This is perhaps the hardest to churn amongst all the memories remapping in recent days, which has sat in my drafts for days.

March 2009. London & Rome.

It would have been different if this was written fresh from the experience, or at any point in the past 2 and half months.

Then various considerations came up as I did the collages, of places I had been, the feeeeeeling each place left me with, and the joy of the experiences.

For the fear of being the post being misconstrued, it is one hardest to start on, and the pictures went through lotsa editing. Initially, it was plenty of cropping. Then there came a point cropping doesn’t work, as most pictures of places are not solo ones, and once cropped, it could have been Sentosa and it wouldn’t be any different. Then faces were blacked out by angry paintbrush from the tools of Photoshop.. then this and that.

And then you realise, some shared memories cannot be blacked out and I have to accept that.

Then again, a friend said she wouldn’t friend me if I wishy-washy think so much what others think, cough cough, and I am not good with emotional blackmails, remember (you win!! I looser!)?

Putting all things aside, I did go all out to enjoy myself during the trip, as I had planned it to be one where I would say goodbye. It hadn’t been that way, as I had wanted to roam around Europe with some fabulous friends, and then despite a rough patch, he was in on the trip too.

Enough of that. Cos at the end of it all, like the previous posts, I could chew on the memories with a smile as if it was still back then, and the compartmentalising works pretty well as I relive what I would have written back then and pick myself out from “now”.

It would be a journalling of what the trip had meant to me, and how I actually felt during the trip.

Like I had said, it was good to be back, with or without.

***

Day 1

Everytime I return to the cold, cold Europe, I feel like a little girl all over again. The glee, the excitement, the rush.. and the eagerness to walk down paths I was once so familiar with.

I wonder if Alice felt the same way when she was in wonderland.

Somehow I love to take pictures as the plane takes off… as if it could capture some sort of anticipation, and the silliness of it all. Or maybe, it shows that I was leaving a part of me, the burdened part behind, and recharging myself with renewed zest for adventures.

Almost missed the flight cos spent some time around Terminal 3 shopping for books and having breakfast at Burger King… and reaching a clean, cleared gate as the last passengers to board.

I was even blogging on the plane through my phone, and sending messages to Wifey and Potato, until Potato screamed at me over SMS to switch off my phone.

Spent much of the flight catching movies on Krisworld. The Duchess (I remember watching this vividly cos I just love period movies), Twilight, Twilight, Twilight, part of Slumdog millionaire again, but I didn’t manage to sit through Australia.

13 hours later, I looked out of the window and recognised the London Eye, the London Bridge, and the many intimate landmarks that made London, London.

The moment I landed at Heathrow, the lovely English accent from the young immigration officer made me go weak in the knees. Before I knew it, I was speaking in an annoying twang just for the good fun of it.

The standard questions were asked, about where I was staying, purpose of visit and all, and he looked up with a smile and asked, “Where did you learn your English? Have you been here before?“.

“I used to stay here a decade ago.”

Whose place will you be staying at? I pointed to the chap standing at the next booth, “His aunt’s place, South Kensington.”

The 2 immigration officers looked at each other, “Oh, they are together.”

“Ahh.. you should have said you are with your boyfriend.”

Dang! I shrugged. I didn’t manage to explain things, but it was pretty obvious I wasn’t gonna get lucky on the trip.

And I wasn’t about to snag an officer cap in UK.

Shopped for a bottle of perfume to add to my evergrowing collection, since I had absent-mindedly forgotten mine since I only packed the night before.

As I stepped into the open for a much needed fag, the sliding doors (one of my favourite movies is Sliding doors, which I watched in this very country!) liberated me into the cold, frosty air.

I literally skipped into the open and clapped my hands, whispering, “Yay! I’m back!” with a big, wide grin, promptly whipping out my camera to show a tired me in the cold… it shouts, “LONDON!!!“.

And then it was a short walk to the Heathrow station to wait for a Heathrow Express train which will bring us to central London with 15 minutes.

The messages then started coming in from the lads asking if we would be out partying tonight. As it might be a little rude to Aunty Dorene, I took a raincheck and said I might join them for late-night out instead.

15 minutes later, we were at Paddington station, and the buzz from the commuters gave me a buzz!

