Another World

It's Wednesday night. Come this Monday, 8am, I will be propped up on a swivel chair, running my fingers over the keyboard and go about doing what I've always been doing.

But right now, at 10.30pm, I am seated on a steel bench outside of Melbourne Central, and the view before me is the State Library of Victoria. Four homeless people have passed by, asking for spare change. Now two Indonesians are joining me on the bench.

All these feels so far away from the life I know, it's weird. But a good sort of weird.

I have no business to be here (except for a short one-day work assignment), no back story or past memories to conjure, no roots planted here, and yet to be able to be here, to be able to feel its pulse, to be able to watch its people ... I'm grateful for all these.

Anyway, to the me who'll read this this coming Monday morning or the days later, always remember, there's a big world out there.

Sincerely,
Your 23-year-old self
(10.50pm, March 6, 2013, Melbourne, Australia)

P/s: The free wifi service ended before I could publish this. Below is a photo I took after blogging. Went over to the lawn at the State Library Of Victoria, laid down on the grass (it's a thing here), looked up at the sky, while munching on a bag of chips.

Be a good boy

Today, a dear colleague - formally, my immediate supervisor but informally, I regard her as my godmother - officially retired after 28 years of service.

We threw a farewell party to appreciate her contribution to the company. We discovered nuggets of little-known facts (she once collected enough leave days to go on leave for an entire year - and she did!) and shared our memorable encounters with her.

The party came and went by smoothly. But as a few of us were helping to clear away the remains of the party, we were stopped in our tracks by a devastating sight. I will always remember this picture in my mind.

Amid the flurry of activity around her (it's four something and pages are being rushed to be signed off), she is sitting alone at her nearly empty desk, weeping.

I can only imagine what could be running through her head, her heart. The years, the people, the pages, the words.

When it came time for her to leave, my boss gathered a few of us to usher her down to her car. And as we exchanged our final hugs outside her car, those tears began to well up again.

Being the last one in line, she gave me a hurried hug, fearing she would shed more tears if she delayed any longer.

As she got into her car, she muttered what would be her last words to me, as my superior, "Kenneth, be a good boy ah?"

Coward

I am a coward.

The more honest I get with who I am, the closer I am to the hope for change.

But then don't mistake me for being someone who's honest with himself either. For the absence of courage has often kept me from wanting to realise who I really am.

My cowardice dates back to a time in my youth where my daily fashion choices were limited to white short-sleeved shirts and pants the colour of mud green, both often a size too big.

High school was great, a dream even. But I can't say there weren't times I wished life would speed off a little faster, letting the fun bits last a bit longer, the not-so-fun ones a hurried blur.

I was significantly shorter, scrawnier, and funnily, fairer than the rest. I say funnily because people would pay thousands to be as fair as I was but my then snowy complexion, instead of evoking envy, garnered labels like "tofu" or "tau fu fa".

Anyway, it's clear to see I wasn't the most popular high school kid. Well maybe I am, who wouldn't take notice of a boy with striking complexion?

I digress. It started when my Form 1 class teacher held a mini general meeting to elect the class monitor. I can't remember the details but I think it went something like this.

The class nominated a few names, and I was one of them. We were asked to go out of the class while our peers voted on us.

When we finally came back in, I saw that I had won. But what transpired next was nothing close to a scene of me giving my victory speech.

The teacher decided that I somehow wasn't fit to carry the duty and afforded the position to someone else, a girl with the second highest vote who later became my best friend for the next three years.

Of course, I immediately knew why. But the coward in me is keeping me from telling this blog exactly why. That, and the fact that I don't know who could be reading this (ahem, that teacher perhaps). But if you do know me, and know me reasonably well, you'll know.

Maybe I stopped trying since that day. Maybe I didn't want to have my hopes dashed again (actually, I don't know why I got so worked up over it. I wasn't exactly thrilled to be class monitor to begin with). Maybe "Coward" showed up in that classroom that day and gave "Courage" a head-spinning slap.

I can lay blame on my past experiences and draw pity using my horrific tales, which perhaps, I have. But there is only so much I can blame others for my shortcomings.

Because what I haven't told you is that "Choice" showed up every day after.

P/s: Now that I'm really thinking about it, I'm not sure whether I won the class monitor election or not. Haha! I just remember being forfeited for a role with no valid reason, or at least, for a reason I didn't deem as valid.