Hello there! My name is Daniel Hamzah. But that’s not my real name. I was previously known as COMET. I was born on February 4, 2010 at K-Mart Department Store, Richmond, Australia. So you see, I am only a baby. 6 days old. But I can talk like a grown man. That’s because I’m special. Look at me there, sitting like a tough man on the grass at the Princess Park. I’m a cute, red, little Aussie baby, ain’t I? Haha. Oh yes, I am a bicycle. In my owner’s manual, you can find my model number – 42490. I was described as a 66cm-men bicycle. And if you are wondering how I was assembled recently, you can download a full instruction manual from this link.
Please don’t tell me you’re surprised. My Master, Cekmi, is a crazy old boy. He has this weird habit of naming his stuff with some funny names. Remember Siti Norkiah Norman, Miss Cekia & Mr. Ceklet? Yep, he’s a psychotic, delusional man who likes to impersonate dead objects and speak on their behalf. Creepy, huh? Adding to this madness, he also likes to refer to himself as a third person in his own blog. And right now, here we go again. Cekmi is rambling through me – a talking bike.
Alright. So, Cekmi wants to call me Daniel. Hmm, I thought my original name is cute enough. It rhymes with Cekmi, right? Comet. Cekmi. Comet. Cekmi. Isn’t that something? Haha. But I think Cekmi wanted to honour me with something more stylish. Something more humanely. Something that reminds him of his beautiful past life. I heard that my name reminds him of someone called Danny Hussainy. Does that ring a bell to you? Please let me know in the comment box. I don’t know who the hell he was in the past, but I’m sure he must be an important legacy for Cekmi. But honestly, I’m quite flattered to have Cekmi’s family name next to mine. I’m sure his Ayoh in Kelantan will be proud of me. Of course, I’m Cekmi’s long-lost little brother in Melbourne, so to speak.
Anyway, you guys should know that I’m not an expensive thing. I’m just Comet, a relatively simple and modest brand for a mountain bike. My other rich friends displayed elegantly at a fancy professional bike shop can cost up to a few thousand dollars. Quality and tough brands, says the glossy brochure. I was only a cheap bike assembled at a cheap store. But I’m not intimidated. Rest assured, I’ve got everything that a beginner cyclist needs. With a light weight alloy frame, a quick release seat, alloy rims, a dual suspension, an 18-speed twist shift, linear pull brakes, I’m specially designed for the amateurish Cekmi. And I know, in Cekmi’s eyes, I’m not just a bike. I represent his free soul, wild imagination and childish curiosity. If I’m dead after a year or two, I’m sure Cekmi will dedicate a bench for me at the Royal Botanic Gardens.
By the way, I remember Cekmi’s first ride with me last week. When I saw him for the first time, I was a bit worried. Can this petite boy ride with me safely around Melbourne? Frankly speaking, he looked unfit and weak. And indeed, he made a very bad first impression on me. He took a big risk when he took me to the Melbourne streets. He almost gave up during his first ride from Richmond to his place in Carlton. It’s only 4 kilometres, but it felt like 40 kilometres to him. “This is so damn tiring, Daniel!” he said that aloud to me when he stopped again and dragged me along the Victoria Street. Breathing so hard, he looked at the other experienced bike-riders passing him like a fast train – the tough young men and the strong old women – and I could sense a serious embarrassment from his red sweaty face. Poor Cekmi, he underestimated bike-riding in Melbourne. He thought all the bike paths are flat and easy. But he was so wrong. His first bike-riding experience in Melbourne didn’t turn out to be as Manly as he had ambitiously thought.
But knowing Cekmi, I know he would be just as stubborn as he has always been. He is not the type who could easily say, “That’s it!” He would not be discouraged by his first pathetic attempt at bike-riding. I know, both of us will have a superb, healthy, wonderful time together soon. Don’t worry my dear Master, I’ll be your good little brother in Melbourne. Muah!
“Well done, Hilmi. You have done a splendid job!” said Janet today. I keep receiving positive words from her these days that, sometimes, I have a feeling that she must have been extensively trained by a strict drama coach to say that corny line for an ambitious PhD candidate like me. Having proven that I have progressed well in my studies, she should be the next contender for the Best Actress in 2010’s Academy Awards. But today, I knew she was not lying. She must have meant it because today’s meeting was not a joke. It was a PhD Advisory Committee meeting. The aim was simple – to review what kind of shit I have done for the past six months.
Yup, it’s been six months since the first time I set foot on this campus. Six months of theoretical ramblings. Six months of floating ideas. Six months of mind-boggling reading. Six months of big words. Six months of philosophical rubbish.
“Oh, you have no idea how well-prepared Hilmi has been for his confirmation, John!” Janet said to Professor John Hajek, the Chair of the Committee. Janet flattered me with a lot more over-the-top praises while Celia nodded in agreement. John, an Oxford alumnus and an expert himself in Phonetics and Phonology, was quite impressed. Janet even suggested that John should be part of the supervisory team since he did some internationally-acclaimed works in geminates of Romanic languages, the similar works that I am currently doing. John smiled and said, “Yes! Why not?”
