Know what it feels like to be split in two? To have a fine dotted line spliced right down your center and having both halves trade punches. Both sides bitchin' it out to come out on top, to give you a right and ready ultimatum. Problem is, they're so equally matched, like Son Goku and Superman. Attacks and counterattacks fire between them in rapid fire succession, leaving your battlefield of your body ravaged and tired, exhausted from all that turmoil. With less than a month away from my big departure, and nothing describes it better for me.
Everything feels like it's on a clock now. My heads on a permenant stopwatch. A big countdown till it's all over. ' One month left.... One month left... One month left...' it's all I can hear, it's all I can think about! One month left to play with my siblings. One month left to swear and joke around in my Saxish accent. Hell, I can't even have a Döner in peace without smacking it with a one month left label. From the moment I stumble out of bed till the second I lay my head down at night, this maniacal mantra of panic is endlessly looping round my head.
A side of me wants to stay so desperately. It wants to anchor itself down and reap all the fruits of its' hard, bloody labour. Learning German. Making new friends. Understanding a foreign family. Dealing with withering looks from strangers. To not let all that blood, tears, and effort be in vain. It wants to carry on the way things are. To enjoy the four seasons. To speak this peculiar German dialect. To be finally fit itself in the big Jigsaw puzzle after having to adapt itself for what seems like forever.
Meanwhile, the others side of me is having this massive erection at the prospect of homecoming. To finally be able to see friends and family again. To walk my dog again. To come home retuned and renewed, ready to take on the big bad world and start anew. A fresh start. To, after all this time being a fish out of water, finally be able to dive right back into familiar waters. Finally be able to get on with a life that I've been having on hold for 10 whole months.
And so thy bicker. A regret here, a sweet memory there. All the up's and down's resurface from my memory bank and go all out on each other. A racist remark versus the Alps. A scolding from my guest mother versus my first kiss. Being alienated from my classmates versus playing with my siblings in the backyard. Finally when the dust settles and I take a good look around, it always comes out even. Like two huge battalions blowing each other to smithereens leaving nothing but empty land. Neutral. Blank.
I hate this feeling. I hate coming out even. I mean, I should be feeling awesome right? I should be doing cartwheels and backflips whilst yelling about how epic this year was. I should be. Strangely enough, no. Instead, I'm lying down on my bed, staring blankly into the ceiling. Trying to soak it all up. Trying to wrap my head around the idea of leaving it all behind. Family. Friends. Food. Memories. Let me savour these last moments. Let me breathe before I take the plunge.
Plug in. That's what I bet you'll do. Block out everything else. Close the blinds on the natural scenery outside. Shut out the foreign conversation going on behind you. Occupy your mind with trivial things like todays Potd or Candy Crush. Create your own little imaginary bubble, where everything is secure, and nothing goes out of plan. Doesn't even matter where you are, be it on a train , in class or having a five-star dinner. Go on, I bet you will.
Technology and I have a bittersweet history. A romance, if I had to put a label on it. It started off sweet and innoncent, me playing with my Gameboy Color, catching Pokemon and beating Gym leaders. Got to the point where things turned bitter, me skipping class for days on end to jam on some DotA. To where I stand now, the insecurity of whether I should return to it or not. Like an ex-girlfriend that I never got over, I don't know if I should go back to technology.
I'm on the fence with this one. That plain white-picket fence between the great dilemma of the century. Embrace it, or sack it entirely. A part of me just wants to jump right back in and stop being left out. To start playing the newest installments like 'The Last of Us' and 'Grand Theft Auto V' and revell in the new technological revolution. Another part of me doesn't want to get hooked again, to go back to old habits.
On the sunny side of things, technology has made so many things possible. We are breaking new ground on a daily basis. Whether it be gene-splicing crops to give us more yield, or implanting robotic-action-organ-transplanting nanobots to repair dead cells in our bodies, we are achieving more and more of the impossible each day. These scientific advancements have become the core of our lives and how we live it. You couldn't even take a bite of food without technology playing it's role.
Consequently, all these headways in our lives have come to make us smug. Everything is fed to us. We need not lift a finger for anything nowadays. Want to buy some furniture? Well, screw Ikea. Just pre-order some authentic Asian furniture online and it'll be here in 2 weeks, along with assembly crew, if needed. Unnerving thing about this is, it's that the costs are indistinguishable and you need not even step out your front door.
