The city lights can be almost disorienting but they’re comforting in an odd way – to see an entity comprised of millions thrive in the glamour and grime of a city pulsing with the rich dankness of LIFE.

It feels good to be home though. There are things I appreciate more. The warmth of the sun on my skin, the sticky humidity that keeps my skin naturally moisturized, the best food in the world, people who understand you perfectly etc. Never realised how much I love Singlish and our food till today.

Although I just came back from one, I wouldn’t mind a hot and sticky beach holiday frolicking in the salty sea. Heh. But, there’s real life to attend to in the mean time..

Happy Lunar New Year everyone! May the Year of the Dragon be good to all.

It’s Christmas morning in New York. Last night, I spent the night wandering Midtown with Joni Mitchell’s “River” playing in my head, walking past crowds of tourists gazing at the Christmas tree at Rockefeller and the ice-skating rink beside it.

On Christmas Eve last year, I found myself wandering the streets of New York whilst waiting for someone to return the Swatch automatic watch I left at their house. It’s a long story how that happened so I’d rather tell you that I walked past the famous Christmas tree near Rockefeller which I walked past only the day before and two days ago. Just like two days ago, I also briefly watched the ice skaters on the rink again before going into the Lego store to see if I could buy a souvenir for my brother or sister. These events are probably blurring and smudging in my memory a little such that I’m not sure exactly if I did actually stop to watch the ice skaters or go into the Lego store on Christmas Eve itself.. but one thing that I’m absolutely certain about Christmas Eve is Joni Mitchell’s “River” playing over and over in my head – so clear as though it was crystal – and me asking myself over and over again: “Why are you alone? Why are you alone on Christmas Eve?”

I pitied myself then. Indulging in self-pity is a gratifying exercise, especially if you’re keen on feeding a growing depression. To add on, I was wandering the streets in close to zero, if not sub-zero temperatures in a leather jacket, a shirt, scarf, jeans and a pair of converse. I’m not very tolerant of the cold and more delusional about how warm a shirt and leather jacket would keep me. My extremities were beginning to experience freezy stabbing pains whilst I waited for a text message that would give me my watch back. Eventually, I decided to take the subway back to the comfort of the apartment which I still had all to myself to warm up.

As tendrils of warmth crept back into my body, a calm sleepiness stole into my being, slowly rocking me to sleep. And then I got a text to come over and get my watch.

I guess the real subject of this post is found in the title itself.

I have intense friendships and relationships. I can’t think of any other way to put it. There are more serious conversations – as opposed to inane ones – because I am shit at inane ones. And too often, I find myself alone either because people go away but more often because I drive them away with whatever it is – sarcasm, passive aggressiveness, my self, whatever. To be perfectly clear, I’m not apologizing for anything because I don’t feel sorry for being myself. And to be perfectly honest, I think a lot of these failed relationships are not my fault – at least not completely. Is it sheer stubbornness, sheer self-centeredness or just lousy character on my part? Tell me. Tell me and just maybe, I’ll cut you out of my life.

Today, I exchanged a few quick emails and probably saw the end of yet another relationship. I thought we had something. I thought you did too. We did, actually. I cried a little on the bus but now I find myself shrugging in front of the laptop. I can’t help but think if you came like I asked you too, things would be different. But what transpired without you wasn’t bad too.

I guess the point is, I think you’ve just made me think all over again.. just maybe, I do deserve to be alone. And should be.

Yesterday, after we got back from the two-day tour up to Niagara Falls, I found myself doing the number 2. After wiping off, I flushed and but of course, the toilet got stuck. It had to get stuck because I was tired, cold, hungry and in want of sleep.

Desperate, I flushed again. Big mistake.

The kicker is bathrooms here don’t have drains, only the tub and the sink into which water can flow then. The toilet overflowed onto the floor and all I could do was go shit shit shit. Lucky most of the yuck was down the pipe but it must have choked somehow. I like to think what overflowed was relatively cleaner toilet water. And no, I didn’t stick anything into the toilet bowl except my waste. I’m not that dumb.

With toilet water swimming at my feet with what I’d imagine be a lot of my bacteria (although the water was completely clear), I started doing what had to be done. Squeegee everything into the tub. And use a shit tonne of Clorox while at it.

Then I flushed again.

At this point, you can call me dumb, I don’t mind. I deserve it. The toilet overflowed again and again, I squeegeed and Clorox-ed the entire bathroom floor.

Unable to effectively use the three plungers I found in the storeroom, I finally asked for help. A nice friend of a newly made friend came out and gave the plunger two effective pushes before the we finally heard the merciful sound of the contents stuck in the pipe flushing down into sewage system of the city.

After that, I poured Clorox on the floor again and squeegeed the tiny bathroom.

What I’ve learned is.. having your feet swim around in toilet water is not much fun. I’m still a little depressed this morning especially after finding that the girls upstairs have unceremoniously thrown my bath things I left on the tub onto the floor. Some of the body soap spilled which I had to wipe up which contributed to me feeling slightly more depressed about the situation. Plus, although I do not like my rooming conditions right now, I can’t complain about it.

Such is life I guess. Still, I count my blessings. I’m in New York and tomorrow I shall watch the ball drop from a distance and wish everyone around me a Happy New Year.

More tomorrow since I don’t want to end the year with a depressing post about toilet water.

Hugs for everyone! Since I’m in a quiet and loving mood today.

*There are Monets and Van Goghs and Picassos and so on in practically all the big museums of the world because they were so prolific but you know how mini-revelations come in certain places and after learning certain facts.