So, with that simple answer, I now officially belong to THREE Supervisors! No, I’m not complaining. I’m actually thrilled to have John as part of my PhD circles because I had always admired his excellent work in geminates. In fact, he was the person whom I requested to be my supervisor six months ago before Janet came into the picture. But he recommended Janet’s expertise for some professional reasons. And now, I have John to complete the family photo, sitting right next to my two lovely mothers. He could be my long-lost father in Melbourne. No, no, no… John is too young to be a father to me. Maybe I should call him a Geminate Brother.
“Well, how would you get Kelantan speakers in Melbourne for your experiments?” asked John.
“Oh, the Kelantanese are all around the world.” I answered confidently. “I’m sure they are hiding somewhere around Melbourne!”
John looked at me with suspicion. He had no idea what I talked about and I really had no idea what I talked about. But I think I nailed it well because the meeting ended with a genuine smile on everybody’s faces. I just couldn’t wait to start the experiments. The research ethics application has already been approved. As the research plan starts to materialize, I’m getting more nervous. It feels surreal to begin a real laboratory work. For the next six months, I will concentrate on my preliminary data and the preparation for confirmation. It will be six months of practical works. Six months of physical and mental labour. Six months of acoustic fun.
And I’m so ready to begin to work hard and play even harder!
If there’s one edible thing in Malaysia that I can name as Cekmi’s Most Thought-About Object, that would definitely be Pisang Goreng. Having some sizzling hot Pisang Goreng over a hot cup of sweet tea every afternoon is a perfect ritual for me for so many years. In Binjal, the crispy Kak Ani’s Pisang Goreng is still the best. For only RM1, the entire family can enjoy the heavenly taste of Kak Ani’s secret recipe. But in KL, Pisang Goreng is a luxury. I still couldn’t fathom why I couldn’t get more than three pieces of Pisang Goreng for RM1 at Jalan TAR’s Pasar Malam. I’m lucky in JB because there are many excellent stalls near Taman Universiti’s Pasar Awam that sell small-sized, jelly-like, delicious, cheap Pisang Goreng. But I still don’t understand why the Johoreans have to dip them with ketchup-like sauce. It just doesn’t work for me. And here in Melbourne, I had deprived myself from the holy Pisang Goreng for six months until I saw it again last week at Old Town Kopitiam Mamak at QV Square. Yeah, it does look tasty with its rich presentation, but for the record, it is the worst Pisang Goreng I have ever tasted in my life. But, considering that it exists in Melbourne, I should withhold my complaint. I just have to swallow it with a cheeky smile for the good old time’s sake.
I just love Goreng Pisang. Ops, Pisang Goreng lah
Did you know that Melbourne is one of the world’s most ‘bike-able’ city with its 2000 kilometres of comprehensive bike trail network? Don’t worry if you didn’t, because I didn’t. This book truly surprises me with a lot wonderful tales of biking experiences in Melbourne. To begin with, there’s a Capital City Trail in Central Melbourne with a total distance of 28.2 kilometres. If you think this trail is not challenging enough, not to worry – there are 39 other great rides to choose from. One thing for certain, this book is definitely going to be my biblical friend for at least the next 12 months. Yes, that’s my religious target. Will I be able to complete all of these 40 crazy rides within a year? Of course, Hilmi always boleh!
Up in the Air has lost to Avatar in the recent Golden Globe’s category for Best Picture, but this film is always up in the air with me. Ryan Bingham is one pathetic man who knows how to fire people elegantly and how to put on a charming smile after completing his dirty job. He is a prick who thinks he can forever fly up alone in the air and travel around the world endlessly. He disconnects himself from people and loves the idea of going solo.
“What’s in your backpack?” he asks the audience in his motivational speech. Looking at his small backpack, he confidently claims that relationship is the heaviest luggage in life. When people ask him whether he is ever feeling lonely, he says, “How could I be lonely? I’m always surrounded by people at the airport.” Isn’t that just sad? His self-destructive values and over-the-top ethics will only lead him to a lonely death.
His philosophy is simple. Go light and easy in life. Leave all the unnecessary baggage. Yes, he reaches his dream and goal. He wins his ten million frequent flyer miles. But in the end, he has to admit that life’s important moments are seldom alone. He is caught between dreaming to be free and wanting to be attached. He can’t decide whether he should continue flying up in the air or walking down on the earth. He is just a confused loser and an irresponsible escape.
I feel like someday I would end up being just like Ryan Bingham.
The summer noon feels perfect from my balcony right now.
I can hear a group of drunk men singing a bad song from the Bali Park down there. The whining children are playing some unknown instruments. The slutty women are waltzing happily. The skateboarders are surfing carelessly. Some are just lying down. Some are just daydreaming. The Melburnians are indeed enjoying life and celebrating the 29-degree-celsius heat as if they will never experience summer again next year.
Back in Malaysia, I never notice the blessings that I have been enjoying for the past 33 years. Weather has never been a serious issue. It has always been a perfect summer the whole year through (with the exception of some unexpected flash flood in KL, of course). But in Melbourne, weather updates are my current obsession. Every morning, I will grab my iPhone, touch the weather application, and be thrilled by the latest weather surprise. I will look up to the sky and think hard of how many layers of shirt and underwear that I should wear on that day.