You know what, I think I like where I stand. The line between Technological Junkie and Outdoors Woodsman. The tightrope between the old and new. Being able to recognize the newest memes and still be able to distinguish the edible mushrooms from the ones that'll make you spill your stomach. To be capable of beating noobs in a friendly game of DotA 2 and still enjoy a jog in the woods. That's what I want to be. A technological middle-man.
Right foot up. Halt. Left arm outwards. Index and middle finger into that small depression. Pray. Don't look down. Hold on tight, for dear life. There's a time in every man's life where he finds himself asking ' What the hell did I get myself into? ' And as I kept repeating that statement over and over again in my head, I held on tight to that cliff. So tight that my fingers chaffed and my toes swelled with what looks like it'll turn into blisters afterwards.
Couple of days earlier, I recieved an innoncent-looking invitation to go climbing. A Sunday get-away to the Saxonian mountains where all you could see or hear was Mother Nature herself. Fresh air. Hiking. Sunshine. Not to mention the prospect of doing something novel to me. Why not? Impulsively, I jumped at the chance and promptly confirmed my enthusiasm for the idea. Next thing ya know, I'm slumped in an empty bus, trodding towards the mountains.
So here I am. Roughly 30 meters off the ground, plastered to the face of a sheer drop. I couldn't help myself as my breathing got heavier and heavier. The cold numbed my fingers and made it even harder to get a good hold on the harsh rocks. In spite of the safety line securely fastened around my waist I was still having a hard time not shitting my pants all together. Stealing a glance backwards, I saw my others comaradies all the way down there. Ants would look bigger.
Sitting pretty on top of this monstrosity of a mountain was Sabine, half-amused at how scared I looked and half-worried I might actually just slip and tear my spine in half, living my life paralyzed waist down. She was leaning over the edge, yelling instructions as to where to put my limbs and how to pull myself upwards. The encouraging look on her face was the only thing holding my wits together at the time.
With one last haul, I strained myself over the ledge and plopped myself on the plateau above. My breaths still heavy and damp with condensed mist. I didn't even care about the cold anymore, I was relieved. ' Enjoy the view. ' Sabine suggested. ' It's the best part.' And I did, with my palms facing backwards, I leaned onto them and took in the view. Trees and sunshine streaked the horizon, stretching far off my vision. Like poetry. Just as I was about to get comfy, she said ' Come on, it's a long way back down. '
Here it comes. They specifically warned me about this. They told me to prepare myself for when it hits. 'Be ready' they warned. It's the whiplash. It's the recoil when you fire a 12-gauge shotgun. It's the pain you get when you belly-flop from a 5 meter springboard into the pool. Cause every good feeling has an equally shitty one. And for awhile now, I've been having it good. Too good. Even if they made it clear, I still didn't believe them. Chuckled and shrugged it off. I thought this year was only going to be beer and pretty girls. Never have I been so mislead.
An exchange programme is like a game of high-stakes poker. High profits. High risks. High losses. And once you place your bets, there ain't no backing out. Only difference is, instead of money, you're betting with your all. Everything. Your time. Your efforts. Your body. Your emotions. It's all on the line in an exchange programme. You're throwing yourself into the far end, where only your choices and wit can save you. And like any bet, you win some, you lose some.
Out here, you own nothing. No family. No lovers. No friends. Nothing but the clothes on your back and the toiletries you brought along with you. Even the family you stay with, they can drop you like a sack of potatoes at a moment's notice. Send you packing to another family crazy enough to shelter you. There's no comfort zone. Every place another violation. There is no refuge. A small slip-up can well ruin your day and send you running into your room, crying for mummy, only she isn't there. No one is.
The volunteers in Malaysia, they described it as a roller-coaster. A high-low trade kinda deal. Where the highs scrape the skies and the lows could literally break you, with all the little loopy-doops in between that churns you from the inside-out. There isn't a doubt in my mind, that the best and the worst experiences that I've had so far are all crunched up into these measly 10 months. From feeling the warm touch of young love, to being socially alienated, it's all here. All part of the package.
Truthfully, there are days where I wish I never chose to come here at all. When strangers make fun of me and keep yelling 'Ni Hao' while slitting their eyes. When my classmates don't talk to me and leave me to sit alone in a class I barely understand. When my guest parents and I argue about house rules and how it should be carried out. On these days, I just feel like jumping on a plane back home where I'll proceed to hug my parents and enjoy a meal of Grandma's home-cooked food.
