It is incredibly expensive to use the internet onboard but pangs of nostalgia and sudden urge of homesickness got the better of me. Starting with 0.50 Euros on the counter, I went to the various favourite websites of mine like Facebook and Couchsurfing and browsed through friends of the new and past profiles. Seeing how settled everyone is, where milestones in life are marked by yet another new car, a well-deserved pay-rise, birth of a child, a marriage, a promotion, the list goes on, makes me go green with envy sometimes. I wish I can anticipate Friday nights, make plans, have weekly routines, meet friends, complain about work and do those mundane things that everyone does but hates.
Ship life is surreal and is still is. You can’t make dinner-you go to the mess and you eat from plastic trays. You don’t make friends but seeing one another so many times make the both of you acquaintances-partners in crime, sharing the same fate and space. Days are marked not by the numbers on the calendar nor the names of the week but rather the names of the port. Having a good time means drinking to your hearts content, playing foosball and if you’re lucky, a good conversation thrown in. Neither speaks the same language fluently so you learn to simplify your vocabulary and hence watering down what you mean. You learn to understand body language instead, watch the eyes of the orator and the accompanying gestures and you make your own conclusions. And when all fails, you turn to silence for company. You don’t have a phone number (some do though) but you have an email address or a beeper where you can be reached. Your house number is your cabin number and an invitation to someone’s cabin is more intimate than an invitation to someone’s house for a cup of tea. You don’t use cash on the ship, you just swipe your personal crew card. It’s your identity card, your credit card, and your life. If you lose it, you cease to exist.
You have an assortment of lounges and bars on different decks to choose from instead of having an array of choices on different streets and suburbs. From time to time, you yearn to yank the fridge door open to pull out a snack but you learn to go to the pastry corner of the enormous galley and steal a croissant instead. You learn to nod when someone says Ciao to you-and you efficiently reply in response but usually in a tone devoid of enthusiasm unless that someone is your friend. You learn to answer to a dozen of different names, each spoken with a different accent. You learn to stay low, keep your eyes and ears open but pretend to know nothing. You learn to stay out of trouble, not to get involved and if anything, save your own ass first. You also learn not to trust.
You learn to accept live by certain rules and regulations; you accept the boundaries that dictate your time. Docking in different ports doesn’t mean travelling; you just see different things and buy things in different currencies.
By the time I finished lamenting over my need for an ordinary life, it was only 15 minutes but the counter showed 19 Euros. And then I realized, for now, for this moment, what an extraordinary life I’m leading. All of a sudden, I was grateful for this opportunity to sway from the default path that everyone takes, and for that, I shouldn’t miss a beat. Not for anything in the world.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

This too, will pass.

Finally, after a month long of being stuck in a situation that I lack courage to change, nature took its course, and removed the thorn that had pierced me. Of course, if I were stronger and more mindful about my situation, I could have easily removed the thorn myself. After all, life situations only become problems when your mind makes it so. Your ego personalizes it and your sense of self is reinforced through the pain and misery of it.

“There is no salvation in time. You cannot be free in the future. Presence is the key to freedom, so you can only be free now.”

I can’t believe I’ve waited this long for the thorn to be removed. I’ve had good advice from those who cared, that I should take the responsibility to make myself happy but instead, I rather suffer in grief, unease and anxiety.

Anyway, the past is the past. The past can no longer hurt me, unless I let it. I am now feeling much better. In fact, I perennially feel a sense of calm and presence. There are of course some events and people that ruffle me but I let it go. I try not to hold on to it.

***

I finally dared to sign up for the excursions offered on my ship. I don’t know why I never wanted to do it, since it’s free for crew. Besides, I’ve always been complaining about having too much free time. So on one random day, I decided to sign up for it and one of them took place today. It was a hiking cum swimming excursion in Nosy Sakatia, Madagascar.

