10 Therapies in Lantau Island
Therapy comes from the Greek word therapeia, which means “to be attentive to”. This definition implies that a therapy can be discovered through many tangible and not-so-tangible forms (by simply paying attention to them!). I have found a great deal of these therapies in many places. One of them is Lantau Island.
1. Colour Therapy
Being the largest island in Hong Kong, Lantau Island is a stark contrast to Hong Kong: high-rise buildings are replaced by high-rise mountainous terrain and, sorry to disappoint all the big spenders, grand shopping malls are substituted by grand indigenous forest. It means that the official “advertisement billboard” here is GREEN. As I witness this Giant Green Monster that keeps blanketing my whole vision, I feel like I’m being medically treated by a colour therapist. It has been claimed that Green symbolizes love and a sense of responsibility, and it is always associated with heart and lungs. So, it’s no wonder that Lantau Island is often referred to as “the lungs of Hong Kong”.
2. Dance Therapy
Oh, I feel like dancing on the Ngong Ping 360, a cable car that takes me to Ngong Ping Village. The views from inside the cable car are both body- and mind-boggling. I can spot the famous Big Buddha and Lantau Peak from afar. So spectacular, I could have danced merrily all the way to the top of the cable car terminal (the cable riders must have thought that I’m a poor dancer!). But, hey, at the end of the journey, my body and mind are well united and therefore giving a healthy balance and a sense of wholeness to my individual-self. My dance therapy is complete and successful.
3. Play Therapy
But the fun has just begun! There are so many other tools of diagnosis in Ngong Ping Village, an entertainment centre adjacent to the cable car terminal. I know that Play Therapy is designed for children only, but knowing me, my self-confidence is always communicated through play and adventures. So, what the heck? Right now, at this 1.5-hectare cultural themed village, I’m going to explore all these attractions and be fully diagnosed with all sorts of playful games. And it doesn’t take too long before I can hear the music resonating so beautifully from Lantau Peak.
4. Music Therapy
Yes, there’s something musical about Lantau Peak, the second highest peak in Hong Kong. With a height of 934 meters above sea level, Lantau Peak offers a perfect material and an immaculate design to achieve therapeutic goals. If you observe closely, you’ll notice that there is a pair of peaks on the mountain: one is male (the higher peak) and another is female (the lower peak), and together they make a perfect couple – “Fung Wong Shan”, the Chinese Phoenix Mountain. To find this gender harmony at the top of a mountain is so musically artistic, like The Puteri Gunung Ledang Musical. What a lovely music!
5. Physical Therapy
There are 268 steps to reach that large bronze statue of a Buddha. Honestly, this is a breeze (I have successfully climbed the 272 stairs to the most popular Hindu shrine in Batu Caves!). But, I’m now feeling like I’m being treated at a rehabilitation centre, with a physical therapist diagnosing my physical health, standing fiercely next to me and screaming loud: “Go! Go! Go! Hilmi! You can do it! Go!!!” As I climb these tough-looking stairs, I can feel my increasing heartbeat and increasing excitement. All these physical movements are just adding a little spice to my life’s adventures. So, who says the lift is better than the stairs?
6. Energy Therapy
And, yes, here I am! Phew. I’m standing so close to Tian Tan Buddha, the famous Big Buddha, the world’s tallest outdoor seated Buddha (prior to 2007). I feel like sitting down like this 112-foot-tall Buddha and replenish my energy, but, strangely enough, I don’t feel tired at all. There’s something energetic around here, like something greater is channeling the energy through me via some sort of mystical communication. I know, this place is more than a popular tourist attraction. This serene and dignified gentleman is still selling the most popular idea in the world – people and spirituality are inseparable. That’s the true energy.
7. Art Therapy
The hidden art is so abundant in Tai O, a fishing village located on the western side of Lantau Island. It is built mostly on the banks of the river, which makes it so idyllic, rustic and charming. At times, I thought I saw an abstract painting at an art gallery (and the brush belongs to God Almighty!). Also known as the Venice of Hong Kong, this place has a lot of pang uks, a kind of stilt houses that are constructed over the waterway. I don’t know what’s bothering me, but I can sense that unsettling melancholy as I wander through the village, which also makes Tai O special and unforgettable. All these artistic values and therapeutic sights have definitely increased my creative insights. How could I not be so in love?
8. Salt Therapy
For a small fee, I get to experience Salt Therapy in Tai O, very literally. The “gondola” man takes me around the inner areas of the village and I’m physically exposed to the salty air. The whole village is now visible to my raw eyes – poorly-managed squatter huts and hard-to-believe dilapidated stilt houses. I can also clearly see the salt production which has always been part of the local history. The locals usually smile whenever they see me, but it feels so awkward to return the smile. I feel like a jerky tourist who casually comes and leaves behind the locals’ misery to deal with on their own. It’s painful. My senses are being tortured through all these salty experiences.
9. Reality Therapy
It’s really humbling to see the lifestyle of the people in Tai O. They mostly depend on the traditional seafood production to earn their basic living. It’s even more disheartening to learn that a large fire broke out in 2000 and destroyed many residences. These people, however, keep smiling and selling, not only their salted fish, but also their poverty to the eyes of the world. Which leads to one important question – why would the Hong Kong tourism board include Tai O in their tourism strategy? Reality therapy, dude. Reality therapy.
10. Narrative Therapy
There are so many things to say about Lantau Island, the exotic island with a population of only 45,000. The stories of Lantau Island have surely been narrated in many styles, and this is my way of putting them. My direct contact with these places has, in many significant ways, “corrupted” and healed me through a wide range of so-called therapies. But above of all these therapies, the best one is Narrative Therapy. It’s about paying attention and finding meanings through rich stories of places and people we always encounter in our everyday life.