But no matter how low it gets, no matter how shitty or worthless I feel right now, I know for a fact there'll be another high waiting for me at the horizon. And it's gonna feel like sunshine and chocolate cakes when I get there. I just have to wait it out. Wait out the storm. Momma told me time and time again 'Smooth seas never make a skillful sailor.' This'll be the last storm before we hit harbor. The last storm before we hit home.
An awkward silence fell upon us in the car as the blaring radio continued to fill us up with the newest pop songs. It wasn't because we didn't like each other or anything, quite the contrary in fact, we've come to be family. A moment of companionable silence as we pondered how fast time slipped between our fingers. 3 weeks in the bat of an eye. It didn't get much better once we reached the train station either. We hugged, and I left.
There they go. Another family that blew my mind with their unprejudiced kindness and bold-faced hospitality. How easily they welcomed a foreign stranger into their home and treated me nothing short as a son of their own. A slitty-eyed, language-impaired son, but a son nonetheless. I wish I could thank them enough for their generosity, but I know no amount of gifts or material possesions could cut it. So I left them with kind words and memories. I'm a cheap bastard like that.
I've been given a grand total of 6 weeks of summer holidays here in Germany. Six weeks to see it all. Six weeks to do it all. Six weeks of freedom before that prison of a school starts rounding up all it's convicts again. Five weeks in, and I'm already slumped in my recliner, half-dead from a blocked nose and a back that's screaming bloody murder from sleeping on a rock-bed of a mattress. But I still had that smug look on my face. A smug look that said :' It's been a hell of a ride.'
Maybe it was the places I visited. From the towering trees of the Black forest to the actual towers of Berlin, and all the gooey bits in between. I've had the treat of seeing them. It's humbling really, when I realise how tiny my world really is. To have my definitions and boundaries of the world shattered bit by bit as I travel around this part of Europe. An occasional crystal-clear river or a perfect sunset over the horizon shows me how big the world really is, and how small my problems really are.
Maybe it was the things I've done. They say novelty is key to a happy and healthy mind. There's been no shortage of that. Whether it's slaving over a hot stove for the family or strumming on guitar strings for the first time, this summer has been an eye-opener. It doesn't matter what you do really, long as you step out and take a bat at some new things. After all, it ain't about how much you know, it's about how much you know you don't, and making the effort to.
Maybe it's the people I've met. An 18 year-old vegetarian bombshell. A rock climber whose also a single mom. An Argentinian photographer who plans on taking on Iceland. All sorts of people from all walks of life, each one sharing a bit of their story with me. A bit of their lives. And their stories have done everything from inspiring me to making me want to pull the trigger on myself. And to think, there's 7 billion more of them out there, each one special in their own quirky way.
A big shame now that it's almost over though. There's something about having too much fun in one time. Once you get back to your normal routine, you're bound to feel the recoil of reality. Sorta like the monday blues. I guess I'll just cuddle myself up into a ball and indulge on all the Nutella I can until I get into the jive of things again. Momma did always tell me:' Don't be sad because it's over, be glad it happened.' And I'm damn glad I had this summer.
I chuckled pretty hard when you showed me this picture. Maybe it's the buck-teeth-monkey-grin on my face. Maybe it's that yellow floor-rag of a T-shirt that I was wearing. Maybe it's the fact that I've outgrown you so much since I was 12. ( You mad, short-stuff? ) Or maybe it was the sweet taste of victory that came shortly after winning our bet. Oh sweet, sweet Magnum. Remember how I didn't even like nuts in my Magnums' back then? Classic Magnum was all the rage for me.
But after staring at it for awhile, I realised it was probably none of those things that made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Not the ice-cream. Not the familiar bugs-bunny teeth that I could drink soup with my teeth clenched. And sure as hell not that floor-rag of a shirt that's wiping up faecal remains back home. No, it was probably none of those long-forgotten things. It was you, zhe. The fact that everything else in that photo changed, but you sticked around.
I know it's probably too little too late, but I'd like to apologize for how I made your younger days much harder than it should've been. First born's gotta always take the shit for the rest of the siblings, something I sorta picked up here in Germany.The way I whined and cried about everything. The way I bitched to mom about how you locked me out of your room with your teenage friends. And let's not forget how I air-guitared you all the way to the bathroom. No elaboration needed there.