At this point of writing, I’m still reeling from the excitement and admiration at one of nature’s finest landscapes….but a month ago, I took it for granted that Madagascar was like every other country. This must be the disease that plagues everyone working onboard. We assume that since we’ve managed to get ourselves to these countries for free, we don’t have to get all excited about the places we go to. We complain about the lack of internet access and the lack of convenience, the heat and the humidity, the poverty and the aggressiveness of the citizens and a whole lot more. Yet when I was on the excursion on my own (with other passengers), it felt so different.

For the first time I felt, HELL, I’M IN MADAGASCAR! The sparkling green waters are just as magical as the ones in Seychelles. The villages, sparse, small yet incomparably lovely, reminded me of the shacks in Myanmar. People don’t have much yet they find somehow find a way to live their lives in dignity. The Malagasy tour guide, Herve, was merely a young chap who’s still doing his third year in university. He’s paid 15 Euros for every excursion that he goes on. He spoke English with a heavy Creole accent but his intensity, patience and humourous way of delivering information won us over. We spoke a bit while we were relaxing on the beach.

He thought highly about my job and said wistfully that he too wished that he could travel like I do. It’s his dream to go to a university in Europe and then continue to work there. He frowned a little when he heard that I’ve been away from Malaysia for quite sometime.

“Don’t you miss home? Don’t you want to see your family?” he asked.

Such questions are far too common and people are usually puzzled when I just shrug in response. How am I supposed to answer such a question? How can I tell them that I feel ambivalent? Home, my heart would scoff, where is it, anyway? My family is not my anchor, like everybody else. I’m not sure if its due to my mom’s demise or that my dad remarried but since 18, I no longer felt that I could rely on the family entity. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing but respect and love for them yet I feel no sense of attachment. I don’t know if this is normal but I don’t feel like I’ve to live with them in order to prove that I’m a filial daughter. I know that they can take care of themselves perfectly and vice-versa. My dad, like every other dad, is probably worrying sick about me traversing the world yet he has a life that he gets on with…and probably understands by now that I do too.

***

Latest Report: The ship was unable to dock at Tamatave, Madagascar due to the rising rebellion that’s going on in the capital city. Instead, we’ll have an additional day in Mauritius. I guess our itinerary has brought us endless intrigue and excitement-from pirates to political rebellion, I wonder what’s next.

As I sit in my cabin, reflecting, pondering and typing up this post, pangs of bittersweet nostalgia overwhelms me. I know not if it stems from looking at the past month in retrospect or is it the fact that today’s Christmas and I am without my loved ones so neither merry making or celebrating another year that has come to past will take place. Or perhaps it is just a natural, instinctive romantic impulse that bubbles forth when I’m sitting, thinking and writing as I listen to the waves slosh by, feel the continuous buoying movements of the ship, feel the rays of sunlight shine into my room through the little porthole and rejoice at the fact that it’s sunny outside and at the ocean’s vast deep blue depths…

So! It’s been almost a month and a half now since I got stuck on board. Much has happened: both good and bad. Life has taken a dramatic turn and day by day, I feel myself slipping away. Restlessness and boredom has nudged me into paranoia, obsession and painful self-destructive tendencies. As my work demands only 20% of my time, I tend to use 80% of what’s left to amuse myself through alcohol, idle chatter and pursuing meaningless relationships. I grasped and attached myself to people, things, events—even when there isn’t anything to hold on to. Like a lost boat, I yearn to look for an anchor. Delusion has cloaked my perspective and space with such utter ignorance that I clamor and claw my way through blindly. Obviously, I meditate and read, to keep my sanity intact but barely.

