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?

When I took the first leap, the first sure way to escape, the first path that lead me from the old to the new, as long as I had my backpack, I was invincible. I had no name for my backpack but it was a dark blue one with gray straps, and stitched in white it’s brand, DEUTER, a sturdy German label that assures comfort, longevity and hardiness. It was a name that stood against time and nature.

It was my most expensive investment before I left home and took that 24-hour rickety sleeper train to Bangkok from Butterworth, the first point of my journey. It probably cost about RM380 which with the passing of time makes my memory less accurate on it but nonetheless, I remember, it was a worthy investment.

Ed and I, in all our eagerness to leave our lives as corporate slaves and namely, our city, the good old polluted Kuala Lumpur, had went to Pertama Complex with Steffert, the Dutch CouchSurfer that we were hosting at that time, to look at backpacks. It so happened that Steffert also needed a new backpack. The trio headed there and within 15 minutes of haggling with an aggressive old Chinese lady, we managed to get at least 40% off the original prices. After all, Malaysians hadn’t got the hang of the culture of backpacking yet and they needed to make some money-3 expensive backpacks off the racks within the week must be pretty good business.

I remember leaving the shopping complex, beaming and dreaming of all the adventures that I could have with that backpack of mine. It was a 45+10 Litres, with a lot of extra space for shoes and dirty laundry. I even attached a silver and blue teddy bear luggage tag to it, thus personalizing it.

Over the years, the backpack had served me well. I had never washed it so it continued to wear the stains of spilled shampoo, the muddy streaks of dirty hiking sneakers, stains of tar, grime and dirt yet I still love it. It’s mine, it’s my home and now, it finally has some sort of character to it. When I load the backpack onto my shoulders, it towers over me, but the weight never wore me down. The hip straps balanced the weight properly and so even if people couldn’t see the top of my head from the back, they could see that the person carrying the backpack walked in perfect straight lines.

The backpack has been and seen places-it has been put on the cigarette littered train floorboards of the creaking Bulgarian trains, tied to the top of the roof of the Vietnamese busses, placed in between sacks of rice and random poultry animals, in between my unwashed knees and below the feet of my travel companions, from cruise ships to the back of motorcycles, from obscure bus stations to airports…everywhere.

It never tore, the zips always opened and my things were always safe-unlocked. In there, I could fit a hair-dryer, 6 different pairs of shoes, dresses, an umbrella, a sleeping bag, under garments, you name it.

It was my anchor, the only thing that I had constantly despite my transient existence.

You could only imagine my grief and anguish, the feeling that I could akin to losing a loved one, when the staff of a domestic Indonesian Airlines lost my backpack. At first, it seemed like it was misplaced and there was still hope. After all, I always got my backpack back, even if it went missing in Paris, Rome, Guadeloupe, Venice and Doha. It always turned up, like the rising sun.

However, as days slip into weeks and now months, hope has melted away. I had to accept the fact that I’ll never see my best friend-ever again.

I went to purchase a new one, from the same shop that sold my old one. The old Chinese lady was still there, still willful to make a bargain. Everything felt the same, the experience of haggling and everything, except this time, I looked at the Deuter red and grey backpack and thought, no, it is just not the same.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

Wherever you are now, my Blue and Grey Deuter Backpack, may you continue to see things and go places.

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.

Apologies

It has been a while since I’ve last updated my blog. It’s certainly not an easy task when the wireless internet onboard doesn’t come cheap. It’s 24 Euros for 3 hours or 0.25 Euros per minute. If you do the math, most of the crew members usually spend up to 150-200 Euros a month on the wi-fi, usually for short emails and the occasional Facebook updates. Thankfully for my position, I have an allowance of 200 Euros a month on internet but still, it just means 24 hours of free internet. That’s not much is it. I could easily use 24 hours of internet within 2 days.

The first few months

I must admit that the first few months on this ship has been full of strife and struggle. I was angry at myself for agreeing to another contract on the ship even though I know perfectly that my relationship with Nick will suffer in the process. Not just that, I also knew that I’m now beyond the drinking parties, the transient friendships and the see-as-many-places-as-you-can mentality. In short, I had absolutely no reason to come back to the ship if not for my financial situation. After the Balkans escapade, I was left with utterly nothing so it was difficult to say no to a new contract and a pay raise. Like an addict, I said to myself, “Just one last time and then, basta!”