But, oh no, I didn't stop there did I? I had to go and mess up your teenage years as well. The way I slid across the living room floor butt-ass naked was more than enough to send your best-friends packing away in embarassment. Or how I was like the BIGGEST cock-block ever whenever you brought boys back home. Oh god, the more I think about it, the more I feel like slapping myself as a kid. I probably ruined a lot of plans you had.
Not only was I a bane on your social-life, I think you had to bear the brunt of our family problems too. As the unappointed chief of our two-man sibling tribe, you probably cleared a lot of air with mom and dad about the do's and dont's to raising a teenager. You were the first. The first to hit puberty. The first to move out. The first to go to university. You were the toe in cold water before the icy plunge of childhood-raising. So when the time came for me to undergo the magic of puberty, they already roughly knew what to expect.
Growing up, I never really had an answer to those :' Whose your role model? ' questions. I just settled for Steve Irwin whenever someone asked, cause he's all brave and shit. ( and he was actually really brave) But what's he ever taught me? The hidden dangers of stingrays? Well, it might be too late to answer those 'whose your idol' questions now, but I do have an answer. And I don't even need to look far, cause she's sitting right beside me in our little family tree.
A writer, a musician, and more recently, a doctor. That's like the pinacle of our asian mentality! What everyone should be like. Damn, my sisters' actually a doctor now. How am I ever gonna match that? Way too ease off that inter-sibling expectation, zhe. Now I gotta be some PHD or something so Mom and Dad can look at us in the same room, haha. You're one whose so far up in society, and yet, so close to home. Who could make a better role-model?
Other brothers probably buy expensive shoes or jewelry for their sisters' birthdays. Don't tell me you don't need those materialistic things, cause I know you like the bling-bling. But I'm just sitting here, 10000 kilometres away from home, typing on a keyboard for you. Another plain example of how I fail in the sibling-love category. I have still to match that PS2 you bought for me, someday I will, when I got the moolah. But for now, this will have to do.
Happy Birthday zhe, kep rocking and stay awesome like you are. We'll see each other soon in Germany.
Lots of love,
Marcus
Don't take me for a creep or anything, but I have a confession. Feel free to feel weirded out or judge me during the course of your read, but at least hear me out. I like walking around graveyards and reading other people's gravestones. I like reading the names and the lifespans of the long passed. No, I'm not a grave robber, neither am I some sort of sadist looking for his kicks. It's just something about graveyards that sober me up, you know? Like a cold splash of water in the morning after a night of too much sleep.
In my defense though, the graves here in Europe and really pretty to look at. They're lined with colorful flowers and neatly trimmed bushes. Occasionally, when a dearly departed is still being payed respect, I might even spot a full bouquet of flowers lying next to the graves. It's the gravekeepers job to keep them fresh, even graves over 50 years old look brand-new. To top it off, the golden-lettered engravings etched in marble give me all the more reason to marvel them.
Aw, who am I kidding, if I really wanted some marble and flowers, I'd have visited a florist or some fancy porcelain store. No, there's something a little bit darker about the graveyards that keep me visiting. Maybe it's the solemn atmosphere. Maybe it's the peaceful surroundings. Or maybe I'm just still trying to see if ghosts exist or not. But wait, there's more. I sort of have my own little game that I play whenever I visit graveyards. No, don't worry, I give the dead and departed ample respect whenever I visit.
I like looking for the young ones. I've actually spent hours scrounging and combing graveyards, looking for a young death. A 10 year old boy. A 2 year old infant. It doesn't matter to me. Long as they're young. Long as they're young enough to feel innoncent. The youngest I've found was barely over a year old. An infant, barely strong enough to walk, ripped and taken away from this world. A soul, deprived of it's chance to live. Deprived of it's chance to love.
There's just something about a young death that sparks my thoughts into flames. They were so young. So innoncent. So pure. Now, I'm not a man of God. But I like to believe that there's a little bit of karma exists in this world. Do good, get good, you know? But it's things like a young death that pull me into the harsh reality of the two biggest things that make our world. Of the miracle of life and the tragedy of death. Of how one cannot exist without it's significant other.
Sadistic as it sounds, I actually feel a tiny bit happier when I leave a graveyard. Happier in the fact that I can still breathe fresh air. Happier in the fact that I can still feel sunshine on my skin. Happier in the fact that I can still enjoy a breathtaking view. Happier that I'm still alive. Yea, I guess death is somewhat of a sad tragedy. But sometimes it takes a tragedy for you to realise what a miracle really is. The miracle of our lives.
