So long ago...
Found some old journals I kept while travelling in Malaysia many, many years ago. Makes me feel ancient. Makes me wonder how I could have been so young and so unhappy, when I'm now so old and so content.
September 11, 1998
Menara Kuala Lumpur
When I was the first autumn leaves blowing through the river valley, I was
glad to leave. Now, I sit 282 metres in the sky with my solitary coffee
and gaze over the expanse of Kuala Lumpur...and I can barely believe I am
here - although the heat and moisture go a long way to convince me.
Monique’s husband has offered me a teaching position in Jakarta. Of
course, I will take it local violence notwithstanding. I look forward to
it, I guess.
I always said I wanted to be a war correspondent...even if I am only
freelancing. I am actually glad to be leaving KL tomorrow as all the
excitement of the Commonwealth Games filters in. I had thought the games
would be a good springboard for my writing, but I would rather do more
offbeat stories.
I really need to get a camera...I have been taking pix with these damned
little disposable quick-snaps...the butterflies, friends,
family..Max....(Ok..I am NOT going to think about him right now)
Right..camera, pictures. Phong has promised to help me find a good, used
camera.
I guess this IS something I should think about. I’ll meet Phong
tomorrow...but we have known each other for a while. Writing text, elusive
ideas over the ocean.
No, I really can’t believe I am here. Maybe it will be real when I meet
some of these people. Maybe when I start working.
I felt much more excited...or maybe more aware...when I was in Hawaii with
R...or San Francisco with L. I wonder if it is the company that makes it
real. If there is someone to share the sights and sounds and confirm the
reality, it makes me believe.
I went through so many airports on Sunday/Monday/Tuesday. (Only two days,
really, but with that disorienting little bump, the international dateline
...) I saw Edmonton’s airport - so familiar to me now. Vancouver, as
inconvenient as always. San Francisco and dinner with L.
Of course, I can’t NOT think about L. Without him, I would not be here at
all. I would still be watching the falling red leaves and cursing as I
waited for an Edmonton winter. But, I think I have as difficult a time
believing HE is real as believing this adventure is real.
So - back the airports - I know THEY are real.
They let us step off the plane in Hong Kong. Me. In China.
Why did I feel like I belonged there?
I wonder if this would feel real if I was still there.
The HK airport was real. I thought it was foggy when we landed, but it was
only the humidity clinging to the windows. Inside the airport at 7 a.m.
the dew and moisture literally poured down the windows.
I barely remember the Singapore airport at all. A mad dash to my
connecting flight...the entire Australian swim team...(Gawd). The team was
greeted at the Kuala Lumpur airport by the Aussie (I assume) media.
Grab my luggage, feel rumpled, sticky and conspicuous.
The girl at the bus-ticket counter recommends the Mandarin Hotel. Four
days later, and I still haven’t seen it. The bus took me to the Melia - by
accident of design I have no idea. But, by then, I didn’t give a rat’s ass.
Sept. 12, 1998
(In a cab, heading towards Ipoh)
Rent a movie or two - Platoon, Full Metal Jacket - and take away the
smoke, death and cursing. Just look at the scenery. Mountains that would
be harsh, jagged rocks jutting to the sky if they weren’t carpeted and
softened by the cushion of green - palm trees, grasses, bushes. Vertical
cliff faces that manage to defy all gravity and support the dense foliage.
My chariot is a late-‘60s or maybe ‘70s Mercedes. I am almost used to the
smell. The speedometer doesn’t work, and hangs limply at 10 kms/h.
I watch the little, smelly, diesel-fuelled scooters and motorbikes whiz
past us when we are slowed by the traffic. If I could just get an
automatic car.....and get used to this whole other-side-of-the-road
thing....
I am cushioning myself - from the reality of being here - with L’s money.
Hotels, cabs, the only think I haven’t done is eat at McDonalds.