Doing the job well was not difficult at all. In fact, I was often bored with the whole process. There were many tedious moments where I was holed up in the office, doing paperwork than teaching. Having said that, it’s a position that garnered many privileges that many other crew members would die for like drinks and internet allowance, my own office and a rather flexible schedule.

But it no longer was the dream job anymore. I was tired of seeing so many cities and countries within such a short period of time and despite the excellent paycheck, there was really nothing to look forward to. The job didn’t require any of my creative or intellectual skills at all. For a while, my mind was a block of ice, waiting to be thawed.

I also work alone and other than my students, I hardly had the chance to mingle. As I don’t belong to any specific department onboard, I had no fellow colleagues to jibe with or sit next to during meal times. My position was higher than most staff and crew members but lower than an Officer’s. In short, people either view me suspiciously, fearfully or just with disinterest.

As I’m a very people oriented person, such circumstances made me feel very detached from the world and myself. My emotions swung like a pendulum, depending on the situation. There were times where loneliness hit me like a brick and hopelessness hovered heavily above. There were brief rays of sunlight too but very rarely. Nick and I broke up after a long series of failed communication and widening distance. There was a gulf between our physical locations and our hearts.

The last few months

I was just spiraling downwards so quickly that I didn’t know I hit rock bottom. Once at the bottom, I realized how much I’ve suffered because I’ve put so much on the external, on my life situation. I’ve forgotten that to be in control of my life is to be in control of my being, of the divine within. So I stopped looking out and started looking in. As the ship docked in Fort Lauderdale, USA, every Sunday, I purchased books over Amazon.com to keep my loneliness at bay. I refused to waste my time, feeling sorry for myself just because life didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to.  

I regained my passion for writing after excavating some old but lovely memories of my writing adventures when I was little. I had always been a writer since I had more books than toys those days. I’ve written and illustrated volumes of short stories and plays and had my childish poetry and articles published in the local newspaper. I even won some slogan writing competitions because I thought that would impress the socks off my parents. But this love for writing became conditional as I grew up. Stories don’t sell, my dad would say, and hence, why waste time writing them? Go be a journalist or something. Do something more practical. With that sort of advice, I became a cowardly writer but with perfectionism as an excuse. I wouldn’t allow myself to write badly. I wouldn’t write anything that doesn’t sell. I wouldn’t write if I haven’t got a muse to sprinkle the magic dust over me. In short, I stopped writing and went on to do other more important things in life.

Now with time in my hands and to have nothing else to live for, I dove back into writing. I started a writing journal, pushed myself to enter a short story competition, read a lot, looked into grad schools for MFA, bought myself a creative writing textbook and start the whole damn process again: to learn how to write.

I also enjoyed drawing comics for friends (I eventually met a number of people that I grew close to) and making them laugh with the posters and photo montages. To my surprise, I’m actually quite good at it! I’m not going to make a living out of sketching but being able to create something just stimulates the artist in me again.

Meditation also helps alleviate the despair and negative energy. I was so resistant towards life. I was fighting against it, condemning myself for the wrong choices that I’ve made and indulged in misery. You wouldn’t believe it if I tell you that choosing to suffer was a choice and I don’t know why I do it. It could be because I thought, by suffering, I’m able to brace myself for more unwanted life situations. It was easier to be unhappy than to be aware. And in an unhappy state, I attracted more unhappy people and unpleasant situations.

Then, I started it’s time to discipline my mind and balance my spirit again. Being unhappy no longer works. The dramas and conflicts created to strengthen my ego became boring. I was eager to get out of the rut. So I practiced Vipassana (mindfulness) and Metta (Loving-Kindness) meditation as often as I can. Using several guided audio meditation by the Insight Meditation Center (from the US), I meditated initially for 10 minutes and then 20..etc. It was blissful to just have a clear mind within that space of time. I could feel my own spirit again and its strength. Slowly but surely, but not always, my emotions improved and I became sunnier. And with clarity and focus, I could ask myself honest questions about what I want out of life. I also attracted some good friends who later helped made the last month of my contract a worthwhile memory.