Aunty Dorene picked us up in her car, and had the hood down. It was freezing but I was just glad to breathe the crisp, cold air, seeing the signature red buses upclose at the back of the convertible.

We stopped by to grab some yohgurt before heading back to hers. The familiar sight of the pubs at the corners warmed me up already.

And Imperial College in sight, there were a few of weekends we bunked over at friends’ hostel here.

The moment we stepped in and unpacked briefly, it was within minutes the notebook was out to make great use of the wifi to see what I had missed at work.

I was given a classic black Helmut Lang coat, which proved to be a staple for the rest of the trip. I was poorly packed for the trip.

Freshened up, showered, slipped on the netted stockings and boots, and we were dressed for a night out. Black and Blue was where we had our dinner, and the warm interior was fast inducing the jetlag in me.

I was in a perpetual daze over dinner, with Suki and the young ladies joining us, and had to walk out of the restaurant a few times just to freeze myself awake.

I couldn’t remember much of the dinner. I didn’t manage to eat much (it was almost breakfast in Singapore!) cos the slab of meat was intimidatingly huge. The place was packed brim with students from nearby colleges. And with the exchange rate at an almost all-time low, the food was pretty cheap actually.

We then headed out for cruising in central London, and we were outside Buddha Bar (the chic chic IT place), but weren’t really interested to head in. I knew I wouldn’t be able to join the other lads that night.

Had to scrap the plans of strolling down Embankment at night, though we did stop briefly to soak in the night view, before we continued driving round Leicester Square, Westminster, Knightsbridge.

Since we weren’t exactly London virgins, it was mostly touch and go before we rounded back for the cosy duvet. I don’t remember feeling jetlag much in the past, but it could just be age catching up with me.

The adrenalin and hype by the end of the night was replaced by plenty of contentment, and I would be glad to just stay indoors and explore the neighbourhood and blend in with the locals.

There was no itinery, just the way I like it.

Though if there were tickets, I would probably spending the night in Manchester and not London. But somehow whatever matches I missed are always for the better - they save me the heartaches.

I burrowed into the duvet having goosebumps all over as the cold sept in from the balcony’s door.

It smells different. It smells like liberation, and plenty of peace.

Goodnight Day 1.

In true dramamama form, the first dive proved to be as eventful as predicted. Norman Leong had very nicely said, “-insert evil laughs- I can’t wait to see what will go wrong on your first dive“.

He got what he wanted when he heard a panicky “HELPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!” with the SOS signal out in the open sea when he surfaced.

Come to think of it, it was nothing short of hilarious.

I was all psyched up when we had to load all the equipments on board, and knowing we were chaperoned makes me feel a great deal better.

I thought I would be scared to jump off into the water, but I remembered doing so when I was 12 and I did it with little fear.

Sometimes we just need to fool ourselves that we are still young and our frail hearts are as strong as before and we might just find the courage we need.

I jumped into the water, and panicked a little when I had to bob up and down on the surface. Strangely, I actually felt so much at ease when underwater than on the surface.

On the left top corner was my instructor, a Japanese lady named Funny.

We had to spit into the mask so it wouldn’t fog, and that the saliva can act as eye drop when it gets dry underwater, or when the eyes get painful from the salt water.

The first of many mishap happened just after I headed down to water a pissing sound was heard from my tank. It was resolved quickly and we headed down for my 1st dive.

The initial dive was pretty alright until when we were 14 metres below sea level, a sudden leaking sound was heard and when no one was watching me, I was floating up like a balloon and I couldn’t grab anything or scream (I did try to go MMMMMMMMMMMMMM underwater but it didn’t help). No one saw.

A buffet of air was free-flowing into my BCD inflating it to the max, and the additional air escaped and enveloped me in bubbles.

Before I knew it I was rocketed up at too fast a speed and I was praying with 2 things in my mind.

1) No passing boats, I don’t need a shave, thank you very much

2) Please, do not let my lungs explode

I wasn’t even thinking about bends because I was trying to breathe out as much as I could to make space for my expanding lungs as I get closer to the surface. Cos they scared us enough during theory lessons (now, I am mightily thankful for theory lessons) for me to know that a fast ascend is dangerous. And I was doing a super-shuttle ascend…..

I prayed.

It could have been well been over within 10 seconds, and I could only saw bubbles around me, but that was one that had so many thoughts running through me and it was a situation I could not control nor help myself out.

