In A Day

The day did not start at dawn. Well, it did. It was just that my day, specifically, did not. And if it wasn’t for the phone call from the hotel room that my parents were in, my day would have most probably, if not likely, started at dusk. Not that I would have minded that at all. Periods of hibernation were rare.

The voice through the phone was fuzzy, like those voices you’d hear in dreams and I still had trouble recalling whether it was my mom or my dad. Fuzzier still were the contents of the conversation. All I remembered after was that returning to my slumber suddenly dropped down the list of greatly desired things to do. Like one of those Resident Evil zombies, I moaned as an unseen force dragged my body out of bed in search of nourishment. Donning my light pink polo –T and my faded black jeans from yesterday night, I sauntered out of my hotel room, self hygiene being the last thing on my mind.

What happened subsequently remained between the realms of sleep and wake. My hunger was satiated and it was only after coming into contact with the cold waters from the shower did my senses spring into consciousness. And I instantly remembered of getting my hair cut whilst being here.

In pretty much the same attire I was in before, I headed to where I remembered the line of barber shops were at. It was about two lanes down from where the hotel I stayed in was. Passing by both the Haniffa Department Store and Mydin Megastore, which were not unlike the Mustafa Centre found back home, I came to the area where the barber shops were. Something about the whole layout of the lane was different from the image being recalled in my mind but I put it down to a probable progress in the development of the area. Not having any particular preference of barbers, I stepped into the center shop on the right of the lane. The Coliseum it was named, not after the Roman arena of death but after one of the nearby hotels that have been earmarked as a historical landmark.

One of the unique experiences of getting your hair shaped by the talented hands of the barbers in K.L., were their equally talented gift of the gab. Conversations with barbers were few and far between back home, most preferring to only initiate communication when permission was required to either shave off ones sideburns or begin further removal of ones hair. Or in some other cases, they would even speak over you with the other barbers in the same shop. That is if you’re lucky enough to get any conversations going, regardless of your involvement in them.

The barber that styled my hair was a native of Malacca and had moved to the capital to make his livelihood nearly twenty years ago. Most of the skilled tradesmen in that immediate area seemed to share similar backgrounds. Traveling from their native counties and even countries, in the hopes of finding a way to sustain their lives. The scope of the conversation spun from origins to those of current events and of course, what manner of conversation would it be between males if topics relating to politics did not come up every so often. I even got wind of a fire that broke out in the lane not so many months ago, which explained why it looked much from different from the memory that was stored in the recesses of my mind. Most of the shops in the affected area have been shifted to a nearby mall which lay in the outskirts of this immediate densely populated and high traffic area. The stylist himself, now putting the finishing touches on what would come to look like something out of a line up of Ivan Drago impersonators, was once a permanent barber in one of the shops that fell victim to the flames, having now moved to the Coliseum to continue his trade.

With the haircut now done, I then made my way towards the nearby Maybank where I was meant to meet up with my parents and brother. Taking a spot somewhere outside the flagship bank of Malaysia, I scanned the area for cigarette butts. It’s the normal thing a smoker does before lighting their stimulant inducing sticks. Well, the normal thing this smoker does anyway. Like one of those Red Indian trekkers who search for signs of wild animals before setting up camp in the woods, except not quite that nature friendly or even as cool. Call it a smoker’s trekking habit because I know that’s what I call it.

Upon meeting up with the rest of the entourage, we then went to the Central Market or what the locals would call Pasar Seni (Art Market). Five minutes was all it took for us to get there, pass the permanent bazaar near the Indian mosque and then onwards beyond the Masjid Jamek station interchange for the Ampang and Kelana Jaya LRT Lines. As the name suggests, it’s the place to go for art supplies as well as to view amazing portraits, sculptors and other works that would inspire the quarks of creativity vibrating within us. Although the experience there was still as how I remembered, there was one aspect of the whole place which caused some other quark to vibrate. You see, you needed to pay fifty sen (around 20 or so Singaporean cents) to gain access to the sanitary facilities of the place but it wasn’t the price that bothered me. It was the manner in which you’d enter that caused some rearrangement in my schemata regarding toilets. Like the action of dropping said coin into a slot not unlike those found in jackpot machines which was then linked to a turnstile fit for most subterranean train systems. This was coupled by swinging double doors that you might find in movies set in the Old West. If I didn’t really have to go then, I would have probably been quite mesmerized with this mix and match theme. Needless to say pictures were definitely taken for the purposes of verification, if not anything else.