One of the worst highlights was that I had some drinks with a friend that I trusted-we worked together previously on another ship-but after getting substantially tipsy, he tried to make a move at me. Now, this happened on the other ship as well and I had vehemently rejected his intentions. Having said that, my feelings towards him have remained unchanged since the last time and there’s nothing I expect from him other than a platonic relationship. If I’d the slightest interest or potential, perhaps I’d have encouraged it by flirting but I had no such ideas and was very sure that I did nothing to provoke his desires. But he did try to kiss me and I pushed him away. He didn’t stop and I started to get angry. Alcohol and emotional outbursts don’t go well together and hence leads to overreaction. I pushed him aside and decided to get back to my cabin but fell clumsily from the stairs. Seeing that, he came over to help me and accompanied me to my cabin. Gratefully I accepted but he wouldn’t leave from my cabin. I had to literally wrestle with him for him to go away. What happened after that was hazy but I remembered crying, asking him to leave me alone and wanting to see Ivan, someone that I’ve became really good friends with. I made my way to Ivan’s cabin, crying and ended up puking in his toilet and sleeping there (I’m used to sleeping over so I know I’m safe). Ivan said nothing; he merely let me do my own thing. The next morning, I awaken with bruises and gashes on my hands and arms- a painful reminder of the night before. I looked for Ivan and told him what happened—perhaps hoping to fish some reassuring words and comfort from him-but I got nothing. Instead, Ivan was apathetic and mentioned that I should have seen it coming. So it was out of my naïveté that the situation got worst? Was it my usual openness and trust in people has led me to my own downfall? At that point in time, as Ivan has suggested, it seemed so. I don’t know but I started to see the ugly truth of life onboard more starkly. Reality has reared its dark head- perhaps I just didn’t see it all these while. So my heart sunk deeper into despair and hopelessness. I felt like I fell in a hole and could not get out of it.

Having said that, there are times when it is not all that bad. There are little moments where golden rays filter through the cracks. My favourite times are dinner times. It has become a ritual for me to have my meal at 6.45pm, because that’s the time where Roberto, the pianist, and I will share a bottle of cheap white wine and chat. I will speak in Italian and he’ll speak in English-both encouraging each other to improve our languages. We’ll scribble on napkins to spell a specific word or to explain something in illustration. After that, Moreno and Francesca (my students as well), another musician couple, will join us, and more peals of laughter can be heard from our table. Very quickly, I learned my Italian phrases by heart. From Neapolitan swear words to Roman idioms, I was able to recite it by heart and use it whenever the occasion permits-thus commanding a new level of respect from the Italians. There are times when I was the source of amusement. It is funny while it lasts. Everyone now take for granted that I speak Italian because I keep hanging out with them!

And then, there’s also Ivan. He’s Italian, a true Neapolitan at heart. He struck me as special ever since he told me that he’s named Ivan by his dad simply because his dad was a communist. Intelligent, quick-witted, creative, worldly and he can speak all the 5 European languages and convince you that he should be the one who wrote Gomorra.In fact, he actually do look like the author himself! Unlike most Italians, he has lived in places like London, Malaga and Venezuela but he holds fiercely to his Neapolitan traditions. At the age of 29, he probably was more Neapolitan than most of his elders. Even the Hotel Director, who have lived in Naples for 20 years, would call him up for fun and put Neapolitan songs through the phone and say, “The nostalgia is too much…” Ivan has a usual calm composure and even if he were swearing at you, you wouldn’t know it. There was this time when I was helping him out in his office (he’s the Desktop Publisher-produces and translates the Today magazine and menus onboard) and when shit hits the ceiling, there was a sudden electric tension in the office. One of the hostesses provoked him and he retaliated by saying some nasty things back. And then she threatened to call the Assistant Cruise Director. Instead, he picked up the phone and called the Hotel Director, and said, “She’s a bitch! The hostesses are bitches!!!” She lunged at him but he leaned to the far right and I was in between the two of them. You may say that in times like this, it may sound mighty exciting but I can assure you it’s not. Ivan is also a fantastic musician. He sings Neapolitan folk songs and plays the guitar and the tambourine. As you listen to his soulful voice, it makes you think of images of a sailor, sitting at a rickety bench by the deck, calling out to the ocean, wanting to go home. He used to have a band where they’d tour all over Italy singing Tarantella and fusion Neapolitan classics. He also taught me some songs and made me sing the chorus with him. Yes-Ying singing in Neapolitan!!!! I wish I could show you the videos I took of him when he’s singing but that’ll come in due time. Having Ivan around is great but as he works close to 15 hours a day, we always end up hanging out in his office. However, it also feels that I’m addicted to his company because other than him (he speaks great English) there’s no one else as interesting or one that I could actually connect with. But I think this attachment is also very unhealthy because along with it comes a lot of unnecessary pain, anxiety and loss of perspective.

