Hey Bicycle, The Key To The Room In Your Heart Doesn't Work

I've been in Singapore two weeks now. Rehearsals has kicked up a gear and we are zooming towards performance. I'm being surprisingly disciplined with regards to the show; I'm yet to kick up any kind of tantrum, all my requests have been fair, and I'm being remarkably gracious towards my co-actors. By this I mean I'm not behaving like the closet diva that I can be when I'm acting. I guess I'm growing up, eh? Fuck it took me long enough. Blimey.

I need to tell you this story...

A large part of my decision to take up the offer to shelve my life as I know it for 2 months, take a 75% pay cut, relocate to Singapore and act in a student play was that I needed to shake up my life. My moorings were becoming super strong, my creativity was rusty, and I'm just not getting along with KL at the moment. It's not the city, it's entirely me, but the poor baby gets blamed for everything, including my lack of exercise, forward thinking, and just every negative thought I have in my body. I don't mean it KL, I don't. I'm sorry.

As I was planning my trip, I realised that with Singapore's (relative) adherence to traffic laws,a bicycle would be a great way to commute to the National University of SIngapore (NUS) in Clementi. SO a month before I left, I was in the market for a bicycle. I looked around various shops in the Klang Valley. Did I want a road bike [SUPLEX!]? Maybe a mountain bike [FROM THE TOP ROPE!]? Should I just fix Harein's mountain bike and be done with it [OOH CLOTHESLINE INTO DROPKICK!]? I wrestled with these thoughts for a while, then someone tweeted a link to "The Right Bike Store" in Batu Pahat which led to a series of e-mails with the owner about how to go about buying a bike from them etc. Really uncomplicated stuff, but again, I'm a wrestler. Finally, the legendary Farouk came to the rescue when he said I could borrow either one of his two bicycles for my entire trip, free of charge. LIFESAVER!

Great, so now I had a bicycle, but could also kiss my plan of taking the bus down to Singapore that weekend out of the window. We'd have to drive down, and because of the nature of the goods involved, we'd have to take my truck in all its rumbling, trundling, hard suspension glory. It doesn't go very fast, but it can hold a bicycle no problem. I slow-talked (emotionally blackmailed) Herukh into helping me drive down. The conversation roughly went like this:

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H: I just drove down 2 weeks ago for Toshak.

K: Yeah, I know. So you'll drive down for one brother but you won't drive down for the other? Come on dude... AND I'm your older brother too.

H: Yeah but then I'm going to have to drive straight back the next day, and then 4 days later I have to drive down again when Sneh comes to town. Don't make me do it man.

K: Hey man, I really need your help. I need to take this bicycle with me. It's going to help me get so hot riding to rehearsal and back. Besides, I'm so bloody broke man.

H: Eh, don't lah.

K: Fine, I didn't think you'd help me anyway.

H: Ok fine I'll do it. You know I'll do it.

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We also completely forgot that it was the last Sunday of the Chinese New Year break and the highway was super-jammed. We were in bumper to bumper traffic from Melaka all the way down to Singapore. Took us almost 8 hours of driving before we reached Toshak's place in Little India. Then I had to lug the bike up to the 3rd floor, where I then remembered that one of the more important bike rules is having a bicycle lock. So we had to move the beds around and stored it in Toshak's room which is only slightly bigger than our bathroom back home (there is no need to play devil's advocate, so just accept that my bathroom isn't very big). Herukh the Valiant slept on the couch outside and the next day drove his lonesome back to KL. Toshak helped buy me a bicycle lock. The tires were flat. Great.

Anyway, the bike then went into suspended hibernation for the next 2 weeks because Toshak's place was only a temporary crash pad. I was waiting for Justin Chibai to sort out his apartment coz I was going to move in with him for the next 2 months. Besides, riding from Little India to Clementi is a little, er, far for a fat guy.

The next 2 weeks were pretty uneventful. I mean, they were plenty eventful. Herukh, Sneh, and Nikhil came down to party in Singapore with Toshak, Justin, and myself. They completely pagal-ed our lives. Way too much alcohol. My director had to pull my aside and tell me that I needed to get my shit together. I told him give me a couple of more days, my brother would go back to KL and then I'd be turning into an ascetic. Such prophetic words too, because Herukh and the gang went back to KL with a piece of my liver and things quietened down, also, I was now (and still am) officially broke. Certain entities in Malaysia and in Singapore seem to be unable to fulfill payment terms, and these delays are causing me much heartache, wallet-ache, and soon stomach ache because I've got cash for the next 3 days, and then I hope Justin's gonna feed me as well as house me... but as I was saying, the next 2 weeks were pretty uneventful.