So, with newly a clear mind and a loving heart, abundance in life was restored. It wasn’t rosy all the time but at least the setbacks were easier to bear. There were still periods of apathy, sloth, self-pity and uninspiring moments but now I learned to look within to cope with my life situation instead of the other way around.

What happens next

I’ll be leaving this ship for another ship on the 27^th of April. I’ll have to start packing soon but at least this time round, I’ll leave with somewhat a heavy but resolved heart. I’ve made some really good friends, seen some really fascinating places, done a number of crazy things and most importantly, learned all the lessons that I was meant to learn on this ship. Perhaps that’s why life has nudged me into taking this contract. It’s because I wasn’t done learning before. Now that I have, I’m ready for some other experiences that life has to offer.

Nikolas Beach, Rhodes Island-enjoying my last Greek Islands exeprience

Ultimately, we all reach a certain point in our lives where we’d stop for a bit, ruminate about the future, reflect on the past and then, choose the best route for the present. This year is THAT year, where every decision has to be made with a lot of care and precision, because once made, a new set of possibilities will follow, whether I like it or not, and I’ve to live them all until another fork in the road of life appears again.

I must admit, I have really lived it up. I’ve seen plenty of places, done many things, experienced what it was like to be poor and rich, let wanderlust run its course and have literally covered from the skies to the seas. I don’t regret the experiences, not for even an iota. In fact, I’m grateful for them for they have strengthened my spirit and made me grow up. I’ve learnt to see my own weaknesses and strengths during times of solitude and hardships. I’m always surprised to discover my capacity to endure and go on, despite perpetual blows and rejection. I’ve learnt the value of money, independence and love, and to peel away the layers of ignorance and illusion.

But then, what now?

Many travelers and couchsurfers that I’ve met, upon finishing their life-altering journeys, are often found back in their countries, doing the same things that they’ve always been doing, be it that corporate job that they’ve given up right after they sold properties and reduced their lives to a backpack, or to pursue another qualification, to get married and have kids, etc. Does that mean that other than accumulating perspectives and worldly wisdom, we don’t actually change much? Is long-term traveling over-rated then?

Dearest Su Kon,

It is my biggest regret, as your only aunt, not being able to watch you grow, not being there to cheer when you utter your first syllables nor to watch you take your first steps. I won’t be able to stand with your mum, dad and grandmother to celebrate those many other precious moments of your ‘firsts’ because I’m still suffering a serious case of wanderlust. Despite my recent desire to settle, get married and produce cousins who can become your playmates, I still have to ultimately find the ‘One’, to find the job that I truly enjoy doing (in other words, I don’t have to wake up every morning and feel like I’ve to drag herself to work) and to save enough money so that I can continue to pursue what I believe is right, honest and enriching. The pursuit of happiness is a challenging one because you’ve to learn to distinguish which ideas of happiness are of your own and which are dogmatic ideas, fed to you by the media. When you are measured against other people’s ideas of success, you may find yourself short and may consider yourself a failure even when you’re not to blame.

Now, what do you think your aunt does? Well, the reason why I’m away so much is because I now work on cruise ships. The length of my contract varies-sometimes it’s six, sometimes it’s eight. While I’m away, I think of you and your family all the time. I hold the position of a Crew Lecturer. I teach English as a Foreign Language to crew members, mainly the hospitality personnel and Deck Officers. On top of that, I also have to train those on their first contracts about the company and its values and mission. There are also several other projects that eat up my time, but because the nature of the projects are laughable, I won’t divulge the information.

The current ship that I work on is considered one of the larger ships in the fleet. It can carry up to 4400 people, both passengers and crew members and its maximum cruising speed is 24 knots. It was built in a Genovese shipyard, in 2003. The interior is rather kitschy (in my opinion!), full of gaudy colors and golden arcs, unlike the company’s older ships, which tend to sport more complimentary colors and classical designs.

We are about the finish the West and East Caribbean season. The ship calls at Nassau, Grand Turk, Grand Cayman, St Thomas, San Juan, Cozumel, Ochos Rios and Fort Lauderdale. I don’t have a particular preference for any of these port of calls as they are teeming with duty-free shops like Diamonds International and nasty touristy hang-outs like Magaritaville and Senor Frogs where rich and fat tourists love chugging a beer down at.