I miss speaking English incredibly. I realised that not being able to express myself naturally has limited my social network a lot. I told Moreno and Francesca about how bored am I and they told me, “Ying, everyone on the ship is bored.” And I agree but most people either work 10 hours a day or they speak Italian. If you speak Italian, no matter how bored you are, you can’t get more bored than me.
Oh well, enough about me. Surely life onboard is more than me, myself and I. Sometimes I wonder if I’m too self-indulgent. Every time as I pass through the garbage disposal section, a narrow corridor that I’ve to take to get to my cabin, I always meet this Crew Steward. He’s a young man from Indonesia, probably in his early twenties. He’s always mopping that floor and it makes me feel bad that I’ve to step on the spaces that he just mopped. I wonder how he feels about doing the same damn thing everyday. I wonder if it’s better to be told of your function onboard and all you do is keep fulfill that function and nothing more. If you’re meant to mop the entire corridor, from dusk to dawn, 7 days a week, 8 months in a year, how does that feel? Surely it keeps your thoughts to the minimum and if you could make peace with that, you’ll be a happier person?

Anyway, thank you for everyone’s well wishes. To those of you who’ve been sending me emails, just to let you know that your missives are taped on my wall. It’s to remind me that there’s a still world out of this ship, and in that world, things still work the same way as I know of it.

Or maybe I’m not seeing the lesson that I’ve to learn on board. The quicker I find out the reason why I’m put into this situation, the quicker I’ll be able to make peace with my situation.
I guess I can pontificate forever if I don’t stop myself. This long post will have to suffice for now.

The next time, I shall write about the places that we’ve been to.

Much love,
Ying of the seas…

There is a fine line when it comes to striking up friendships on a ship. Most people will confuse your offer of friendship as an invitation to your cabin or a proposal for a temporary partner and of course, this applies only if you’re a female on board. And so after you smile at them, talk to them, they’ll start stalking you down or send you random love notes. Yes, I used to get that when I was working on the other ship.

Scraps of paper were slipped under my office’s door, and on it was scrawled: I love you. There were phone calls from some random waiter or security guard, telling me to meet them at a certain place and time. I was petrified. For a while, I wouldn’t talk to anyone because I couldn’t trust any of the lot. When you finally found those people that you can open up to, you thought you could rest in relief, but no, because then they start to be attracted to you. Which is flattering, except that they are married, engaged or taken. It’s a very frustrating cycle that I’ve learned to withdraw quickly from. You learn to protect yourself. You put up all these defenses so that you can avoid the drama.

But the problem is, I have a habit of making friends with men first, simply because they’re more easy-going, funny and less uptight. Being not very ‘feminine’ myself, I blend in well in a company of men: I can guffaw as loudly as they can, tell bad jokes and am as loose tongued.

Today, I made friends with a number of people: Fulvio, the Chief Children Animator, a female photographer from Honduras; Ismael, the Kitchen Steward and George, the Hotel Fitter. Now, George seem to have that glint in the eye when he said, meaningfully, that the contract will go by quickly if you have good friends or someone to go through the contract with. That makes me snap back my defenses immediately. Well I think George is kinda cool but that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with him and by all means, I’m not into looking for ‘temporary partners’.

Thank god I’m now older and wiser. I’m going to enjoy myself on the ship, enjoy teaching the crew and stay away from the desperate.

The swells are strong and they keep slamming the ship with such relentless force.

