The Day Before

A bag of fruits, a container of cake. Some Balinese coffee and some batteries. I left my Chinon in the school's guestroom, hoping perhaps, that it'll be used on our road trip home on Sunday.
My lack of a second language and my constant embarassment about it could have led to starvation, if not for reconstituted food products. I could walk out to the shops and stumble through basic communication for a plate of rice/noodles, but I prefer the safety of my room, and the stillness it provides. Whenever I walk out, I make myself vulnerable. When I wear my black pointy shoes and step out, I wear somebody over me. When I retreat into my room, it is removed and I find a moment of rest.

Maybe these past seven months is to give clarity and shape what is to come. I cannot wait for April to arrive. The beginning of another phase of uncertainty, but this time, uncertainty that will have been made certain by what is happening now, and had happened this year.

Tomorrow I'll board the train, with my bag packed with fresh laundry, food and love.

Notes

I'm writing this in my own room - sparsely fitted, but comfortable. It is quiet now, the kids are probably at the canteen having dinner, but otherwise it is usually a ruckus, with kids running down and up, feet trampling and voices yelling. Every morning at 6.30am I am awoken by a playlist of Chinese pop music blaring from speakers. Yesterday included a Mandarin rendition of Pussycat Dolls' When I Grow Up.

The town is not a skip and a stone's throw away, so I went to the supermarket after arriving to buy a week's worth of subsistence. Right now in my room there is a jar of Nutella, tinned food, instant noodles, Burmese coffee (from home), a bag of apples, and anything that can be made just by adding hot water. On the menu for dinner tonight: Instant mushroom soup or cup noodles, and maybe an apple.

Singapore plans for the weekend axed. I think getting a supply of clean clothes overrides even the (irresistible) lure of Muji.

It has been a gruelling test of sorts, but I'm relieved that almost half of it is done.

Also, farewell Uncle Matthew. I wish I were home, and not miles away, so I can say goodbye. Thank you for being such an inspiration and encouragement, for your giving heart, and for being a great friend to my dad even after he slipped away from church.

If the sea should swallow up my house, I will turn the rooftop inside out and the wind will be wailing, but I will be sailing, faster

(click pic for big)


I haven't started packing yet. In fact, my clean laundry's still outside sunning itself. But I know what is definitely going into my suitcase.

A quick break for coffee and to post this, before I resume (and ideally, finish) this tedious exam paper-marking. Listening to A Fine Frenzy is helping a little.

Another period of uncertainty and working out faith. Fourteen days of being thrown into the deep end of the lake (for the -th time this year) with nothing to hold on to except His hand.

These past three days have already given me some neat stories to tell, and there will be more after this is over. And the next post will be from a little room that isn't my own, or from across the peninsula border.

See ya then.



*Axe the sewing kit. I've just been given an extra three-hour workload, so there goes my crafting plans.

These Hallways

It's Wednesday. It's Soto Ayam Day.

The office is charmingly stuffy, with whispers of after-exam gossip and shoptalk. The hallways are noxiously full of gleeful students, chatting about who's the class bitch, about Beyonce/All American Rejects, who's the bigger idiot in the group, etc. in squeaky, hyperbolic tones. Sometimes, kids, can please try a little subtlety ah.

This is not healthy. All these is not healthy.

I've been spending my short breaks compiling a Google map full of pins on places I hope to visit. Next, I need to make lists of things to bring and buy, and then attempt to pack. But before that, I need to finish this pile of marking, assessments and exam papers. And then there's this puppetry workshop I need to conduct tomorrow.





If this isn't brilliant, I don't know what is.

Last weekend we whipped up a meal for Rach and Reb. An excellent way of spending a Sunday, and an equally excellent way of celebrating birthdays.

Railway Town

Two weeks of semi isolation, with only books, writing and maybe an odd DVD or two for companionship. I might or might not have Internet. There is however, a big mall a hop and skip away, should I need to remind myself of home.

Perhaps this time away will help me sort some things that have been floating around in my head. A retreat from the constant doing and moving.

I'm slightly anxious, but also excited.

Also, I've found what could possibly be the prettiest dress on earth.

Chasing After Daylight

While we piled our bags onto the boat, there were mixed feelings of 1) a desire to return to the hotel for a proper shower, and 2) a reluctance to leave, like you've left something halfway done, unfinished.

The trip was too brief. Before we could settle in it was time to say goodbye. 3 hours of engines droning and we'll be on the road again. Back to the dusty town of Bogale, and closer to leaving it behind and back to the familiarity of home.

As the boat rattled through the riverways, there were dark clouds behind us, rain and winds chasing us from behind. Drifting in and out of sleep, suddenly one of the boatmen gestured to us to look out. There was a waft of a terrible stench, and then we saw it - a body floating facedown in the river. Floating around it were uprooted tree trunks and debris. The heavy clouds might have had chased and caught up with him while he was in the middle of the waters.

There was silence before one of us, seeing that the boat wasn't stopping but steadily moving on, asked if we were going to stop and help. Aren't we going to do something, she asked with urgency. They said that there is nothing that could be done.

At that moment I felt fear. Behind us were dark clouds moving in, and 1) I cannot swim, and 2) I cannot swim. So far throughout the trip unpleasant things like these were the furthest from my mind, and even during the parts where we anticipated difficulty, we managed to cruise through okay. But despite the scary possibility of a young Malaysian girl drowning in the Irrawaddy rivers, this I know to be true: It was Him who shielded us, and we hadn't the need or time to worry because we had our sights on Him and the task at hand.

I had initially written this in our missions report, but I didn't want to scare the parents of potential young 'uns who might go on the next trip, so I omitted it. The focus here is not the death we had seen, but the many other remarkable things that He had revealed to us. The focus here is not the possibility of harm, but His promise of protection.

Clutter

The day started out with a realisation that I did not have enough money to buy the storage units I had eyed while at IKEA last week (after a life-saving dinner of swedish meatballs with some very cool people *cough ahem*). So while looking for my coffee press in the store room, I found these odd-sized water bottle boxes, empty and flattened (my family drinks copious amounts of this brand of oxygenated water). In a fit of industriousness I decided to dedicate the rest of my day to some mean DIY.

The boxes were sturdied up, wrapped in cheap paper and then sprayed with adhesive. Covered them in fabric (note box no.3 - ironing skills phail) and made signage holders with clear plastic. It was nicely therapeutic. I've a 5th box made with printed fabric - of lotus leaves, birds and flowers.

I might have just found the long-sought after solution to organising my art and craft supplies.

While sorting out my room I went through piles of old things. I have shoe boxes of keepsakes from when I was 10 or 12. Gifts from friends, photos from high school (and me with centre-parted hair, horror), letters, postcards and even the paper parachute which won us first place in an aerodynamic* competition. And diaries which made me cringe so badly. Newspaper clippings of our plays, and my first newspaper-published book review (I was 12).

There's a box labelled 'London, York 2008 and 2009' which is unfortunately, rather empty. Maybe I don't hoard as much as I did back then. It's easier now to let go and throw.



This is the view from our room in Yangon, taken moments before the camera gave way and gave up. There was a temple just next door, and every morning we would wake up to chanting that sounded like it came from a karaoke machine. There's a railway station amongst the green.

I had a cup of 'Shwe Pu Zun' coffee yesterday morning, bought in a flurry at a supermarket near Bogyoke Market. After some deft Googling, I found that it is produced by a bakery cum cafe that grows their own Arabica beans.



* Basically we had to create a contraption that would ensure our egg (christened Bert the III) didn't become a yolky mess after being thrown from the 3rd floor.