When I came over to Sydney, I realized almost immediately that I would have quite a bit of spare time so I knew I needed to find something. Hopefully something productive. I canceled my account with World of Warcraft after I came over, in part due to a crappy wireless net connection and a 12Gb monthly limit but also because I wanted to hopefully commit myself to a newfound life and work hard at something for once.
My answer to this dilemma was to join the gym. One of my mates crowed on about pumping iron in his spare time so I thought, why not? (no homo) I checked out the place and was immediately won over not by the fact that the salesguy facetiously told me I was getting a special deal (I am actually paying half of what my friend is paying. Shh!) but by the inviting oblong of azure, partitioned by lines of navy. Other than haggling over my subscription fees, the only other thing I didn’t close my ears to was “heated pool”.
I suppose “taking the plunge” works perfectly in this sense. The last time I stepped into a gym was because I had to as part of my stint in the military. That was well, 6 years ago. Hahaha. So I signed up and shopped for Speedos, goggles and a yellow swimcap and thought about how gyms are full of fat people, sexually ambiguous men and seemingly hot but dull women. I was the odd one out, the shy and reclusive intellectual who is devilishly handsome and modest. And handsome. And heterosexual. No homo. For real. I am not frute swagz. No seriously. I liek grils.
Pounding (I forgot how one actually plunges… ouch.) into the water reminded me of a lot of great times I spent in swimming pools back in Singapore, whether in school or the one near my old house. I remember the first time I ever touched the water. I was petrified and wondered why the hell my parents signed me up for swimming lessons. Suppose its sort of like a throw you in the deep end, watch you fight to live kind of thing. I’m so glad humans can’t fly. I grew to love it though and spent many a weekend morning kicking and bubbling my way from floating and breathing through to making an inflatable out of pajamas and lifesaving.
Now, I am able to rekindle the joys of my childhood and discover something new as well. On the one hand, swimming regularly (2-3 times a week) gives me damn good exercise. On the other, I get the chance to think clearly. With my ears submerged underwater, there’s nothing else quite like it. You feel closed off from everything, only squiggly boop boop bubble noises and the gentle crashing of waves. Its like those stupid tapes people buy, only real. I suspend myself, give in to the water. I think of everything, from food to girls to music and life. I philosophize and fantasize. Where once, I tried to hold my breath and do push ups underwater, I now dream and relax, listening to the sound of my heart beating after a quick sprint. Its an amazing, back to the womb sensation. My only wish is to swop the fat people, who invariably and inexplicably love to throw their wobbly bits into the water, with the hot women. I am the only wobbly thing that should be allowed in the pool aside from delectable feminine floatation devices from said hot women.
I love how I’m reminded of that “taking the plunge” thing. You’re forced to swim or die. If you survive, you discover something new, kinda like Jacques Cousteau. In the water, its a chance to enable your body in a free-form fashion. You fool around, somersault underwater, touch the bottom, dance like a chicken, sing with bubbles or fart and watch the bubbles. You never do this shit on dry land. Imagination and discovery combine in the most wonderful way. I now realize why people created ridiculous metal suits to walk on the bottom of the ocean.
And now, I end this tiresome treatise with some stupid humor referencing the title. I give you FOTC’s Foux De Fa Fa.
It’s at 1:16 in case you miss it.
Dreams come to me unwittingly. I never plan my life in calculated steps. Instead, I like to live spontaneously and collect dreams. Which means I think wistfully about grandiose, abnormal or absurd things to do but procrastinate and do nothing.
Part of the problem is financial of course but slowly, I realise I am able to achieve my little dreams step by step. Some are simply crappy material wants like my now baggy A.P.C. New Standards which have lived up to the 4 month mark without being washed. Another is my very recent purchase of a hat.
Sometimes, the dreams I aspire to experience for real come suddenly. This one came just as I decided to post this today. I was actually craving for a flavor really. Forest fruits in particular. Something about berries in tandem just gets my taste-buds rocking out. So I got some forest fruits flavored muesli bars which worked a treat because I just chomped one down. As I’m typing this, my tongue is gleefully picking away at the last remnants stuck on my teeth or some disparate nook due to my relentless chewing. I was a cow in my past life yes.
Ok, back to the dream. My newest of new, insipid, bland and ridiculous dreams, is to travel to Germany, somewhere next to the Rhine or in it, who the hell cares. I just want a goddamn forest, lovely greyish brown woods, misty, dull dark greens in summertime and a flowing river. There, all I’m gonna do is spend an afternoon picking wild berries, wearing lederhosen, my straw trilby, a pint mug in hand and a knapsack on my back. Val-deri, val-dera!
Of course, inside the knapsack would be a bunch of friggin sausages and a special reserve of select trappist ales. Sorry Germany, Belgium wins the beer race for me but I will pack German sausages. Also, some good cheese and rye bread.
This won’t be to the hypnotic rhythms of The Happy Wanderer in my ears because I’d probably start killing myself after the 27th val-deri. So it’ll have to be something like Cinematic Orchestra or some such, maybe Bela Bartok mysteriously piping through the forest. Which now reminds me how I also need to get a nice pair of Redwings for this hike.
All this from a bunch of berries combined. I wonder what I’ll want to do when I eat spacecakes.
