alihsx

[alihsx]

October

“Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.” — Carol Bishop Hipps

The Pool by Tom Thomson (1915/16)

The Red Maple by A.Y. Jackson (1914)

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Two drifters off to see the world...

Northeast USA with Davis, Early Summer, 2018

Light electronic beats of the Kygo and Sam Feldt variety thumped lightly through the car speakers as we drove northward along the asphalt grey roads of Route 7. This was our Kerouac moment. With our bags, our car (which we had rented for about 2 weeks) and each other, Davis and I had left Providence in Rhode Island about 2 days ago with a half-blurry sense of where we were headed. The only concrete thing we knew was the Airbnb we had reserved in Portland (the one in Maine), though that wasn’t until 8 or 9 days later so it was promptly thrown into the back of our minds.

I had insisted on a short detour southward to the shores of Newport before we headed towards the Green Mountains up north in Vermont. We read The Age of Innocence back in school and that secret kaleidoscopic world of Wharton’s gilded age had stood glittering in my mind ever since. 

And I realised, good books have such a marvellous effect. They gently tint the past with alluring shades of mystery and beauty such that when you actually walk, with your own two feet, through the intricate hallways that were painstakingly described and stand on top of the soil in front of the stone mansions that you had read about, it just becomes funny and strange how we end up making museums of things. 

“It seems cruel that after a while nothing matters... any more than these little things that used to be necessary and important to forgotten people, and now have to be guessed at under a magnifying glass and labelled: 'Use unknown."

Wharton was right about that. 

Time seemed so silly just then because all I wanted to do was dive in and soak up a lifetime of Wharton’s world, and yet all I could think about was that we had to get to our motel in Vermont by night. The reality was that, when pitted against practicalities of the world, anything worth everything romanticising about becomes worthless in less than an instant.

But on we go, trying instance after instance, road after road, to beat time and find our moon rivers. There's just such a lot of world to see.

[alihsx]

Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily

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das Schweizer Abenteuer Teil 2: OMG, wo sind wir jetzt?!

(continued) trotzdem mit der liebsten Beverly im der Sommer 2019

It was all fun and games when we hopped out onto the Brienz station platform to see a “funicular” arrive across the street at the exact same moment. Without a second thought, we hurried over, obtained our tickets and some information pamphlets and boarded the funicular. We hadn’t a single clue where it was headed but we were spurred on by sheer adrenaline and the promise of adventure. In retrospect, this was probably the point at which we should have realised that the “funicular” was not in fact any funicular, but a steam-powered train—a Thomas the train of sorts, but in red. The type of train Harry Potter and his friends rode towards Hogwarts—a train with a conductor and a chimney that roared and hollered “choo choooo” when hot steam gushed out of its cylindrical walls. Thrilled, excited and yet very oblivious, we sat patiently in our seats and waited for the ride to begin. It wasn’t long before we heard a deep rumble and felt an abrupt jerk forward. Metal clanked onto metal as the train lurched upward along its steel tracks and into a thicket of trees and bushes. Slowly, we emerged from the trees to a grandiose view of a vast mountain range whose peaks were shaded with hues of green that cascaded into shades of blue as the mountains stretched into the distance. Everyone on board fell into a sonorous silence, for the panorama before us compelled it. Dear reader, the landscape was one of pure joy—profound and honest. We looked outward onto an expansive lake that laid still and silent in turquoise brilliance. Even beneath the imposing mountains that encircled it, not a shadow was cast. But alas, it wasn’t because the lake had some magic to it but simply that the sky was overcast. 

We hadn’t noticed it before but heavy dark clouds had begun to block sunlight from permeating. We had simply assumed that the afternoon shower that at Harder Kulm had ran its course, and that bright sunlight would be returned to us. No matter, we were on a train headed somewhere and could have done little to change its course. 

We rode further and further up the mountain for about twenty minutes, the temperature had since started to fall and the distinct earthy smell of rain had begun filling our nostrils. Ordinarily—and by ordinary, I really mean based on the three or four funicular rides we’ve taken—it was about time we should have started to glimpse a peek of the “final terminal” where the train was supposed to stop. Unfortunately for us (again), it was still nowhere to be seen. Feeling the need to express some concern at our situation, I turned my head toward Beverly. I wasn’t even the least bit surprised to have found her, with her eyebrows furrowed and head slanted downwards, already deep into the study of our information pamphlets.

“Eh, why like so long still haven’t reach ah? Getting a bit cold some-more,” I remarked in a distinctly offhanded *Singlish manner.