I wonder if losing everything would force this to be an adventure. (Even
as I write that, I look around for wood to knock on - and am glad that I
am not in China where thousands of perverse and mischievous gods wait to
pounce in a statement like that - especially given I had the nerve to put
it in writing....)
Sept. 14, 1998
Ipoh
I visited the local home of those “thousands of perverse and mischievous
gods” yesterday. Phong drove me out to these fantastic caves that were
absolutely stuffed with gorgeous Chinese shrines, temples and icons. The
smoke from all the incense was actually visible in the air as I climbed
the hundreds of stairs. More sugar-cane drink....
Thursday, Sept. 17, 1998
Langkawi
“You sightsee? I take... Very strong..”
I have always had an aversion to using human power in any way to shift,
haul, propel or in any way move my own considerable bulk. And here I am
confronted by a man half my height, one-quarter of my weight and about
three times my age waiting to pedal me around these sloped streets. They
must peg me for a sucker a mile away.
Oct. 11, 1998
I wonder, even as I write, at the amount that I hide from my own diary.
Memories and knowledge that are my own, I guard jealously - willing the
world to see only the truth that I project.
If I died tomorrow and they found this book on my body, they would know
nothing about me, nothing about what I have done or why I am here.
Perhaps I have hidden the truth even from myself, invisible except when
time and the lack of distraction force my eyes inward. Who knew how much
that would happen here?
I wonder if my perverse and mischievous gods are giggling their little
painted heads off?
Oct. 19, 1998
Kuala Lumpur
*She let her hair down
and the rain fell*
So soothing and comforting - the simple, profound act of sharing a sweet
potato.
Beautiful simplicity.
She sat beside me, this hard working owner/waitress, snapped her snack in
half - a steamed sweet potato - and handed half to me.
“Very good.”
Reminds me to take joy where it is offered. Reminds me to seek the joy in
human experience - and all of a sudden I feel peaceful, welcome, a part of
the great human hub - and the language flows around me although I
understand not a word, I understand the meaning.
The bustle of a kitchen is familiar to me - the smiles, the jokes, the
horseplay, tired feet and hot brows...all a part of my own experience.
I understand and I am a part of it.
I smile.
September 11, 1998
Menara Kuala Lumpur
When I was the first autumn leaves blowing through the river valley, I was
glad to leave. Now, I sit 282 metres in the sky with my solitary coffee
and gaze over the expanse of Kuala Lumpur...and I can barely believe I am
here - although the heat and moisture go a long way to convince me.
Monique’s husband has offered me a teaching position in Jakarta. Of
course, I will take it local violence notwithstanding. I look forward to
it, I guess.
I always said I wanted to be a war correspondent...even if I am only
freelancing. I am actually glad to be leaving KL tomorrow as all the
excitement of the Commonwealth Games filters in. I had thought the games
would be a good springboard for my writing, but I would rather do more
offbeat stories.
I really need to get a camera...I have been taking pix with these damned
little disposable quick-snaps...the butterflies, friends,
family..Max....(Ok..I am NOT going to think about him right now)
Right..camera, pictures. Phong has promised to help me find a good, used
camera.
I guess this IS something I should think about. I’ll meet Phong
tomorrow...but we have known each other for a while. Writing text, elusive
ideas over the ocean.
No, I really can’t believe I am here. Maybe it will be real when I meet
some of these people. Maybe when I start working.
I felt much more excited...or maybe more aware...when I was in Hawaii with
R...or San Francisco with L. I wonder if it is the company that makes it
real. If there is someone to share the sights and sounds and confirm the
reality, it makes me believe.
I went through so many airports on Sunday/Monday/Tuesday. (Only two days,
really, but with that disorienting little bump, the international dateline
...) I saw Edmonton’s airport - so familiar to me now. Vancouver, as
inconvenient as always. San Francisco and dinner with L.
Of course, I can’t NOT think about L. Without him, I would not be here at
all. I would still be watching the falling red leaves and cursing as I
waited for an Edmonton winter. But, I think I have as difficult a time
believing HE is real as believing this adventure is real.
