You can stay under my umbrella…ella…ella…a…a…a (1)

Sometimes you don’t even realise that it is happening, but a certain song gets locked into your mind as a poignant reminder of a significant point or event in your life. ‘Mika – Grace Kelly’ reminds me of the sweltering summer that I moved out of home, ‘Bon Jovi – Living on a Prayer’ reminds me of the frivolous carefree days of backpacking in Japan with my mates and ‘Snow Patrol – Chasing cars’ reminds me of standing in rolling fields of purple lavender with Sherly by my side on our summer getaway. Now that I look back, I know without a doubt whenever I hear ‘Rihanna – Under my Umbrella’, Teh Tahrik, the humid pungent air of KL, the savoury taste of Roti Telur and the feeling of breathlessness on Mount Kinabalu will race through my mind.

They say that if you look like your passport photo, you really need a holiday. Well, let’s just say there was no possibility that customs officers anywhere in the world would have had trouble matching my passport photo to my face when the holiday finally came around. On the day I left Melbourne I felt exhausted and burnt out, I think the holiday came just in time actually. I’d just gone through a month long busy period at work, which was even busier than it should have been due to my colleague being away for almost the whole time through illness. I was staying back until 10pm most nights and eating dinner at work each day. My suit seemed to be constricting me tighter and tighter as each day passed while the fluorescent lights buzzed and glowed until they worked themselves into the backdrop of my dreams. One day I got to go home early (around 6pm) and I remember feeling a rising torrent of rage when another man in a business suit sat next to me. How come he gets to go home at this time? I bet he goes home every day at this time. Then I stopped myself. What was I thinking? How could I be angry at a stranger just because he was on his way home? That’s when I knew I really needed a holiday. Fortunately I only had to work a few more days until it finally came time to go to Malaysia.

On the final day at work, I was typing away at my desk right up until the point where I was going to run out of time to get to the airport. I told my team leader I really had to go, switched off my PC, stared out onto the horizon of snaking streets and towers of buzzing lights and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, it’s time. I swung my bag over my shoulder, pushed through the glass security doors, hit the down button on the lift and walked out of the building without looking back.

It took some time for it to sink in that I was on holidays. I met Sherly for dinner to say goodbye, but my eyes must have seemed dazzled and distant, my hands cold and my movements robotic. I knew I was going to be away from her for a week, and that hurt inside, but my head was dizzy with thoughts of the long day just passed.

I ended up running late and made a mess of the goodbye. I guess goodbyes are never easy though. I ran off towards Collins St, big pack on my back, while Sherly faded into the distance behind me. Somehow my running paid off and I ended up catching the ‘skybus’ on time.

I sat back letting the traffic noise, the propaganda from the Melbourne tourism video and the blue lights of the bus seep into my mind and mix with the white noise of my frazzled unconnected thoughts. I exchanged SMSs with Sherly to make up for the far from perfect goodbye and pulled out my study notes.

The queue at the airport was long and it took a good hour and a half to get through. By the time I got to the gate, it was time to board. Time passed in an unmemorable fashion and soon I was being rocked to sleep by the gentle hum of the jet engines and the rich deep sound of ‘Ray Charles’ singing. It’s never easy to sleep on planes though.

I thought I could sleep a bit more at KL airport before my flight to Kota Kinabalu, but the incessant blaring of announcements in four different languages and the chimes of the attention music put that idea to rest. I resorted to looking over my study notes instead. I justified that it was ok to do that because the holiday hadn’t officially started yet.

More flying, a blissful drift into sleep and soon I touched down at Kota Kinabalu airport. The thick humid air hit me like opening an oven and the aroma of ‘famous amous’ cookies invaded my senses. KK was nothing like I had expected. It was more like a Polynesian island city rather than the overdeveloped industrial mega-city I thought it would be. I trudged wearily towards the luggage carousel, hearing two familiar voices. “Hey Trav!” Chris shouted, to which Irz added, “Hurry the f___ up!” I looked over and beyond the customs ladies and the railing I saw the silhouettes of two of the three stooges. My face cracked a huge grin and I went to get my bag. The customs ladies gave nothing more than a disinterested polite glance when I showed them my muesli bars and they waved me through.

There against an unfamiliar background my two oldest and closest mates stood, sporting goofy grins and holding a quickly scribbled sign which read, “Travis esq.” We got a taxi and sped off towards Sutera Harbour – a luxury resort where we were staying. Chris and Irz proudly pointed out the features of the resort and described some of the misdemeanours they’d experienced already. In KL, they’d managed to stumble their way into a gigolo bar by mistake and Chris had already had several people try to scam him. I was proud of them; this was going to be a fun trip for sure. I was given a new burst of energy and life.

First stop was the expansive pool which had a spectacular view of the coast and a Polynesian style poolside bar. We all jumped into the soothing water, swum around and made our way to the underwater seats by the bar. Soon, three frosty cold Carlsbergs were placed in front of us and we all took a gulp. I laid back into the pool looked at Irz who raised his glass and smirked, “Good to have you here,” I looked over at Harry who looked equally relaxed and said “Welcome to Malaysia Trav!” That’s when it hit me. That’s when my holiday started, right then and there. Welcome to Malaysia. I was here, half way around the world in this idyllic location with my best mates who have been around almost half of my life. The guys I first got drunk with, the guys that got me through tough times, the guys that I got lost with in Tokyo and ran with along the slippery snow filled streets to make the last train. Welcome to Malaysia indeed. Bring it on, I thought before swimming up and taking another gulp of beer.