Argentina: And So It Begins

sunrise in Cape Town

There was a time when I was excited about boarding a plane on a long haul journey.  I’d pack all my creams and toiletries neatly in my hand carry (pre 9/11) and a good paperback to read if the company wasn’t interesting.  But invariably, I’d spend all my time watching movies and playing interactive games only to break for yet another delicious in-flight meal or a snack of sandwiches or comforting instant noodles.  Friendships were easy.  On one flight, I played interactive trivial pursuit in a rather lively session with fellow passengers.  I won, and one of the participants walked up to my seat and congratulated me, sparking off a new discussion on how knowledgeable I was about American sports.  (I had to eventually confess that I got a bit of help from Bald Eagle who is a treasure trove of useless facts.)

On another flight, I was travelling alone to the UK to surprise my parents who were holidaying there at my brother’s place, when I met a kindly gentleman who not only provided conversation and companionship but also helped me carry my bag to the train station after seeing me struggle with my load.

But hey, the times they are a changin’.  On my recent flight on our national carrier, I was dumbfounded upon being served a bread roll, for breakfast, which tasted like cardboard.  When I asked for snacks, I got peanuts instead of something more substantial.  I said I was hungry, so they gave me more peanuts.  A few seats away, I saw an adult passenger shove a kid rudely and the kid stumbled forward.  For an entire sector, a passenger across the aisle thought it fit to talk loudly to his wife who was sitting several seats away.  They are the new rich.  Even the flight attendants seemed to have given up on the chaos.

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For the past twenty years or so of knowing each other, we have made it a point to make at least one annual trip abroad together.  In the early years, I used to cry after returning from a trip.  My first night home was always the most difficult.  I’d wake up in the middle of the night, think about my holiday, and then sob uncontrollably.  There were times when even Bald Eagle felt helpless, and he’d hold me tight until I fell asleep.  I think, in those days, I lived more in those moments abroad on holiday than I did in the remaining 300-odd days which were filled with work and little else.  The yearning to travel became an addiction for us, and soon it became more than annual holidays.  I made scrapbooks of our travels, wrote stories on bits of paper and made friends online with like-minded people.

The essential experience is not of seeing monuments and landmarks.  It is about meeting people and learning that the world does not revolve around me alone.   There are spiritual moments, and there are moments when I ask myself why the hell I’m standing stranded in the depths of a glacier with no one in sight for miles when I could be curled up in front of a fireplace drinking hot chocolate instead.  When difficult situations, like the glacier incident, occur, I tell myself that one day…one day, I’ll look back and laugh.

If I could go back in time, I’d probably not do it again (the glacier bit), but that’s the beauty about the lack of foresight and the inability to time-travel – you live with the decisions you make and you crack stupid jokes about it later on your blog.

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This year’s travel plans were a little different.  Bald Eagle secretly planned the trip in February but didn’t tell me anything until June when I, in a control-freak moment, made him tell me something about our plans.  “We’re going away in August, for your birthday,” he said. “It’s my birthday present to you.”

“Where to?” I asked.

“It’s a secret.  Just take two weeks off from work,” he replied.  “I’ll let you know in due course.”

And so I lived in delirious happiness for the next two months without the knowledge of the destination, but knowing that I was going somewhere with him.  Friends started placing bets.  But never in my wildest dreams did I guess that he was taking me to Argentina.  ARGENTINA!  We had travelled the world over, but Argentina (and greater South America) always seemed too far away, too expensive, too unattainable.  It had always been on our agenda, but I had little faith of it ever materializing.

We are back from our holiday now.

I owe that sweet, sweet man a lifetime of gratitude.

Iguazu Falls

My Malaysian Story

Family
Five generations

My brothers and I are products of inter-cultural love stories that have spanned several generations.  While our identity cards insist that we are Indians, the reality is that our blood runs thick with a multitude of Malayan colours.  My mother’s forefathers sought their fortune in this land a long time ago, before the flash of immigration in the last century, while my father’s roots, two generations before his, were set in India.

My brothers and I are a product of an inter-cultural love story in the nineteen sixties.  He was a patient in a hospital in Perak, and she, the nurse.  They fell in love despite the protests of their respective families, but over the decades eventually won the hearts of their future families.  They will attest that it was not easy to overcome the racial bias that existed then, but they will also tell you that they succeeded in overcoming it by being true to themselves and by demonstrating unconditional love.

I will believe this and I will live this.

Happy Independence Day, Malaysia.

*Acknowledgement: 1st pic courtesy of cousin, Kevin Thomas

Hope in a Fuchsia Bottle

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We are led to a table beside a group of fourteen – twelve women and two men, many of them in fuchsia.  Perhaps the colour doesn’t feel as old-fashioned as red.  The older ladies are in red; it is hard to break away from tradition.  As we partake of the stewed pork knuckles, a Chinese tune sung melodiously at soprano tones rises above the cacophony of sounds in the busy restaurant.  I can tell that it is a traditional tune, although I can’t make out the words in Mandarin.  My friend tells me that the song is about spring.

The voices rise in harmony. Some of the other restaurant patrons turn around to see where the sound is coming from.  The ladies in fuchsia, while waiting for the next dish to arrive, continue singing from their songsheets, oblivious to the disapproving looks.  My friend shakes his head and laughs nervously.  The nightingales in fuchsia carry on, their sweet voices serenading me through my fatty, sticky char siew meal.

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You would not believe your eyes
If ten million fireflies
Lit up the world as I fell asleep….

The loud sound of fire crackers goes off at 3 in the afternoon.   I am jolted from my slumber, a pleasant dream about udon and an udon maker rudely interrupted.  The sound crescendoes to a climax after fifteen minutes, and I fall back into my goose-down pillow, willing for a continuation of my dream.

It’s hard to say that I’d rather stay
Awake when I’m asleep
‘Cause everything is never as it seems
When I fall asleep….

(Lyrics borrowed from Fireflies – Owl City)

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I haven’t spent time with my friend in months, and he is back for the holidays.  We agree to meet at a restaurant at Changkat Bukit Bintang.  We have had enough of Chinese food for the season, and seek something different instead.  A lion dance troupe makes its way up the stretch, stopping at every restaurant to bless the businesses and to bring them luck and fortune.  Two hours later, the clashing of cymbals and drums compete with the music from the surrounding clubs, and all hope of conversation is lost.

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Our “reunion” dinner is as Malaysian as it gets.  Chinese, Indian, Malay and Lain-Lain are all represented.  Days earlier, Hunky, in a drunken stupor, offers to cook prawn risotto, a recipe he has perfected over the years.  We bring the yee sang.  Paps makes lemon pudding for desserts.  The essence of a reunion dinner is present via the creation of new traditions while upholding the old.  Laughter fills the air as fireworks light up the sky with the silhouette of the Twin Towers in the background.

For a brief moment, my heart is filled with hope.

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Gong Xi Fa Cai!