It felt like springtime on this February morning
In the courtyard birds were singing your praise
I’m still recalling things you said to make me feel alright
I carried them with me today, Now

As I lay me down to sleep
This I pray
That you will hold me dear
Though I’m far away
I’ll whisper your name into the sky
And I will wake up happy

I wonder why I feel so high
Though I am not above the sorrow
Heavy hearted
Till you call my name
And it sounds like church bells
Or the whistle of a train
On a summer evening
I’ll run to meet you
Barefoot barely breathing

It’s not too near for me
Like a flower I need the rain
Though it’s not clear to me
Every season has its change
And I will see you
When the sun comes out again

The thing about drama is, it has a knack of sticking to someone who doesn’t want it.

Aiyo.

Tomorrow’s a big day. This little bird, or rather cat, will fly out of the nest.

I lost count of how many times I wished that I could move out when things were strained between my folks and I, or when I simply just wanted more freedom. And now the day is finally here.

It couldn’t come at a better time – there are no strained relationships home-wise and I do not feel inhibited living with them. I’m not running away from something bad but rather, I’m moving towards something good and different. I’m going on to a new chapter in my life. And that is really the best way to start things – a good exit with blessings from all parties will ensure a good entry to new settings.

With this move, I’m also looking for a new cell group nearer to my new digs. My soon-to-be ex-zone pastor gave his blessings and I sought his recommendation for my new spiritual home. He knows me well enough to know where I’ll fit in like a glove. There are four young adult cell groups in that vicinity, he gave the name of one but said that I could check out the other three as well. Initially, I was stumped as to which cell group I should visit – would take a long while to visit all four before determining which one I should settle in. Then I recalled that it’s better if the cell meetings are held in the middle of the week since I’m away on assignment most Fridays and weekends. I looked through the list of 4 cells and only 1 meets on Wednesdays. And that was the exact one my pastor recommended. So that’s where I’ll visit first.

New job.
New home.
New cell.

It’s not even half a year yet.

Whee!

We’re very privileged to be the first Malaysian media to cover this national park in Kalimantan. And naturally enough, I was the first Malaysian Chinese girl (Amoy) to explore the amazingly unspoilt forest.

Our journey was organised by the warm and efficient Borneo Jungle Safari people who are kindred spirits and treated us as part of their family. Sarawakians (and Borneons) are really nice folks – you’ve got to experience this for yourself. If any of you guys are keen in visiting Bakelalan and Kayan Mentarang National Park, these are the folks who will make all that possible. They’ll handle all the logistics, immigration matters at the guard posts and right up to communicating with the local Dayak folks for you, leaving you free to explore and enjoy the place in the company of their experienced and macho guides. *ahem*

City Girl in The Jungle

I’m a city girl at heart, really. But not once did I miss home during my time in Borneo. We ate like gluttons, rapidly developing a taste for their forest produce and our stomachs adjusted to being fed at least 6 times a day. That’s Dayak hospitality for you. Even if there’s only one guest, the whole village would turn up for a big feast together. The forest is their supermarket. The night before we arrived, some of them camped overnight at the forest to hunt for wild boars in preparation for the big feast. They were rewarded with two huge boars. The roasted ribs on the mat-covered floor were a glorious sight. Two dismembered heads of the pig kind were left boiling in the pots – the juices will be used as flavouring for other dishes.

The Dayaks are generally self-sufficient folks. The forest, fields and the rivers contain everything they need to survive. All, that is except sugar. The elderly father of our host rowed his long boat under the hot sun over to the nearest village – a two-hour journey – just to purchase 5kg of sugar for our needs. It broke our hearts to hear that. We could have easily purchased it for him in the town that we came from and saved the poor old man the trip. Again, that’s the Dayak brand of hospitality. They truly love having guests in their homes and will go all out to serve them.

To my delight, all the people I encountered there are Christians – making me feel at home all the more. Great evangelical work had been done there and it was thrilling to say grace with all of them prior to our hefty meals and to commit our journeys to the Lord each time we risk our necks travelling on the rough roads and rivers.

The Fall

I think one of the prayers saved my neck on the motorbike. One minute the rider was negotiating a slippery turn and the next, we were toppling to the mini ravine in slow mo. I found myself in denial mode, “Oh no, we’re not really falling, are we??!” But fall we most certainly did.

Talk about nightmares coming true. Still, it felt like I was gently lowered to the branches that separate me from the cliff below and the rider pulled me out in time before more of the branches broke. I escaped without any aches or injury. Traumatised but still determined to control the fear before letting it control my brains, I got back onto the bike. Well ok, it’s not like I had much choice. Trekking on foot would take far too long. And in the jungle, one is not exactly spoilt with choices when it comes to modes of transportation. You take and are grateful for what you are given, fears be d*mned. This kinda trip is definitely not for the faint-hearted.

On the journey home when we had to ride on those bikes again, they placed a plank on the slippery bit where I fell. All the other bikers and my colleagues were told with cheeky grins that this was where the accident happened. Nothing is secret in such a tight-knitted community. That being the case, why not go all out? I briefly toyed with the idea of putting a sign post there with my terror-strickened face with the message “Caution – Accident Site” in bold. What a great way to leave my mark behind, eh?

Taken minutes before that fateful slippery slope fall

I’ll let the photos do the talking when it comes to the amazing scenery. Photos which I will post later – so many to sieve through, wei.

Those with a thirst for adventure, archaleogical finds, nature and immersing themselves in a traditional village culture that is rapidly vanishing with the advent of development – do make your way there before it disappears. WWF and the Dayaks themselves are fighting to strike a good balance between bringing modernisation into their lives without compromising their rich forest heritage. Their efforts are commendable. Inadverdently, some of the old methods of doing things will disappear, so it’s best to witness and capture these moments for remembrance’s sake.