Diagnosed With Love in Lantau Island
A Gambler in Macau
Going to Macau was like going on gambling – I had no idea what I was doing but, after giving it a blind shot, the reward was priceless.
A NEW COUNTRY
When I arrived at the Hong Kong Macau Ferry Terminal to catch a one-hour ferry journey to Macau, I was a little confused to see a huge crowd lining up at what seemed to be an immigration checkpoint. I was panicked. Oh my god, am I crossing a border? After a few minutes of face-slapping dismay and emotional turmoil, I was beginning to understand that I was indeed going to enter a new country with its own sovereign territory. How silly of me. I always thought that Macau was part of Hong Kong. Thank goodness, I brought the passport!
Given my recent non-criminal record in Hong Kong, I passed the immigration easily and was granted a 30-day authorized stay in Macau (I loved that stamping sound on my passport, like a judge giving a favorable verdict to an innocent man). A few minutes later, I was already hopping merrily on a big red ferry called Turbo Jet. The ride was, considering my limited sea experiences, pleasurable. I’ve got my own assigned seat which somehow made me feel like I was flying on a chartered aeroplane. A pleasant sight accompanied me along the journey: an auntie having an exotic noodle, an uncle reading a hard-to-see newspaper, a boy staring at me like I was the next-top gangster in Macau, a baby crying for attention from their tired parents. It was overall a comfortable ferry ride, until I realized that I only had a few hundred Hong Kong dollars. Shit, what’s the unit of currency in Macau?
A PORTUGUESE WELCOME
The Macau Ferry Terminal looked like a runaway for a fashion show with all sorts of people with colourful costumes lining up to greet their arriving guests. Some signs were written in a strange language. Probably Portuguese. But I didn’t have to worry. Surely there was no one looking for me here. Oh, the money!
I found an exchange counter and converted the Hong Kong dollars to, er, Pataca! After learning this Portuguese word, I also learnt that Macau, like Hong Kong, is indeed a separate entity from the mainland China. After the handover in 1999, it has become a special administrative region that enjoys its own privileges – legal system, police force, monetary system, customs policy, immigration policy and transportation. Oh shit, speaking of transportation, how the hell would I get to that famous UNESCO World Heritage Site? Is it really here?
I was wandering around the terminal for about half an hour until I learnt how to get to that ambiguous destination. I got into a green bus and listened very hard to the announcement spoken in a language I hardly understood. Definitely not Mandarin. Probably Portuguese. It went without saying that I was simply lost. I sat on that bus, alone and hopeless, and enjoyed the amazing feeling of getting lost. When the bus driver asked me to get out, I hailed a cab and told him in whatever language I could find to get me to that god-dammit place.
THE FAMOUS SITE
The taxi driver dumped me comfortably at the Senado Square. He said I could just walk for a few minutes to the Ruins of St Paul’s. I stepped impatiently out of the cab and was awed with what I saw before me. This famous square was truly a beautiful landmark of Macau. Look, the pastel-coloured neo-classical buildings and the Mediterranean atmosphere were just stunning. Historical buildings were standing up so elegantly, showing off their architectural legacies and east-western assimilations. Modern and antique shops selling all sorts of paraphernalia were lining up and appealing to my every sense. Everyone seemed to be so absorbed with the Portuguese artwork that has long marked their cultural significance on this land since the sixteenth century.
Oh there it is, still standing tall amidst hundreds of posing tourists capturing their treasured moments with the stone facade. What’s so great about this leftover of Macau’s colonization period? It somehow resembled many buildings I had seen before in Malacca. But, what the heck, thanks to the rigorous efforts of Macau’s tourism board, I finally came here to witness the overrating superiority of the Ruins, the altar of the city, the “Taj Mahal” of Macau.
THE BLIND GAMBLER
Wow. I couldn’t believe my own eyes when I first saw this golden building standing so magnificently and outstandingly. What the hell is that? Yes, the Grand Lisboa is currently Asia’s finest casino hotel, an iconic building, the tallest building in Macau and the 118th tallest building in the world.
So I couldn’t stop my growing curiosity and decided to have a closer look at this building (perhaps having a peek inside!). The nearer I got into the building, the more intense I felt about the whole gambling experience in Macau. I learnt that gambling here had been legal since 1850s, and that made Macau famous worldwide and become the Monte Carlo of the Orient. In fact, gambling tourism is Macau’s biggest source of revenue. It is one of the main drives for the whole tourism industry in Macau (shhh, the World Heritage Site is probably just an excuse!).
Yes, I was at that main entrance and could smell the burning money. Could I be another contributor today? Would I be daring enough? I was smiling and felt the way that perhaps only a true gambler would understand. I had no idea what it was but it was certainly a good feeling. No, I didn’t walk into this famous casino and waste all my money. I didn’t have to do that in order to win more money. I had already gambled so much in my life. I had already taken so much risks in the hope of favorable adventures. I had already been an addicted gambler who had always been betting on my own ignorance. And guess what, I had already hit the jackpot in Macau. I won.
A winning smile of a gambler
10 Stars for ICPhS 2011
The 17th International Congress of Phonetic Sciences (ICPhS) in Hong Kong was unbelievably awesome. For all the wonderful things that happened within those five lovely days, I give this world event 10 stars.
1. The Venue
The first star goes to the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre (HKCEC), the venue for the congress. Nestled right at the heart of Hong Kong on Victoria Harbour, this magnificent building offers a perfect location and a spectacular backdrop to the grand congress. I loved this great feeling of grandeur and splendour. So mesmerized, I thought I was on another planet.
2. The Organizers
The second star goes to the organizers – the City University of Hong Kong, the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Beijing, and the Academia Sinica, Taipei. These people handled the event so beautifully (I loved the time-keeping bells!). Held for the first time in Asia since 1932, the ICPhS would be remembered by all phoneticians from this particular part of the world. I definitely would.