Then Justin calls...

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J: Eh cock!

K: What you want?

J: The apartment is ready, i'm staying there tonight. Move in tonight lah.

K: Ok cool. I need to make spare keys.

J: No need, I got two sets of keys... besides, it's some bullshit high tech key lah. I don't think can make duplicate. Just come lah. No need to make copies. You hold on to the second one.

K: Ok, I'll see you tonight, by the time I get there after rehearsal it'll be about midnight.

J: No problem, I'm a damn relaks guy lah.
**************

So after rehearsal, I take the double bus action back to Little India, pack all my shit, and I'm forced to take a midnight surcharge taxi to Justin's place. Ouch. When you are low on cash, all these little things hurt like hell. Now the real comedy begins. Justin starts showing me around his beautiful cute little 1BR swanky shag-pad in Holland Village (the Bangsar Baru of Singapore... complete with drunk 15 year old Mat Salleh/ International school brats). I ask him about the keys, and he laughs. He holds up a small round shaped plastic disc. He presses the button in the middle of this disc and the door beeps twice, and suddenly the knob catches the locking mechanism and you can twist the lock open, or closed. There is a smaller key on the keyring. He doesn't know what its for. It's not a manual override for the main door, because it doesn't have a keyhole at all. I'm studying the dynamics of the keys. We find out later that the disc is called a transponder. I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.

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K: So how do you know it's out of battery?

J: I don't know

K: So what happens when it runs out of battery?

J: I don't know

K: Then how?

J: Chibai how I know?

K: This is your apartment you cock.I don't like this. I don't like this one bit. I'm an old fashioned guy. I like keys, you know?

J: There's no keyhole oso.

K: I know. I can see

I press the button on my transponder

K: Mine is not working

J: Let me try

K: Wah, you try it'll suddenly work lah. It's not fucking working.

J: It's not working.

K: Yeah I know it's not working. I think its the battery. Ok, nevermind, tomorrow after you leave I'll go and change the battery.

J: But how? If I leave, I lock the door behind me, and then you can't come out. If I leave it unlocked, you can't lock it later when you leave to buy the battery.

That's right, ladies and gents, you need the transponder to both lock and unlock the door. If the door doesn't beep, the knob just turns and turns and turns. The transponder engages the locking mechanism.

J: Actually, there is a spare battery in the owner's kit.

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So we go over to the owner's kit and fish out the spare battery. Things are looking up already. Then we start studying the transponders as to how to open them up, like chimpanzees using a computer. We finally get it open and change out the battery. It still doesn't work. Unsatisfied, we are curious as to whether its the battery that is weak or the transponder that is wrecked, so we open up the working on and switch out the battery as well. That's odd, the spare one still doesn't work. Now we are confused as to which battery was the flat one and which was the good one, and which transponder is the bum one, and which is the gateway to our happiness. What's not odd, what is entirely tragic, and extremely hilarious, is that now, neither transponder is working. No combination of transponder and battery is giving us the sweet sound of the double beeps of freedom. By now, it is about 1.30am... and we are locked in. In an apartment with no drinking water, no food, no gas, no tv, no dvd player, no internet, no nothing. Justin's got work at 7am. I've got rehearsal at 7pm. I'm not fussed, in fact I'm laughing. I think I jinxed him the same way I jinxed Zahir many years back on New Year's Eve when I said something along the lines of "It would be funny if the car broke down right now" and then it did and we had to walk from Ampang to Atmosphere, missed countdown, and got to the club sweating like a bad case of hyperhidrosis.

Justin isn't freaking out, but suddenly he's got an English accent and he's trying very hard to figure out how to get ourselves out of this lil' pickle...

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J: Eh cock, check the user manual lah if there's anything on how to solve this problem.

K: There is a fucking user manual?

J: Yeah it's in there, I haven't read it.

K: Why are we messing around with the transponders to your front door before reading the user manual?