It’s funny the way I feel now. It’s the same feeling I could always feel every single noon in Malaysia. But right now, I just want to enjoy every bit of it, breathe it like I will never breathe it again, take it deep into my little lung like it is my last breath, and appreciate every single oxygen that I can catch. And as I feel the gentle breeze sweeping against skin, I remember the familiar sensation in Kampung Binjal again. My love affair with mother nature has indeed started since I was a little child. In a typical sunny afternoon, when the sky is clear, when my Ayoh is taking a nap and my Ma is still busy in the kitchen, I would take a short walk to a ghettok, a bridge, and I would stand on top of it, where I could see some muddy water flowing perfectly through a narrow river, where I could see the trees on the riverbanks swaying sweetly against the wild wind. I would listen to the tune of a perfect melody played by some invisible hands and I would deeply embrace the harmonious rush of mother nature into my body and soul. It might not be as magnificent as the postcard view I have seen from Sydney Bridge, but it offered me one of the most vivid images in my childhood.
I am still standing on my balcony right now and enjoying a perfect summer noon in Melbourne, but my mind is floating. I feel like standing on Binjal Ghettok.
This ROSEBANK protective head gear costs me AU$50. Hmm… quite a bit pricey for a bicycle helmet. But wait a minute, “it’s not about a bike”, says Lance Armstrong. Yes, I know it should be about pride. It’s about something that I must be proud of when I put it on my head, like a King wearing his big Crown, like a Professor showing off his grey hair, like a Soldier protecting his dignity, like a Philosopher safeguarding his precious mind. And I’m really proud of my choice because this helmet is a certified product and proudly made in Australia. I shall be certainly and proudly carrying this helmet on my dizzy head every evening, happily riding my new bike from one big park to another park, joining thousands of cycling enthusiasts in Melbourne.
As I touch and admire the “transformer” design of this red helmet, I feel like being teleported to my childhood. I feel like a little boy again in Kampung Binjal, Kangkong, Pasir Mas, Kelantan. Of course, riding a bicycle was always part of my childhood. In my case, it was a black, sexy, elegant BMX bike. My father bought it for me when I was about 10 years old. I was so proud of my BMX. I remember riding it carelessly around my kampung every evening, competing against my elder sisters every morning to Sekolah Kebangsaan Kangkong, or going for a weekly ride to Danau Toba near To’ Uban with my childhood friends – PPuyi, Mak Aming and Yi Kak Soh. Many of my fond memories with them always revolved around that macho BMX.
There was a moment that I couldn’t forget. My friend invited me to a birthday party and I was about to ride my BMX when I realized that I couldn’t pedal it properly. The chains were stretched and worn-out. I was crying and whining over that poor thing and sulking about it, not wanting to go to the party anymore. But my late Ma came to my rescue and immediately fixed my BMX with her own hands. The image of my poor mother squatting next to the bike and pouring the black, smelly lubricants over the rusty chains keeps playing in my mind for so many years. I must have felt guilty to let my mother do the dirty stuff simply because I wanted to have fun at a birthday party. I went to the party anyway and left my oily mother at home. Whatever happens to that BMX now, I hope he has met my Ma in heaven and thanked her for saving his life, and I hope he is thinking of me for all the beautiful moments we shared together.
Well, my Ma is no longer here with me to lubricate my bike, but this helmet will surely protect my big stubborn head. It’s still a week’s away before I can start riding a bike in Melbourne. My handsome new bike is still being assembled in a factory. I just can’t wait to see him next week. My arms are all open for him. He will be my new little brother in Melbourne. He is my Daniel Hamzah.
It’s Australia Day, and there I was, proudly holding the flag, celebrating the birth of Australia, cherishing the nation that has flourished for the past 222 years, smiling for the success of European artistry. The indigenous community calls it Invasion Day. I found it funny at first. But then, it is historically wise. It made me think about my own beloved country. If there were a day called Invasion Day in Malaysia, it should be celebrated on 24th of August each year. It was the day when the Europeans invaded the Malaccan Sultanate in 1511 and marked the beginning of western influences in Malaysia. In this regard, Malaysia is older than Australia. We are 499 years old!
Anyway, Happy Birthday Aussie Boy.
Cekmi has read and watched The Last Lecture, and here are his 20 comments.
1. Randy says… Never lose the child-like wonder.
Cekmi says… Oh, yeah. I am still a silly child in Melbourne, Randy. Don’t you worry about that.
2. Randy says… Whether you think you can or can’t, you’re right.
Cekmi says… And if you think you can’t, you’re left (behind).
3. Randy says… Brick walls are there for a reason. They give us a chance to show how badly we want something.
Cekmi says… My biggest Brick Wall is still that arrogant place called UCLA.
4. Randy says… Experience is what you get when you didn’t get what you wanted.
Cekmi says… How could I get the experience, Randy? I have never been to UCLA. But I know, I just will one day.
5. Randy says… Complaining does not work as a strategy. It won’t make us happier.
Cekmi says… Hey, I’m not complaining, Randy. I’m happy at the University of Melbourne. Really.
6. Randy says… Time is all you have. And you may find one day that you have less than you think.
Cekmi says… Damn. Thanks for your message from Heaven.