3. The Participants
The third star goes to the participants who created such positive vibes to the event. I met a lot of PhD students who shared the same passion and fear, trying out our best to establish a ground in the phonetic research. I loved every single conversation I had with these enthusiastic students. Too much information, there came a point when I had to resist saying Hi to a new potential friend. Maybe later.
4. The Big Names
The fourth star goes to all the big names in phonetics, the Kings and Queens of Sounds, who were freely mingling in the conference room. I was trembling when I was introduced to Rachid Ridouane, my de-facto mentor (it’s still difficult to match his name with his appearance, haha). And each time I saw the other phonetic celebrities, I felt like screaming, like a crazy fan at the Oscar’s Red Carpet.
5. The Plenary Lectures
The fifth star goes to all plenary lectures that inspired my intellectual self. The speakers talked about things that I badly needed to hear – the robustness of speech perception, speech recognition, the interdependence of sounds and prosodies, phonological complexity, speech dynamics, linguistic phonetics. Yes, they made me feel like an idiot, but it’s the kind of idiocy that I mostly welcome.
6. The Oral Sessions
The sixth star goes to the many oral sessions that I attended within five days – 12 oral sessions with 6 different overlapping themes within a session. How I wish I could divide my body and attend all those sessions, but that’s how things get more thrilling, right? At the end of each session, I always felt so condensed with phonetic details. But I also felt so good and told myself, “Hey, I could do this too!”
7. The Poster
The seventh star goes to poster sessions that all hooked up my senses. I had never been to an event like this, so I got more excited each time I passed one poster after another. The whole environment was like a huge street market, except these people were selling ideas and methodologies. So casual and personal, I could privately ask anything I wanted, not worrying whether the question was stupid or not.
8. The Local Tour
The eighth star goes to the “touristy” local tour that I joined on the fourth day of the conference. Together with other excited conference participants, we blindly followed the overly-chatty tour agent to the Victoria Peak, Repulse Bay and Stanley Market. The tour ended splendidly with the Victoria Harbour Cruise, complete with buffet dinner and a symphony of lights. Kudos to the Hong Kong Tourism Board!
9. The Presentation
The ninth star goes to, ahem, my own presentation. It was scheduled, not only on the last day, but also towards the end of the final oral session (saving the best for last, I suppose, huhu). Well, it went so incredibly well. The audience was not intimidating at all. In fact, they were all so positively curious, supportive and helpful with tips and recommendation. I must thank John (my saviour) and Sister Noor Nayan (the only Malaysian at the conference besides me) for being there for me. Love you guys!
10. The Future
Finally, the tenth star goes to the future of my career. I met wonderful participants. I brushed shoulders with prominent scholars. I listened to (and got confused with) a lot of phonetic stories from so many great phonetic storytellers. I got professionally involved with an international community and joined their vast network around the globe. The colourful future is absolutely on its way. I think I nailed it! huhu
With Professor John Hajek, my super-tall supervisor (figuratively, too)
With Sister Noor Nayan, my only Malaysian fellow (we all boleh-lah, kan?)
Attending Sister Noor Nayan’s poster presentation (good luck for your PhD at Reading!)
Posing (timidly) with the Rachid Ridouane at the Victoria Peak
With fellow researchers and experts from Japan (they are seriously young and bright)
Yours truly, beaming and thinking … (PhD is sweet, too!)
China & Cekmi
There are so many people roaming and blitzing in Causeway Bay, one of the most popular shopping spots in Hong Kong. The number of crowd is way too much for me to handle at one time. This is like one of the biggest pasar malams I have ever seen in my life. As a matter of fact, there are always people and people and people at almost every corner in Hong Kong. To be exact, there are 1.339 billion citizens in China and, gosh, seven million people in Hong Kong alone, making it one of the most densely-populated, sardine-ful cities in the world. With this overwhelming count of heads, you can imagine the general attitude of the people in China. With this awareness, you will begin to appreciate their being competitive and, after some time, you don’t even want to blame them for being unhappy, aloof and cold.
THE LESSON IN GUANGZHOU
I was only in Hong for a few days, but it didn’t take me too long to understand the locals and adapt their extremely kiasu-driven lifestyle and finally behave like one. It all started when I was stuck at the Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport for a couple of hours before catching my next flight to Hong Kong. I could see so many airplanes flying up in the air, but more importantly, I could also see so much stress flying up in the air, too. The level of tension was alarming I couldn’t help imagining that the promised doomsday was about to start. What was going on? I could see the terror flashing so clearly through the face of a lady officer at the information counter.
“Excuse me, would you mind telling me where the toilet is?” I asked her politely. She gave me that I-do-mind-so-go-to-hell look and dismissed me immediately. I felt like I was a sex maniac trying to rape her in the public. I was still waiting for her response when she looked at me again and raised her left hand and showed the direction of nowhere. I was frustrated. But I soon learnt the lesson. I realized that I was not in an English-speaking country. For God’s sake, I was in China, a huge communist country with a huge history of huge civilizations.
Which speak volume about its people. It then came down to me that these people couldn’t afford to be so personal and nice and accommodating to every individual (unlike the Aussies who deal with only twenty-two million people around the whole Australian continent). There is obviously lack of space in Hong Kong and, therefore, lack of courtesy and whatnot. To be frank, I have never seen the level of kiasuness this high (I bet the Singaporeans are more than happy to surrender their Best-Kiasu title to the Hong Kongese, right?).
So, this lesson that I learnt in Guangzhou had set the rules and patterns for my little game in Hong Kong. What would I do next to survive?
APPLYING THE RULES
First, never ask for a direction.
Get set and ready for the race of your life. You don’t want to get very frustrated whenever you ask a local for a clue if you are lost. They would give you either a strange look or a strange direction. To avoid this disappointment that might further worsen your day, always check the direction beforehand either on a googled map or a manual map. Again, never rely on the people. Trust me, they suck. Be proactive, not reactive.