J: Can you just read it?

K: Ok, #1: The double-beep is the normal operating sound. It says if you hear any other kind of beep, then you should CONTACT MAINTENANCE IMMEDIATELY...

J: Ok next

K: #2: If the transponder is low on battery, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO REPLACE THE BATTERY ON YOUR OWN. CONTACT SERVICE CENTRE IMMEDIATELY...

We look at each other, smiling, because somehow, we know what's coming

K: #3:

DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES OPEN THE TRANSPONDER ON YOUR OWN. CONTACT SERVICE CENTRE IMMEDIATELY... Damn man, I wish we read the manual first before we tried to replace the battery.

J: Cock lah. Check if there's any numbers we can call.

K: Hey, there's a number for a 24 hour hotline..

Justin dials.

J: They are not available. They said they open at 7.

K: How is that 24 hours?

J: Fucked up lah. I hate this door.

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Justin then spent the next 30 minutes sitting in front of the door, repeatedly trying out the transponders, diligently replacing the batteries over and over again, rubbing them, trying all kinds of kung fu on it. I just lay down and instagrammed him.

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K: What if there was a fire right now? This apartment only has one exit.

J: Die lah, what else. All because we opened the transponders.

K: It was your idea.

J: You jinxed it.

K: Your cock lah.

J: I'm going to bed. I've left a bunch of messages (in his English accent) and I've spoken to the agent as well. We can only sort it out in the morning.

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So we went to bed. Lucky there wasn't a fire. The next morning, Justin is up early and dressed. He's on the phone, English accent and all, from the moment he's away. Juggling calls between the technician from the door company, the agent, his bosses, his colleagues. It's all very amusing and very English. Finally the technician calls back and says he'll be at the house in 20 minutes. 20 minutes later we call him and he's still at the landline number that he called from, and says again that he'll be over in 20 minutes. 20 minutes later he calls from the road and says that he's stuck in traffic and he'll be there in 20 minutes. Justin is pacing back and forth in the apartment. I'm still laying down and instagramming the whole process. Documentation is important.

The technician arrives and Justin's forced to deal with him by shouting through the door and looking through they keyhole.

He asks for the transponders. Justin directs him to the side of the building so he can throw down the discs via the balcony. It's all one giant comedy right now. The technician has such a think Filipino accent that when he's shouting through the door, we can't understand what he's saying... but we did catch this part:

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T: Hmmm... Did you open the transponders?

J: No, no we didn't. Not at all.

T: Well, someone opened these transponders.

J: I don't know man, one minute it was working, and then after that it wasn't.

T: Ok, but in the future, just make sure that no one opens the transponders. What's your override password?

J: What's that?

T: The master password to reset the system.

J: I don't know man, I just moved in yesterday.

T: If you don't know the master password, the only option is to call a locksmith. He'll have to drill through the lock and then we've gotta change the whole system then.

J: How much is that going to cost?

T: $625

J: Fuck that. Hold on a second.

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Justin calls his real-estate agent. The conversation is surprisngly polite. Turns out the agent has to call the landlord in Canada to sort it out, but he manages to sort it out nonetheless. We've got the master password. We don't have to pay $625. Within seconds the door opens, and in comes Erwin. He's a blazing ball of Filipino energy. He's shocked that no one walked Justin through the intricacies of his company's intricate security system. We thank him, and he goes on his way. A great first night and beginning to our short time rooming together, and his tenancy in his new swanky shag-pad.

Freedom at last, Justin heads off to work, and I start my day.

Toshak was super gracious the entire time I was on his floor, but I was living out of a suitcase and there just wasn't enough space in his tiny HDB flat considering his bizarre middle-aged roommate had countered Toshak's houseguest with two of his own. Unlike me, they took up a massive amount of space in the flat. In the living room all the time, dirtying up the kitchen, everything. They were messy and irritating. I was happy to move out. Besides, this was always the plan. This is home for the next 6 weeks. I've since made a trip to Ikea and i have a cute little clothes rail with all my stuff hung out, and organized neatly. A Sri Lankan sarong, a gift from Ivy Josiah, covers my clothes, removing my boxers from public view. Which is pretty redundant coz I just hang out in my boxers the whole day anyway.