At this point in time, we’re crossing a turbulent zone. I had to literally hold on to the railings and walk sideways with my back leaned on the metal pipes and wall. The floor is slippery with water; somewhere is leaking. Watertight doors all over the ship are closing; I hear intermittent alarm bells, cautioning both passengers and crew to stay put and safe. As the ship tips extreme left, everything from the right slid across the floor. Thank god I’ve nothing on the right side of the room except for shoes and my suitcase. I am not seasick as I’ve been through it before on the Other Ship but the movement on this ship scares me. Through the porthole I could hear the fury of the ocean, bellowing, pulling, pushing, swallowing, crashing. It’s as if nature is avenging itself; making its vengeance felt. The ship is at the mercy of the storm.

I pray we’ll navigate to safety.

If there’s one thing that I need to come to terms with, it’ll be about the practicality and the usefulness of my position as a Crew Lecturer or an English Teacher. I have battled with this for ages ago, since the very first time I started working with the company. There were times when I questioned why the need for this position when everyone else is already getting by with speaking broken English. However, safety issues became a problem for the Chinese crew. They weren’t able to communicate instructions or report emergencies to the officers due to their limited grasp of the language and were all sent to my classes. All of a sudden, I had a job to do again. In a very egoistic sense, I thus become important again. No longer was I the person who’s caught having three cups of coffee within 15 minutes due to lack of work. I was no longer the epitome of “The Good Life” because I was working hard, just like everyone else.

However on this ship, everyone CAN communicate in English. In fact, it doesn’t really matter if they can because half of the crew speak merely Italian. The passengers are mainly Europeans, thus rendering my service worthless and my position, redundant.

If I were to view myself from the outside, I must appear to be pretty pitiful. No friends, no colleagues, no work. Even Randy, the Crew Bartender, took pity on me and gave me free coffees. That is the least I could do: drink.

You have no idea how tiring it is for people to stare at me, peer at my nametag and then ask, “So what exactly do you do? You teach? Which language?”

As of now, I couldn’t start anything, as I couldn’t even get hold of my boss to hand my beeper. There’s much to do but if I don’t have a basic tool of communication, no one could get hold of me and thus no progress. I can’t be sitting in my office the entire day, filing nails.

There are some who actually admired my position, telling me that I’m lucky not to be given anything to do. Well, the thing is, I know I’m supposed to be something.. so it’s harder not to be doing anything when you know you need to do something. I couldn’t really concentrate on reading or writing because I know there’s a job I’ve to do but I can’t carry out…because my job is so dependent on everyone else.

I am very, very, very close to throwing the towel. There’s nothing I can do
Maybe it will change. Maybe when they realize that I’m just gallivanting my time away, they’ll start to pay attention to my work. If not, they’ll just have to kick me out.

Simon, the Canadian host, joined me at the dinner table. We were previously acquainted from another ship. We had some mutual friends and also, he was the lover of a close friend of mine.

He’s very talkative, very zany and wild but still good company.

The conversation began like this:

“Nikki laughed when she heard you’re on the Europa with me. She sends her regards.”

“Oh, how’s she? I’d love to have her here with me.”

“So you really liked her huh?”

“Yeah, she was sweet and nice. Great sense of humor. I really respected her. Does she have a boyfriend now, or is it the same one?”

“Yeah-the Engineer.”

“Still the same fucking Italian?”

“Yeah man.” Laughs. “Anyway, yesterday you said you wished to go back to Asia to join your girlfriend. Who’s she? Which one?”

“Girlfriends I mean.”

“Alright man, way to go. From the ship?”

“Well, just all over. I’ve got this Malaysian girl that I’d see every time the ship docks at Kota Kinabalu. Met her in Brunei actually. She told me she was from Kota Kinabalu and I said, no way! My ship goes to KK every fortnight…maybe we can hang out! I’d take her back to the ship, go get food at the buffet and then spend the whole afternoon making sweet love. After a bottle of champagne of course.”

“Wow, Titanic literally. Did the porthole fog up?”

“Heh, you bet. Yeah and then, there’s Yuko, the Japanese chick I met in Hong Kong. Really hot.”

“Hmm.”

