After a quick lunch at the ship’s only buffet restaurant (several people have privileges to eat there, including me) I went out to the external decks at Deck 9 to indulge in the panoramic vista of Ochos Rios, Jamaica. It did not disappoint; in fact, it was staggeringly beautiful. In contrast to the shallow pristine waters and gleaming, white sand, dark green mountains jagged behind them. The roads were fringed by tropical trees with large leaves, providing ample shade for anyone who decide to walk. The beach stretched out miles and miles with waters of varying shades of blue.
I contemplated if I should go out. The ship would only be docking there from 12pm to 6pm and I wasn’t too keen to walk out alone. I could already see clusters of mini busses and taxis that guarded the terminal’s gate like vultures waiting to prey. Yet, I didn’t want to stay indoors and pass up on such a beautiful place. My traveller’s instincts kicked in and urged me to ‘check it’ out. Who knows what kind of adventures I might get into? Other than Bob Marley, the infamous yellow, green and white colour anthem and rum, I don’t know anything else about Jamaica or Jamaicans.
Jamaica is one of the most beautiful and culturally rich islands in the world, according to the brochure that I took before leaving the gangway. The third largest island in the Carribean, it is 146 miles long and 51 miles wide. Ochos Rios is supposedly to be the point where eight rivers converge and one of the most natural attractions around the area is Dunn’s River Falls, where you can climb up and bathe in the cascading waters that falls drop 600 feet over their course.
If I were to have time and a group of people with me, I’d definitely have explored the emerald rain forests and its stunning mountainside ride through gorge filled with incredible giant ferns in Fern Valley. One of the insistent taxi drivers told me that he could take me to the waterfalls for 60 USD. No, thank you, sir.
It was a nice day to walk and my mission was to find a beach where I could sit and relax with a book. I spied one that was only about a mile away so I excitedly walked towards where I thought was the start of St. Ann’s Bay, waving away irritating taxi drivers and cat-calling Jamaican man.
But alas, it turned out that it was a closed beach that was owned by some shopping mall. Shop, chill, swim and relax, says the Island Village billboard. Free admission, it boasted yet I don’t know if I like the idea of walking through endless duty-free shops that all seem to sell the same merchandise for about the same approximate price as everywhere else before I get to the tiny strip of water and sand. The place was done up tastefully with shops built into wooden elevated shacks across the sand but I just wasn’t ready to relax at a commercial paradise.
I decided to continue walk to downtown. At some point, the hoards of tourists seem to fade away….and they are replaced by locals in the most colourful apparel, doing last minute shopping in dingy little shops. Shops are tiny and quaint, arranged in a haphazard manner but spilling over with people. Loud music blared. Between local toy shops, a colonial looking Post Office and bars, there were also Baskin Robbins, Hard Rock Café, Burger King and McDonalds to put tourists at ease.
“Lookie, lookie, miss? You want taxi?” A dark, wizened man in a white flannel shirt asked. He grinned as he snapped his fingers at me.
I shook my head no and he leaned close, “Boy friend? Sexy man, you want?”
Laughing, I walked away into the throngs of people.

Then, I suddenly bumped into Fulvio, the Chief Children Animator whom I’ve previously worked alongside with in my previous contract. Boy, was I happy to bump into a familiar face. Fulvio might not be the best friend of earth but we do share a penchant for travelling and exploring together.
“Have you had a Red Stripe yet?” he asked. Nope, what’s that?
Noting my ignorance, he pulled me to a small street bar where smell of fried chicken filled the air. Soon, I found out that this infamous Red Stripe Jamaican lager is clearly not the favourite amongst locals because it was freaking 3USD each! Nonetheless, the air was filled with festivity and I decided not to worry about the price.
As Fulvio bought the first round of beers, we decided to go somewhere else for the next.
We found another open bar at the Taj Mahal shopping area which seemed to be full of people. A seemingly stoned young guy with long dreadlocks offered his table to us. He went away and came back with two bottles of Red Stripe for us. “Drink up! And don’t forget, to fulljoy! You can’t end joy, so you shouldn’t say enjoy…so drink, Merry Christmas and FULLJOY!” Can’t argue with his wisdom so we drank. The sweet lager moistened our throats and minds, as we chatted animatedly. Then, Giuseppe, one of the Receptionists walked past the bar that we were sitting at. I didn’t know him that well but Fulvio seemed to when he shouted and waved to him. I made a hand motion for Giuseppe to join us…as I could see that he was already in doing what we were. In his hand, was a bottle of Red Stripe that’s half-full. After he finished that, we called for another round of beers. Then, two engineers that Fulvio and I recognized walked past. They too joined the merry party.
Just before we left the bar, I noticed a sign that said, “Don’t drink and drive. You may spill your drink.”
The wisdom of Jamaicans have absolutely made my day.

