Moved By A Mountain

I devoured Annie Proulx's Brokeback Mountain at the chiropractor's yesterday evening, while lying on my tummy, my face squashed into the gap in the massage bed and my hands curled around the bed to hold the precious book literally beneath my nose. As I read, jolts of electricity surged through me and I couldn't tell if they were from the prose or from the maze of electrolodes stuck on my back. I finished the story even before my session had ended and sighed aloud in gratification.

My therapist turned around. "What are you reading."

I flashed the book at her. "Is it good?" she asked.

I couldn't even begin to tell her just how good it was. The part that really got me was when Ennis enters Jack's room and spots Jack's blue jacket with his own 'missing' plaid shirt carefully tucked inside and brings it to his nose to inhale the scent of memories. I had to stop reading for a while to pull myself together. Raw, painful and honest. I loved it. And I think everyone, whether gay or straight, will love it too because it addresses the one thing that brings princes and paupers to their knees - the agony of love lost.

In a recent interview, Proulx said, "Straight men are seeing it, and they're not having any problem with it. The only people who would have problems with it are people who are very insecure about themselves and their own sexuality and who would be putting up a defense, and that's usually young men who haven't figured things out yet. Jack and Ennis would probably have trouble with this movie."

I have read countless comments on the movie but the most moving was from a visitor to the Brokeback Mountain website - I haven't seen it yet, but when I do, I know it will be a day for my soul.

Jungle Jeopardy

(An article I wrote for a travel magazine. The unwritten sequel involved a major blowup, WW making Naomi Campbell look like Pollyanna and the death of a friendship. Moral of the story? Sometimes love just ain't enough.)

If you have spent a good part of your life sashaying down paved sidewalks and shiny shopping mall corridors, then you have no business tramping about in an unknown jungle without a guide, in bad light and with three other city slickers. Any fool would have known that. But we weren’t fools. We were optimists. And not just any optimists, but optimists gripped by a recklessness that only a holiday can drum up.

The motley crew consisted of WW, GS, SB and yours truly. We coated ourselves in mosquito repellant and assembled at the edge of the jungle, brimming with undisguised enthusiasm and well-concealed nervousness. Before setting off, we gave the jungle rules a once-over.

1. No plucking or snapping anything (unless it attacks you)
2. No littering
3. Stay together all the time
4. No lingering
5. No poking fun at any flora or fauna

It’s true what they say about people only remembering the first and last items on a list. It took all of five minutes for WW to break Rule #2. Assuming leadership position, she marched ahead in great strides leaving a faint trail of perfume for us to follow. GS scurried behind, shouting at her to slow down and bravely trying to keep up despite her bad leg. SB and I trudged at the back, eyes to the ground and muttering about ‘over-exertion’. When we looked up next, both our comrades had disappeared from sight. We stopped and pricked our ears. From beyond the lush fronds, we could hear GS still yelling her head off. But this time, her tone was panicked instead of exasperated. Suddenly she burst out of the greenness, wild-eyed and breathless. WW was gone.

Since WW is more a The Simple Life than a Fear Factor person, we didn’t worry about her plunging into the depths of wilderness. But after our search and rescue mission stretched past fifteen minutes, we were forced to face the startling possibility that she may have done exactly that.

So we put on our Adrian Monk hats and began retracing our steps. We explored every single fork in the trail, eliminating all those that involved climbing or wading. We kept our eyes peeled for signs – ANY signs – that indicated she may have passed through that area. And we abandoned the golden rule of never shouting a person’s real name in a jungle. According to a bunch of old wives, if the orang bunian (little people of the jungle) know your real name, they will mimic a friend’s voice to lead you into peril.

After 45-minutes, we were stumbling along on a wing and a prayer. Our feet ached, our throats were sore and our eyes strung. To top it off, the evening sun had begun casting warning shadows around us. Then, as it usually happens in the last 30 minutes of a movie, we suddenly stumbled upon the trail. Energised by this unexpected discovery we surged forward, confident that WW would be waiting with folded arms and a tapping foot at the other end. We were wrong.

Hope turned into fatigue and we were faced with the inevitable choices - continue searching and risk getting lost in the jungle at night or returning to camp (ie. wooden chalets) to keep vigil. We went with the second choice.

We got back just as twilight dropped its curtain. As the chalets came into sight, we saw something that made us stop in our tracks. A light shone bright in WW’s chalet. We pounded on the door and WW flung it open, squeaky clean and wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe with a matching towel around her head. Her story? She had waited for us to catch up, got scared and trotted back to camp.

Today, we can laugh about it. But that incident nudged me to review our jungle rules and make some minor amendments.

1. No plucking or snapping anything, unless you have to throw it at a Road Runner in front of you.
2. No littering, unless you’ve resorted to Hansel’s plan.
3. Stay together all the time, I repeat ALL THE TIME.
4. No lingering, unless you’re waiting for a comrade or the search and rescue team.
5. No poking fun at any flora, fauna or a slow comrade.
6. NO UNDERESTIMATING THE GREAT OUTDOORS!