Second, always be pushy.
Get set and ready to run for your life at the Mass Transit Railway (MTR) station. Don’t think too hard or too long, or else it’s getting more crowded and suffocating. Just push your way forward on the MTR. Forget the manners you learn at school. At moments like these, you have to be uncivilized or uncultured to be perfectly in-synch with other unhappy commuters packed on a sweaty train. Just be a true Hong Kongese.
Third, always keep to the right.
Get set and ready for the most thrilling ride on the fastest escalator in the world. Hold tight the handrail. If you think it’s dirty, don’t worry, it’s always sanitized. Stand on the right side, please. Right. Right. Yes, while you think left is always right in your country, always bear in mind that right is always right in Hong Kong. You don’t want to be a nuisance to people who are always in emergency and who think they are going to die any time.
Yes, I had no problems whatsoever applying these simple rules during my nine-day stay in Hong Kong. So natural, the locals had already started speaking to me in their local dialect after a few days. It might be due to my looks (which could have hailed from some remote part in China), but I suspect it had something to do with the way I carried myself that made me look like one of them. I didn’t mind the misunderstanding. I learnt the lesson well. Wherever I am on the globe, just learn the art of people and I’ll be fine.
Everybody Knows
You look around you
Beaming parents
Nodding aunties
Giggling nieces
Jumping nephews
Shrieking friends
Smiling guests
You notice their presence
They’re always there
Patterns to look for
Guidelines to abide
Designs to follow
Templates to fill
Rules to obey
But the light is out
Senses are blurring
Anxiety is humming
Fear is overwhelming
Have you found you?
Are you you?
Are you them?
So you think you’re free
But the tapestry is sealed
Escape if you can’t breathe
Doomed if you try to persist
That’s the deal of this game
This funny party called Community
This funny creature called Culture
Everybody knows
Flying in Hong Kong
I’m flying tonight to Hong Kong for a nine-day conference trip. But my soul is already flying high to the future, soaring into this glamorous sky of Hong Kong, catching a glimpse of the bedazzling Victoria Harbour, flirting with the seducing sight of Kowloon, dropping by at The Peak and admiring these towering skyscrapers. I’m already picturing myself there, towering high with pride, carrying all the fancy hopes and holding tight all the colourful wishes. My soul will then fly back to the past, putting back my feet on the ground, facing my parents, my friends, my supervisors, looking deep into their eyes, wondering whether I have met their expectations, and whether I have flown into the right direction. I will look again at the sky and ask myself out loud: “How high should I fly?”
SELF-MADE WINGS
“This is the moment to spread your wings!” I remember Janet saying this to me at one of the regular meetings.
“I’m not sure whether my winds are strong enough,” I lamented.
“Don’t worry, Hilmi. This experience will let you know that you’re not alone in your research. There’s always someone else thinking, rejoicing or suffering in the same way, and that will give you the strength to confront the challenge before you!”
Janet was right. I want to fly higher and harness that Energy of Diligence to the maximum. Of course, I’m feeling nervous with the ambiguous possibilities within those 20 minutes on that scary day, the 21st of August 2011, in that cold Room S224 of that grand Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre, facing those intimidating looks of the phonetic experts around the world, listening to my own musings about word-initial geminate stops in Kelantan Malay, offering my humble contribution to the world of phonetic sciences, and putting myself in a position I never imagine I could have.
Yes, I’m deeply scared. But I want to move on. Because I know, that’s always how human beings will end up doing; as soon as we have decided to confront our greatest fear, we will realize that we are far more capable than we thought we were. We will fly with – not Air Asia or Malaysia Airlines or China Southern Airlines, but – our own unique brand of self-made wings.
And, yes, I always look forward to saying this: Hong Kong, here I come!
The Utopia of a Weight-Watcher
1. I’m not a weight-watcher, but I’m in love with this cereal nut that is richly filled with an abundance of almonds, juicy apricots and whole-grains on a super-delicious chocolate base.
2. I’m not a weight-watcher, but I’m fully aware that each cereal nut comes with energy (632 kJ), protein (2.9 g), fat (6.6 g), fibre (1.8 g), sodium (31 mg) and potassium (170 mg).
3. I’m not a weight-watcher, but I’m certain this cereal nut is a wonderful companion between meals, a sweet treat after supper and, hey, a great value for money.
4. I’m not a weight-watcher, but when I decided to treat this cereal nut as my new best friend, the philosophy was to respect my body and to idolize it in the holiest possible way.
5. I’m not a weight-watcher, but I would like to suggest this cereal nut for your fast-breaking meal today (though I’m certain it will be marginalized by other foods you get from Bazaar Ramadhan).
6. I’m not a weight-watcher, but the way I see it now, Ramadhan is not really helping; it is more like a month-long festival for lust-welcoming, hey-I-want-to-taste-this-and-that extravaganza.
7. I’m not a weight-watcher, but when I’m talking about an ideal physical look, I’m talking about self-confidence, self-esteem and feeling sweet saying “no” to a sweet teh tarik.
8. I’m not a weight-watcher, but I’m just trying to sell the idea of a smart eating habit, regular physical activities, behaviour changes, a feel-good lifestyle and a great taste for life.
9. I’m not a weight-watcher, but my heart goes out to those who are caught in weight-watching paranoia and keep failing to get their ideal shape, making them feel like the biggest assholes in the world.
10. I’m not a weight-watcher, but the Utopian Weight sometimes feels like a pure fantasy, too beautiful, too perfect, it easily disappears at any given moment, like a distant star.