7. Randy says… Luck is where preparation meets opportunity.
Cekmi says… Er, should I add Faith as well?
8. Randy says… Filing in alphabetical order is better than running around saying, ‘I know it was blue and I know I was eating something when I had it.’
Cekmi says… Haha… *high five*
9. Randy says… When you go into the wilderness, the only thing you can count on is what you take with you.
Cekmi says… I wonder what you brought with you when you first met Him.
10. Randy says… The truth can set you free.
Cekmi says… I’m afraid it won’t happen that easily in Malaysia.
11. Randy says… Not everything needs to be fixed.
Cekmi says… But I love fixing things, Randy *sigh*
12. Randy says… Don’t obsess over what people think.
Cekmi says… I’ll always keep that in mind, ops.
13. Randy says… All you have to do is ask.
Cekmi says… The problem is, which way? There are just too many deadly ways to ask a noisy girl on a tram to just shut up.
14. Randy says… A bad apology is worse than no apology.
Cekmi says… I’m sorry, Randy. The world is just too fucked-up.
15. Randy says… Thank-you notes are best done the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper.
Cekmi says… Someone is still doing that to me, and I feel blessed. Thank you, Jimi.
16. Randy says… Find the best in everybody, no matter how long you have to wait for them to show it.
Cekmi says… I believe I could still see a slight smile on the face of that bitchy girl at the Unilodge reception before she dies in the worst possible way.
17. Randy says… Want to have a short phone call with someone? Call them right before lunch. You may think you are interesting, but you are no more interesting than lunch.
Cekmi says… Hehe… you are right, Randy. Food is second to none. It’s about survival.
18. Randy says… If you can find your footing between two cultures, sometimes you can have the best of both worlds.
Cekmi says… I hope I would never lose one of my feet I left in Kelantan.
19. Randy says… It’s a thrill to fulfill your own childhood dreams, but as you get older, you may find that enabling the dreams of others is even more fun.
Cekmi says… You have done just that, Randy. You are inspiring me to achieve mine.
20. Randy says… Live your life the right way. The Karma will take care of itself. The dreams will come to you.
Cekmi says… I’m trying, Randy. I’m trying. Don’t ever lose faith in me.
Thanks, dear Randy. I hope you’re smiling in Heaven.
Funny, I always feel no compulsion to settle down. So, you can see that I keep moving and moving for all sorts of reasons and excuses I can find in the world. And last week, I moved out again into a new place in Melbourne. The second time in Australia, and the 15th time in my entire nomadic life.
Moving Out
“I don’t know how you lived in this place, Hilmi. It’s horrible!” Mark said when he looked at my cramped studio room. He was kind enough to borrow his father’s car and offer his help to carry my belongings. I was lucky I wasn’t alone on that day. I had someone to witness another critical milestone in my life.
“Why? What’s wrong with this place?” I asked him.
“Well, to begin with, this place can pass for another scary prison besides the Old Melbourne Gaol. And you got two H1s while getting stuck here. How did you do that?”
I was laughing at his cynical remarks. But seriously, I didn’t have the answer to his last question. How did I do that? For the past six months in Melbourne, I lived in this small room and deprived myself from all the good things I used to enjoy. Six months.
No living room.
No bathroom.
No kitchen.
No radio.
No view.
No TV.
No life.
Yeah, Mark was right. I saw myself as a free man but, as weird and ironic as it might seem, I actually imprisoned myself there. I was a prisoner.
“I’ll take this bag, Hilmi!” Mark said while he was pulling a huge red bag and putting it around his left shoulder. I looked at him and said, “You know what, Mark. There was one thing that kept me alive in this so-called ‘prison’ for the past six months.”
“And what was that?”
“PASSION.”
“You’re right, Hilmi. I hope I’ll be passionate enough to carry all these giant bags!”
We laughed and dragged all those bags fully loaded with my crazy Passion for the past six months.
Moving In
Thanks to my extremely organized packing system, Mark and I cleared everything out of my old place and moved them quickly into my new place within one hour! While doing this demanding task, I remembered the more demanding tasks when I moved 33 boxes from KL to JB, and 32 boxes from JB to Pasir Mas. But it wasn’t that bad this time around. My old small studio room had no enough room for unnecessary accessories. And I have no reasons to complain because my new fully-furnished studio apartment has every reason for me to be thankful. It comes with a great package. It offers everything for me, the material things that I have been deprived for the past six months.
A bedroom with a queen-size bed plus a Heating cum Cooling Split System.
A flat wide-screen screen TV cum a DVD player with a lot of free channels.
A kitchen with matching stainless-steel set and complete accessories.
A microwave, a toaster, a kettle and a bar fridge with fancy gadgets.
A bathroom with a space for reading and a library collection.
A balcony with a stunning view of Melbourne city.
A life.
Of all these luxuries, the balcony is the most outstanding. A good balcony, for me, is one of the most crucial criteria of a good living place. It bridges souls and spirits to an unfounded land, so to speak. Standing there at the balcony on the Lucky eighth floor, I have the inspiring vision of queer eyes again. I know that I have found the most perfect spot to “settle down” for at least the next 12 months. Looking at the serene fountain of Bali Memorial Park right below me, gazing at the glorious sunset on my left, and admiring at the beautiful campus of Melbourne University on my right, I feel like a lazy King living in a 10-star presidential suite. I know that I will adore this place. And for all these passionate reasons, I decide to imprison myself again.