It then crossed my mind that this could be my handle. The average traveler. Love to travel, too lazy to tour. Something like that.

You heard it hear first. Hoho.

Every time I take the subway uptown to where I am currently staying, I think about the Bronx beyond and I think about Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann and Tilly and Jazzlyn and Phillippe Petit and of course, unforgettable Corrigan who haunts me every now and then. It amazes me how a white Irishman writes so convincingly in the voice of a black prostitute from the streets. Funnily enough, just two days ago, I heard the very line on the subway to Times Square, “I know myself man! I’m from the streets!” which made me laugh just a little inside.

Apparently, it’s not safe for me to visit the Bronx alone so I’ll have to dream of it instead and do what any ignorant fool does, romanticize the hell out of a place based on a book I’ve read.

Deprived of sleep for close to 48 hours, I found myself in a daze on the 2-hour flight from Detroit to New York after a 4-hour delay. Still, I sat in my seat and tried to take in as much of Detroit as I could from the plane because of Middlesex (one of my favourite novels) and what I’ve heard about the city from a friend.. about dilapidated buildings, scattered bricks and what not. I couldn’t see any of that so instead, I took in the grey skies and the washed out pall it cast on the Motor City.

I wasn’t where I am usually seated on a plane – behind the wing – so I had a clear window view without any obstruction on the small plane. At first, I was wedged in the corner with some white guy chatting up an Asian history and art major in the other corner before being directed to the window seat a row in front with much more legroom and breathing space.

10 minutes after the plane took off, I found myself wandering why the plane was going backwards. Without the plane’s wing to guide my sense of perception, my head was swirling from the non-logic of the situation and my brain was working very hard to take it in. The conclusion I came to was that the plane was making a clockwise turn to point itself in the general direction of New York. Nonetheless, the hallucinatory quality of going backwards in mid-air had me thinking: “This is the most beautiful flight I’ve ever been on.” The sky turned pink and grey as the sun set and I couldn’t help but feel weightless, as though I was disappearing under ether. I have never seen the sky more pink, except maybe on the flight to Sydney where I found myself thinking about the aborigines and Dreamtime in a sleepless haze and that morning when I woke up briefly to find the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House bathed in a breathtaking pink and orange dawn.

Though the flight was 1 hour 40 minutes, I was woken up what felt like 5 minutes later by the pilot announcing we would be landing in New York. It was drizzling and the plane hovered above the grey clouds before dipping below to reveal the city, the Brooklyn Bridge and downtown Manhattan. The amount of light this city had on was uncountable. It is beyond any other city I’ve seen. This city could eat you up and swallow you whole. There was absolutely zero question about that.

Again, I’m not sure what I’m doing here to be honest but I guess the point is, I’m here in a city I’ve always wanted to visit.

In other news:

Dear Charles & Keith boots, you’ve caused me nothing but grief (esp in the last 3 hours) with zero arch support in a day full of errands (buying soap, towel, SIM card etc.) and wandering around Times Square. Soon, you shall join the garbage of New York. After an indulgent cab ride home, I am doing what any weary city dweller would do – order takeout. Seeing it’s only my 2nd day here, I will soon run out of money if life continues this way. Tomorrow, the real sightseeing begins.

I lay in bed alone suddenly wide awake and the first thing I thought was, “That’s functional sex. The kind of sex we have to get on with life with some sanity and bright-eyedness.” Then I heard a small thud as someone, probably the woman, got off the bed and went to the toilet to wash up and maybe dispose of le condom. This was followed by more non-urgent footsteps before there was complete silence.

Oddly enough, after being awaken by this short aural feat, I didn’t feel incredibly turned on and instead, found myself lying in bed feeling very impressed with the vanilla milkshake I had at 77th and Lexington at a diner called Soup Burg as I was not hungry for dinner or feeling peckish at all.

I don't even like milkshake (or most dairy products in general) so why I had it is a complete mystery to me.

P/S: I don’t think she faked it.

PP/S: Do I have to leave a tip after having a milkshake?

20 Dec 2011, Detroit, Michigan,2.55pm

America, by virtue of the fact that it is the furthest place I’ve traveled to so far in my life is the place that makes me feel most removed from home. Although or maybe because I watch it on TV, read it in books, hear about it in music and see it in films, it feels slightly more surreal than Europe or Australia or India or Malaysia. Did I have to travel so far to a place I am so familiar with through so many mediums? Plus, I actually consider my concentration in literature to be American Studies. How odd.

In any case, I find it vaguely thrilling to find myself in the birthplace of Jeffrey Eugenides and Cal Stephanides. I wrote Rory a postcard to say hi. The sky is overcast, the place when the plane was close to touching down appears utilitarian, boxy, suburban, rundown. On the plane, I was looking for the factories and saw tonnes of cars instead – not just moving cars on the road but square miles of parked, unmoving cars – as though it was what characterized and defined the city’s landscape. In Eugenides’s book, Detroit is described as a rundown state in want of sprucing up and I feel it somewhat. Or maybe it’s just spending 19 hours in a plane and waiting to board another plane for another two hours that does it to you.

According to my Swatch, it is now 4am in Singapore. Usually not asleep by then but the few hours of sleep I’ve managed on the plane don’t seem entirely enough.

Anyway, this three-week trip to New York was partly to see the city and partly to escape for awhile to another place and be alone. “Travel is the wilful displacement of the body from one place to the other to find something in another place, in another state.” Something I came up with on a train in Amsterdam.

Oh, to be alone.. Still, there exists the little ache for various special people in your life to be here with you in particular moments.

“*gasp* I did nooooot!”

Seriously. I didn’t.