Voila-my favourite Italian students!

While I may complain incessantly about my job onboard, there are quite a few rewarding moments where I’ve missed touching on. Life onboard maybe claustrophobic, extremely challenging in terms of professional and personal relationships but nothing beats that moment where my students actually managed to adsorb what I’ve been blabbing on about for the past few weeks and they passed their tests with amazing results and they chat with you fondly whenever they bump into you along the corridors.

With pride and gratitude, I proudly present my students-The Deck Officers who actually made my job and my life a little better.

I miss you all!

I’ve probably told myself a thousand times over that someday, I’m going to apply the same kind of commitment I have towards putting on make-up everyday before work towards my blog, but as you can see, months have passed and still not a scribble nor an anecdote on my stale and forgotten blog. It’s un-ac-cep-ta-ble.

WHY I DON’T BLOG ANYMORE

1) Most of the personal events happened  in my workplace. I’ve literally spent years living and working within the same space. I’m afraid that if I blab too much about the involved culprits, I might be fired from my job.

2) Internet is scarce onboard. It costs me at least Euro 0.50 per minute. Despite my 200 Euros allowance per month, it’s still not enough to hang around long enough.

3) I have an attention span of a 5-year-old and a penchant for shiny new things like a troll. To write something insightful can be tedious (don’t tell anyone that I’m an aspiring writer) and this old blog no longer has that magnetic quality on me anymore. As I’m not connected to the Internet most of the time, I don’t have a support network to keep me going, thus succumbing easily to procrastination and laziness.

4) I like to fantasize and make things up. I don’t like to think and psychoanalyze myself and put them into words. Most of my best work are fiction while the non-fiction ones don’t talk about me. Perhaps I’m just not a very thoughtful person-haha!

5) Work is demoralizing, exhausting and continuously draining my creative literacy juices.

You could say that I’m one of those girls who lives a semi-charmed kind of life: one who has been blessed to have that sort of job where he or she is paid to wake up in a different country everyday actually-that’s only a fringe benefit), one who doesn’t have to make up tales or overdramatize situations just to make her life sound a little more interesting, whose life (in retrospect) looks incredibly interesting at a glance and where her reality is usually stranger than fiction yet despite of all that, I don’t feel the burning desire to update my blog on a more frequent basis.

Instead, I pen ranty and usually grammatically incorrect emails to my friends who have long become my virtual audience. They armchair travel through me while I seek catharsis virtually in return.

However, there are times when I feel that my continuous bombarding of emails sometimes turn them off hence…

I SHOULD REALLY CONTINUE TO BLOG…..

1) Whenever I do get a chance to surf and lurk around other people’s blogs especially those stellar ones that quenches my thirst for knowledge, gossip or wisdom, I feel the urge (purely egoistical) to do the same. To put myself out there, warts and all, to the world and be read. To write in order to share would probably give me the most pleasure but to be read is kinda nice too, don’t you think?

2) I’m an aspiring writer. I’m trying to finish up a novel. What sort of writer am I if I don’t write? Also, as a writer, I must have some sort of portfolio. A personal blog is a great testament to one’s discipline and capacity as a writer but I’ve been doing piss all about it. It’s time to put my foot down and get over myself.

3) I sit in my room

imagine the future

sunlight falls on Paris…

Trafalgar’s fountain splash

on noon-warmed pigeons…

Gold dolphins leaping

thru Mediterranean rainbow

White smoke and steam in Andes

Asia’s rivers glittering…

- Allen Ginsberg

I could really relate to the verse by the beat writer Ginsberg. Friends somehow have imagined my life to  be something like this: me sipping macchiato in some random war-torn country while I type away on my Macbook-which is not completely untrue except that, instead of updating my blog, I was surfing Facebook or doing something equally inane and non productive. Now, if only I could capture that soft wintry sunlight in Paris or that double Icelandic rainbow into words, my blog would have been rich with sounds, sights and smells. I may not have been that great of a writer but I could at least try.

THE CHALLENGE

At least a blog post a week. It’s a realistic and feasible goal and I don’t think I’d die trying. It’s a challenge for the lazy but it’s still a start. What do you think? Who’s reading me?

