disclaimer: this post is not sponsored by talking diapers.
I woke up the next morning, I was groggy, and I couldn’t think straight. My body was still sore and my ankles hurt like heck. I had no intention of getting up. But my brain thought otherwise. I was pumped to started the day but my body just screamed S L E E P. Okay, that sounded like I got possessed or something but you get the point. I was so confused with the time zones and everything, I mean in California it was night, obviously, but here in good ol’ Singapore, it was four a.m. in the morning. Oh yay! The angst is wonderful isn’t it?! I looked over at my little sister who was beside me on the bed. All you could see was a mop of black curls, as if it was a being itself. Her back moved slightly with ever breathe. She was so peaceful in her sleep. The little furrow of her brow gone, her mouth slightly open showing little rows of teeth. I always kind of envy babies. Not a care in the world, no one judges you. Someone does all the worrying for you.
I slowly got out of bed, pushing the wool covers that twisted around my legs. I sat up straight, swinging my legs to the other side of the bed, my hand trying to tame my bedhead, which itself looked dangerously close to being identical to any natural disaster. I looked around the apartment, my mom was sleeping next to my sister, her own curls blocking her face. Ever since they shaved my head when I was a baby, I guess the roots of those curls got lost or something. Which is kind of sad for me because I actually adore curly hair. But I don’t think it would look that decent on me, sad as it is, its true. Anyway, Jagan Mama was sleeping on the pull out bed, My little brother beside him. My dad was on his laptop, sitting flat on the ground, the laptop illuminating the window and the wall behind him. His face looked ghostly in the light of the screen as they danced along the wall. I slowly got up and went through my usual routine.
An hour or so later we were all showered and eating breakfast. Jagan Mama and my dad having plans on going to Mustufa later that day to buy some stuff. And if I haven’t mentioned before, Mustufa is basically this m a s s i v e shopping center that runs for twenty-four hours. It’s a center where you can get anything you need, whether it’s clothing, medicines, makeup items, tech, shoes, jewelry, food, and even an entire section devoted to souvenirs. Sidenote, it was established in 1995 and it’s four hundred thousand square feet, and their apparently still adding more. Which I find totally INSANE, I mean the architecture is already perfect, and isn’t four floors enough? I just hope they don’t make it as big as an IKEA. Mustufa is big enough okay, and walking around for two hours, on the same floor is already tiring enough thank you very much. I mean I don’t think there’s any point in getting a super expensive, deluxe gym membership or something. If your in Singapore you could just waltz on over to good old Mustafa and walk around for a good two our three hours. You can get your shopping done and burn a few calories.
The day went as expected. Jagan mama went to work a while later, and then my entire family did something so obvious, so forseeable, so expected. I almost didn’t even end up caring at that point.
They all fell asleep,
My parents, my sister, even my little brother. I was literally the only one awake and it was pretty sad. See, jet lag doesn’t last long for me, two or three days max. I usually just try not to keep my eyes closed to long. I can’t let myself sink into the welcoming arms of sleep, especially when I was in a state in which it would end badly for me either way. I distract myself. Mostly draw actually. It’s the only thing that can keep me completely inattentive to my own bodies needs. In your ears, it probably might sound like the worst possible thing to do, in any situation, when your body needs you the most.
But I, particularly, think it’s the best the in the whole of the world.
I can plunge into an entirely different atmosphere in my mind. All other thoughts are blurred, like a camera. My occipital lobe the shutter view, my brain’s frontal lobe the focus lens, the cerebellum the viewfinder. My brain stem what connects to it all. This isn’t real science, don’t think it is, but it is my mind. Everyone has a different conception in the way they overlook life. Ours brain are similar in anatomy, yes, but in the deepest depths. No one, is similar.
Our brains, our minds, are just as individual of our body itself. No way I can make it anymore obvious than it already is. You can be the most neat and organized person in the world. But your mind might not be the same. It might constantly be itching for an imperfection, your mind to embody your lifestyle. Or it can be the complete opposite. Your mind can be as fierce as an untamed wolf, prowling the forest, as adamant as a thunderstorm crackling the sky. As calm as the waves yet callous as the jagged edges of boulders, buried deep in the grains of sands. You can be as curious as the stars twinkling under the caresses of moonlight. You can be everything, and all at once. All elements of the world wrapped into a person, bursting with emotion.
