Monday, Dec 8, 2008 11:50AM / Members only
an addiction
a place to hide
my escapism
Ok, I can't be poetic, I do not have that flair.
It's been a while since I've come in here, feels like I've missed out a year. Alive Not Dead still hadn't change much, yer? Still Alive with all that media buzzzzzzzzzz. I think I've grown. Not exactly wiser, but a hell load happier. It's december, baby! My favourite month. It's pouring outside, gentle breezes just whisking through the openings of the window. I can already hear the hums of Liz Callaway...
Dancing bears
Painted wings
Things I almost remember,
And a song someone sings
once upon a december
Someone holds me safe and warm,
horses prance through a silver storm,
Figures dancing gracefully,
across my memory,
(singing aaaaa with the melody)
Someone holds me safe and warm,
horses prance through a silver storm,
Figures dancing gracefully,
across my memory,
Far away, long ago
things I yern to remember
and a song someone sings
Once upon a December
And a song someone sings
Once upon a December
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Sunday, Sep 28, 2008 2:40PM / Members only
Its one of the biggest thing that has ever happened to me, an overseas trip with no parents. From the eighth to twenty-first of the month we went to this small village to do "community work". Concrete-fy the school field, clear the drain and built a wall. We only really participated in the first task, just taking out the soil. The locals did the rest in tenfold of our speed. Even the kids do them faster than us. I hate us, city spoilt brats.
We lived in a local's house which is about 10 footsteps away from the primary school, the place we spent half of our time in, playing with the primary school kids and teaching them English in the afternoon.
There are alot of getting used to in the village. Toilet facilities were one. Normal toilets were without cubicles, only knee-length walls separating one squat from the other. Yeah, there are ONLY squats. But since we're living in somebody's house, we were discounted from the humiliation of exposing one's butt while in the midst of a 'business'. I applaude myself for bathing in cold water for the 2 weeks and boy, does my skin and hair feels good. It's my first - doing a big one on a squat. Ok, too much infomation.
The locals don't bathe that often, they smell okay as the village air is fresh. Even sweat smells okay. I see the kids changing clothes only after three days (at least), nose-digging and farting are customary. I have gotten used to throwing my biodegrabable rubbish on the sidewalks, biting my tongue to prevent myself from asking where's the rubbish bin again.
The locals often ask, 'Are you bored ?' What's the difference between city and village? I will find myself ponder everytime I'm questioned. The city is full of rubbish. And the village is not. Rubbish - dead or alive - are abundance in the city. Rubbish in the stores, rubbish in morality etc.
I really love the village life. I'm thinking of ways to go back there...make a substantial living there. Maybe I could become a writer of some sorts or a musician, writing and making my music within the seclusion of the wilderness. Or I could open up an arts school teaching kids martial arts, dance, music etc, citing that there is no such facility available there or in the whole town. All the wasted talent! This could be my drive in life. But then again, someone else might have done it while I'm still struggling to perfect my craft. Ok, rid those eeevil thoughts.
My favourite part of the trip is, of course, the kids. Everyone who went there miss the kids like hell. No one has recovered from the jet-lag yet, even though we've touched down back home for exactly a week. They're sensible, strong, adorable, sincere, innocent, pure, honest, disciplined...I could sing praises for them forever. They are what true kids should be like. Jumping around, climbing trees, eating wild fruits plucked from trees, trekking up mountains...work those developing limbs! Don't just sit there and play with the latest PC/Xbox/PSP games, whine all day and get materialistic.
There's not one fat kid in the village. I witnessed a first one in the city and shouted, "Hey, a fat kid!" McDonalds', KFC and Pizza Hut were around the corner. Not accusing.
I spent the most of my time with the kids, developing great, close friendship with some of them. Its hard not to be close when you see each other 24/7 for 2 weeks, even with the fellow school mates who went on the trip with me. I even dreamt about them at night. Its inevitable. I'm deprived of dreaming materials. They are all I see in the day.
The kids are fascinated with our cameras and we lend our them our cameras to shoot their stuff. Alot of the pictures are really cute. Shot with child-like innocence. After the first five days, my camera was spoilt. Something fishy with the mechanics in there. Some kid might have dropped it.
We went climbing up a few mountains, going for house visits, a two days-one night students' home stay, walking for an hour to town, get soaked in refreshing spring water, catching a glimpse of a village funeral, a temple ceremony, alot of firecrackers, speeding helmet-free on a motorbike, shop like never before in the 2 cities, boarded the BRT, visited universities...
I felt a little closer to my roots. I know how I would look like if my grandfather hadn't sailed down from there to here half a century ago. 90% of the villagers bore the same first name as me. I noticed a couple of my fellow countrymen residing there. That's where I wanna be.
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