Khiam Pak

A few days ago I went down to my storage locker, and for some reason I wanted to see if my collection of the Sopranos was still intact. Unfortunately it was missing. It was getting late, and I didn't manage to find it, and I thought that somehow I left a box out in the alley or something and it was taken away.

Earlier tonight, I decided to go down to the locker to find it. Well, I found it. But on my way back through the transit center – which is one of the most seedy areas that I spend a lot of time in, I met a gang of a few teenagers. The girl came up to me and called me an Asian dog eater. Then, feeling a little grumpy, I traded insults with them, and at the same time, I walked towards a place that had more people. Eventually, they got frustrated with trying to make me apologise, and then they tried to make me angry or fearful. I refused to do that too and proceeded with the name calling. Then they started trying to spit at me. And when they still failed to get a reaction from me, one of them punched me in the face. And I still insulted them, and they ended up having to run away.

There was a crowd of onlookers gathering, and one of them called the police. She was a housewife in an SUV. God bless her, because she gave me a stack of paper towels when blood was pouring out of my nose and mouth. She asked me if I wanted to talk to the police. There were people who identified the teenagers. Maybe they could have been caught and sent to jail. But I wasn't really wishing that on them. I was, after all, intent on turning the screws on them in some way. I faced four hostile people, and I walked away, injured, but otherwise no loss of property or life. Unfortunately I wasn't in a mood to talk with the police. Who knows, they could have a charge or two slapped on me, and I'd have to fuck off from the US and never go back.

Then there was this black teenager girl who came up to me and said, “you did the right thing”, she was being inspirational and all that, but the way that she talked was a little disturbing – talked about being in Julliard and having danced since she was two and being in this or that company. Her parents were from the Carribean and she was here since she was 3. I was a little afraid for her, because being black and being an artist was no joke. I don't know if I came across as too rude.

Then I phoned my sister. I asked her for advice and she said just go see a doctor, emergency if possible. She said wash off all the blood. Well she couldn't help me much, and by the way she was at our cousin's place.

My housemate was there to help me. She gave me an icepack and aspirin, and she tried to be helpful, but sometimes I would rather not have her hover around when I try to eat a burrito through a broken mouth.

I actually tried to hunt down the place where they had discounted sushi on Monday nights, but I couldn't find it. So I walked to the burrito shop instead. When I was there, there was a couple kissing each other in front of the shop. I walked past them with blood pouring out of my mouth and nose. I don't know if they were talking about me, but I heard the words, “gangster” and “that guy simply doesn't care”. And in a way that's true, I don't care.

So I went back, and my housemate who was very helpful, was nevertheless making me uncomfortable – having a meal with your face smashed in is pretty uncomfortable already and having her watch me... I know that when there are times of crisis, sometimes people will just come out and show up because suddenly there's a new meaning to their lives. The lady in the SUV who gave me towels and called the police, the teenager who tried to counsel me (ah the arrogance of youth), my housemate who suddenly got called in to clean up blood and did so enthusiastically.

In a way I got off lightly. These may not have been professional thugs, they were just wayward teenagers, dressed up for a night out at the bar. It was probably the equivalent of a bar brawl, except not at a bar. I probably didn't consider how I was going to get out of that situation. Virtually all of the bystanders thought of me as the victim and them as the bad guys.

I don't know how much they were drinking, or if they were underaged drinkers. I found my Sopranos DVDs, and ironically it was because I found the DVDs that I happened to be in the transit center at that particular time, getting off that particular trolley, to be face to face with those gangsters.

Should I have called the police? I declined to speak to the police, because maybe I was thinking about my role in that affair. I'm certain that without the goading I would not have been punched in the face. But then again I wasn't going to take that shit lying down. Maybe this is the last time I will take such risks. I recognised that I lacked the appetite for a fight. I was growing old. And yet at the same time I know that if I raised a hand on them, I could have been beaten to a pulp, that it was a combination of that and the fact that I was in a crowd, that I wasn't. I don't know if they'd have been caught, and I don't know about migrants reporting to the police. Once you have criminal charges, it's easier to get you out of the country.

The next morning was probably less heroic. Maybe I woke up too late to go to my family doctor, and I didn't have an appointment, so I had to wait around for a free time slot. The receptionist was nice to me, and told me that there was a chance to see the doctor instead of going to urgent care and spending a few thousand dollars. He operated on me even past his closing hour at 5, and we left the surgical room at half past 7. This kind of doctor, who gives you half an hour every visit instead of 10 mins, seems like a find. But also he's a Chinese guy who speaks Mandarin and Hokkien, and in this place you get the impression that Asian Americans feel obliged to help each other out a little more.

Since a few people advised me to report it to the police, I reported it to the police a few days later. There was security camera footage and a few reports already filed on the incident.

Early Adolescence

I sometimes think about the good and bad times during my earlier years. It's funny but there are always parts of my life that I'd say were good years and others I'd say were not great years, although what I've noticed is that even during times of crisis, there was some kind of learning that accompanied it, as though I were preparing for some time in the future when my life got better.