So - back the airports - I know THEY are real.
They let us step off the plane in Hong Kong. Me. In China.
Why did I feel like I belonged there?
I wonder if this would feel real if I was still there.
The HK airport was real. I thought it was foggy when we landed, but it was
only the humidity clinging to the windows. Inside the airport at 7 a.m.
the dew and moisture literally poured down the windows.
I barely remember the Singapore airport at all. A mad dash to my
connecting flight...the entire Australian swim team...(Gawd). The team was
greeted at the Kuala Lumpur airport by the Aussie (I assume) media.
Grab my luggage, feel rumpled, sticky and conspicuous.
The girl at the bus-ticket counter recommends the Mandarin Hotel. Four
days later, and I still haven’t seen it. The bus took me to the Melia - by
accident of design I have no idea. But, by then, I didn’t give a rat’s ass.
Sept. 12, 1998
(In a cab, heading towards Ipoh)
Rent a movie or two - Platoon, Full Metal Jacket - and take away the
smoke, death and cursing. Just look at the scenery. Mountains that would
be harsh, jagged rocks jutting to the sky if they weren’t carpeted and
softened by the cushion of green - palm trees, grasses, bushes. Vertical
cliff faces that manage to defy all gravity and support the dense foliage.
My chariot is a late-‘60s or maybe ‘70s Mercedes. I am almost used to the
smell. The speedometer doesn’t work, and hangs limply at 10 kms/h.
I watch the little, smelly, diesel-fuelled scooters and motorbikes whiz
past us when we are slowed by the traffic. If I could just get an
automatic car.....and get used to this whole other-side-of-the-road
thing....
I am cushioning myself - from the reality of being here - with L’s money.
Hotels, cabs, the only think I haven’t done is eat at McDonalds.
I wonder if losing everything would force this to be an adventure. (Even
as I write that, I look around for wood to knock on - and am glad that I
am not in China where thousands of perverse and mischievous gods wait to
pounce in a statement like that - especially given I had the nerve to put
it in writing....)
Sept. 14, 1998
Ipoh
I visited the local home of those “thousands of perverse and mischievous
gods” yesterday. Phong drove me out to these fantastic caves that were
absolutely stuffed with gorgeous Chinese shrines, temples and icons. The
smoke from all the incense was actually visible in the air as I climbed
the hundreds of stairs. More sugar-cane drink....
Thursday, Sept. 17, 1998
Langkawi
“You sightsee? I take... Very strong..”
I have always had an aversion to using human power in any way to shift,
haul, propel or in any way move my own considerable bulk. And here I am
confronted by a man half my height, one-quarter of my weight and about
three times my age waiting to pedal me around these sloped streets. They
must peg me for a sucker a mile away.
Oct. 11, 1998
I wonder, even as I write, at the amount that I hide from my own diary.
Memories and knowledge that are my own, I guard jealously - willing the
world to see only the truth that I project.
If I died tomorrow and they found this book on my body, they would know
nothing about me, nothing about what I have done or why I am here.
Perhaps I have hidden the truth even from myself, invisible except when
time and the lack of distraction force my eyes inward. Who knew how much
that would happen here?
I wonder if my perverse and mischievous gods are giggling their little
painted heads off?
Oct. 19, 1998
Kuala Lumpur
*She let her hair down
and the rain fell*
So soothing and comforting - the simple, profound act of sharing a sweet
potato.
Beautiful simplicity.
She sat beside me, this hard working owner/waitress, snapped her snack in
half - a steamed sweet potato - and handed half to me.
“Very good.”
Reminds me to take joy where it is offered. Reminds me to seek the joy in
human experience - and all of a sudden I feel peaceful, welcome, a part of
the great human hub - and the language flows around me although I
understand not a word, I understand the meaning.
The bustle of a kitchen is familiar to me - the smiles, the jokes, the
horseplay, tired feet and hot brows...all a part of my own experience.
I understand and I am a part of it.
I smile.