No Dancing & No Stilettos

“You have scoliosis.”

I met the chiropractor's revelation with a mixture of shock and relief. Shock because that was the last thing I expected to hear and relief because the pain I've been living with for the past few years finally has a name.

Scoliosis is a spinal condition where the spine is shaped like an S or a C instead of an I. In my case, it is the former. The curves nestle in my left shoulder blade and above my right hip. This in turn has led to uneven shoulders, a higher right hip, back muscles as hard as armour and frequent back and muscle aches. To add to the hodgepodge is my flat-footedness. Apart from interfering in my efforts to be the best athlete in school, my flat feet have also allowed the impact of the ground to travel straight up my knees and spine. An arch would have absorbed this impact. So how exactly did I live with the pain for so long? By holding steadfast to the myth that if you ignore it, it will go away.

I have always wondered about the stabbing pain in my lower back each time I sneezed, coughed and got up from lying on the floor or on my stomach. But since the pain had been a faithful companion since my teenage years, I diagnosed it as a i'm-still-alive-so-i-can-ignore-it-for-one-more-day kind of pain. Naturally, days turned into years and I grew accustomed to it.

Then I took up yoga and realised for the first time that my posture was rather odd. My right hip stuck out, my left back was more developed and my right shoulder blade jutted out a little. Again, I chalked it down to one of those unexplained but insignificant anomalies. I struggled in my yoga classes, unable to achieve certain poses that others glided into. I put it down to inflexibility and worked on lengthening my hamstrings and strengthening my back.

Last August, I was diagnosed with chronic muscle spasms in the upper back and told to seek treatment. Of course, I once again chanted my there's-always-tomorrow mantra. What finally led me to the chiropractor's chair was the increase in muscle pain after each yoga class. So now I know and everything has suddenly fallen into place.

Now I know why I can only find relief in a slumped posture. Why only the left side of my back hurts. Why I simply can't straighten my back in a headstand. Why I can walk painlessly only if I lie on my side.

I have packed up all my high heels to give away (doctor's VERY strict orders) and will now have to find confidence in every inch of my 154cm height. I have to abstain from Friday night jiving and have to wear a very uncomfrortable insole in my shoes for that dratted arch.

I'm writing this post in the hope that anyone who suffers from similar symptoms will not be as indifferent towards them as I was. Scoliosis isn't as obvious as a slipped disc. It's sneaky and very quiet. My chiropractor told me I was lucky to be in tune with enough with my body to know something was very wrong. And that I was lucky to see him in time. Had I waited a few years later, the spine would have become harder to manipulate and the discomforts would have escalated into excruciating pain.

In short, if you suspect something is wrong with your body go check it out ASAP. At best, it could turn out to be paranoia. At worst, it's not too late for treatment.

Books I Have Read In 2005

Last night I forced myself to spring clean my writing table. Tucked in the corner of the lowest drawer was a handwritten list, proudly announcing to anyone who chanced upon it, the 'Books I Have Read In 2005'. I remembered last year's resolution. A resolution I made in July to make time to read more and taste a variety of authors. Glancing over my list, I saw that I had been brave. None of the names had been familiar to me six months ago. Pleased, I began counting them. The grand total? 23 books in six months. Both fiction and non-fiction. Not too bad for someone who only managed single digits in previous years. I ran through the list again, pausing after each book to observe the flashbacks of that reading experience. Here are some of them:

Chronicles of Narnia (Volume 1-3), C.S. Lewis
I had spotted this value-for-money edition while I was hurrying down the escalator in MPH. Eager to read it after horrifying a fellow writer with my unfamiliarity with C.S. Lewis, I snapped it up and invited it to be my companion on the long bus ride to Singapore. I devoured it on the trip back. With another half-hour more to go before we pulled into Pudu, I indulged in delicious daydreams about living in Narnia.

The Girl Who Married A Lion, Alexander McCall Smith
I still maintain my stand that this book is like flavourless gum. I only finished it because I kept telling myself to give the next story a chance. And also because I hate abandoning a book halfway.

By The Light of My Father's Smile, Alice Walker
I fell in love with Walker the instant my eyes fell on the cover. After the first chapter, I knew it would be an everlasting love. This book left me feeling like a bud of beauty and tenderness had been planted in me. I had to keep putting the book down every now and then to savour the beautiful phrases that are liberally sprinkled within its pages. Even after I finished it, I kept returning to it just to read ym favourite lines. And they still have the same effect on me.

Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston
I love any book that involves women empowerment. the main character Janie lived up to expectations and gave me a little insight into why women stay with abusive men and what they're really thinking. This was a very emotionally satisfying book but reading it took time because of the African American slang. I tried reading the dialogue aloud and promised myself to never again do such a foolish thing.