I’ve been meaning to dedicate an entry to my  friends on the other ship for ages but for some reason, I never found the time to do so on this ship. I keep getting distracted by Crew Bar and Crew Party invitations, Sex and the City reruns, work, and naps. This ship definitely has a more festive ambience than the previous one that I was on, since the next largest nationality onboard is Brazilian, despite the fact that many of them had been transferred to other ships since the Brazilian season was over. These bunch of people are just so easy-going, loud and keen on making things happen that even those from the south of Brazil where apparently people don’t party that much are still friendlier than some of the surly Romanians or Italians. These bright-eyed, quick to smile colleagues who are always free with ther constant volleys of ‘Oi, tudo bem?’ greetings, are hard not to like. Nonetheless, despite such rich flow of enthusiastic energy going around, I still find myself missing the very few people who made last month on my ex-ship wonderful.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m surrounded by great friends here (a few close ones that I’ve spend entire contracts with, on other ships and to my delight, had embarked on this current one) but still, some ties are just so great and intense that they aren’t to be replaced out of convenience or due to changing life circumstances. To live a seafaring lifestyle is difficult but when you find yourself a right group of people, life becomes bearable and sometimes, even the highlight of your life

Here’s to the wonderful cast of the current ship that I’m on!

ALE TOSTO (ITALIAN PHOTOGRAPHER)

This man, may be small in stature but his heart is probably the biggest one that I’ve ever known. He’s a non-stop hugs and kisses giver; a companion with a compassionate and loving soul; young in age but mature in spirit and soul; a radiant and wonderful being in whole. Immensely practical and meticulous while classifying species and understanding the biological structures of living beings, he’s not without crazy idiosyncrasies like doing things out of love, dreams and hope. His smiles are so wide that sometimes, it’s hard to be angry or negative when his presence is near. It was easy to talk of the sane and insane matters with him, always wrapped up in swirls of smoke as the conversation wears on. A brilliant photographer both on and off work, he had always inspired me to see the world in different angles through the view finder. He always has this zany yet positive view about the world. You can count on him to play the ‘green man’ or the ‘raptor’ just for kicks and he’d do it, just because it makes us laugh so much. It’s impossible to chill out in Barbedos, or Corfu, or Rhodes Island without Ale because his presence would surely be acutely missed. I know that despite the fact that we’re now apart, we’re going to be seeing each other somewhere, someday again.

ALBERTO ALBICOCA MONTANI (ITALIAN PHOTOGRAPHER)

Alberto deep in reverie

When I first found out that he’s also a fellow writer and reiki practioner, I swear I swept off my feet. It’s hard to imagine that this guy, broody and monosyllabic, with a body of The Incredible Hulk, could be such a soft and shy guy-like a big, fuzzy panda.
As Ale’s right hand and his partner in crime, Alberto’s the spirit while Ale’s the heart of a person. He speaks slowly in halting in English, lacking confidence when speaking in his non-native language…but when constant company breeds familiarity and bottles of rum helps his brain muscles relax, he is always caught spouting philosophy, literature, surf culture and random nonsense. I’ve always seen him as the Italian Kerouac, dark, intense and sometimes a little crazy….like me, he is inherently a gypsy yet one who’s fiercely loyal and kind…He also has a way with words (in Italian) and waves, an open brilliant mind and a great poet (if only my Italian vocab is extensive enough to understand the depths of his verses). Together, we’d hung out till the wee hours of the morning, with Ale, talking about nothing at all, with my teeth chattering in the cold, under the stars, while the ship sped to its next port of call. Lying on the deck chairs, after another monotonous crew party, we found ourselves contemplating the past, present and the future. And somehow, sometimes, even without talking too much, I know that he’d just understand the very essence of me. It’s a shame that we’d only just hung out more than usual a month before I left but still, those moments will burn forever in my memory.

Alberto out for a surf

ANGY aka THE CHINESE (CHINESE CHILDREN COUNSELLOR)

Angy swinging with joy

Angy’s not the typical Chinese when it comes to socializing. Brash, funny and loquacious, while she may not be able to roll her ‘R’s properly or calls Alberto, Ubeto, she still speaks a smattering of other languages like conversational Italian, German and English. She was mainly my ‘Asian sister’ where you can never see her, without me and vice-versa. Unlike our European colleagues, we’re more straight-forward and honest with each other. Our friendship is strong and without frills. We’re fiercely devoted to surviving on the ship–together. Whilst, we weren’t on our first contracts, we had  perpetually struggled with the hostility of colleagues and environment yet when we cheered each other up when the other was low, or encouraged, cajoled and convinced one another that there was much to be grateful about, our time on the ship became more bearable. And just when we were about to give up on meeting other people, Ale and Alberto appeared in our social circle.

Thank you guys for such a wonderful time! Without you, I’d have never dared jumped into the freezing waters of Corfu and Rhodes Island, or got drunk on Retzina, or stayed up all night to finish that tattoo design, or found the courage to write again, or found the desire to sketch, or rediscovered my enthusiasm to explore and so much more.

Kisses to all of you. Spread your love and light around, people.

