Small and Insignificant

It's never been a secret, but I tend to hang out better with the Non-Malays than the Malays. So imagine my suprise when I received word that I had to attend Camp (Kem Bumi Jati, February 2008). Obviously, naturally, medically, I went through the Kubler-Ross Model.

   Denial: Re-checked the name twice. "Can't be, they must have gotten the name wrong"
   Anger: Ape Ni?? It's not like I'm coming back to Malaysia anyway (given the choice). Kena force to so some stupid camp. Frickin' camp. How old am I? 2? Frickin' camp
   Bargaining: "Wait wait, wonder if they look at my IC. Should I hire some random person to be me for a week? Can right? Right?."
   Depression: "I'm gonna dieeeeeee...Mati Katak over there. What to do without hot water? Mandi kerbau lo. Shit! Going to be smelly"
   Acceptance: "It's going to be OK! Worst come to worst, it's only one week of your life. Just get it over with."

So after the much awaited acceptance stage ran it's course; I started research on the camp. *Praise the creator of the world wide web*. You'll be amazed at the breadth of information out there. After 
getting a blow-to-blow itinerary for the five days, 
 I started going through the comments. 

Typical comments;

 "I'm glad I went through with it, made me see Malaysia in a different light"
" It really sparked the inner patriotic me"
"Loved the camp"
"I really had fun there"

I'm serious, not one person said anything bad about it. I guess those who disdainfully hated the camp choose to ignore it and let it be a forgotten memory. Since no one took up the mantle, let me get a few things straight.

The Camp Bloody Sucks! First of all, the camp was tailored to 17-18 year old's. So place four 21-22 year old's amongst 150 adolescent and it's no secret that they won't blend it. Seriously, the rest of the other 150 or so campers are from 2 frickin' 
universities. The jokes was lame, the regime was kiddish and the the...the...
*hyperventilates on the thought of those 5 black days*

Ok, next up is the amenities. Accommodations; they fit 18 of us in a room smaller than a master bedroom. Two of these adjacent room shared a common toilet. ARGHHHH!!!! The latrine, don't even know where to start. Everyone showered from a very ancient styled kolam with a 
scooper (can't think of the Malay equivalent). The water was not filtered and there was some kind
of algae-ish growth that definitely does not belong there. When you bath, you essentially got a 
body scrub at the same time, there was some unknown grainy materials. So I opted for the
taps in the toilet cubicles indeed. Haiz! Since there was no rubber pipes, you had to squat beside
the 'lubang jamban'. I was furiously clutching my satsuma soap. I think that small body shop piece was the only thing keeping me sane 
in that 2x2m cubicle.

Next up is the food. Fine, we were feed 5 times a day. Since the camp was free, guess I shouldn't really expect sauteéd delicacies. They were edible la- most of them anyway. Oh oh oh! Forgot to mention that you had to clean your own plate. Being a slightly neat/hygienic person, I tend to wash my cutlery and utensils quite thoroughly. The thing was, your plate for lunch might not be yours for dinner, they're kinda shared. KIDS does not know how to clean utensils. Some of the time, you can see (actually, it's more of a  'feel') the remnant of previous dishes. Yuck!!

The worst thing there would probably be the mentality. I don't know why, but it seems like Diana, Siti, Alimin and I are miles away from them. Giving Siti or Diani a high five there would probably be a cardinal sin. Since Siti and Diana were not wearing 'tudung', I think they bear most of the insults, and the back talk, and the stares, and the back stabbing session. Must admire them for their resilience. See, we IMU students have much more substance than just our knowledge ok!

To make it sound less biased; I must admit that we might have portrayed ourselves as spoiled brats/individuals. Don't think we can really help it, the camp was absolutely 
horrible! 

The only good thing that came from the experience (being a bit generous in the word 
'experience') was probably some people I met during camp. Quite lucky compared to the rest of the other 3 in that; my group (yup, we were separated into groups) was extremely fortunate to have some very outspoken and really 
sociable individuals. These are the only people I think I bonded with.
Supposed to e-mail or text them, but I bloody lost my contacts book
(they snatched our phones and other modern gadgetry on the second day).