My early adolescence wasn't easy. I had been an academic high achiever in primary 4 and 5, and I went downhill in primary 6, then struggled to keep up in early secondary. Those were depressing years. I didn't want to go back and face some of the people I knew from earlier. I gave up my membership to the academic clubs, didn't want to represent my school in mathematics or whatever. Maybe I gave up too easily, maybe what happened to me earlier came about without too much effort, and now I had to stump in the effort to get it back.

Those were depressing years that I couldn't find very much to redeem. The next years more than made up for it, but sometimes I wonder if I could have just been moderately happy for all my four years in secondary school.

I was a very musical person and a lot of music went through my life. Coincidently or not, those were the first years that I paid attention to music and the pop charts. IT was also one of the first years when SoundScan changed the music industry, and the music charts actually reflected what was being sold by the stores. Suddenly a lot of left field people went up the charts: there was PM Dawn, there was NWA.

It was also my first few years in scouts, and I went through one or two tough training camps. That was the beginning of my getting tough about having a fitness regime, and for whatever reason getting ready for national service. The irony was that I probably only did 1 year of combat service – though it was tough enough. The more further reaching impact of that was being able to keep myself fit for a longer time, and getting to the point where I could actually think about running a marathon.

There was a Mt Pinatubo related haze. That year was really hazy. I remember the ash being everywhere, the sky was always kinda white, and for some strange reason it totally reflected in the nebulous state of mind that I had during that time.

So when you did consider what I managed to achieve during those 2-3 years, it was pretty strange that I would consider them the worst years of my life, but it certainly felt that way all the time. Self esteem was low, I became less outgoing. I went from being more extroverted to being more introverted, I was no longer a star pupil, and I think about all the friendships that I could have cultivated during those years but I didn't.

Sometimes I think about all the music that I played to myself during those years. Those were the years when I spent loathing all the music that was on the radio. That was before the alternative music boom. I had to listen to hair metal. Warrant, Poison, Alias, Firehouse, Winger, Skid Row. On and on and on, I got tired of it. Then there were the sentimental tunes – my god those were the worst. Bryan Adams being on top of the pops for an inordinate amount of time with “Everything I do”. Escape Club with dunnowhat “I'll Be There”. It was a dreadful, dreadful time for me, musically. And that is what made what came after that so sweet for me.

And that was also the time when I earned my Grade 8 and that gave me the perfect excuse to quit playing piano, even though for whatever reason I stayed on for another year to retake it (and fail). But it was the perfect transition: I would start to learn music through listening and reacting emotionally to albums, instead of drill drill drill myself on the piano. It was at least as good as playing the piano, to be honest.

Of course, a lot of things are supposed to happen in early adolescence. It's the point where your childhood ends, and you're supposed to learn some independence, you're supposed to learn some thing about real life.

There's no real nice way to say this, but one of the biggest problems in my life during this point was my parents. They didn't react well to my lowered status from being a star to being average. At the first sign of trouble, they started giving me hell, and it was very difficult for them to come to terms with how they actually made the problem worse, making me spiral into depression and not wanting to keep on studying. And even then, when I look back on those traumatic days, I wonder at how bone headed they were. Actually admittedly, I was boneheaded in a way: I managed to convince myself that I was in a downward spiral and maybe I acted accordingly. Maybe if I had given it a shot, things would have been better.

I've wised up and grown up from those terrible days, but some of those effects had never left me. I never regained my place at the top of the academic pyramid, but that's OK, I still managed to study at Snowy Hill. The negative impact on my social life was more serious. Sometimes I wonder what I'd have turned out like if I hadn't had that nasty introduction to teenage life that I did, but at least things got back to normal.

But these days I look back at those years, and when I think about how those years of adversity forced me to dig in and try to grow up a bit more, I'm inclined to think about those times more fondly.

Maybe what I missed most about my teenage years was finding that almost every year I did something different, something better, experienced or did something for the first time. And when are you going to have those new experiences after you turn 40?

Saving My Weekend 2

Today I made my second, ultimately abortive attempt to go up to the countryside to cycle. Last time I was thwarted by leaving my camera in the office, and by having to wait for a parcel to arrive at my home. This time the bus I thought was going to leave at 9.10 left at 9.03, and I knew that there wasn't enough time... I took my bike and cycled to the train station, but I didn't get there in time. There was enough time for me to board the train without a ticket, but I didn't want to risk it. Then I took a trolley to the main station, and asked about taking the Amtrak instead of the commuter train, and was informed that it would cost me 20 bucks. Well fuck that shit man.

Someone on the trolley was bitching about a homeless person yelling her head off, talking about Tourette's Syndrome. And then she was asking around about whether she had gotten to a certain station yet. Clearly too dumb to read a map. Finally, she said, I'll just get off here. I'm going to join a demonstration. (She looked around 60 years of age). Apparently she's supporting Trump. Of course she's dumb enough to.