The Ephemera of Sakura
I came back to Melbourne and, still feeling overwhelmed by Adelaide’s charms, was again pleasantly mesmerized to discover these beautiful flowers blooming so wildly and abundantly at the backyard of my own rented bungalow. I felt like getting a grand picnic mat immediately and having a grand picnic party underneath this lovely tree, but that would be so awkward. The kitchen was only 10 metres away.
I showed this picture later to my lab-mate, Eleanor, and she was like, “Wow… that’s a beautiful cherry blossom!”
“What? Is it native to Australia?” I was more curious.
“Definitely not. In Japan, they call it Sakura.”
I was dumbfounded.
Of course I knew what sakura was. I had seen this Prunus serrulata, the Japanese oriental cherry, the elite member of Rosaceae, for many times in the magazines or TV or movies. I had always admired this celebrated symbol of Japan, but how could I not recognize it when I saw it at my own backyard? To find sakura with my own eyes in a place called home was probably never part of my long-listed itineraries in Australia. Thanks to the cold winter, I don’t have to go to Japan to enjoy the sweeping beauty of these cherry blossoms. That’s great, isn’t it?
There is, however, something disturbing beyond the charming looks of these flowers. They look rather pensive, meditative and, er, morbid. As if they are being born again simply to smile in pain and die again. Maybe, that’s why the Japanese artists always associate sakura with mortality and the ephemeral nature of life. And right now, I’m feeling kinda mono no aware, engulfed with the wistful faces of these cherry blossoms, aware of their cheekiness, empathic with their ephemera, deeply touched by their gentle sadness, sensitive with their passing beauty, and apprehensive with their quick death.
But I don’t care even if they call it the flower of death. Spring is definitely on its way, demonstrating its blooming signs in Melbourne, and singing its extremely glorious songs to my blossoming yet ephemeral heart.
Bus of Memories
The overnight bus ride from Adelaide to Melbourne is smooth and enjoyable. By smooth and enjoyable, I imply that I’m being entrusted into good hands of a sober driver, I’m being well taken care of, I’m being pampered with great services, and, most importantly, I’m being transported to the right destination of life, not of death.
After being perpetually brainwashed by deathly bus services in Malaysia, I’m still nervous to hop on any similar-looking express bus, but I’m taking a chance tonight. Who knows it’ll be different in Australia? It’s my first time getting on an interstate Express Coach Service, and I’m already feeling wonderfully different. At 80 km/ hour, Firefly Express takes the word “Express” to a whole new level. This bus will drag me to a 10-hour night affair on the road, promising a pleasant journey, ensuring the level of service that is second to none. And if that’s not enough, the bus driver also acts like a sports coach who trains his tough players on how to use a toilet.
“I hope you all will enjoy your ride tonight. Please use the onboard toilet properly. Don’t forget to flush away your bad attitude,” he says on the loud speaker, sending a deep and welcoming message to all passengers, treating us like his naughty children, making me feel nagged and protected by a father. I actually feel so safe listening to his witty ramblings. A nagging father who drives a bus. Perfect.
Right now, I’m sitting alone on an oversized seat, watching I Am Number Four on the tilting TV set. But I prefer to look outside the bus window, gazing hard at the darkness and nothingness of the night. As the bus is carrying my tired body, it is also carrying the heavy bus of memories within me. Like listening to a subtle tune that brings unknown but familiar pleasure, like smelling some fresh aroma that brings mysterious but intimate sensation, these whole bus experiences now bring back all the melancholic, swept-under-the-carpet stories to life. When was it the first time I took a long bus journey like this? It must be years ago.
BUS-FUL RITUALS
20 years ago to be exact. I remember feeling nervous when Ayoh and Ma was sending me away to a boarding school in Klang. I had my first long-distant bus journey that night from Pasir Mas, with Ayoh and Ma sitting close to me on that sad-looking bus, bringing along their prayers and blessings for me to carry into my new hostel life. The image of Ma carefully and patiently holding Ise, barely four years old, on her lap on that long rocking bus ride was still fresh in my mind. I was so young and looking forward to my new adventurous game in the west of Malaysia. How innocent!
Now, it’s all coming back to me, all the pain and joy that followed that night, from high school to university, the frequent trips from Kuala Lumpur to Kelantan, the rituals that accompanied each ride, the building anticipation like it was a holy pilgrimage to the holy land, the anxieties I had to consume at the Hentian Putra in Kuala Lumpur running helplessly and looking for the right bus, the strangers sitting next to me (I always hoped the mysterious passenger was a kind auntie who would look tenderly at me and tell me fascinating stories), the struggle with the deadly-freezing temperature, the sad-looking selection of foods at the Merapoh restaurant, the nervousness when I reached the Kota Bharu station in the wee hours of the morning, all happened within a long night of a great battle. Then, a whole new episode of rituals started rolling by again on my way back to Kuala Lumpur, the unfathomable looks on Ayoh’s and Ma’s faces, the alarming hand-kissing moments, the terrible surge of sorrow that was always there with me, the remaining leftover of thoughts, the resistance, the hangover suffocation…
Why should I remember all these naive memories again now? Maybe I should. Because, they are all slowly slipping my mind now, fading away like the swarm of strange commuters at the train station, evaporating like the mist in the morning, flying high and mixing up with all the other stain of life.
It’s still a long way to Melbourne. This bus journey will definitely take my whole night, but I don’t mind this slow ride. I’m listening to the soulful and jazz-ful music of my past life. I want to cherish all these memories, enjoy every last bit of meaningful moments, relish the blessed feelings while they still last, before the grim reality of statistics and bus nightmares in my homecountry starts kicking again in my conscience.
10 BIG Words for Adelaide
Just a few years ago, I learnt a lot of GRE (Graduate Record Examinations) vocabulary during my fatal struggle to enroll into one of the US universities. Although the scores for my verbal reasoning were not admirable enough and, sadly, I didn’t get admitted into any of the universities there, I still savour the fascination each time I encounter the same pompous, grandiloquent, weird-sounding words in any magazines or books. Today, I’m going to resurrect those words again and, hopefully correctly, describe my experiences in Adelaide, the fifth largest city in Australia.
