Restating the redundancy of things I keep repeating to myself

Ian McEwan’s Atonement. The last hundred pages were the most gripping; you just have to read it to the end. It’s like watching a perfected art film. Every essential element toned and thought of to its finest. It leaves a subtle, perceptive impression that would make you feel intelligent after reading it.

Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood was so wonderful it ranks just a few notches below The Catcher in the Rye.

I’m officially a student again. I even received a partial scholarship for MA Philosophy. It does make me feel like I’m doing what I want and I’m taking control of my life. I’m intellectually stimulated, and it does give me a sense of self and I feel like I’m myself again.

I lost my job.

Thank you to ____ Inc. for sponsoring a terrific summer (they gave us an “appropriate” separation pay). And for the countless company hours they paid without me having to work. The thing I’d miss the most though, would probably the 41st floor view from the window.

I expect myself to write about all the what-the-fuck-nows, rationalize how I live, explain my situation, force a solution, even imagine the future, write, whine, and whine some more.
It’s the same old sentimental rubbish of a story that I probably shouldn’t write anymore. Now, I really ought to learn something.

Nagasawa’s piece of advice to Toru Watanabe: “Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Only arseholes do that.”

“You will have all the time in the world.” My mother always told me when I was a kid. I always thought she was right. I can spend a lifetime reading.

Two weeks after my position was officially removed from the company, I accepted a job offer from another call center. I spent a few days for interviews, tests, processing and submitting my pre-employment requirements. On the first day of training, they asked me sign a training agreement which was never mentioned in the job offer contract or in any of the interviews. It states that I have to stay with the company for 11 months to cover the training expense. I didn’t agree to this, and quit on the first day. One of the things that really did it for me, that made think, “I’ve had enough of this shit” right from the start, was the assistant trainer’s annoying, phony American accent.

Laugh at all the crap life dumps on your lap.

Where to? Where the Cheap Air Fares Can Take Us

So we went, D. and I, on the weekend of my 24th, to where the cheap air fares could take us. The timing’s perfect since it’s the advent of more affordable international travel. We were able to fly out of the country without having to spend a king’s ransom.

The month before, we researched, consulted our friends and family, consulted Lonely Planet, planned our itinerary, the places to stay, the places to visit, the modes of transport. We borrowed B.’s Sony Carl Zeiss rotating lens camera. D. and I exchanged countless messages this comprised most of our chatter when we’re out having dinner.

The planning and dreaming part was not only crucial, but also cunningly pleasurable. We were often giddy and excited for the past few weeks. Four days for two countries proved to be a tight schedule, but we were able to cover pretty much what we could cramp in such a small amount of time. We mapped our path using the MRT and LRT stations, foot paths, a cable car ride, and commutes that would require us to take a cab. We accurately determined costs such as the bus ride from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore, budgeted for our meals, accommodations, booze, made sure to eat what the locals eat, exchanged currencies, and just be there, in for our little adventure. And every little detail she planned out makes me love D. to the littlest detail.

The Fully Air-Conditioned Sound of Speed

A Philtranco bus in Megamall will be taking us to the Clark airfield where the Air Asia flight to Malaysia will take off. While waiting for the bus, we had lunch at an Asian restaurant in Megamall called Lemon Gras. I think I dipped my grilled prawns and pork with too much hoi sin and chili, it caused my heart to race, beating six times in a second. I could have sworn my whole life flashed before my eyes and scarcely survived a heart attack. Or maybe it was just plain pre-flight jitters. Even in the lane by the parking lot where we waited, I vomited around six times, imagining both the perils that may prevail and the many many strides of happiness we are to stumble upon in the trip. I was too positively thrilled I had to publicly puke my guts out.

The bus ride to Clark was an unexpected relief, despite the fact that the bus arrived 30 minutes late, despite the noon’s nearly 37 degree Celsius heat over Edsa, the maddening kind of heat which could just empty the sanity left out of anyone. The North Expressway’s roads have already been widened, and drive was quick and smooth. D. and I shared the iPod to give it all a fitting soundtrack: Eliot Smith, Hed Kandi’s latest Winter Chill, Chicane, a lot of Chillout and Alternative. We sing along to Kent’s 747: “So this is all we need. The fully air conditioned sound of speed. A violent whisper. And this time it's for real. So this day I made plans for us to leave.”


The Clark airport is something like the Kalibo airport, with slightly noticeable improvements such as an LED light display announcing “now boarding” on its check-in counters (which wouldn’t exactly be the technology that can make you go “hu-wow”). I didn’t even notice any runway lights for evening flights. But then, this isn’t forlornly bad considering how much it cost us. I’m even elated since it easily turned out to be trouble-free. Instead of asking us about the purpose of our travel, the Philippine immigration officer even advised D. not to look for jobs in Malaysia, but to look for jobs in nearby Singapore since the career prospects there could be more promising.

