8. Two-beat Miracle
Since I last wrote, we’ve entered another lockdown, and if I'm being honest, this one is weighing more heavily on me than the previous ones. I look around and I see that weariness, frustration, and restlessness have replaced our once optimistic spirit. There are no more iterations of Dalgona, no more bread-making. The platitudes of repetitively asking one another to stay strong and keep safe are as helpful as the national pandemic exit plans.
I'm exhausted from the inspirational tag-lines, catchy hashtags, the misleading use of war language we're using to curb a disease that isn't going to contain itself just because we have great wordplay. Hope is waning yet to surrender to its bleakness is to go against our very human nature to rise above adversity. Maybe it's just me but I've been sensing a collective simmer as if we are waiting for an eruption to galvanise ourselves into action. I don't know if it'll ever come or if we'll have enough courage when it does arrive. For now, I feel like I'm just allowing the currents to sway me - unable to swim against them, but also not quite willing to drown.
—
The last time I went on a long walk, I foolishly did so at the worst possible time of day. The sun was scorching, piercing my skin as I made the trek to Bangsar. Under any other circumstances, it would've been a cakewalk but at twelve in the afternoon, I lost steam pretty quickly. By the time I arrived at my destination, I was bleary from exhaustion. I underestimated my body's ability to bear the heat of our climate. That put me off walking for a long while.
Then at the start of the umpteenth lockdown, I decided that I was going to start walking again.* I don't know what came over me other than a real sense of restlessness in my bones and the desire for something remotely close to an adventure. Or maybe I'm just really sick of being cooped up in my room.
On the walk to Thean Hou Temple, I experienced an elementary revelation about my own two feet. How capable they are of physically transporting me to places I normally drive to. It’s possible I have been driving for so long that I forget feet were the very first vehicles of human life. People have been travelling on foot since the prehistoric ages but somehow this act still feels as novel as a child taking their first step. I would not walk if I have somewhere to be, but there is something to be said for slowly getting from one place to another - almost intrinsic to human nature.
As I trekked further and further away from home, thoughts of what I might discover around the bend and the unpredictability of weather and terrain hummed in the back of my mind. Perhaps the slight fear of the unknown also lent a hand in the excitement that bubbled and rose inside me. Nothing like a sip of danger to unveil our mortality so we feel alive, am I right? Nine thinks I'm being overly dramatic here given that it was only a half hour jaunt but this is my story so tough.
Walking is also an exercise in observation. There were many curious things I noticed along the way - abandoned security posts, derelict houses, the smell of wet dogs, and water towers inviting a climb. I wasn't sure what to make of most of it but everywhere I walked, there was trash and some of it had been ground into a permanent fixture, becoming part of the pathways. I regarded it as a metaphor for our relentless consumerism now bleeding into our environment.
High-rise living has shielded me from the noises and smells of outside. I forgot how loud and disconcerting it can be on the ground even when we are relatively far from the heart of the city. At times I wondered if the reason I was previously so opposed to walking is because of how aggressive pathways tend to be in this city. Quite frequently, I would find some sort of inexplicable obstacle left unattended in my way. I think about how potentially dangerous it can be for the visually impaired. The city has little regard for pedestrians and nowhere is this clearer than when the only viable way to get across is to run through a busy highway.
I arrived at Thean Hou just in time to see the golden hour rays hit the curved orange roofs of the temple. No one is allowed into the premises at this time but from where I stood, I could make out the grandiose structure that sat atop Robson Heights. It was quite the architectural feat.
I didn't really intend to see the inside of the temple. I made the journey because I wanted the quiet focus of my thoughts with one foot in front of the other. Silent for long enough, I realised that walking is an extraordinary mark of what makes us human. The act of hurling the body forward and then catching ourselves from falling with each step forward is a poetic reflection of our perseverance. We are always falling but we might not hit the ground.
—
*This was before they said we could only walk within our own neighbourhood subject to the address on our IC.