“Eh I think this ride quite long leh, I think it says here 45 mins,” Beverly pointed to the pamphlet and replied, her voiced now tinged with some noticeable uneasiness. The joke was on us because the pamphlet ended up being printed in literally every language but English. We were essentially left stranded clueless.

“Simi sai?! 45mins is how far sia?! “That time we take like 20-25mins is like to 2000 plus metres leh. This one 45 mins is how far?!” I was concerned now, the air around us had gone from crisp cool to being downright chilly, cold enough for me to pull out my grey hoodie that was fortunately lined with a thin layer of fleece. Beverly, on the other hand, was stuck with her muddy green rain jacket. It was one of those semi-transparent ones made from some new-age Japanese material. In other words, it was paper-thin and utterly ill-suited for the present predicament. 

Half worried about the cold and half perturbed about how helpless our situation was, I whipped out my phone (with a dangerously low battery level) for some quick googling. “Okay,” I thought out loud, “Mount Pilatus is apparently like two thousand one hundred-ish metres and that took like 25 minutes right? So, if this is 45 minutes...” I trailed off as I continued scrolling.

“Wait, what is this mountain called again??” I asked, having been forced to put my phone away for battery conservation purposes. 

“Uh, I don’t know but apparently it’s also somewhere like two thousand-ish metres?” 

“Dude, there was some serious snow going on on Mount Pilatus.” I uttered, slightly unhinged from the absurdity of the situation unfolding around us, “I’m going to flip out if I see snow on this thing. We are SO not prepared for this.”

A few minutes of frantic back-and-forth later, our freak-out was momentarily interrupted by a herd of cows that had caught our attention. Having grown up in a vibrant city, I had little experience with animals outside the zoo. Seeing a large herd of cows grazing in the middle of some Swiss mountain was a sight I dearly admired. Yet, the idyllic moment was disrupted when my eyes travelled into a not so faraway distance, where a weird grey-ish lump was sitting in the middle of the mountain’s lush green.

“Beverly, that better not bloody be snow.” 

“Uh........,” Beverly looked over, “oh my gosh......I think it is.” 

Almost like clockwork, the other passengers on the train started digging out their down feather jackets from their backpacks while I started helplessly out into the mountain and then again, back at Beverly. 

“OMG, why the fuck is there snow?! And also, I still don’t see the end of the track yet, how far is this thing going to go?” Though cold, I was more worried for Beverly. We were heading straight into some serious snow territory with a pretty shitty fleece-lined hoodie and an even shittier rain jacket. It didn’t take us long, however, to resign to ourselves to this comical fated ours. We sat back, looked at each other knowingly and exchanged deep amused chuckles. This day was becoming a complete and absolute circus and the best thing we could do was to sit back and just relish in the shit show that it was.

The great thing about hitting the bottom is that the only way to go is up. This is not that story.

(To be continued)

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离家后的第一次归途 像好几年一样漫长 嫌车开得太慢 想立刻看见到妈妈 和她分享这半年来的每一次开心难过 却又怕车开得太快 怕见到她脸上新的皱纹 怕自己不够好 不够让她觉得骄傲 但事实是 家人 永远不会嫌弃你不够优秀 只会担忧你吃得饱不饱 睡得好不好

monologue by LiXia, Rush to the Dead Summer episode 6

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Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.

Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh (first published 1914)

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das Schweizer Abenteuer Teil 1: Harder Kulm und Brienzersee

Mit der liebsten Beverly im der Sommer 2019.

For the past three years now, I’ve collected little physical snippets of my travels abroad. Plane tickets, movie stubs, entrance tickets to museums, car rental receipts, postcards and all sorts of little knick-knacks—all sorts of things that I thought would make for a neat little travel journal. But the journal was not to be. So instead, I’ve decided to do something more realistic and to start an online journal for my travels instead. I thought I’d start here, with my trip to Switzerland, for no other reason than it being the most recent and memorable trip that I actually have some good pictures of. If there’s anything I’ve learnt from the years of procrastinating my travel journey for the sake of perfection, the best way to start is really just to start.

This day was wild. I think it must have been our third or fourth day in Switzerland now and Beverly and I had formed a pleasant balance between the two of us. It had never really been a problem in the first place but it’s been some years since—perhaps some good six or seven—that we have spent a considerable length time together. There was me—outwardly brazen, occasionally audacious but with a type of cautious recklessness that had been tempered by the prudence and sensibility of a Singaporean-Chinese upbringing. And then there was Beverly, cautious, deliberate and conscientious yet bedecked with an eccentric force of haphazard fearlessness from some unknown origin. So really, we were a duo that was oxymoronic in the best ways possible.

