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.
I'm sitting there at the passenger side of the car, my temples layed heavily on the window, smearing it with my oily-ass face. My gaze was lazy as I watched traffic and buildings pass by. Damn, this was boring. I thought I've seen all there is to see. Nothing left to explore. No spark. In a lot of ways, I was pretty arrogant. Arrogant in the fact that I never ceased the chances to explore. I was content with my little bubble of a world. Thinking all that's cool out there has already been seen and done. Truth is, I haven't seen shit yet.
Adventure wasn't exactly my favourite word in the teenage years. That time was mostly spent drooling and droning in front of a computer screen cultivating a world that doesn't exist. Frankly, I was a sad-bag of a kid. And I wonder still what awesome things I could have done with myself and all that time. Then again, I wouldn't BE me if it weren't for all that time wasted. I guess you never really know how to appreciate time until you've wasted a lot of it. Better late than never, huh?
Ever since I've had the priviledge of embarking to Germany for my exchange programme, I can honestly say, that part of me has changed though. Ever since I've stepped foot off that plane, everything changed. I was flung to the far end. The language was different. The weather was different. Heck, even the way people ate bread was different here. Bread is an art here. Everything so new, so novel. Everything's like a new page in a book that I've never even seen before.
Damn right it was scary at first. Terrifying, in fact. You'd probably shit your pants too if you're sent halfway across the world to a country whose language you couldn't speak. I had to approach everything with caution, even the simplest things like leaving a window open can get yourself a free verbal ass-whopping here. Not that I understood a word of it anyways when I first came. But then again, the constant fear was what made it so exciting. The novelty made me feel like a genuine 5 year old again.
I find myself doing things I never did back home. Sometimes, I'd just take a train down into town, find a nice shady bench and just watch people walk by. All different 7 billion of us, each one with a story to tell, each one of us special in our own quirky way. Not to mention the places I've come to see and love as well. Another town, another street, another story. The grafitti, the engravings, the tiles. Everything so novel. People and places, what other reason do I need to get off my computer?
And the best part of it is, I still have SO much to see. I've only been to this one country, after all. Think of all the other countries and cities I have yet to see, the other people I hve yet to meet, the others unknowns I have yet to explore. True, sometimes I wish I was back home, furthering my studies like everyone else. But then I think, there's gonna be a good 40 years for me to do that. I think I can spare this one year. This one year to see a bit of this world.