Thanks for pointing that out for me, Mark. Yeah, I am a passionate prisoner.
Hello again, my sweetheart Sydney!
How are you doing today? I hope you’ve missed me, because I have been thinking a lot about you these days. My Ummi said I should make a quick move before something bad happens, whatever that means to her. Alright, let me just tell you something that you’ve been waiting for – our greatest love affair.
No. 1 – Great People
The greatest love affair between us is, of course, the people I met during my short trip with you. Please allow me to narrate this at great length because this is my most favourite part of the trip.
First, I met the mother of the naughtiest cat in Sydney – Angelina Jolie. The strangest thing was, we never met face-to-face, but after two good hours chitchatting over yummy hand-made noodles and spicy fried beef, we were like two good old friends meeting up again after ten long years of absence. Oh, talking about dinner, she took me to the Silk Road Chinese Restaurant at Chinatown, which was surprisingly Halal! I know it didn’t matter to you, but I’m sure you would love the spicy taste of them. And Angie walked me through the New Town, which was such an adventure. It was still abuzz with activities even late at night. This was weird by your little brother’s standard. For flashy late-night actions, you truly rock, Sydney! (hey, I’m sorry for the unexpected ticket, Angie. Purr… meow!)
Second, I met my work-mate, Husna, and her cute family. It was really kind of her to pick me up near my hotel and brought me to her house for a great dinner. And Qistina was such a spoilt darling! She was so so shy she wouldn’t even say a word to me. She must be scared of you, Sydney – a blonde girl with blue eyes. But Husna said her daughter could speak well whenever she communicated with her in English. That’s amazing, right? But the highlight of the night was when Husna’s hubby took me to the Royal Botanical Gardens, sneaked near Mrs Macquaries Chair and snapped some great photos with you, dear Sydney. You truly looked sexier at night! (Thanks Amir, now I know there is a night-mode function for my camera)
However Sydney, I also met some not-so-nice people. First, the “Santa Claus” in-charge of the open-top tourist bus was pissed off when I asked him about the direction of the bus. “Can you see these people are lining up? Get into the line!” he said angrily to me in front of 30 other tourists. He didn’t even answer my question. I felt like a useless tourist. He must be so damn tired delivering millions of gifts during Christmas all over Australian continent. I wanted to say, “Fuck off, you old man! Go back to your Day-Care Center and die a long painful death!” Of course I didn’t say that, Sydney. I just left him there in peace. I’m a kind bloke, you see.
Second, I got on the Hotel Manager’s nerve when I rang him early in the morning on my last day. He was still sleeping. “Hello Daniel,” I said. “I know you ask me to leave the luggage in the room and you will ask one of your staff to bring it down to the office, but can you just come down now? I don’t think it’ll be safe if I leave it in the room.” I waited for his response. Then he said, “Can you just do whatever fucking thing I told you yesterday? Don’t do this to me again, okay!!” he hung up the phone rudely and angrily. I must have upset him for disturbing his sweet sleep and for not trusting his staff. But how could I trust him again after his “hospitable” treatment to me? He might as well burn my luggage out of sleep deprivation. So I played safe, putting my luggage under the trusted care of Central Station Management.
But I was not discouraged by these poor treatments, Sydney. I knew I would meet a lot of kind strangers out there. Indeed, I did have some interesting conversations with them. At Chinese Garden, I met Dave, an English man who thought that I was a Filipino boy. When I said that I was a Malaysian, he tried very hard to say some Malay words he learnt from his Malaysian friends. “Saya suka nasi lemak, tapi tak suka sambal,” he said. “Then why bother? It’s not nasi lemak anymore,” I said. He laughed heartily. He took some pictures of me using his professional camera and said, “You are very photogenic, pretty boy!” I quickly said good-bye after that.
Then, while walking through the bushy setting in the garden, I saw a few girls trying out some fancy costumes of Chinese empress. I knew they were all Malaysian girls, judging from the way they put on their tudungs. Don’t you look pretty in that tudung, Sydney? Anyway, you know what I did Sydney – while these girls were busy taking each other’s photos, I just slipped in the middle of them and said, “Malaysians right? Take my photo with you!” They were amused by my cute stunt. After a brief intrusion, I quickly left them alone. I think I have learnt how to be a casual Aussie boy, haven’t I Sydney?
Now, on my way to Manly Beach, I met Steven Young, a professor from the University of Glasgow. When he told me that he had just started a travel blog, I was very excited with the prospect of reading a professor’s thoughts based on his anecdotal experiences, not from his dry journal articles. “I wouldn’t write a blog if not because of my daughter’s insistence, but I know my writing will benefit not only my daughter, but also the generations to come,” he said wisely. Frankly speaking, Sydney, I was nervous during the whole small chat because, for god’s sake, I was talking to a professor on a ferry! But Steve was a down-to-earth man who offered his kind assistance to help me find the Bike Hire shop at Manly Beach. We actually had a hard time looking for the shop. But he just knew how to get around. “It’s always best to ask the locals,” he said. I put back my beloved map inside my bag and followed his style. And we found it at last, thanks to his intuitive strategy.