“And yeah…wow, come to think of it, I’ve slept with so many girls from all different countries. Hmm…it’s been 5 days now…wait Ying, where are you from?”

“Malaysia. You’ve slept with a Malaysian so I’m off the list. Phew!”

“Awesome. I went back to Canada after I disembarked from the ship and I hooked up with this Guadeloupian. She’s real choice.”

“Hahah. Another box to check.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry. The ship has a buffet of personalities for you to choose from. I’m sure you won’t be sexually deprived.”

“I don’t know, man. This ship…”

“Oh, so you’ve checked it out?”

“Of course, are you kidding me? Did you see the two dancers sitting at the table next to us? They’re hideous! Could be potentially interesting…though I doubt so.”

And so the conversation proceeded to us counting the amount of women he slept with, the nationalities involved and with whom he was involved with (in regards to the previous ship we worked on). Yes, it was all gossip. I feel awful indulging in it but it was nonetheless lighthearted and hilarious. I don’t know if he detected the hint of sarcasm in my tone.

Having said that, I think he deserves credit in being non-pretentious. It was refreshing to see someone so honest about his sex life. He wasn’t in any way bragging but more like throwing it out on the table as if it were casual facts. I like the fact that he could talk about it so easily and seemed to appreciate these girls that he had been with. I don’t know if he was a heartbreaker but whatever it is, I’m not in the position to judge him. Why the moral uppity? He wasn’t asking me to condone his behavior; neither was he trying to preach the benefits of being sexually active.

He merely shared and I listened.

“ So what are you doing later tonight again?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

My little misadventure did evoke some cravings for alcohol so I went to the Crew Bar and got myself a glass of Campari Soda. For the uninitiated, it’s an aperitif drink that Italians would have before food. It’s potent, taste a little like cough medicine and cheap. 0.48 Euro cents.

Some people come and go but I hung around to speak to Randy, the Phillipino Crew Bartender. Niice chap; friendly and easy-going. Genuinely interested in listening to people. Some guys from the engine stopped by. They usually have do me a look over and then decided that I’m not worth their time…. I don’t speak Italian and they can’t be bothered to do the whole sign language thingy unless I’m a carbon copy of Angelina Jolie. It’s all very functional. They come to the ship to work, and if they need women to share the bed with them, they’ll ask. But forget about friendships and chats. They don’t need that. Nonetheless, one stayed back to talk to Randy and after, finding out that I spoke some Italian, we continued chatting for a while.

The fact is that, if you don’t speak Italian on this ship, then you’re practically hopeless. Speaking English gets you nowhere unless you just want to hang out with the British dancers who are all mainly 18-21 years old. The ship is large enough to have everyone form nationality or language cliques. You are not forced to use another language because there’ll be enough people in your department who speaks your native tongue. It’s a shame but that’s how it is.

Everyone stays in their clusters: the entertainers; the officers; the technicians; the bartenders. Why bother trying to strike a conversation with someone else especially when you don’t have to work with them?

It’s a Couchsurfer’s Hell.

Then, Eduardo from Honduras walked in. I was already on my second Campari bottle and the world swirled a little. Seeing Eduardo again made me grin with genuine happiness and alcoholic merriment. He is the upholsterer of the ship, a sweet old man, probably in his late 50’s. When he smiled back, I could see his black and gold teeth. We had always enjoyed each other’s presence despite the fact that I don’t speak Spanish and him, English. But we would just smile and smile and smile.

This time however, I could manage some Italian and started talking. Italian and alcohol don’t mix well- I can tell. I started rambling about my vacation in London, why Giorgio and I are no longer together, his vacation, why I missed the previous ship, gossip about our previous colleagues, why this ship is shit-etc.

By the end of it, I had to excuse myself, took huge gulps of water and leave the Crew Bar. I felt embarrassed because two bottles of Campari Soda (they’re probably 75ml each) knocked me out. Even a Jaegermeister is slower than this!

One of the Sous Chefs stopped me and asked whether I was okay. I guess I must have looked REALLY TIPSY.