Oops, forgot all about it till I wanted to attach the photos. We had to be in uniforms *chuckles*. The standard black and white- oh how so... primary school.

Another thing (seems to be slightly forgetful- that's why you should blog about events on the day itself), there is an exam at the end of it. If you fail, you had to attend the course again *shudders*. Medical students being medical students, we stayed up till 3-4am everyday to study Marieb sized notes. In the end, the questions were more of common sense than data. Definitely wasted time studying- should have focussed on those pesky seminomas and mamary duct ectasia.  *sigh*

11 AM, 11th February 2008.

This day, like any other day, began when the clock strikes twelve. This story, like any other thriller novel, began with a murder scene. This murder scene, like any other bloodbath, began with a victim. This victim, unlike any other, happened to a most unexpected individual.

This investigation, like any other, began with a detective who at times; is clueless to the scene that is unfolding in front of his eyes. This murder most foul, like any other, began with innocent bystanders that were unfortunately found in the wrong time and place. This story, unlike any other, contains a hero; and by extension- a villain. This story, like countless other, ended with a much unanticipated finale.

The story unfolds…

Argh! A word to the wise, (I always had a problem with this idiom, shouldn’t it be “a word to the dumb?”. The wise don’t need any advice, that’s why they’re wise. Sigh, I digressed somewhat. Shush, let me continue) make sure you learn how to change your tyre. I spent almost 15 minutes tying to find all the tools, 7 of it trying to pry the car jack out if its location. I couldn’t locate the leverage for the car jack and improvised by using a laundry basket’s railing. Guess where the leverage was? Under the flippin’ tyre cover. Guess when I realized this, AFTER I changed the tyre. *Sweats*- literally, it was really hot.

So here I was, browsing the net on my comp; when suddenly the screen went blank. Arghh! Hypotension leading to shock. Not to boast or anything, but since I got my comp; this would be the first time ever that it crashed. They say that:

Such an ancient maxim! I think in the modern world, what this would translate into is:


I am not kidding with you. Haha!! I mean, it depends from person to person. Some might worry about that extra dough they have to spend getting it fixed, or how inconvenience it is, or the time lost fixing it.

For me, it was a nerve-racking two and a half minutes agonizing over …over… my pictures. The moment the screen went deathly black, my immediate thoughts were how utterly stupid I was for not making back-ups of my pictures.

Pictures are incredibly precious to me. It is a way to re-capture past moments, to reflect on what I have done, the impact my journey on life that has made me who I am now. When I look at a picture, I look past those artificial smiles, those synthetic pose, those forged humanity. I see, ladies and gentlemen; a chapter. I see the beginning of the picture, I see the end and I see the present. I see that each clothes, each charm and poise, each casual touch on someone screams a story that’s so alluringly ready to be heard.

What happens if a book were to ghastly lose a chapter? Doesn’t the story seem incomplete? Filled with promises that were brutally shattered? Empty?

Take this picture for example. I love this picture. What do you see?



I see my first time in KKB. I remember that I placed my camera on timer and placed it on top a wall in front of a two door toilet. I see Pui Fun, David and Sue Wen holding plants. I also bought a plant; it was not in the picture because I left it beside the camera. I remember that I had to run back for it because I left it camouflaged between the foliage. I remember that we bought those plants very cheaply at the local nursery in Fraser Hill. It was close to Chinese New Year then, everyone said that the plant resembled the traditional Chinese New Year flower. I remembered David telling me months later that the flower died because he forgot to water it.

I remember that this picture was taken just before we left, where we then headed to buy key chains as memento of this little excursion. I remember that Pui Fun looked like a little kid whilst she was riding the horse in the paddock. I remembered how terrible Kok Guan played during our first Mafia game-and how Aditya struggled to remember his name in the first round, always confusing him with Hon Keong. That was also the first time Lydia adopted the name Weng Chu for him. I remember that Raymond shared a house with William and Aditya. I remembered how much noise we made till wee hours of the morning. I remembered how much fun I had.
There are a million more things I can say. There are not enough papers to hold what I can say from a single photograph. Join two photographs, and there won’t be enough words to contain what I can say.

Losing one single photograph is a cataclysmic reaction that inevitable culminates in a catastrophe.

I love pictures. Full stop!