Jollijeep in the Sky

But we did have Chicken Rice later on.

The flight departed as scheduled and I’m with D. in an altitude of around 27,000 feet above sea level. The announcements were made in Malay, Chinese and English. The plane was an old Boeing 737, five seats in a row with very little legroom. It must have been previously owned by a European carrier judging from the language used for communicating “no-smoking” on the cabin toilet, but I couldn’t really compare it to a rusty old Russian Aeroflot since I’ve never flown in one. This isn’t a flying coffin based my skimpy standards, and I even enjoyed the convenience especially when you’re paying roughly 200% lesser than the price of other airlines.

What’s even more interesting is that they don’t have seating assignments so it’s a first come first served basis. There are no in-flight free meals. Instead, the enterprising flight attendants are pushing a cart with drinks and snacks on sale. Jollijeep in the sky. The cabin smelled of instant noodles, instant porridge; “imported from Thailand” (I heard the male flight attendant boast.) A lot of the passengers were not Filipinos. The passenger beside us was probably a Malaysian with Indian ethnicity, his ears plugged with an iPod. And there were also a number of Caucasians aboard. But the ones who were Filipino were easily identifiable since they wisely brought Lala fish crackers and Goldilocks chiffon rolls or butter slices. Since the 4-hour flight won’t land in KL until 8:30pm, a true Filipino would have thought better to bring a more appropriate baon: Adobo, a boiled egg and rice in Tupperware. The Filipinos were also first to complain when it got hot in the cabin since the plane was getting ready for landing. D. and I probably got hungry from all the laughing, so were ordered the 2 USD porridge (still not a rip-off considering the price of the fare), instantly prepared by the flight attendant in her red mini-skirt. We later found out that Porridge was sold at 1.60 RM at a 7-11 in Malaysia. We brought home a couple for pasalubong.

My Forgotten Country

From the Petronas Tower footbridge: somebody else's 41st floor cave.

And then it’s official: I’ve been to another country. D. was happy to tag along, and I love her for that. By this time, I already understood what “Keluar” meant. KLIA was an impressive airport, in terms of its organization and architecture, to think that there were no separate terminal fees, or were probably very minimal.

KLIA was a 45 minute ride to the hotel we’re staying at near the Chow Kit area. We first saw Kuala Lumpur through the window of a right hand drive vehicle. The highway was lined with tall trees, passed through with relatively disciplined drivers who almost (if not never) cut and intersect, and never exceeded the speed limit.

As we neared the city, you’d almost see the silver, twinkling lights from the Petronas Tower from everywhere, and the KL tower was like a jewel in the sky.

The hotel we stayed in was a 3-star with a surprisingly huge room with one queen and a single, even a tub, other standard amenities, breakfast buffet and a view (from our window) of the Petronas and KL tower.

We walked around the hotel area and just looked at what they sell at the restaurants. We had dinner at a nearby restaurant called Yusof. It wasn’t fancy but it was all right. I figured Nasi Goreng in most places in Malaysia would probably be authentic.

There was a troop of young people who were also at the restaurant, a few tables away from ours. They looked like the “varsity” type of kids. But it was 11ish on a Friday night and when I asked the waiter what they were drinking, it was all tea and Nescafe. In the Philippines, a town like this must have a mandatory videoke installed somewhere and there’s booze in every corner. A friend of this varsity troop, a tall and tough-looking guy of Indian ethnicity with thick facial hair, had just arrived. D. and we sort of had the impression that this one’s going to have beer. We asked the waiter what he ordered, and it was Milo, the Olympic Energy Drink. We imagined him ordering in the brusque voice of Filipino alpha males, “Pare, isang Milo nga dito oh, yung mainit”

Since we planned to spend most of the money for night life in Singapore, we decided against a night out. We went to the 7-11 bought a sim card with load, (really, really useful at 16 RM) a few bottles of Tiger that we’d drink in the hotel room.

Tomorrow’s going to be one of the longest we’ve ever lived.

Compared to Manila, the sun comes out around an hour late in this part of the world, just as it won’t set until after 7 pm. We were up at 6am and we watched the KL skyline transform from the hotel windows. We had breakfast at the hotel. In the wide variety of the buffet: croissants to omelets, pancakes to fishcakes, porridge to rice, including a whole tray exclusively for a thick curry chili paste, we found the local mi hon (fried noodles) as the most delicious.

We asked the waiter, the concierge, and someone from the street for directions on which train to take to get to KLCC. Although most of them spoke English that’s graspable, we got three different answers. So we had a long walk along the hotel area’s streets which were all named “Jalan something” and we made it to the Chow Kit train station.