Ah. I guess I’m settling in quite well already.

I can see that everyone’s already judging me, from the way I look, from my position and from who I talk to. Fortunately, I met a number of colleagues that I used to work with on the other ship like the Master Valet (he basically serves the top 5 officers namely the captain, staff captain, doctor, safety officer and chaplain), some restaurant guys, some musicians and the First Officer. The First Officer and I never really spoke but we’d exchanged some pleasantries. Over here, he seemed like he was really glad to see me. His eyes grew wide when he met me, kissed my cheeks and then pinch it after that. That’s really nice for a change because Officers are usually quite arrogant and sleazy.

His physical stature reminded me of Marco, the previous First Officer for Engines back on the other ship Not too tall but broad shouldered, tanned, and a shock of wavy dark and grey hair would frame his temples. Very distinguished looking. Marco and I got along very well without speaking much English. I met him a month before I disembarked from my previous ship. We could connect at a level where we both shared similar perspectives in life. Those times, we would sit outside the Crew Bar, underneath the stars, and with a beer in our hands, traded stories. He would keep supporting me to write my novel and would tell me stories about his motorbike, his amazing Buddhist sister, his Sicily and his ex-wife. I think he had desired to be with me but I was with Giorgio (even though Gio wasn’t onboard at that time) and wouldn’t imagine of betraying our relationship. Marco knew that and he respected the boundaries; he remained sweet, helpful and attentive, like a good friend. We would keep chatting into the night…. those dreamy talks about our destinies and direction in life. Those were the one of the best times on the other ship.
Will I be able to find someone like that on this ship? A good friend that I could connect with without the complications of romance and physical intimacies? I wouldn’t hold my breath since it’s too vast to make any instant connections but again, time will tell. And there must be reason why I’m here…. Someone that I’ve to meet, someone to teach me a lesson, something that I need to know… hopefully, every day, a new insight will be revealed.

A good friend of mine who doesn’t speak a word of English

You’re a Zingara, he laughs
As he waggles an accusing finger at me
You have a beautiful life, a wonderous mind,
One that can think up of plentitude of possibilities
One that still believes in miracles and magic.

Sei intelligente, he continues
As he brings the beer to his mouth
The chatters of the multilingual tongue doesn’t faze you
You listen to its swelling and decreasing of tones
Your mind hears the ideas
And you express yourself.

And as every other nights, I sit
perched high on the Crew Bar’s stool,
swirling my tiny self around
and occasionally taking a sip of the bittersweet Jaegermeister.
But tonight is different-there is a Friend,
A like-minded who takes my spirit into different levels of consciousness
Challenging my plethora of personalities to unite
To form the spiritual Me,
the essence from deep within that I’ve always wanted to express.

dark haired and skinned, strong jawed, rough hands
a pair of expressive eyes that sparkle
like the bio-lumiscence of the ocean,
wispy grey strays fringed his crown,
He smiles.
I never knew that I could find myself in him.

I chat in both sweet Italian and mundane English,
feeding my personality and ideas into the language
In return he murmurs understanding and acknowledgment.

I tell him that I am no adventurer
merely a collector of experiences
one who wishes to bottle up the every dream, every encounter and every emotion
moments of love, joy and serendipity.
I share that I am looking for something
finding myself while changing environments
Hoping that as soon as I’m completely whole within
I will stop.

He continues to smile and offer a similar exchange of conversation,
telling me of his dogs, his motorbiking adventures to Greece, his family
his country of beauty, his hatred towards the Berlusconi,
his Buddhist sister who’s also a backpacker and
a voracious reader,
his ex-wife who he still has a good relationship with,
the seas, the stars and the horizon,
the exquisite colours of dreams.

There was lack of fear in our sharing,
As we continue to burrow deep into our lives
searching for secrets that we could bring to surface,
There were no walls, nothing in between
twas was the greatest Crew Bar conversation
to find a true connection with a fellow colleague
of a much higher rank,
that I barely know.