tripping

I woke up, earlier than usual, with the flourescent light left on, and looked around in my room.  It was today, I remembered, the day before the weekend flurry from Tokyo, to Malaysia, to Singapore, to all these things I want to do, but can barely imagine doing, to venture into the unclear, yet entirely feasible, unknown. Today, the preparation opens up into execution. I get up and change for work.

At quarter to 8, I bid my goodbyes to the office folk, and warmly receive everyone's goodbyes back.  And with their goodbyes, there seems to be sandwiched within a hearty "good luck."  The ambitiousness of this trip is not lost on them--and neither on me for that matter.

Walking to the station, traversing Japan's railway system en route to the airport, not a stray thought is wasted on the circumstances that led to the trip, nor the circumstances that might occur during.  There are only destinations and time in my head, as I stand in line at the counter, stoic, among people chattering in yet another foreign language.  Behind the outward calm, inside my head, I've laid-out the weekend plan like a connect-the-dots puzzle, as time slowly draws a line from point-to-point. Like a constellation in the sky leading wayfarers of old, I focus on this and keep moving forward. Nothing else matters.

Malaysia is bustling, and warm.  I walk with pedestrians in bright shorts and loose shirts in the city where most structures look renovated, under renovation, or waiting to be renovated. Including the temples, the city is modern, but felt worn, like a respectable trophy, gilded in silver, detailed with gold, but with a thin, barely perceivable layer of dust and age.  In a few years time, the cityscape may change, but the atmosphere will cling to old roots, like lingering vapors of all the varied spices consumed so far in the history of this place.  The city felt authentic in that way.

And in the center of it, the Petronas tower loomed, erect in the twilight, a beacon of progress casting the light of a hundred-thousand bulbs and pin-lights and spotlights. It was purposely excessive, intentionally awe-inspiring. The city is consumed with innovation, and from out of it protrudes this.

The concert was marvelous. Sonorous melodies filled the concert hall of Petronas, as well as the ears of a young, yet precociously nostalgic audience.  The hall was packed with the smartly dressed youths, collectively reminiscing, remembering those intimate afternoons fighting for love, for glory, for justice.  Overhead, battles were waged and triumph secured on the silver screen coinciding with the revolutions of each piece, a visual composition to repeat and underscore the emotion and feelings freed by the music.  For a short time, we were slaves to our sentiments, captivated by the magic of a tale we grew with and, for a while now, have regrettably left behind.

The trip to Singapore the next day was hectic, and was a lesson in faith, and hope, and blind luck.  The journey on a taxi-less morning, from one distant corner of the city, to the equally distant international airport would have been disastrous if it weren't for a lone taxi with a 7am delivery of tea for the food center nearby.  I arrived at the check-in counter, now deserted save for the check-in staff, and thanked fate, providence, and God in between every exhausted pant for breath.

Singapore is convenient, efficiency made compact and kept in tasteful housing.  It was all business, but clean about it, too. I arrived with no incident save for an address lost inside a dead phone, easily remedied by a payphone call and a knowledgeable taxi driver.

At my sister's home, I saw family again and was overwhelmed with love. All the pent-up longing manifested in a loss for words.  I grew greedy, I guess, and wanted to listen and drink in the warmth of all of them, and if I spoke, I would have interrupted them being themselves. So I kept to myself, but smiled sincerely, and did my best to satisfy missing them for so long.

And I saw Lucas, barely a week old. Tender, warm, and quite restive, clearly comfortable here with my family. Seeing him, a mere baby, struck me with wonder, both at the thought of all the possibility yet to be realized, and all the challenges yet to be endured by this small, frail body. Motherhood is not a solely female attribute, it seems. It is sympathy, born from all our own travails while growing-up, a definitely universal and wholly human experience.

Though slightly delayed by a sudden wave of a hundred and fourteen Christian teenagers celebrating their confirmation at the Sunday mass we attended, I got to say my goodbye's properly and made my way to the airport on time, with an extra kiss and a hug to spare for my mom.  The plane took me back to Malaysia, and at midnight, ferried me back home, to Tokyo.

On the train from Narita airport, heading straight to work, I met a beautiful couple who had arrived that same day and, with their 8 hour layover, hoped to snatch a glimpse of Japan. I helped them as much as I could, told them to keep their pace brisk from the temple at Asakusa, down pedestrian crossing in Shibuya, among monolithic malls of Ginza, and at last at the historic grandeur of Tokyo station.

I thought it was my responsibility to repay the blessings wrought from the weekend, to pay it forward by bidding strangers a safe journey.  Because we've all been there, to that place where there is only the unfamiliar ahead, and the blind hope in our hearts lighting the way ever forward.