1. SOPHISTRY
Sophistry means “elaborate, eloquent but logically invalid arguments intended to deceive .” When I first saw the city of Adelaide and was marveled by its engineering heritage, I recalled all the arguments and opinions of those who claimed that Adelaide is not worthy enough for a trip. However, the moment I touched the ground and witnessed the life here with my own eyes, my mind was spinning with amazement. Soon enough, I learnt that the Europeans have settled here in South Australia for 175 years (sure I have missed a lot of stuff, haven’t I?). Named after the Queen Adelaide, this well-planned city definitely gripped my attention that went beyond my imagination. Sometimes, what people say can be pure sophistry.
2. CONVALESCENCE
Convalescence means “gradual healing after sickness.” Well, I’m not seriously sick or anything, but being able to cruise along the North Terrace, one of the four terraces that surround the city of Adelaide, made me feel like I was walking along a Healthy Terrace. There were just so many places and buildings of great significance located at this famous cultural boulevard that could feed my intellectual and mental health: The South Australian Museum, The Art Gallery of South Australia, The University of Adelaide, The University of South Australia, just to name a few. After my successful intellectual “operation” here, I think my convalescence may last up to 100 years.
3. STRATAGEM
Stratagem means “a maneuver in a game.” I could see this deliberate, well-coordinated maneuver in the development of many squares and parklands around the city of Adelaide. I mean, why would the Adelaide City Council build such elaborate greeneries around the city? I’m sure they are intended to achieve noble goals that would benefit all Adelaideans, right? Okay, let’s check this fact out: there are 5 squares alone inside the city, plus 29 parks measuring 7.6 square kilometres that circle the city centre. Impressive, huh? So, it’s not a surprise to learn that these parks have been entered into the Australian National Heritage List. This is not an ordinary game. It’s the best stratagem.
4. SHAMBOLIC
Shambolic means “chaotic and very disorderly.” I had this wonderfully chaotic feeling when I was at the Rundle Mall, Adelaide’s premiere retail area. Opened as Australia’s first pedestrian street mall in 1976, Rundle Mall is still the most important retail centre in the city and is certainly way more chaotic than Bourke Street in Melbourne. Walking (or running) through this street, my mind was continuously tortured by the surrounding excitement from mall-goers and the endless choices offered by the mega stores, arcades and plazas. It’s the kind of chaos that would blind your logic and make you forget temporarily about your bank account balance. That’s why Rundle Mall was so shambolic.
5. MUNIFICENT
Munificent means “extremely generous.” I would tag this description to Adelaide’s very own Chinatown. Guarded by two paifangs and Chinese guardian lions, this precinct was so generous with sights and smells and sounds that were deafening my senses. Restaurants, grocery stores and markets sprawled along the Gouger Street that added more zest and life to my already hungry soul. Being surrounded by things so Asian in the midst of things so European could sometimes make me confused. How do I put all these confusing details in the right perspective? But that’s the magic of Chinatown, always complete with the munificent sum of cultures.
6. PLETHORA
Plethora means “excess of something.” The Adelaide Central Market is perhaps best described with this word. Established since 1869, this market has over 80 stalls and is South Australia’s best-known landmark, the heart of Adelaide. The range of fresh food, fruits, vegetables, seafood and cakes is just excessive. Struggling hard to walk among the excited traders and shoppers, I could smell the delicious aromas, glare at the vivid colours and cherish the atmosphere of a multicultural melting pot. I could just roam around here the whole day and be immersed into all this stimulating concoction. This food mecca is just over the top and full of plethora.
7. TRAVESTY
Travesty means “comedy that makes a mockery of something.” Sorry, I couldn’t help feeling a little ticklish when I rode the Glenelg Tram, Adelaide’s only remaining tramway. Being used to the vast tram network in Melbourne, the Glenelg Tram looked like a comedy to me. What’s more, I was amused when the officer asked me to pay the tram fares to the conductor who roamed freely on the crowded tram. While it looked a bit strange by the Melbourne standard, I admired the efforts to keep this tradition alive. And while machine and technology is now the order of the day, I still think it’s a good idea to have a real authority in the form of a friendly human being. However, this was so rare and, yes, a travesty.
8. SACROSANCT
Sacrosanct means “sacred.” That was how I felt when I visited the green heaven in the Adelaide Botanic Garden. Founded over 150 years ago, this garden might look like the same with the botanic gardens I have seen before. A closer inspection, nonetheless, revealed a lot more sacred treasures here. The garden’s tropical palm house, for example, showcases the precious collection of plants from the island of Madagascar. This heritage-listed glasshouse is still one of its kind in Australia. Not too far from the palm house is The Amazon Waterlily Pavilion, the exquisite glass palace that is home to the largest waterlily in the world. That, I think, is evident enough to claim that this garden is indeed sacrosanct.
9. LACHRYMOSE
Lachrymose means “showing sorrow and tears.” The River Torrens, the most significant and iconic river in Adelaide, showed just this. I walked along this clean and well-maintained river and could sense the untold stories beyond this extrinsic serenity. It was regularly visited by the “pop-eye” tourist boats, small paddle boats and black swans that further added its postcard-like elegance. The joggers and cyclist and lovers enjoyed the footpaths and riverbanks, participating in this natural extravaganza. I apologize for being romantic again, but I suspect there have been a lot of sad love stories being immortalized at this river. That’s why I could hear the music of love on the air, playing most of the time its lachrymose ballads.