On the cliff tops at Manly, I met another two kind gentlemen. First, while I was admiring the great view of big islands from the cliff, an old Aussie man came to rectify my confusion, telling me that what I saw was not the islands, but part of the bigger mainland of Australia. When I asked him why the place was called Manly, not Womanly, he said, “You see, young man. When Captain Cook arrived here hundreds of years ago, he saw a lot of aboriginal men with manly attributes, so he called this place Manly”. What a manly decision! I hope pretty women like you don’t get offended by this history, do you?
Few minutes afterwards, I met Kai, a German guy, who said that he was frustrated because he couldn’t spot any whales from the ocean. I smiled and said, “Well, they must be here. It is New South ‘Whales’!” Kai laughed and said that it was a brilliant thought. Don’t you think I’m brilliant, Sydney?
Alright, while I was riding a bike, I met Yom, a Cambodian guy, who happened to be studying at the same University of Melbourne. He lived in Springvale, the suburb in Melbourne where, as he claimed, the Cambodian community gathered and reproduced. He’s such an interesting person whom I would surely look up again in Melbourne. “You are too young to study for PhD,” he said. Oh, he has no idea, Sydney.
Finally, on my way back to Circular Quay, I met Alex and Miriam, two sweet ladies from Germany. They were so young, just turned 21 years old. “Oh I’m 34 years old this year,” I said to them, to their delight and surprise. “Don’t worry, people in Bangkok looked at me with the same curious thing in mind. Even worse. They said I looked like a money boy!” I just cracked a bad joke. Don’t get jealous, Sydney. The girls didn’t bite me.
You see, Sydney. I talked to a lot of strange people on the streets. But I don’t want to mention about many other strangers whom I bluntly said, “Hi, How are you?” and asked whether they were kind enough to snap a photo for me. Once I was happy with my cute pose, I would say a brief “Have a good day” ritual and that was it. Such a pathetic gesture, don’t you think? Haha, I knew you would think so. But at least Sydney, I am happy now thinking of the chances to connect to a lot of people, though for “pathetic reasons”, as you might call it.
So, my darling Sydney, you’ve heard of all my stories. Do you like them? I must say that these whole discoveries of new places and faces made my short trip a truly worthwhile experience. Life unfolded and lessons learnt. And for all these great love affairs between us, I will always love you and adore you as a special girl in my life.
Er, would you marry me, Sydney? :-)
* * *
Angelina Jolie’s Mama and her strong paws
Loverly Husna and her beloved family
Muslimah Empresses and their Emperor
Steven Young and his Young scholar
A Manly man and his not-so-manly protege
Kai and his whale-theory guy
Yom and his university-mate
Alex and Miriam and their money boy, haha
* * *
p.s. Click here for My DDeghak Tales in Sydney
Oh my dear Sydney,
I think there’s something going on between us. One thing for sure, I’m in love with you (I know you like me too, don’t you?). I must tell you that I’m a lucky chap. We met at a perfect time and at a perfect place. I’m a lonely old boy and you are such a lovely old girl. Yes, I’m fully aware that you are now 220 years old (just 47 years older than your handsome little brother, Melbourne), but your old charms supersede most of the premature expectations I had in mind before I saw you. Thanks to the First Fleet from Britain that brought more than 1400 convicts and robbed your “virginity” in 1788, you have since then become one the sexiest girls in the world. Yes, you are really pretty, Sydney. You can count me on that.
Oh yeah baby, we definitely had a lot of great love affairs during my three-day-and-four-night stay. If you don’t mind, my darling Sydney, I would like to reveal some of our intimate moments to the whole world. No no no… not all of them, just 10 of them. Don’t worry, I promise I will keep those private moments we shared together to myself alone. But I’m sure you’ll be very pleased to listen to my bragging about your beauty, won’t you? Okay then, here we go. Let me start with number 10.
No. 10 – Day-dreaming Train
First and foremost, I had a long beautiful day before I met you. The long-distant journey on the train was amazing. I enjoyed the 12-hour day ride on Country Link, the largest network of train coaches in Australia. I knew I could book a one-hour flight from your little brother’s place, but I decided to take a long route. I heard that your splendor expands to so many parts beyond your region, so I wanted to experience just that. Indeed, I took great pleasure sitting back in an air-conditioned economy class coach while watching the magnificent Australian landscape roll by in front of my eyes. The train moved so slowly, but it didn’t really matter to me because your extended beauty was all around me, accompanying me throughout the journey.
Really, Sydney. I could feel your imminent presence there. It was like moving through a gigantic garden that never ended. While a violent-looking Aussie man sitting next to me was listening to his rock music through his blasting headphone and restlessly playing with his imaginary guitar, I was just day-dreaming, sitting quietly at a window seat, staring silently through the window glass, mesmerized by the sight of a flock of sheep moving in synch on a vast dry field or a mob of cattle grazing gracefully on a lush green hill. The anxious anticipation, building continuously just thinking of seeing you for the first time, made the journey more exciting. I could picture that you were waiting there for me in a beautiful garden in a city.