Possessing The Secret of Joy, Alice Walker
This book was heavier than the previous, as it dealt with female genital mutilation. I remember how sickened I felt after reading it and it prompted me to do a little research on FGM. What I found out sickened me even more. But Walker addressed the subject without a direct appeal to emotions. She told a story and she told it beautifully.

The Lemon Table, Julian Barnes
I have no real complaints about Barnes' collection of short stories, but they just aren't my cup of tea. The stories were short enough to hold my interest but there was none of the much-enjoyed electric charge one feels when reading a good book.

Sightseeing, Rattawut Lapcharoensap
All it took was the first story for this book to be included in my list of All Time Favourites. Lapcharoensap has a wicked sense of humour, a sharp eye and a stunning writing style. He manages to expose Thailand's quirks without shredding its dignity. I can't wait for his next book.

Lucky Child, Loung Ung
This book was on my Christmas list and my father was darling enough to hunt it down. I opened it on Christmas night and finished it on Boxing Day. Ung, a Cambodian, tells the story of how she immigrates to US with her brother and struggles to fit it. I remember being rather impatient at her frequent emotional outbursts but then I realised it was only because I was uncomfortable with the thought that it could have been me.

Bono:The Biography, Laura Jackson
The frontman for U2 became my new hero halfway through this book. I loved his selflessness, his ability to scrutinise his own faults and above all, his humility and compassion. And Jackson did a superb job in shining the light on all these qualities.

The Noodlemaker, Ma Jian
My first complete taste of Chinese flavour. And it satisfied my palate. I've always been hesitant when it comes to Chinese writers, believing they could never quite match up to the humour and flair of Indian writers. Each tiny sip I've had of their writing left a dull taste in my mouth. But Ma Jian was a delightful surprise. This book addressed public suicide, death and adultery in a startlingly practical manner. Very refreshing.

The Curious Incident of The Dog In The Nightime, Mark Haddon
One of my favourite books. I immediately bought it as an early birthday present for a friend as soon as I turned the last page.
I loved the dry humour and the honest thought pattern of an austic child. It helped me see that sometimes things really are exactly as they seem and it is us who mess it up by being over-analytical. I started on it in Thailand and read a couple of funny bits aloud to PP. From then on, she kept asking me to keep narrating the story and to read out all the parts that made me laugh. Even without reading it, she loved it too!

And So It Is Done

I dove headfirst into the New Year, got sucked into an unexpected whirlpool of exhilarating changes and am only just surfacing for my first breath of air. But first, the second part of our tsunami campaign.

PP and I only rose after midday on Dec 30 and were faced with two choices - we either get our brown butts moving right that instant or spend New Year's Eve trawling and toiling in makeshift shelters. It was a split-second decision and we were hailing a boat to Krabi less than 30 minutes later.

Another Thai friend, Poon, had suggested we visit tsunami villagers in Krabi. He scribbled down our intentions in Thai and told us to show it to any policeman who would be able to point us in the right direction. When we docked in Ao Nang, we booked ourselves a minivan and showed the guy at the counter our little note.

No need to travel to Krabi, his boss said. There's a tsunami village right here. Only about fifteen minutes away. Many orphans.

Perfect.

We reached the village and our driver delivered a snappy summary of purpose of our visit to the inhabitants lolling around. PP and I exchanged uncertain glances. There was something not quite right with the place. We asked if there was anything the children needed. School books? School bag? Uniform? One of the men shook his head.

But their parents need money, he said. They have no jobs.

We nodded politely and asked if we could take a look inside the shacks. The man pointed to one with an open window. We peeked in and reeled. If being jobless in Thailand meant a shack with a colour TV, DVD player and a washing machine, then I'm ready to change citizenship. No, we absolutely could not do any form of contribution here!

The next village wasn't any different and we were feeling more dejected by the minute. Then I remembered a Thai guy, La, whom I had gotten in touch with before we left. He's a member of HiPhiPhi, a relief organisation comprising young travellers, that had single-handedly helped Phi Phi get back on its feet. In fact, Time magazine had lauded its efforts, calling it one of Asia's Heroes. I punched in his phone number and muttered a silent prayer.

This time Lady Luck decided to beam on us. He happened to be just twenty minutes away from where we were and had a window in his frenetic schedule. We sped over.

We poured out our story and he assured us that if we were looking for scenes like that in Sri Lanka, we weren't going to find any. Yes, there were people who still needed help but they were all over the country. Before our faces could fall any further, he said the magic word - BUT! There was a tsunami orphanage that needed funds for the children's monthly allowance. He ran the orphanage and personally checked out each child's background to ensure they qualified. He had documents, pictures and most of all, very honest eyes. We handed him the money, filled up the relevant forms and made it back to our island minutes before an impending storm whipped the sea into a frenzy.

And so it was finally done. That night we toasted each other and marvelled at how things had worked out so well. And we both agreed that although it gave us a wonderful high, it would be a long time before we summoned up the energy to do it again.