My only focus was the white of the paper and the ink of the pen, staining, marking, blazing fire onto the white of the sheet. But even two to three hours of drawing couldn’t keep my stamina skyward. My eyelids drooped dangerously low, my brain’s was losing it’s zing real fast. I tried keeping my guard up but it wasn’t working that well. One look at everyone else sleeping, breathe steady, heads swimming with dreams. I was a hopeless sack of failed determination.
I woke up, everyone else awake long before I was. Drool was running down my chin, my face burned as I wiped it away with the back of my hand. My hair was mussed up, my legs were sore from sleeping in such an abnormal position. My dad was on his laptop, as per usual on his down time. My mom was fussing with Thulasi, my brother playing some game on my dad’s IPad. I noticed mine was on the ground, the keyboard part of the protectant splayed flat on the ground. I closed it and tucked it away into my backpack, scooping my little sister up as she cooed. I scanned the room and noticed three slim boxes sitting next to the sink, looking like the Twilight Zone versions of a classic milk carton. The top of the fridge had a new addition along with the bottles of water we had bought yesterday, donned shining new bottles. Along with a bright green plastic bag filled until it sagged with packages of snacks and biscuits. We figured that Jagan Mama had left them before going back to work. And he did.
Showing that he cares in the most simplest ways.
Such a subtle person yet, so much love and care, constantly pumping through in his veins. Forget pride. This is better.
My parents were planning on going to the Veera Kaali Amman Kovil( Kovil means temple in Tamil)tonight. I had written about it on the posts I did a while back from the last time we were in Singapore. The beautiful architecture is unforgettable so when my parents mentioned it I knew instantly. The swooping pillars, the intricate design. The smell of castor oil that infiltrated my nose, the rose petals real enough to touch, yet deceiving with that wanting. We got ready quickly but as we did thoughts came running into my mind, like a dam with a leak that hasn’t been patched quite just yet. Or with any intention to do so.
I want to make something that will stand for centuries, all can see. It will stand longer than I. History’s eyes can be directed towards you whenever you would like to. You need the grit, the determination, the persistence, the esteem. I think you can make it happen. Doesn’t matter how old, how young. Doesn’t matter what religion, what race. Nothing matters. You got the passion. Use it. I tend to underestimate that fact, and I end up regretting it when I lose the chance. Like when you go and catch fireflies. You’re lucky enough to catch them in your grasp, the twinkle of their light a fascination yet a peculiarity of the universe. Having the grip of a fluid resumption, even looking away for a second, loosening the clenching of your palms. The curiosity building up. And just as quick as it landed, it flittered away, your simple movement was taken as a quickly detained sign of danger.
Don’t take this as an excuse to go around catching bugs and practically giving them heart attacks- no, that’s not exactly what I planned my dramatic, super inspirational, definitely cliche, portion of this blog post to be.
Well, mostly anyway.
We decided to walk, seeing as that was easier, plus we could maybe stroll through the markets later on as well. I had to remind myself constantly in my head to walk on the left side instead of the right, like in the U. S.. Or maybe I have it the other way around. . .
Whatever.
The city was alive, bumbling with busy street vendors, people glowing in the gleam of the lights of the street. I walked behind my brother and my dad. Thulasi bouncing with every step my father took, with her in his arms. My mom talked beside me. I was mostly silent because I couldn’t tear my eyes away from everything around me.
I noticed, for a long time, that nothing in the city is still. Anywhere in the world, wherever there’s even just a patch of towering metal and glass, no movement will be stopped. Nothing is motionless. There is always a constant, a light is flickering, a person is sprinting by, most likely with a frantic situation in their hands. A couple chatting along, indulging in the other’s presence, oblivious to the rest of the world. A couple of birds, high up in the ledges of buildings, their beaks crooked as they stabilize themselves on the crevices. I
It didn’t feel like long before we were already there. It was impossible to ignore, and it is very obvious, to anyone passing by, that they were in the presence of a place that is sacred and alluring. The atmosphere itself changed the instant we stepped close to the entrance. The musky scent of natural herbs and tree fragrances felt so comforting, like I was being wrapped into a soft blanket, protected from the rest of the world. It was the smell of all the temples I and my family go to. It’s one of my favorite scents aside from new, fresh books. It feels so different from any of the usual things I would normally smell at home. Spices from my mom cooking, or some essential oil going through this little machine we have, it ejects the fragrance to the rest of the house. But this is always something wonderful and different to me. Yes my mom even puts it in our house too, so I’m not unfamiliar with the scent. But,
it always smells like home.