No. 9 – Romantic Garden
And so, I saw you for the first time in the Royal Botanical Gardens. You looked stunning in that natural dress of fresh flowers with a natural perfume of fresh plants. I looked at your welcoming smile and when you said, “Welcome to my Beautiful World, Mi,” I knew that you really meant it. Yes, I had come to a right place where something, or someone, was waiting there for me, ready to show me the marvels of your vista. Together, you walked me around these spectacular gardens, 30 hectares right in the heart of the city. To be frank, I had actually seen similar sceneries in Melbourne, but your little brother’s gardens were a bit remote from the city loop, which made it too private and too hidden.
But Sydney, your gardens’ location was outstanding. From the Domain section, I could spot your famous Harbour in front of me, the Farm Cove on my left, and the Wooloomooloo Bay on my right. It was a strategic setting for utopian gardens in a city. But you know Sydney, the best part of the gardens was Mrs Macquaries Chair. Yes, I expected to see a giant chair there, but I couldn’t find one. It was a bit disappointing, but you looked at me and said, “Just look to your left, Mi.” Then I saw it. “My goodness, Sydney! Is that your Opera House?” I jumped with excitement. You were smiling again.
No. 8 – Opera House
Yes, I saw this image of great beauty for the first time from the so-called Mrs Macquaries Chair at the Gardens. And yes Sydney, it was truly one of the great iconic buildings of the 20th century, a distinguished symbol for the whole continent of Australia. I rushed and wanted to have a closer look at the most famous performing arts centres in the world. I touched the building and felt its Danish design through my little fingers. “This is so different from the one I always see on postcards, Sydney!” I said. “Why? Is it ugly?” you asked. “Nooo… it is beyond my imagination. Better than those damn postcards!” I laughed at my own silly remarks. Then you said in a matter-of-fact manner, “Of course, Mi. This Opera House was made a UNESCO World Heritage Site on 28 June 2007, and it shares this distinction with such ancient landmarks as Stonehenge and the Giza Necropolis.” I was fascinated by your factual ramblings. You know what, Sydney. You looked even more darling in that serious tone.
No. 7 – Darling Harbour
I must highlight this particular Harbour because the name itself obviously speaks volume for its attractions. Yes, darling. Historically, it is named after Lieutenant-General Ralph Darling, the Governor of New South Wales in 1800s. But for me, it is named after the whole darling experiences that I could find there. Really Sydney, this place was such a darling to me, just like you. As I was walking on the Prymont Bridge with you, I couldn’t escape my eyes from a lot of eye-candies – the Sydney Tower peaking through the city skyline, the parade of restaurants encircling the Cockle Bay, the big Australian National Maritime Museum overlooking Sydney Wildlife World, the IMAX theatre bringing the world’s largest screen, the Sydney Aquarium featuring famous Dugongs and “alive” dinosaurs, and of course, my favourite Chinese Garden of Friendship, the garden where I wanted to immortalize my love for you.
No. 6 – Chinese Garden
Let me be straightforward with you, Sydney. When I a tourist officer told me that the Garden was the biggest Chinese Garden outside the People’s Republic of China, I doubted the information. That’s because I have seen a bigger Chinese Garden in Singapore. Ops, does that hurt you, Sydney? Please don’t, my dear sweetheart. I still think your garden was as magical. Close to Chinatown, it looked like a secret garden to me, small and private. The Dragon Wall, the Water Pavilion of Lotus Fragrance, the Twin Pavilion and the Tea House offered rich insights into Chinese culture and heritage. It also reflected your multicultural taste for Asians like me, don’t you think? Anyway, you should be thankful to your Chinese Sister City, Guangzhao in China, for establishing such a noble bond between China and Australia. But you are always pretty, Sydney, with or without your sister cities. You should know that.
No. 5 – Colourful Transport
I heard a lot of nasty remarks about your transportation system, Sydney. But I can’t say much about this issue because I didn’t want to take you around the city in crowded public buses or noisy trains. But we did have fun exploring the many majestic buildings and tall skyscrapers around the busy city on a colourful, double-decker, open-top tourist bus, didn’t we? Speaking of a tourist bus, you should know that you are better off in this regard compared to your little brother, Melbourne, who only has one free shuttle bus there. You can boast with not only a free 555 green shuttle bus from Central Station to Circular Quay, but also three more paid tourist buses – Sydney Explorer, Bondi Explorer, and of course, the open-top tourist bus.
Anyway, did you find the recorded commentary on the bus very funny, Sydney? Yes, I think it was the wittiest talk I’ve ever heard. But to be honest with you Sydney, I chose the open-top tourist bus because, besides being able to be bold and daring standing or shouting on the bus rooftop, it really valued my money. Just imagine, it covered both the Sydney Tour and the Bondi Tour with 30 stops where you could be sure the bus would come back every 45 minutes, and it was valid for 24 hours! That way, I could simply hop on and hop off at any stops and come back within 45 minutes.
I remember hopping off at a stop near the Harbour Bridge. I told myself that I must kiss this steel marvel with my own lips – it is the world’s fifth longest spanning arch bridge. Walking quickly through the bridge’s pedestrian walkway, it reminded me of the Guillemard Bridge in Kelantan. Looking at the history, it was no wonder to see the striking similarities. They were both built by the British in the 1920s! But I didn’t have much time to be nostalgic. So I took some great photos on the bridge, kissed the steel, and rushed back to the stop within 45 minutes! Wasn’t that thrilling, Sydney? So I managed to hop on the bus again and headed to the best stop of all – the Bondi Beach stop.