10. AMELIORATE
Ameliorate means “to make better.” This was how I imagined my trip in Adelaide should end. Thank goodness, it happened when I was in Glenelg, a popular and scenic beach-side suburb of Adelaide. This is the oldest European settlement in South Australia since 1836. As I walked slowly (I mean, really slowly) along the beach, I envied those lucky residents who sat comfortably in the front-yard of their stylish houses that face the stunning views of coastal areas. I didn’t know how far I had walked, but I just kept going forward. When I was tired and decided to rest, I sat on a bench facing the beautiful sunset. Watching the blurring horizon far in the west, I thanked Adelaide for all the wonderful experiences that were certainly and badly needed to ameliorate my dry soul.
Make Your Day
We always say: “Thanks, you made my day!” Good things, apparently, always make our days. With all the blessings in our hands, we enjoy the rest of our blessed days and keep thanking our good parents or good friends or good lovers for making our days. We forget, sometimes, bad things can make our days, too. One of those bad things, unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), happened to me on my first day in Adelaide.
I woke up at the Sunny’s Adelaide Backpacker Hostel and remembered that the hostel’s manager had informed me earlier that free pancakes would be served in the morning. So, I ran fast to the kitchen and expected some hot, spongy, thick pancakes with honey syrup and melting butter served on some fancy plates. But, guess what, there was no sign of food. No pancakes. No honey syrup. No melting butter. Nothing.
I went to the reception and found the same manager behind the counter.
“Good morning,” I said nicely, trying not to sound too hungry or too desperate for pancakes.
“Good morning.”
“Er, I suppose there are pancakes at the kitchen right now?”
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”
“Are you the one preparing the pancakes?”
“Yes.”
“Should I wait?”
“Can’t you see I’m busy right now? I said 10 minutes! 10 minutes! 10 minutes! Okay?”
I was speechless. I didn’t know whether I sounded too hungry or too desperate for pancakes, but I certainly sounded so in the eyes of this angry manager. Poor little kid, hungry for food. Who does he think he is? A monkey?
For a few crushed pancake moments, I felt humiliated and belittled (very literally). I felt like checking out of this cheap hostel and just roaming aimlessly around the city, sulking the whole day over my unfulfilled pancake dreams. Then, suddenly, I realized that I was really acting like a poor, hungry little kid. And who is this manager? Who does she think she is? Is she the Manager of my Emotion? Does she have the power to make my day?
I didn’t know where the force and the energy came from, but I felt forceful and energetic. I waited patiently for the pancakes at the kitchen and, thank goodness, they were so worldly delicious. I thanked the manager for her beautiful culinary skills and, more importantly, for testing my patience and intelligence. I appreciate this rare opportunity of humiliation and belittlement. I got out of the hostel feeling cuter and taller than ever. At the end of my beautiful day in Adelaide, I discovered a great lesson never taught at the university – I just made my own day.
Yes, just remember, when people cause heartache or headache in our lives, just keep on walking. You’ll understand that you’re free to choose your destiny. You’ll make your day.
The Great Southern Rail
“I wanna jump off here! I wanna jump off here!” the little boy sitting in front of me keeps saying this little mantra to his indifferent mother. For a few disturbing moments, I thought the boy really meant to jump off the train and therefore proving any psychological disorder that he might be experiencing, probably being mentally abused by his psychotic mother or drunk father at home. But after a while, I am relieved to realise that the boy is just being excited and thrilled with what he sees outside the glass panel of the train, as excited and thrilled as I am, only I don’t have the guts to say, “I wanna jump off here too!”
Train travel, with all its rattling adventures and overwhelming luxuries, is still one of my favourite childish sports. It’s like taking a poetic pilgrimage to Eternal Bliss and Peace. Passing the spectacular Australian landscape and memorable open spaces always makes me jump out of my seat. Picture Perfect is at every turn and corner; lakes sitting quaintly in the middle of well-manicured fields, sheep grazing sleepily on gently-sloped hills like polka dots on a pretty dress, wildflowers blooming freely along the rail like a long carpet waiting for royal arrival, the greeneries that are never tired of their exotic tapestry and intricacies.
The train that I’m riding now is part of the larger web of Australian chain-trains called The Great Southern Rail. It is dubbed as “Australia’s Great Train Journeys”, which I absolutely agree. I have yet to book The Ghan (between Adelaide and Darwin), or The Indian Pacific (between Sydney and Perth) or The Southern Spirit (between Adelaide and Brisbane), but I can already tell they are all worth the booking. Right now, I’m so proud to be riding on one of their famous routes, called The Overland, which is taking me from Melbourne to Adelaide.
Established for more than 100 years, Emu has been the symbol for The Overland (see there?). It is for this “animalistic” reason that I decided to opt for a train ride instead of boarding a cheap flight: to fly gracefully through the wide open land (like Emu!). Starting at the Southern Cross Station in Melbourne at 8 o’clock sharp in the morning, the train crosses the Australian outback for 828 kilometres and takes ten and a half hours to reach the Keswick station in Adelaide. Moving at 85 km/ hour, there are no other better (and slow) ways to immerse yourself and appreciate the kaleidoscopic treasures that Australia has to offer. It’s the best way to relax and fly (or jump off, if you prefer so).
Surprisingly, the standard of service is of high class and admirable dedication. I don’t really mind if there are unexpected delays or unforeseen technical glitches. For the record, I am so used to being around poor train services in Malaysia. But but, I refuse to describe those experiences as “horrible” or “tragic”. I’d rather remember them fondly and highlight the best parts of them – being able to witness the romantic wilderness and being accompanied with the glorious side of loneliness – solitude. Illegitimate and private thoughts have never been so ripe and juicy and ready to pick on a lonely train journey, right?
Alas, no matter how beautiful (or how painful) the journey is, there will come a point when you have to end it somewhere at a chosen destination. Like a movie, there is a happy or sad ending. I’m lucky since my chosen course is as beautiful as the journey. Adelaide is welcoming me with all her magic and enchantment. I feel like jumping off the train now. Er, where is that little boy?
