The Beauty We Find When We Aren't Looking

There is a reason why I write rarely. I can find lots of pretty justifications - (1) Work is such a big part of my life and I can't write about Work as Work is Confidential, (2) I write so much as part of my Work that I can't write anymore in my free time - kind of like a comedian who doesn't tell jokes in his personal life or a Cook that does not cook family meals and (3) the ever trusty, classic Writer's Block.

The truth is less pretty. The truth is that I'm afraid I can no longer write anything beautiful. I am scared of producing personal words and realising how plain they are, hence how plain I am. I am afraid, I guess, of facing myself. I paused here for a while and contemplated if I should delete that line - "I am afraid, I guess, of facing myself". There is always the desire, however hard one tries to suppress it, to paint one's self in a good light. In this novel in which we write, who of us are writing as if we are the bad guys? Or more precisely, does any of us imagine ourselves as one of the minor characters in the novel - maybe that secondary character who was at the dining table and told one joke - and that's it - that's all the role he'll ever play.

But I do force myself to write. To make it an activity, a habit even. Everyone has a different mode of self-reflection - but we all need that mode. If one does not live consciously, one perhaps does not live. One is just an apple, waiting to ripen and to fall off a tree. And, so, let's abruptly transition now, to a reflection of my Penang trip in August!



When I recollect it now, the first sentence that pops into my head is: Penang is such a dusty town. I remember the first cab ride from the airport to town, it's always full of anticipation. You watch the windows with such intensity, it is as if you imagine a dinosaur is going to come down the road at any moment - yes, at any moment, don't blink! And then, we arrived at our hotel, and immediately the heat hits me and than the DUST. Penang makes me feel like it's an old dusty cowboy-like town, except instead of cowboys and sheriffs, we have incredibly talented hawkers and taxis waiting to rip you off.



And then, the next thing that hits you is that you feel anachronistic - you feel out of sync, you feel out of time. It is as if you were a modern person walking around in 1960s, or however I imagine 1960s to be - which is slightly peaceful and off-coloured. So, we dropped off our bags, and we started wandering around Georgetown as if we were time-travellers, wandering into our childhood. Oh, it really felt like my childhood - when everything around me felt so old and established, and I felt eternally small and young. Oh, the buzzing cars and motorcycles and the streets that felt like puzzles to cross. And all the different mosaic floors. It was, in all sincerity, beautiful. Beautiful in the way you spend an afternoon in your Grandma's house - it is everything you have grown up with, it is not exciting but it is so real that you feel that if you paused, completely pause for an instant, it is as if you are capturing a moment that would stay with you for as long as you believe in simple things.



We had a reason for going to Penang. Besides the cheap flights and the fact that we could double our spending power, we came to Penang because we wanted to see fireflies. I've never seen fireflies in my whole life. Although sometimes, I wonder, if I did when I was young, or I was merely imagining beautiful little lightbulbs now in my memory, kind of like imaginary childhood friends, but in this case, imaginary childhood fireflies.

So, we waited eagerly for the driver to come pick us up for our long journey to some secluded part of a forest, around some secluded mangrove swamp/river. This was a real journey of faith - because not only must one trust the driver will not abandon you at some remote corner, one must believe in fireflies in this world in which we constantly erode. There were constant warnings of not getting your expectations up too high - fireflies won't come up when it rains, their habitats have been destroyed over the years, there are hardly any left. On the first night, it rained. It not only rained terribly, the windows of the car that came to picked us up got jammed. Hence, we were stuck in this car that was getting rained in. Literally. We aborted the first journey.

The second time, the weather appeared well. I prayed to see the fireflies so badly, I must have sat cross-legged and cross-fingered all the way. We did get to see it in the end. No words can describe that feeling when you first realised THOSE are fireflies. And, you realise, there's so many things left in this world that can make you feel like a child again - to make you stand in awe of the world and want to cry. And I thank God for all the magic in this world. At the start of the boat journey into the darkness, the kids in front of us cried: Are we there yet? Mid-way through the journey, the kid cried: Why are we still here? The kids didn't really appreciate the fireflies. In fact, the people who appreciated them most were the three precocious teenage boys that directed our boat. I found the expression of their faces really beautiful - it was pure joy. No matter what they grow up to be, I hope they always remember that for a few nights (however many), they drove a boat in the darkness, and loved finding fireflies.




At the end of our trip, I asked him what was the best part of the trip for him He said, "Old Trafford Burgers". It was this special stall that only opened late at night, two streets down from our hotel. The Old Trafford Burger was a gigantic burger with four slices of meat. Even today, he speaks of it in a tone of awe.

For everyone else, just keep your eyes open as you wander in Georgetown. Don't miss Love Lane. There's nothing on this lane. Absolutely nothing. It doesn't even seem to lead anywhere. And that's why I love it.