I remember looking down and no one looked up to see what happened to me. I was suddenly MIA from the group and no one realised.

As I surfaced, the leak was still strong and my BCD was inflated so much that it was pressing against my lungs. With the anxiety and all, I could hardly brief and I felt like passing out.

The boat was a distant away. No one saw me. I yelled and no one heard.

I remember looking to the sky and not knowing to laugh or cry and thinking to myself, “You kidding me, right?!”

I lost my weight belt in the midst of the rara.

Then Norman and WT surfaced and pulled me back to the boat.

NORMAN WAS LAUGHING OKAY?! He said he heard someone shouting and he didn’t even need to guess and knew it must be me, cos he was expecting for something to happen, just that he didn’t expect it to be that potentially serious.

I was propelled up from 14 metres and I was alive and I kept breathing hard to see if my lungs were leaking like the damn BCD or not.

As expected, my 2nd dive was one I was darn jittery, and it took a while before I got over the fear. It helps that I was the lost lamb Funny took personal care of as I held on to her hand during the dive.

My hand was also cut from the rope leading us down to below, and it was badly lacerated. Very ouch, cos salt water, ya know?

Nonetheless, the beautiful underwater sights and the freedom to move around weightlessly was one experience that was truly amazing, concluding our day 1 of adventure.

The fishes swimming at near distance, and Funny was pointing out the underwater sea creatures to me whenever I was too distracted by other parrot fish I tried to swim close to.

I held out my hand to reach out to some of them, and waved at passing fishes, who flared their gills nonchalantly at me.

Evening came and we were back on land, hungry and devoured plenty of food in the process.

We headed to a nearby hut where they served alcohol, and I did the thing I know I shouldn’t do but always do.

Yes, I drank alcohol.

I didn’t even manage to finish one inch of the drink, before the below happened to me.

Though I somehow am convinced it wasn’t me, but just someone who looks a lot like me.

I will not drink any alcohol in Hanoi. Those who don’t believe what a sip of alcohol can do to me, were always proven beyond any reasonable doubt.

I was not the only tipsy one that night, with Daniel throwing indecent proposal at Norman’s way…..

I was piggy-backed back to the room, and nicely tucked in with the blanket under my chin.

I am a cheap drunk.

It was a wonder how I managed to get up early for my 2nd day of dive at Tioman.

And when I thought the drama ran its course, tsk tsk, I was just too complacent.

Because of the lacerations on my hand, Norman offered a glove for my right hand so if we had to hold on to any ropes, I could use my right.

But…. Murphy’s Law loves me enough to strike at the hand that wasn’t gloved.

It was during my last dive when my BCD was giving me a little problem, and I tried to release the air from it. I kept floating upwards and when I reached out to release some air, my left hand hit something without me realising I hit something.

What followed was a sharp pain with me seeing brown, dancing blood seeping out of my left index finger into the sea water.

My entire hand can feel the sour, numbing pain and I had to grab my wrist with my right to soothe the effects.

When I was going between 2 walls of coral, I hit my head cos I was inevitably floating upwards.

Just before surfacing, I couldn’t even do a safety stop and Norman came over to help me with my BCD, which didn’t help, and he ended up floating up to the surface together with me, but at least it was a slow, gradual ascend this time round.

“You BCD got problem lah!” was his first words as we surfaced. I don’t know what problems cos I was just a beginner, remember?

I told them my fingers was terribly painful, but no one quite bothered with it, cos they thought it was just a girlie whine.

Some thought it was a cut, some thought it was coral cut, some thought it was a bite.

I was given plaster but it was so swollen that when I changed the plaster, it almost couldn’t go one round of my finger. I didn’t give it much thought except it was growing bigger and bigger…

By that evening, it was red, sore, and lifting of my hand could mean a shooting pain down my entire arm.

We left Tioman as evening drew near, and went on to our next destination, Dayang.

Travelling with doctors meant that one could offer a good concoctions of antibiotics after another one had diagnosed an infection.

Barely had any sleep and we headed for a dive the next morning upon reaching Dayang. I was the only girl in a group of 9 chaps, and since I was only 2 days old diver, I panicked when they asked me to try to blow into my BCD which I wasn’t taught previously.