Fast forward again and we’re in one of those red and white topped Proton cabs, heading towards Selayang. This was a stop to visit our relatives there who were going to accompany us to the now popular and well-known night bazaar in Setapak, or what the locals would call Uptown or Danau Kota. The cab ride itself was something out of the French movie Taxi with the driver initiating moves into back lanes, hotels and petrol kiosks entry and exit ways to make headway despite the jam. The only thing lacking was an ultra fast automobile and death defying stunts but it was close enough.

The conversations that transpired between my dad and the driver though was something that, though expected, still boggles me from time to time. It was more due to my dad’s ability to strike up a conversation with almost anyone regardless of the situation – coach bus drivers, cab drivers, cleaners, security guards to name a few. I guess it helps when one is working in the frontlines of service. Then again, it was always the other party that begins the conversation and that aspect of my dad’s ability to draw someone to share their experiences upon first meeting, is quite a skill in itself.

It was nice to have met my relatives in Selayang and them bringing our family to Uptown was much appreciated, what with me getting whole loads of reasonably priced polo-Ts and other apparels. Reaching home at nearly 3 am, we settled into our separate rooms in Hotel Noble but our day didn’t quite end there. My brother had this idea of attempting some light writing. It was a photographic technique that required a dark room, time setting manipulations, a singular light source and several flashes. After an hour of trial and mostly errors, we finally got it right. Now he has one of his photos with his pseudonym under it.

All in all a good day ending at 5 am. Need to go get myself into the hibernation process now, hopefully.

In The Journey

The moon stalked me. Its full form surrounded by a ghastly aura seeming to shimmer amidst the clouds surrounding it. And it followed me still. Through water streaked windows it peered, like the watchful eye of a concerned unseen. For long moments my gaze was fixed upon this celestial of the night sky. The wonder of its existence making my own appear inconsequential. Devoid of all thoughts and emotions, save for the unusual sense of contentment then emanating from the deeper reaches of my being. The feeling was short-lived though. For as WRX 2132 sped along the highway, it seemed to traverse in the opposite direction, bidding farewell as it did so.

So then there I was in seat 3C, hammering away on my old school heavyweight Compaq Presario M2000 laptop. Everyone else on the coach bus had already gone to sleep, what with the serving of onboard movies ranging from It’s All Gone Pete Tong, Pinata: Survival Island and Hairspray not quite being the proper kind of stimulation for a trip like this. The sights at twenty three hundred hours in the night did little to help in the matters of staying awake either. Unless you were one that finds the alternating flashes of passing street lights to be one of sufficient amusement. Besides, it was already close to midnight, the time when most diurnal creatures would have chosen to go through their much needed cycles of rapid eye movements. Then again, I am not like most diurnal creatures.

Sleepless nights were somewhat the norm with the occasional lack of sleep nights and the quite rare periods of hibernation. And this night was no different, trip or no trip.

In about an hour or two I would be exchanging SBS and TIBs for Metrobuses and Rapid KLs, Delgro backed Hyundai Sonata cabs for Proton backed, red and white topped taxis, the Mass Rapid Transit for the Ampang and Kelana Jaya Lines. There would be no thrills of possible meetings with potentials this time around. Just me, my parents, my brother and my thoughts.

With the NICE coach bus now easily doing 150 kilometers, if not more on the highway and the low battery life icon flickering on the bottom right corner of my laptop, I am left to ponder here in the semi-darkness of this large vehicle. Grateful of being sequestered from Singapore’s hyper-rhythmic tempo of the mundane but at the same time unsure of what really to do in this first phase of overseas trips.

It was here in the stillness of the moment, devoid of watchful eyes, human or otherwise that my mind became most active.