There’s No Place Like Bakelalan

And as for Bakelalan (which means Kelalan River – Ba’ is river), the Lun Bawangs there are related to the Dayaks over at Kalimantan – they share almost the same language and culture. The reverence for God is strong there and the people are so very warm and loveable. The view of the paddy fields and grazing buffaloes are simply breathtaking. I had the privilege of staying with the family of the late Dr. Judson Sakai Tagal (Bakelalan’s first Assemblyman) who perished in a tragic helicopter accident in 2004. I heard first-hand accounts of how the community bandied together in the search and rescue efforts which spanned two weeks. Through that very bleak and tough time, they supported each other – their faith in God unwavered. And today, they are growing from strength to strength. Pak Tagal, the one who pioneered apple planting there (yes, Bakelalan is the only place in Malaysia where sweet apples thrive!) is now busy experimenting with other colder climate crops. They have such resilience and big hearts that warmly envelopes all who are blessed to cross their paths. To the extent that even well-heeled Ang Moh (Caucasian) travellers would comment that this is the best place to meet the world’s nicest people ever.

Is it any wonder I didn’t want to leave Bakelalan?

Pak Tagal and I

Happy in Paradise ~ Bakelalan

My two-week stint in Borneo had been the stuff adventurous dreams are made of. I flew in a mini 4-seater Cessna plane which gave an awesome view of the unspoilt forest of Kayan Mentarang National Park, I hung onto a scrambler motorbiker for dear life as we braved through rough terrains to go across the border to Kalimantan, got the seat of my pants stung by a bee (which thankfully missed my tush by mere centimetres!), came face to face with a huge green snake consuming a bat and oh, many many more tales lah!

Never in my life had I faced one exciting adventure after another with very little time to take a breather. It was befitting that it ended with a time of rest and repose at the lovely and scenic Bakelalan highlands. I love the place and the people there and it was hard for me to leave the place this afternoon. The only thing that made it possible for me to let go was to promise myself that I’ll go back there again soon. And hope desperately that nothing else changes there. It’s perfect the way it is.

For now, I need to regroup after being away for so long.

Decided to meet some old friends at a gathering that’s a long way off my office. There is something about making the right decision – the way just opens for you to go through with it. Lo and behold, events happened and I found myself there.

The warm smiles of my dear friends greeted me. But it was a bittersweet event. It was always good to catch up with old buddies. But since the last time that I’ve met them, they have done a thousand things in between. The activities they’ve been through, the people they met together – I found it hard-going to join in the conversation. And the dinner was actually a farewell for a new friend they made while I was busy with my new work. I looked at this new person who was so nice and friendly but the depth of their friendship to her (because she was instrumental in helping them grow spiritually during her time here) far surpasses mine – after all, I just met her one time before this.

And so there I sat, feeling at home and yet lost in translation at the same time. Oh Lord, I have missed out on so much of their lives! Just as I’ve missed out on the lives of other old friends whom I haven’t met since my job change.

My counselor who was there gave me a few warm hugs to make up for lost time. “It’s worth the price you are paying. You are happier in your job now and I’m so glad that you made it to this gathering.”

I felt warm as toast in her loving encouragement – such a liberating kind of love, non-judgmental and knew that no matter where I am, I’ll always be in touch with them and meet them whenever I can. They are my roots, the ones who have watched me grow over the years. No matter what, I’ll keep those roots watered.

A couple months ago before I started traveling extensively thanks to my new job, I had a habit of packing a set of apparels for every day that I would be away from home.

“Let’s see, I’ll be in Bali for 4 days which means I need 4 tops and 4 sets of undies!”

So you can imagine how my bag or rather bags, looked like when I was in Tasmania for 11 days.

Traveling light were two words that didn’t exist in my vocabulary. And so were travel sized toiletries. Packing meant grabbing my bottle of shampoo, shower gel and big tube of toothpaste and chucking it into my massive trolley bag. And I never thought that we could actually do laundry whilst traveling – “How would the clothes dry lar??!”

It was fine when there was no trekking involved and transportation was available from airport to hotel, hotels to hotels and back again. And it was certainly fine in the days of checking in prior to Air Asia’s recent and very calculative policy of charging RM5 per checked in luggage.

But traveling like a bag lady doesn’t work when you trek and camp from one forest area to another. Or when you rather put your precious RM5 to good use, like say your spa fund, instead of donating to Air Asia’s already overflowing coffers.

And every time I travel, I realize that I did not utilize everything that I’ve packed and lugged along with me. What a waste of luggage space which could have been allocated to souvenirs and gifts!

So I wised up. I learned from experienced backpackers like MF, Annie, my current colleagues and tips on the Net. And learned to hate trolley bags and big bottles of shampoo with a passion.

I have exchanged my oh-so-darn-heavy trolley bag for a medium-sized duffel bag for ‘luxury’ trips that do not include rough jungle trekking and extensive boating trips. A small day backpack containing easy to reach essential belongings completes the ensemble and both can be carry-on luggages even in Air Asia flights. Bye bye to wasted time waiting on the carousel for my checked-in luggages to appear in a much-abused state than when I last saw them.

For my next two-week travel away from home which involves attending a music festival and loads of jungle trekking and boating, I packed in sections and will leave the individual parcels behind after each event is done to lighten my 50L backpack load, and collect them later after all my jungle trekking is done and I’m ready to come home. So that’s one 50 liter backpack (which I still think needs trimming down!) and one small day backpack for a two-week trip encompassing three separate journeys.

From bag lady to the trekker way of packing in two short months. I’ve come a long way, baby.