After a late class, I trudged back to my cabin, weary and discontent. The corridor that connects my office (or classroom) to my cabin is a long and grey one, with harsh fluorescent lights glowering above. As I walked, I met Enrique, the Assistant Chief Crew Steward from Philippines, one whom I got fairly acquainted to recently, and told him about one of his staff who was absent for his English lesson. He said he’d talk to the staff involved and find out. Then, I continued walking past the Staff Mess where Staff* eat in a canteen style like dining room, and it was dark. I heard laughter and different voices joining together for a Happy Birthday chorus. I peeked and saw a bunch of people from the Crew department, hanging around and gazing at candles on a birthday cake. At least they seemed happy. I continued walking, till I passed the wide luggage storage area. Exhausted looking men of different colours and sizes, dressed in identical white overalls that spotted grease smears were gathered around the only available foosball table in the area, shouting and cheering. At least, they shared something in common. I kept walking and saw a garbage utility wheeling trash into the garbage room, while another walked out of it and wiped his forehead, the elevator doors sounded and a waiter in his Italian themed uniform walked out and when the three were at crossroads, they acknowledged each other with a shout. The garbage guy caught my eye, smiled, and then looked away shyly. After what deemed like eternity, I found the stairs that leads to my cabin and headed home for the night.

One of the hardest things about living and working on the ship is human isolation. Life onboard gives you no holidays and no overtime benefits. Time offs are rare. You are expected to work and work and work and sometimes, all you crave for is some acknowledgement for your hard work. Unfortunately, pats on the backs are rare. Most of the supervisors have not been coached management techniques hence they don’t quite know how to lavish praise or compliments when it’s appropriate. Even though not many people are aware of it, it is one of the biggest factor why many fall into scandalous or destructive relationships with another colleague or passenger or why there can never be true friendship between a man and a woman unless their respective partners are onboard as well. People onboard are so deprived of sincere human contact that any form of attention could be seen as a potential romantic partner. It doesn’t matter if you told them if you’re married with ten kids in tow. For them, if your entire warbling family is not onboard, you’re technically single and available. In the words of Goej, a Romanian welder, “You need someone onboard to keep you company. That’s why I hang out in the Crew Bar to see if they are any available prey. And then I shoot them down with an arrow of love.” In my first contract, after a short chat with the Crew steward who serves at the Crew Mess where my office was, I got an I-Love-You note, slid through under my office’s door. I thought that was hilarious.

And then, I get invited to drink champagne’s in random acquaintances’ cabins just because I stopped to chat with them. You see, you pay the men some attention, and they automatically assume that you’re interested in them. Men will not automatically jump into such conclusions in the normal world…unless you stalk them down of course.

Another huge reason of isolation is the human resources hierarchy. It’s created to divide people. Under the shipboard personnel chart or even the Crew Lists itself, there is a column for Officers, Staff and Crew. How is Staff different from Crew, I do not know, but perhaps if you look at it with a politically incorrect lens, the Crew seem to make up of the masses poorly paid hardworkers while the Staff make up only 35% of the overall crew members who seem to be make up the elite few (if not taking the Officers into comparison). If you have a chance to look what goes behind the Crew Only doors, you’d notice that people eat in different places…Blue collared workers in the Crew Mess, White Collared workers in the Staff Mess, and the ruling few in the Officer’s Mess.

