a past i never knew, a future i've yet to know.

It was going to a past I never knew.

that dry, bland feeling

Away from the weekend leisure crowd, I found myself in a stuffy van on a bumpy village road in Batam. Irene and I were on our way to teaching the children English.

Household refuse was burnt next to the narrow village road; children ran amock along with the free-ranging ayam (chicken in Malay); local community pockets coalescing around street stores. It felt like going back to a past I never knew; daddy would have found this familiar.

the kids helping themselves to fruits from a roadside tree; simple pleasures | batam, indonesia

boys helping themselves to sweets at the village roadside store | batam, indonesia

So this is how I spent my Sunday; I was thrown into a classroom of eager eyes staring at me; 20 pairs to be exact. Armed with no lesson plan, a marker, a dictionary and 5 sheets of paper, I made my confession to the kids. In halting Bahasa Indonesia, I admitted that I needed to learn the language as much as they wanted to learn English from me.

Sadly, I have no romantic notions of charity to share from teaching little children etc. Perhaps because I am sticky and stuck standing on the train home. All I can take back for now is not a warm glow of charity but rather literally sapped from the scorching heat and with Batam sand on the soles of my shoes. And feeling abit guilty for the Nikes on my feet amidst the humble settings of the village community.

Yet despite that fuzzy feel-good, I'm wanting to go back. To face the heat, the flies, the climbing and screaming kids. I don't know why, but I want to. Nope, no burning desire, just a dry, bland 'think I want to go back'-ish feeling.

irene leading the kids on an outdoor lesson under the scorching sun | batam, indonesia

the children i taught refusing to go home and instead tailing me | batam, indonesia

being back in the sloshing humdrum

The sun is setting as the MRT chugs along past Ang Mo Kio. The quiet streets beneath are however antithetical to the racing thoughts in my heads.

Poems from Kabul, snippets from Beijing, comments from social circles, ponderings about Warwick, artistic strain...there has been so much input in the past weeks, perhaps an overload. My mind is being packed with so much yet not finding the time and space to process it all. The thoughts are like harpoons latching onto my mental walls. It is close to hurting, yet also close to numbing. It doesn't help with John Mayer playing in my earphones.

slowing down to catch glimpses of faces | dhoby ghaut, singapore

“Walao, super emo la!” I say it nearly as if I were embarrassed to be “emo”. Should I really be? Of late, it seems I am embarrassed about things; being a certain way and being sheepish about it. I wonder why.

I wonder when can I say I’m truly comfortable in my own skin. I wander if anyone can say that at all and mean it sincerely all of the time. I do wonder.

That is probably a future I have yet to know.

racing by | orchard rd, singapore

Uncle T