I was bobbing in and out of water and struggling while the chaps looked on, and did I mention I am most freaked by the surface?

I almost gave up and lamented loudly at instructor Jacki, “Sorry, I am not very good at blowing, can?!” as the rest of the chaps burst into laughs, and I just really wanted to let myself sink to the bottom of the sea to spare the embarrassment.

Dayang was different, but I gained plenty of independence in Dayang.

But I was getting cold and shiverish, and I was developing a fever, possibly because of my finger. There was a moment I was pretty delirious when the others were out for night dives.

After the theory, I ended up bunking in a bunk with 16 chaps, cos I returned to my bunk too late and it was cold and I didn’t know how to climb up the bunk bed in the dark. Since I was heading out early for morning dives, I shifted my stuff over.

One guy complained I was snoring as loud as the other chaps. Hahahaha!

Another got a fright when I sat up with dishevelled hair cos he didn’t know there was a girl in the bunk. I was chided for wearing white too.

It was the first time I went for an early morning dives and it was one of the best experiences ever. Refreshing and absolutely cooling. And I had so much fun exploring as we didn’t have an instructor with us.

The underwater is such a magically, beautiful place. Moray eels, cuttlefish, and fishes of all shapes and colours… I don’t know how my finger survived the trip!

We managed to go for one more dive before wrapping the trip up and headed back to mainland, with me badly burnt (I hadn’t learnt the importance of sun block then and didn’t use it religiously).

And that was the first dose, that made me yearn for much more to come.

Reminds me of a meeting on Friday where we spent the beginning of it planning a trip together. My colleague, and 2 other vendors of ours.

I need to repair this bad back of mine, or maybe I just need to arm myself well with plenty of painkillers/deep heat.

Now, time for some really glamour-less pictures (read: ghastly pictures without makeup).

You’ve been warned!

One of the nicest things I had done in 2008, was getting my diving license in Tioman, followed by a dive trip in Dayang. That was October.

For many reasons, it was a trip that I was glad I went, as I was taught to breathe.

It was also kinda “adventurous” for me to take leave on the very first day of my work to make the trip possible.

It was my way of moving on from a stagnancy. I wanted to do things I had wanted to, and to take that plunge. As much as I was looking forward to it, I was kinda scared of the concept of being trapped underneath the deep blue sea, yet looking forward to the kind of liberation the vast underwater will bring.

It was an early rainy morning gathering at Orchard DFS, where we boarded the coach for the journey up to Mersing.

Was tired but could barely sleep.

We split up for the ferry, and Norman and I were stuck for an hour. The verdict he gave me at the end of the journey, proved to be spot on after I experienced my first dive.

I am accident and incident prone, for reasons I know not of. Hmphf. Finally we arrived at our destination and we prep ourselves for the pool exercise, before we sat down for some theory lessons.

I hate theory lessons. I hate textbooks. I say it with plenty of vengeance like that of a Technical student (hey, I took Technical and I loved it!) who just wanted to file wood and hammer nails into my masterpiece instead of drawing up pictures, answering theory questions and worse still, taking tests.

Basically I just wanna get out there in the open water and dive.

The first evening was pretty unadventurous, as we swam around with full gear in the pool trying to avoid screaming kids jumping onto our heads.

I was particularly scared of equalising as I was darn afraid of going deaf. I was also fearful of clearing my mask, which I didn’t guess I would find it the easiest thing to do underwater.

Of course, back then I didn’t think of what a faulty BCD could do.

It was a night we played Indian poker and laughed till silly.

A night that didn’t end early as Norman and I were stroke by a drunk.

Memories can be bittersweet, and when washed with time, there could be little else to be written about it anymore.

And I run through all the pictures as I did my collages for the past week, I am glad to find myself smiling and finding no need to avoid memories.

It was a great start to the trip, and I can vividly remember the sea breeze, the slowed pace, and the star-filled sky.

There, a family was out in the open, under the clear sky, playing mahjong, and I remember snapping a picture, for that was the moment I thought of wifey.

I laughed at the tipsy boys, gathering evidence for future blackmailing attempts, but of cos, instant karma wasn’t too far away.

I felt young again. Like going on the school trips I used to, and that was like almost 10 years since I had been on one.

And I giggled lots.

I felt real joy.

Real joy of finding a part of myself that seems remotely familiar.