Then I saw two veterans, they started talking to each other, but first they had to suss out that both of them were supporters of Trump. As with other veterans down on their luck, they would always talk about their tours of duty, as though that guaranteed them some rights. They'd talk about how they busted their ass for some military, and then they would come home and find nothing. I'm not even going to ask them about what horrible thing the wrecked on some poor guy overseas. And when they talked about Trump, a lot of that was “they are still trying to take him down”.

So this time I decided that I was going to Mexicotown, near the border. Somebody had ordered a CD, and I was going to deliver it, and at the same time I would go down to the border, which I usually do for 2 reasons: to eat more mexican food and to visit the premium outlet to do my shopping.

I went to this Mexican place that specialised in Birria, and it was packed. Had to wait 10 minutes to get inside, even though it was almost closing time. I ordered a big bowl, and a large taco. They fried the tortillas for you, and doused it in some weirdass oil. I got myself a coffee and hoped to drink it with my condensed milk that I carried around with me in a jar (trying to be more Singaporean). But they gave it to me Mexican style coffee, with milk, sugar and a layer of cinnamon on top.

Then the restaurant captain saw me struggling with a tortilla, and said, “they cooked the tortilla too hard. I'll get you a few new ones. He sat down next to me and asked me where I was from. I said this was my first time in the restaurant but not the first time with birra. I've had menudo, pozole, birria. I told him I was from Singapore and he said he watched the Netflix special and was pretty impressed with Singapore food. But I had to apologise to him and tell him that you had to go to another nearby more cosmopolitan city in order to get any Singapore Malaysia food, and then proceeded to explain that he and his brother (the chef) built this restaurant from scratch more than 10 years ago. Later on, the restaurant waiting staff were celebrating somebody's birthday, and that guy was 19 years old. Then first of all it struck me that a.) that was my ex-girlfriend's birthday and b.) it was 19 years since I tried to chase after women. I was going to clap for him, but after remember that it was also her birthday I said fuck it.

Another small victory to celebrate: I managed to use my transit card 11 times today, and thankfully I never had to wait too long at any one stop.

Things are clearing up somewhat. For the longest time I had been in some kind of a depression. Every time I went back to Singapore, my mood would improve, and then after that, things would slide back. But this time things were sliding in all directions. I was supposed to go for a friend's wedding, and I left all my planning and packing to the last moment. I don't know if my work suffered, maybe it did.

One way of getting out of your depression is to just force yourself to do one small thing, anything. And after the first thing you get the motivation to do something else, and then it just builds up from there. Things get a little easier. The problem is this: I used to be able to wake up in the middle of the night, chill out for 1-2 hours and then go back to bed again. But I can't do that anymore when I'm older. It's just harder to fall asleep when you're older, so your sleep time has to be planned more carefully.

Saving My Weekends

I had a plan to go visit a park out in the countryside, but it got scuppered. I certainly did not feel like waking up in the morning.

One reason was that the previous night, I received a mail from the post office that a large cache of CDs was delivered. Nothing turned up. I began to suspect my neighbours had taken it. Then also the previous night, I was watching a basketball game, and the Golden State Warriors - which I support because after all it's the Silicon Valley team - lost a crucial basketball game to the Toronto Raptors. And it's funny that I should be upset about that because I'm not normally a basketball fan, and I've also decided that I wasn't going to be a sports fan for much longer. But somehow I wanted Golden State to win this year. Maybe this year they were unlucky and had a lot of guys with injuries, but they were just 1 year removed from being considered as invincible when they added Kevin Durant to their lineup. Perhaps Toronto was the Liverpool like challenger to the Man City like behemoth that Golden State was.

This is a bullshit weekend. Bad things have happened to me, things that don't really matter but still somehow manage to upset me. First, I bought that large cache of CDs from an ebay retailer, and I had spent all day bidding on those CDs and I'd really scream and shout if I lost that package. But then again, it was just 1-200 dollars and not something that I could ill afford. And the Golden State game was not something that I needed to care about. But those things were getting me down. Maybe I ended up staying in bed more than I had to.

Was just moping around all morning feeling miserable and that life treated me badly and whatever and then suddenly the package arrived at my doorstep. It was funny that it was reported that my package arrived on Friday when it actually arrived on Saturday.

But my visit to the countryside was scuppered because of two reasons: I had to stay at home to watch the delivery of the package, and because I stupidly left my camera in the office. I thought, I'll do my plan B today. I'll drive around "Mexico" with my camera and take some pictures. But then again, I went up to my office and found that it was locked. Not locked as in you could get in with your key, but the outer gates were shuttered. I didn't want to go ask the security to open the door for me, even though I had a legitimate reason: you never know what people might be thinking. So my plan B got scuppered.

So I just went about my plan C. Which turned out to involve doing a lot of shopping. So in a way it was a more fruitful than usual weekend. Called my parents. Went cycling. Ate at a few places. Cut my hair. Slept in.

But I have to look at myself and understand what's going on with me. These days I'm just more depression prone, and I just have to watch myself more carefully. How it impacts my work, my life.