We took a lovely hike up Harder Kulm, though Beverly, who relented for my sake, might have thought otherwise (she’s a big fan of Swiss funiculars and not a fan of hikes). We carried our usual lunch of ham/turkey sandwiches, hummus and veggie sticks in our backpacks and walked. I snapped this shot a third of the way through, where the thick trees had parted to offer a picturesque glimpse of Matten bei Interlaken and a narrow stream connecting Brienzersee and Thunersee. How the water in Switzerland found a way to be so perfectly crystal blue never once failed to astound me throughout the trip.

We kept walking and quite serendipitously found a quiet spot off the main trek where we had our lunch and some very good conversation. It was the kind of conversation that went on even after you’ve wiped off the last speck of hummus, and the kind you’d foolishly ignore the obvious signs of a thunderstorm for. No surprises then when we had to haul our broke (we were literally quite broke) asses up Harder Kulm at breakneck speeds. The race against rain up Harder Kulm must have utterly exhausted Beverly because this is the point at which I believe she decided to mentally say fuck it and tune out everything else around her. So slightly drenched and out-of-breadth, we sat down under shelter and stared mindlessly at the tourists still clamouring for a shot with the mountain’s iconic observation deck. We did not manage a picture.

With no money, no “I’ve been here” picture and no ticket for the funicular down the mountain, I felt discouraged and defeated. Did we seriously have to wait the storm out and then lug our broke AND tired asses back down? My enthusiasm for hiking did not extend that far. I was moping around in my own head when quite abruptly and out of nowhere, Beverly marched up to the ticket controller and by some stroke of Beverly-style forcefulness, negotiated a ride down the funicular for us. Eternally grateful and slightly in awe, I rode happily beside Beverly in the funicular down Harder Kulm.

With our spirits rejuvenated by the funicular ride and some time to spare before our next train back to the city of Luzern, we (or perhaps it was the combination of my foolhardiness and an exhausted Beverly who was ill-equipped/did not give a shit to dissuade me) decided to take the next train out and see where life wanted to take us. 

Lo and behold, we spotted what we thought was a funicular ticket stand across the street from the train station and decided to hop off at at Lake Brienz (literally the next stop, so perhaps not as adventurous as we’d thought ourselves to be). Both fortunately or unfortunately, we somehow found ourselves with tickets and on-board this thing that was most decidedly NOT a funicular.

This concludes Part 1 of the Switzerland series. 

[alihsx]

Words of Departure

“What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” — Jack Kerouac

I came across this quote a few months back, at a time when I was just a senior in college. I spent my days at a cafe that was way too crowded, rummaging through my brain for some ideas for a thesis that was barely coming together. From time to time, my mind would wander and I would contemplate the idea of bidding the sunny shores of Singapore behind, to throw myself into the boisterous beer halls of Munich instead. It was then that I came across this quote, and I remember letting out a small chuckle when I read it. It was just like Kerouac to have written the words that spoke to the struggle and exhilaration of youth—that bittersweet feeling between home and adventure I couldn’t find the right words for. So I thought, I’ll save this quote for myself and I’ll save it for the letters I’d eventually write when I bid my friends and family goodbye.

Except, life rarely ever goes according to plan. In the months since, I received a diagnosis for lymphoma—a cancer of the lymph nodes—and started chemotherapy treatment for it. Receiving a cancer diagnosis at twenty-three was strange. Here I was, almost arriving at the cusp of a new life, when the gates clanged shut in my face. I remember that first blood test and my innocent wide-eyed stare when the doctor asked if I knew what lymphoma was. But most of all, I remember the disorienting frenzy of fear and panic followed by that insidious and unadulterated sense of emptiness—one after another, they cycled and repeated, cycled and repeated. The feelings burst out of each other in rapid succession, fear piled onto anguish and panic fed despair and when it all got too close to breaking the surface, apathy—the last-ditch attempt at finding some semblance of control—would kick in and slam a lid on the surface. The whirlpool would retreat just enough, and like clockwork, the whole damn thing would start all over again. And like all newly-diagnosed cancer patients, life was permanently altered then.

So here I am now, saying goodbye to those lines of Kerouac’s and a future that never was. But every door closed is another door open, so I’ll rub my eyes, squint a little harder and try to make out the blurry edges of the future that lies behind this new door.