30 minutes to counting down, I was at Marco’s cabin, desperately wishing that he would do something that would help reassure me of my fears. But he did not. He said nothing and continued to pluck his acoustic guitar.

“So shall we go up to the pool to join Francesca and Moreno for the countdown?” I asked finally, when I could no longer take the heavy, draggy silence.

“If you want to go, you can. I’m staying here,” Marco said.

“Come with me,” I begged.

“You know how I don’t like small talk and random people,” he said. “But if you want, go. Don’t stay here and be stupid.”

I bit my lip to stop tears from rolling down my cheeks. His curt and insensitive comment had rendered me soulless and powerless to enjoy the night. I wanted him to like me, to understand me-so badly. He was the only person that I could relate to, on the ship. He was interesting, witty, intelligent and talented. It was his love for traditional folk music that drew me to him. I have always got a penchant for surly artists who live a bohemian lifestyle. While Marco was holding down one of the most boring and practical positions on board, a Desktop Publisher, only those close to him know that he’s much more than that.

For the past few weeks, while we have both each other’s company, it was clear that I was the only one, who was trapped in a romantic delusion, thinking that he was more than a friend. The relationship was toxic but addictive. In order to not be alone, I surrender to his cruelty. He used my heart whenever needed but refused to return any forms of genuine affection.
I knew it was dangerous but I was powerless. I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone.

Yet at that moment, when the new year is about to arrive, and no matter how much commercial significance has placed onto that one day, I still wanted to celebrate it with him. But even though he was there, I have never felt so alone in my whole life before.

I have learnt a great lesson from then on. I told myself that I will never let anyone hurt me that way again. I will never scrounge or beg for affection or company if it doesn’t fill me up with happiness. I will let go of relationships that are damaging. True friendship or love should never work that way.

And that’s why, this time round, I was pleasantly enjoying the self-induced solitude on New Year’s eve. I had books for company, the TV (Billboard Countdown was on) for distraction and thoughts of the lovely boyfriend to fill my mind with.

It was enough. It wasn’t thrilling but it was fulfilling in some way. I was finally enjoying me.

It was a navigation day (where the ship cruises across the ocean without stopping) and I had absolutely nothing to do. My morning classes finished even before some passengers were even awake. After running through a list of things I could do but without getting an infraction for, I decided to do my laundry.

Laundry business is the most annoying on the ship, simply because it takes too long to do it. How difficult can it be, you think to yourself. Well, for  ship that houses at least 958 crew members, they only have ONE laundry room with 5-6 washing machines and only 1.5 dryer that actually works. 1 works fine while the other takes 2 hours just to get some underwear hot and crisp. Go figure

I didn’t have much-just a bunch of socks, undergarments, a t-shirt or two and my pajamas (it helps if you wear your uniform at all times). I stepped into the Laundry Room and saw huge, industry strength machines rocking their steel forms off. A bartender was sitting on the huge washing sink, with headphones plugged in as he waited for his laundry. Two others from the Engine department were leaning against the wall, chatting but their eyes watched their washing machines like mothers waiting to punch those who dare touch their children.

The problem with lack of washing machines is, because there are way too much washing to be done but without enough facilities to do it, the natural survival instincts kick in. People with 14 hour work schedules will walk into the Laundry Room, scan for an orphan washing machine, stop it, take out the wet laundry that hasn’t quite finished yet and dump theirs in. Finders, keepers.

Then of course, there’s a mad rush for the dryer too. The same theory applies as well.

So when I walked in, I was lucky enough to find a free laundry machine. Like a rodent who’s found some cheese, I quickly pushed my way through a bunch of people, dumped my clothes in, sprinkled the washing powder over and waited. Thank god, I brought a book with me.

But even as I waited, my eyes scanned predatorily for an available dryer. There was a Philippino guy who was guarding his dryer obsessively but there wasn’t another laundry basket with wet clothes on it.

“Is there anyone waiting for your dryer?” I asked.

“Nope. I’ve got 25 more minutes to go,” he replied.

“Great. When you’re done, let me know.”

And I waited. In this case, patience is indeed a virtue. Or all good things come to those who waits. Whatever.

As the clock ticked, Raquel, an Animator Cruise Staff and her boyfriend walked in. I looked up from my book and said hi.

“No machines free, eh?” her boyfriend said.

“ Dunno. Tough luck.” I said.
I scanned around the room from my little corner to see there was anyone remotely close to having their laundry done….and then I saw it. This petite Philippino girl, who was still wearing her yellow Bar service uniform but with shorts and flip flops were in a midst of sorting her laundry out. She had like a Santa’s sackful worth of dirty clothings which she is now separating and putting into 4 different washing machines. Is that really necessary at all?

No wonder people are pissed off.

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.