Wintering in Adelaide
Adelaide is pretty her face looks so bright
She says, “Dear Cekmi, are you ready for tonight?”
I say, “Sorry, darling, I don’t feel quite alright”
Reality is stark and it always does bite
“So what are you doing here?” Adelaide asks a cute question
“I don’t know, why do I feel like I’m at a boring bus station?”
“Whoa you sound like an old man with a huge pension and mansion”
“Haha that’s not what I mean but thank you for your attention”
Adelaide is smiling and I am still not fine
The words don’t rhyme maybe they are not mine
Tell me how so I can follow the sign
Save me now I am hanging on the line
Victoria Square
Adelaide
Healesville Sanctuary
I know this sounds silly, but hear ye hear ye: after visiting the Melbourne Zoo, the Werribee Open Range Zoo and (recently) the Healesville Sanctuary, I think I have accomplished one of the most important wildlife missions on earth; I have completed The Trilogy of Melbourne Zoos! Haha.
Yes, it feels like I have watched all the movie trilogies like The Jurassic Park or The Lord of The Rings or The High School Musicals or The Matrix or The Mummy or Transformers or Spiderman or I Know What You Did Last Summer! Huhu.
“But who cares? Animals? Aren’t they all the same?” my friend’s voice is still echoing somewhere at the back of my mind, like my mother’s sweet voice from my childhood. Well, thank you for the advice, my dear friend, but you are not my mother. I’m sorry you have lost your child-like wonders, so you can go back to your own world playing with your matured friends who are no different than the animals I have seen in the Melbourne Zoos. Ouch.
Oh, where were we?
Yes, Healesville Sanctuary.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I am feeling high and dizzy, like I am a party animal dancing with hippy creatures at the Tarzan Club of Hedonism. I refuse to let go of my amazement every time I encounter these amazing little arts of God. I can hear what they say, fighting for my attention.
The Emu: “Hello, Cekmi! I’m a national bird of Australia. Just so you know, I have a prominent place in Australian Aboriginal mythology!”
The Koala: “Excuse me, I’m a cute arboreal herbivorous marsupial. I’m part of the Aboriginal cultures and legends in Australia too!”
The Kangaroo: “Whoa! Who doesn’t know me? I’m a national symbol of Australian cultures!”
The Platypus: “Wait a minute. I’m an iconic symbol of Australia too. Can’t you see me at the back of your Australian 20 cent coin?”
The Dingo: “Yo! I’m the country’s largest terrestrial predator. I play the most important role in Australia’s ecosystem, okay!”
The Tasmanian Devil: “Guys, listen up! I think I’m the most popular here. I’m the ambassador for Australian tourism, right?”
God bless these people.
Now, is there anyone out there who is kind enough to nominate me for the King-of-the-Zoo Award?
Gilbert’s Redemption
Have you redeemed anything in your life recently? Congratulations if you have redeemed an attractive voucher at a supermarket or a megastore, but that’s not what I mean. Redemption is more than monetary gain or shopping benefits or great savings. It requires faith and commitment that will repurchase your morality and dignity (and, again, that doesn’t include your Bonuslink points). Redemption, as the history dictates, has been found in so many ways.
Some have found it through music (well done, Susan Boyle).
Some have found it through books (well done, Helen Keller).
Some have found it through sports (well done, Lance Armstrong).
Some have found it through marriage (well done, er, Elizabeth Gilbert?).
Sorry, that very last redemption is still disturbing me. Because Ms Gilbert is a confused and confusing monster that will surely defeat the strongest Ultraman in Japan. Which is why I love reading her books. Her brilliant mix-and-match interplay between real-life events and academic narrations makes her a super-sensitive, hyper-dramatic, ultra-analytical writer. This latest memoir, called Committed: A Love Story, is not a chick-flicky and cheap-dirty book as it may sound. It unfolds, very seriously, a serious concept most human beings on earth have been subject to since the very beginning of that great Adam-and-Eve love story – the unification of body and soul. These days, the authorities all over the world, religious and secular, call it Marriage. And through her unfathomable mind, Ms Gilbert explores marriage and its surrounding issues – surprises, expectation, history, infatuation, women, autonomy, subversion and ceremony – which makes this memoir a brilliant masterpiece written for those who are always curious and looking for questions while not expecting for perfect answers.
Speaking of questions, I have similar ones that have always baffled me for so many years. To begin with, I have yet to redeem any significant achievements in any relationship. In case you are wondering, I hardly chicken out of matrimonial affiliations and its added values called commitment. I, in fact, always cherish my freedom and independence by putting myself at risk and being committed to the things I am wild at, like books and studies and experiments and boring stuff like that. But, yes, I heard what you said – those are inanimate objects, right? How about a breathing soul with feelings and emotions? I’m sorry, folks. For the record, I have failed miserably in this department; I’m a hard-boiled egg who needs a divine intervention (and a good spanking) to crack open. Nevertheless, given a blessed chance (and a good spanking), I’m all ready to redeem my wretched failures through some sort of agreement that good men and women around the world have been committed to. Ms Gilbert has at least done that. She inspires me with her uncanny stories and thoughts.
Here is a beautiful excerpt from the book that still leaves me breathless:
“… marriage is what happens between the memorable
We often look back on our marriage years later
and all we can recall are the vacations and emergencies
the high points and low points
The rest of it blends into a blurry sort of daily sameness
But it is that very blurred sameness that comprises marriage
Marriage is those two thousand indistinguishable conversations
chatted over two thousand indistinguishable breakfasts
where intimacy turns like a slow wheel …”
Maybe Ms Gilbert’s redemption was discovered through this slow wheel of marriage, but redemption comes in so many forms in our everyday lives. The question is, have you redeemed yours?
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