawing the curtains. Or a corpse.

Jingle balls

KJ, X and I met up in Pavilion, KL. After a satisfactory dinner at Dragon-i and dessert at J-Co, we squeezed past masses of grotesquely expanding Malaysian throngs strolled about.

We stood at the main entrance of the exquisitely decorated mall to admire the Christmas sculptures.

Pretty, right?

Then KJ's eagle eyes spotted something things unusual.





We spent the next half an hour snapping rude photos.

At least we now have confirmation that Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph are male.

Live from BKK

First day in BKK. Tired. Up since 6am. Carried suitcase on my head around because X wouldn't ask fellow sex tourists white people for directions. The place is amazing. Maybe it's due to my being stuck in a hick town for so long (though I now adore Gold Coast in its own way). Stuff seem even cheaper now thanks to the strong Aussie currency. Got waxed. Painful but only cost AUD25 for several turfs. They had textured tiles and a gilt-framed Renaissance poster on the ceiling for awkward moments when you can't look your beautician in the eye. Spent 3 hours straightening hair yesterday and am not allowed to shampoo for 3 days. Look somewhat like stereotypical Asian ghost. Hairdresser now has a bald spot and gained 10 kilos and is no longer cute; still remembers me (probably because he once asked me out). Everyone keeps talking to me in Thai.