There is also uniform snobbery and nationality snobbery. If you are wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of navy blue shorts, signifying that you could be the Galley Utility boy or Pool Attendant, then most people would turn up their nose and not even look you in the eye when you walk past. Most officers are usually quite guilty of uniform snobbery…they wear, white pressed shirts and trousers with yellow stripes gracing their shoulders and it seems that, they only make the most noise when they are all together. Funnily, their attempt to intimidate and torment stops right after they take off their uniforms. If you happen to catch them out of the ship, they usually look quite shy, vulnerable and shrouded with poor self-confidence.

Nationality snobbery is the worst of all. Onboard, we have at least 35 different nationalities. It’s like a small safari with many different animals but with very little space to roam around. Hence, the Italians would deem themselves to be the most superior, the Europeans would only talk amongst each other, the Chinese gather in little groups, and so on. If you are lucky, you find hundreds of your ‘paisanos’ who are willing to provide you company, friendship and help if you need it, but if you’re unlucky (like me) then, you’re alone, wondering whether did globalization ever happened. It is rather rare to see a group of people with mixed nationalities hanging out with each other, but when you do see them, you’d also find me there. So generally speaking, if you’re new on the ship and you’re trying to be friendly, the first place to start would be within your own department and if you happen to hate all of them, then you could try to strike up a conversation with a person from your own nationality or at least someone who speaks your mother tongue. If you have neither, again like yours truly, then you’re utterly screwed. The bigger the ship, the less likely you’re going to find someone that you can actually connect with.

However, it’s not just that. Many people work on ships for a great variety of reasons. Some for the money, some for the adventure, some for job security, some for careers. Out of all of that, the rarest kind are those who are onboard for fun… Before I joined the company, I was an avid backpacker. When I got the job, I thought, I was going to meet a huge community of like-minded people. After all, a job on the ship is pretty unconventional. I thought everyone there was an explorer, an intrepid seafarer, a Columbus in the making-escaping to the seas to answer the call of their destiny. However, much to my dismay, I realized that it was only unconventional to me but not to most of the Italians, Indonesians, Peruvians or the Philippinos. The company is just like any other multinational firms, except this one thrives while crossing the ocean. So at the end of the day, just like anywhere else, it’s the people who makes your contract a good one or a bad one. On my first contract, I had the pleasure to know a lot of people from different countries and from all walks of life because I was working on a much smaller ship. I also did find a good friend or two that I still kept in touch with till today. My second contract was rather miserable as I had to deal with many idiots, and people who didn’t speak English. I remember crying my eyeballs out on Skype as I spoke to my close friend in London. Luckily, as time progressed, I finished the contract with 3 close friends and speaking much better Italian. The third contract was short and sweet and I had a chance to know a handful of really good friends. Boy, I had so much fun! As for this contract, I did make some good friends but everyone disembarked two weeks after. They were reaching their end of their contracts while I was only starting mine.

In a nutshell, it will be a rather lonely Christmas Eve this year. Who knows what will happen tonight but I rather hole up in my cabin and watch The Complete Fifth Season of The Simpsons than to find out.

Merry Christmas to those who have been blessed to have the company of their loved ones on this day….you don’t know how lucky you are.

Christmas orphans, I hear you.

Merry Christmas, love.

I am a woman of grand beginnings. I love the formation of new projects, new stories, new chapters in life but I am unable to see through them.
I love the smell of a fresh, crisp page of a brand new journal but unfortunately, after my inking my way through the first few pages, the journal no longer has the capacity to enchant me like it has before. That’s why my blog is in such a sad, stale state. I was too busy dreaming but didn’t get around to sit down and write them down. I thought tedious details are for the meticulous, not for me. I’m the idea smith, the creator, where with just a stroke of a hand, I could conjure up a multitude of colourful and shiny possibilities.

But alas, I was foolishly ignorant that big dreams are accomplished by working on small stuff. The most mundane and banal steps are necessary because it will eventually create the big picture in the future. No one could have completed a journey without taking the small steps towards their destination. The journey would then comprise of tiny daily triumphs and temporary obstacles.

And while I’m here, stuck on a floating hotel, with nothing much to do or to look forward to, I must perhaps remind myself that an exciting blog doesn’t consist of just inspiring long posts, but also the dull and boring short ones. Because if I keep waiting out for something big to happen, I might just miss out on writing anything at all.

It’s time.