We walked in, and the first thing I noticed was the intricate designs in the walls, the ceilings, the pillars. Bursts of roseate and beryl greens. I wanted to run my fingers along the swirls and plunging dips the paintbrush left, from it’s stone canvas. The stone looked aged, as well as the paint and the deep carvings, yet, like many things in life, it was made even more beautiful. Age before beauty as they say. But no one said they both couldn’t create one captivating wonder.
The place practically was pulsing with this ambience that I knew everyone in the room could feel. The oil under our feet, the smooth, yet granular stone. Looking at the different deities left me with different prayers flowing in my head. One rocketing towards each designated god or goddess. My mother always reminds me to do so every time we’re in a temple. So, I do, because I have many things to thanks the people in the heavens above.
Thank you for good health for my family, for myself.
Thank you for safely landing us here in gorgeous Singapore.
Thank you for all the simple things too.
I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.
Please, for the sake of the eighth grade and my high school GPA, let my grades not slip into a close failing grade. Or any failing grade at all.
Thank you for the good health of my dear relatives.
Also sorry for my very unformal grammar.
Uuh, bye for now?
I can’t tell you if those were my exact words at the time. I know for sure though, that they were along those line.
We visited each area, designated to a specific god. Also, a side note, I am really scared that I’m describing something wrong here. I’m no expert on this kinda stuff. I just know the basics I need to know so I don’t make myself a fool in front of anyone else. I’ve done that plenty of times beforehand so most of the time I try to keep my mouth shut.
Like any given day, my parents were pointing out the different deities and their names, as well as what their roles were. But I admit, I zoned out a little bit because it was three years since I had been here. I had the right to look around. We decided that we should head out and get some prasadam. And that is another word added to the other vocabulary I listed. Prasadam, is basically the food offered to the gods as a way of showing devotion and respect. Mainly, from what I have seen in my length of remembrance, they mainly give sweets or some kind of rice. Well, at least from my perspective it is. Anyway, first we saw a woman near one of the opulent statues, she was passing out on of my favorite Indian sweets, one everyone new I absolutely couldn’t resist. like if there’s a plate with twenty of those little balls of gold, they will be gone in under two minutes. Ask anyone. My mom, my dad, any female member of my family.
But then I end up with severe stomach aches and cramps
BUT I HAVE NO REGRETS
okay maybe a little but ya know we can get over that easily.
right?!
Anyway, I grabbed two, one from my mom since she was holding my little sis. I may have grabbed an extra one for myself but we aren’t gonna talk about that right now. We decided to tuck them into a napkin so they wouldn’t crumble in our hands. Soon enough my dad found a place that was serving curd rice in brown paper. Everyone in my family already got some so they were already heading into the the hall to eat. I was the last one to get a serving so I greeted the woman with her daughter standing on the table.
She was wearing this adorable little purple dress that sparkled in the moonlight. Smiling brightly, she handed me a brown wax paper and the woman who was her mother, gave me a spoonful bigger than my face. I tried to tell her that I didn’t need anymore and I thanked her to, in really choppy, awful Tamil, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She dipped her scoop into her pail filled with the warm, gooey, substance and gave me another serving that was only slightly smaller than the previous one. I thanked her and waved a little goodbye to the little girl who gave me the paper. She giggled with delight, giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. I shot a smile to her mom and she beamed back at me before both of them started to tend to another person. I walked off to the dining hall they had and sat cross legged on the floor along with my parents.
I knew in my gut that it was going to take me more than twenty minutes to finish the entire portion I was given. But I stomached everything anyway. It was a good thing it was really good. I made a decision that night, that if I ate anything more, my stomach will not hesitate to bring up everything I ate, and re acquaint it to the outside world.
We left the temple with full stomachs and feeling a new vigor, walking along before we decided to do a little exploring. We decided to look through some of the street markets and stuff too. And boy was walking through Little India a whole other experience at night. It was bustling with people. If the moonlight wasn’t enough, there were colorful signs, streetlights, any kind of form of electrical lighting you could imagine. My dad and brother went of somewhere to get fruit and flowers. My mom and I found this little shop that was selling bangles.
and that is an adventure for the next post.
Just you wait.