Senseless... Part 2

The hazy shadows of the mid-day sun, beating irritatingly on the back of my head. I watched the dilapidated state of my beloved Phantom, and find myself pussyfooting with my decision, should I shoot up north 204KM to the motherland with my baby, or just succumb to the torturous wait (Larkin Bus Terminal) of chasing a belching bitching bus?

Finally the concoction of thoughts lead to a solution, just HIT THE ROAD, with the only formula of "Tomorrow do thy worst for I have lived today". Luggage was hastily packed, found an old pirated version of a pair of Killer Loop to replace my broken visar(obviously due to insane amounts of cheery brandy), all the necessities were intact, Passport and Ipod. The Second Link was the choosen route, and with an early departure, it proved to be a good move considering the lesser density of traffic. Departure time clocked at 13:30hrs, weather hot and hazy, Phantom was slightly under the weather but the impulse was in top gear.

But with the way of the world with the Mutton Muggol, God just enjoys working in mysterious ways, he decided to snub the Phantom's speed, whereby I could only manage to churn & squeeze a miserable 90km per hour.

Consider it a bleesing, Slow means safe, but with all good virtues comes the evident malfunction through impatiences. Travelling at 90 on the highway, let me slightly rephrase, travelling at 90 on a Malaysian Highway.... everything overtakes you, those rampaging buses seem to breeze pass with blinding speed and little care, I beleive the hotline numbers pasted on the back of the buses have done little or nothing to curb these demons. The eyes began to slip away, devoured by the dimness of the haze. Suddenly lighting struck, as we almost breached the 70km mark the Phantom just decided to play dead as we passed the exit to Machap. The dying silence from my beloved Phantom drowned through the savage speed of those monsters on the road.


Shocked, bemused, confused, the body was twisted with rage. Why I asked?? Why do liars still strive with their trade, the multitude of layers which an adult runs their life have more senile undertones than of the simple distinct mindset between vice & virtues through the heart of a child. 15 agonizing minutes ticked away, I began fingering the basics of the bike's mechanism.

Petrol? Impossible a full tank takes me 250KM & we were not even halfway through, perhaps it was some serious issues with the engine(which I had just overhauled)... Just left my earphones dangling, and after the umptenth time trying and praying for some miracle ... my persistant curses and actions were gently brought to eaze with the firing of the engine. Even with the choppy jagged sounds vibrating from a dying soul, it still managed to calm the beast.

By this time, I was awake, worried that I would suffer greater setbacks in the fight between man & machine to reach the motherland. What if it stalls again, and refuses to be awaken, what if it explodes and blows off my right leg, what if it decides to wildly swerve into a lorry.... One word just made everything a little more palatable, and I figured things can always be worst. so FUCK IT!! Nevertheless, the thought of calling a tow truck was lingering the mind.


One stop later, the dangling earphones which I have forgotten had melted through the blistering heat of the exhaust,silly me...!! with the excitement of reviving my love, I had forgotten that my earphones were crying for help, but luck was oddly on my side, the earphones were still in good working order . Two stops later I had covered 170km, and fatigue slowly blossomed into excitement, it has been 6 months since I last found my way to the hand that rocked the cradle. Nearing every milestone, I just felt like kicking myself in the head, to think my many weekends, which should have been spent in the motherland, I have ignorantly subjected the body to senseless alcohol abuse, consequently leading to the neglect of being home. I keep looking up, but why don't I just look around.



The feeling to pass the Murky Water Toll are beyond these petty words,the hands streched and glided in contentment, I knew I was home, even if the Island has been a house for 5 years, it has turned an innocent loaf of bread to a bone, it was home but alone I sit staring at the four walls. This is where the heart is. The instant rewinding of my bleak memory brought me to perspective, just made my thoughts of being cloistered & exiled absolutely redundant to the songs of desire. Where have I been? and why have I choose to dissappear... however the debate would lie upon the quote " too much of a good thing can be a bad thing", on the other hand this can also imply to my constant romance with Miss Dunhill & Mrs Tiger :P


It did not seem too long ago that I only managed to fill my pockets with the excess coins found under the rubber mat of the Nissan 130Y, but it was during such times whereby we had little, but more to share, unlike now whereby we have more but nothing to share. It seemed like yesterday we would be happy with mere fresh air and cup of milo, which was enough to instigate mindless galavanting as though we were the Master's of the Universe.

But for now nothing else mattered... I have braved the machine, the bombardment of self imposed questions... thus I have answered, gently the tears dampened the muddy cheeks. These streets love me more than you. Time 16:30hrs.

A passing thought....
"But if you ever come to a road where danger
or guilt or anguish or shame to share.
Be good to the lad who loves you true,
And the soul that was born to die for you
And whistle and I'll be there".....Housman