Having said that, if you’re a beach lover like your father, you may be enjoy the beaches in places like Grand Turk, Grand Cayman and St Thomas, where you’d find warm water of blue and emerald, sandy white beaches and palm fronds. Unfortunately, you may also find the rest of the cruise ship passengers with you there.

My friends and I, once took the bicycles and cycled around Cozumel. The stretch of coast is really pretty and wild. It is also full of shops and boutiques but we pay them no heed. Usually, after all that cycling, we go to a bar called the No Name Bar that has a rather apt tagline below it’s name: Don’t Screw With the Crew. It’s divided into several areas that offers wireless internet, a pool, a pool bar, a café, a cigar bar and the lot. It’s also built along the ocean so you can wade out into the salty water from the steps. Crew members from every other ship hang out there as well-some friendly, some not. It’s quite a cool place.

Somewhere in mid-April, I’ll be transferred to another ship which is a sister ship to the current one that I’m on. It will at first sail around the Mediterranean seas and then after, sail towards the Baltic cities like St. Petersburg, Helsinki, Stockholm, Riga, etc and then all the way up to the North Cape. I’ll have a chance to visit the fjords at the most Northern parts of Norway and Iceland, something which I really look forward to. I’ll definitely put my digital SLR to good use and show you the pictures when I get back in July.

I’m sorry that I don’t write very often but know that I’m thinking of you always.

Love,
Ying
Your gypsy aunt

Nithin and I

You can curse your fate and fight against destiny, but sometimes, when you least expect it, the divine conspires and offers you a treat or two, tantalizing you to believe in something bigger than yourself again. Synchronicity works its way to provide you the perfect timing to make certain decisions under some pretty doubtful circumstances but alas, to reap the rewards, patience is absolutely vital.

Outside the Apple Store at the Galleria Mall, I am pacing. I look at my watch every now and then and sigh. They are so late, I mutter. I open my book and read the eight page of Napoleon Hill’s Think & Grow Rich, but I couldn’t concentrate. When restlessness kicks in, I close my book, turn and see a familiar figure that I once used to trade travel and writing tips over a couple of milky hot teas.

“Hello,” he says, his face breaking into a big grin. “It’s so weird to see you. But I swear you were much taller before.”

Two and a half years ago, Nithin, an American Couchsurfer, and I were frequently caught engaged in heated pseudo-intellectual debates, under the umbrellas of street food stalls in Kuala Lumpur. He was part of the rising Couchsurfing cult that comprised of my crazy but well-travelled Malaysian friend, Ed, the Dutch who never quite made it to New Zealand ever since he stepped foot in Malaysia, Stef, fun loving Philadelphia, Matt, and yours truly. We met and said our goodbyes at different corners of South East Asia and did it so many times that I really didn’t remember when was it really the ‘last goodbye’. Our friendship has seen us through various misadventures in Malaysia, Thailand and Cambodia.

Since then, we have always kept in touch. An email every 6 months was pretty common. Last winter, he expressed desire to travel Europe again and asked me if I would still be in London. I shook my head no since by that time, I was expected back on the ship. And then, his plans fell through. This year, he sent me another email asking the same thing but unfortunately, for the very same reasons, I sadly shook my head no. But interestingly, he later wrote to tell me that his girlfriend and him would be doing a road trip to Miami before his planned trip to Europe. And what do you know, I happen to be on a ship that docks at Fort Lauderdale every weekend, which is just a 45-minutes train ride from Miami!
Who would have thought that of all the places, South Florida is the place where we’d see each other again?

Despite the wind and the cold, it was still a nice afternoon. Nithin introduced me to his very friendly girlfriend, who also seem to share his love for literature and travel. We reminisced about the past, reflected about the present and shared our anticipation for the future. I felt myself talking faster than usually, occasionally stumbling on long words, trying to say as much as possible during our brief time together. It was so heartening to connect with another like-minded, what more with one who’s an old friend of yours.

I love serendipitous encounters like this! I know it was a pre-conceived plan but I definitely didn’t choose to be in Fort Lauderdale to see him and neither did he plan to come to Miami to see me either. He and his girlfriend bought the tickets way before they knew that I was going to be there.

Sometimes, life can be quite sweet after all.

PS-Thanks for the book too, Nithin!

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.