No. 4 – Bondi Beach
From atop the open-top tourist bus, I couldn’t resist my eyes from looking (and staring) at what looked like hundreds, or maybe thousands, of human bodies lying half-naked on one of the huge sandy beaches I have ever seen with my own eyes (except on TV and movies). I told myself, come on Hilmi, it is Australia’s most famous beach! When I looked at you Sydney, and please forgive me, I couldn’t help visualizing you in those pink bikinis, but luckily you didn’t strip off in front of me, which I was afraid I wasn’t ready to see. Instead, we spent our nice afternoon strolling leisurely on the golden sand. When the big waves came crushing on the beach, I let it swim through my feet and it was surprisingly cold. I wondered how those people actually had a good time surfing and swimming in such freezingly cold seawater, something that I couldn’t quite fathom about the definition of summer beach experience in Australia.
Really Sydney, this whole nakedness was such a new thing for me. Frankly speaking, when I saw those adamant sunbathers, I physically felt out of place. Maybe next time I should just walk around here with only my underwear on. But I was really shocked when you told me that the beach sometimes has some uninvited guests. “There have been cases of shark attacks at this beach,” you said that very casually. “What? Really?” I asked you innocently. “No, not really. Otherwise the tourist board should’ve included this little piece of information in their glossy brochures.” You are so clever, Sydney. I felt like kissing you there at the beach. Manly kiss.
No. 3 – Manly Experiences
If Bondi Beach did not make me Manly enough, Sydney, I had another chance to prove my Manliness at Manly Beach. Located north of the city, I took a 30-minute ferry ride from Circular Quay to the Manly Beach. There was one thing about this ferry that disturbed me. It looked like a typical old dying ferry I saw in Penang, Malaysia, but the internal facilities were so modern and mind-blowing. And the ferry cruise itself offered fabulous views of Opera House and Harbour Bridge, the scenic angles that you don’t want to miss to snap and put them in your nicely-framed photo albums.
When I arrived at Manly Wharf, I quickly got off the ferry and looked for something that I had always wanted to do in Australia – riding a bicycle and exploring Manly in a Manly way! So I hired a hybrid bike at Manly Bike Tours for the whole day. No, I didn’t join any tour group, sorry for not heeding your advice, Sydney. I preferred to head off alone on my own and set a record for myself for the achievement of riding a bike for the first time in Australia, yes, not in Melbourne, but in Manly! I was like, what a Manly thing to do, Hilmi! Bravo! Don’t you think so, Sydney? Of course you do, Sydney.
So, while you preferred to relax alone at Manly Beach (with your sexy bikini on this time!), I was busy following the bike trails and off-road trails and discovering breathtaking coastal views. No, I didn’t manage to follow all four levels of trails, but after bracing through all the hard trails and enduring my painful groin, I finally passed the first two levels for intermediate riders – Bike The Beach and Sydney Harbour National Park Explorer. The latter trail was the most unforgettable for me. Standing 200 metres on the edge of a high, deep, rocky cliff tops overlooking North Harbour, I had an amazing bird’s eye view of Manly and your magnificent CBD. Remember that music video of Westlife’s If I Let You Go? I thought I was singing in that music video. Trust me, my darling Sydney. I’m not kidding.
No. 2 – Amusing Names
I know you are one of the colonies of Britain, but can’t you be more creative in naming your own streets? No offense Sydney, but I’m tired and confused with all these recycled, quintessentially English names I could find at every nook and corner at your little brother’s place like Elizabeth Street, Bourke Street, or Fitzroy Street. The most overly-used name, as far as I could notice, is Victoria which is used twice in your city, and thrice in Melbourne, including the name of the state! Victoria is such a hot babe. No, I’m not mocking you, Sydney. My apology, sayang. I fully understood your sentiment to be always associated, if not colonised, with your great grandparents in England. But hey, I took great amusement in names because I love words.
For example, I noticed that the word Bondi, where I imagine the Agent Bond dies, is an aboriginal word, meaning “water breaking over rocks”. But my favorite word is the mouthful Wooloomooloo, meaning “a young black kangaroo”. And when I walked along that long-stretched George Street or that rainbowful Oxford Street, I noticed a lot interesting names for retail shops or restaurants like Sexy Beast, Dirty Girl, Thai Me Up, or Lick Her Shop, just to name but a few. Oh, I couldn’t help imagining dirty stuff of course. But your original aboriginal name is the best of all, Sydney. It’s Eora, meaning “here” or “from this place”. Isn’t that a lovely name, my dear Eora?
Why? Am I boring you? Have I said too much? I’m sorry if I have. I have just one more thing to say to you. But I think I’d better stop now. I’ll tell you the greatest love of all between us the next time we meet. I’m sure you can wait for that, can’t you? I know. Love takes time, baby.


















































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