Unfortunately, we weren’t able to figure out how the interchange would go in the train. There were three rail systems: Star, Putra and KTM. Although we were able to try out the subway in Masid Jamek later on, we had to take a cab to KLCC as were already late in meeting D.’s friend, Ge. Although I read about cabs being notorious for not putting the meter on, we didn't have that trouble in Malaysia, and the driver even insisted on giving the change to the last sen from the 4.60RM fare.

We got off at the foot of the Petronas tower. Up close, this structure is even more impressive and intricate than it looks: inspired by the five pillars of Islam, it’s the proud, bejeweled symbol of the nation’s aspirations, as well as its achievement. And a phallic symbol, which you should probably never mention to the no-smiles-serious-tour-guide in the sky bridge who referred to it as the “majestic Petronas tower.” We were there between 8:30 – 9:00 am and were booked for the sky bridge at around 10:15am. At 10:15am, they were booking viewings to as late as 3:30 pm.

So we had over an hour to stroll around the Suria Mall within the Petronas tower. What’s impressive about this tower is that it had the mall, business centers, and even a performance hall for the Malaysian Philharmonic all in one place. We had coffee with Ge, who told his stories about Malaysia and picked up the 25RM bill for a cup of coffee, a glass of cold, blended coffee, and a bottled raspberry drink. The mall was something like the Podium in Ortigas.

The security check before entering the sky bridge was probably at par with airport standards. I was impressed with how they had it all organized: with the ticketed scheduling, the color-coded tags, while collecting absolutely no fees. The “no fees” part is just impossible where I come from. This is probably the most sophisticated structure I’ll ever see, if ever I don’t live to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa, or the Pyramids of Egypt.

And then I saw the city from another 41st floor. I thought of the view from my own 41st floor cave. This time, with how the street intersections, buildings, roofs, parks, trees are arranged, balanced and probably placed for maximum efficiency. The no-smiles-serious tour guide volunteered to take a picture of the three of us together. She even initiated a little small talk and asked us where we’re from. The Philippines, which Lonely Planet described as “a little off the fashionable South East Asia route… the forgotten islands of the region.” She asked about the tourist spots we had. “Boracay.” I replied. Her face titled to an angle and gave me a look of non-recognition. So I told her: “It’s a nice beach, like Phuket in Thailand.” The no-smiles-serious-tour-guide acknowledged with a polite nod.

We probably are forgotten.

And The Bargain

We took the bus to Chinatown, a town that probably every Southeast Asian city has. The bus was a non-aircon bus (like EDSA/Alabang-bound ordinary buses we have were) with an English-speaking lady conductor, and .75RM per person fare. We stopped at bargain book shops with many Kurt Vonnegut and J.D. Salinger titles. We had lunch at Chinatown with a Filipino friend, and the chicken-rice (Soy chicken with chili sauce and a vegetable side dish) was terrific. A few blocks away there’s the Puduraya bus station, which lived up to its reputation as hot and clamorous. It’s just a little more organized than Cubao. We bought our tickets to Singapore at 25RM each and were scheduled to leave at 2:00 pm. The lady selling the tickets was Indonesian by nationality, but spoke Filipino almost fluently.

My shirt was smudged with sweat from all the walking and KL’s noon sun. D.’s shoulders were giving up on the back pack since we’ve been carrying all our stuff for Singapore all morning. So I carried both our bags. But all the walking was worth it and the word “tired” was omitted from of my vocabulary. I’m loving D. and D.’s loving me every step of the way. We walked downtown to see the ordinary places: a Chinese temple, the Hindu place of worship (which looked like an illustration out of the Vedas and the Upanishads), streets lined with shops selling arranged bouquets of flowers, parking lots where it seemed like all the motorcycles of the world are parked.

While we were shopping in Chinatown, we experienced how bargaining could become an annoyance. We found a shop selling small Petronas Tower figurine bells which we were sure my mother would love, since she was mad about bells. We asked how much it was. The Indian hip-hop-looking guy wearing a jersey with a bling-bling dangling on his neck told us it was 25 RM. D. bargained for 18RM. The guy started to wrap it but I said it was expensive and we’ll come back for it later. When we were leaving he yelled at us, “No, you buy… opening time, man…” D. paid for it at 18RM and we had the bells. We spent a lot of time looking around and I got D. a Greenhills-quality Roxy shirt for 15 RM. There was a Chinese girl of about 12 helping out in a store selling football Jerseys. I asked her how much Brazil was and she said 40RM. I said I’ll buy it at 20RM and she gave it to me for 25RM. I let her have her undeniable ace as I wouldn’t be able to bear it if this little girl wipes that smile off her face.

We walked back to the Puduraya station. Just like yesterday, we’re off to another country.