A rocky start, but now I can get my grand plans for Singapore in motion. First order of business? Get that bike from Toshak's place in Little India. First I grab a bus to Orchard and stop by the $2 shop and pick up a dustbin, a whole gaggle of hangers, and various other bits and bobs. I throw them into my duffel bag, sling it across my back and it sits comfortably and will do nicely for the adventure that lays ahead: Riding the bicycle from Little India over to Holland Village. I decide to walk from Plaza Singapura to Toshak's place because I want the warm-up. It is hot and I'm sweating like... I used hyperhidrosis earlier, but take my word that its a sweaty day. Humid. Sticky. Yummy.

When I get to Toshak's place, I realise the bike's tires are completely flat. I sigh, but its ok. I check gothere.sg (A BRILLIANT APP for navigating singapore by the way) and the nearest petrol station is 3km away on Bukit Timah road. Fine. No problem. The lock comes off, the bag slings onto my bag, I give Toshak a hug (and $50 because he's broke... but I'm broke too... oh well. He was awesome), lug the bike into the lift, and then onto the road and start walking it towards the petrol stations. Two strange things happen almost immediately. First, my relatively brand new SkullCandy headphones start to break-up and get all static-y. Something is severely wrong with them, and the wire has to be contorted into all kinds of funny shapes to keep the audio running. Secondly, the chain drops off the gear. Thank God I've worked with enough bicycles on shoot to know how to thread it onto the gear again and away we go. Still not riding it though, just pushing. I look down at the bike and I think about how it's done nothing for me in the last 3 weeks except make me carry it, push it, and transport it everywhere.

After a pricey 100plus at the petrol station to rehydrate, I fill up the air in the wheels, give it a test run, a few hops here and there. As I'm filling up and testing, a car pulls up and a very snooty looking aunty walks up to me and thrusts a letter into my hand. "SINGAPORE" she says and then gets back into her car. I am confused beyond confusion. The postage is unstamped. I turn around and behind me there is a mailbox. I guess she wants me to help her mail it. I dropped the letter into the slot. Aunty didn't even wait to see what I did with it, she was long gone by the time I put 2 and 2 together.

The bike was ready to go. Mom and Dad called right before I took off, they were taking off too, on their holiday to Langkawi sempena their anniversary. Chatted for a few minutes, they wished me on my way, and I was off.

I forgot what this feels like. The challenge of negotiating live traffic on a vehicle completely powered by yourself. Timing the bursts of pedaling, the wind through my "hair", the speed, the joy of locomotion, waiting at traffic lights, yelling at cars and their bullshit. It was great. I pushed hard for 20 minutes and before I knew it, I was at Farrer Road. Perfect. There was a bike shop up ahead and no matter how broke I was, there were a few things I needed to buy regardless. So I stopped in, picked up a front and back light, and also a mirror. I declined to buy a helmet (I know, I know) because it's not actually a LAW in Singapore and I figured I'd get one in a couple of days when I get paid (hopefully, maybe, please lah pay me already dammit). Forked out $65 in a mere 10 minutes. The dude outside checked my pressure, made some corrections, and gave me a thumbs up. The bike was ready to go. I was so fucking happy you have no idea.

I got back on my horse and rode off into the housing estate. Thanks to Google Maps now, I had already plotted a more scenic route through the backroads that would bring me right to our apartment complex. It would have been much faster to get back on the main roads, but I wanted the extra time on the bike, and negotiating the uphills and curvy windy roads would be fun, great for the fitness, and I needed as much practice as I could. I was so rusty. Zoooooooom. So. Fucking. Fun.

As I committed to the scenic route, I looked up and watched the storm clouds swirl overhead as I've seen happen on shoots after we tell the bomoh it's a wrap. I predicted rain within 15 minutes. I was about 6 to 10 minutes away from the apartment. I switched up through the gears and found the uphill selection, the bike seemed reluctant to commit to an incline-friendly ratio. Then I heard the familiar chin-chin-chin-CHING as the gear's teeth finally bit and then a most sickening sound.

It was the sound of metal shredding, not dissimilar to the sound of a car accident. The shearing of atoms that really wanted to stay together, but something has decided NO and will not accept anything else. The kind of sound where you know the dream is over. Like a hamstring popping on the final stretch of a marathon. The whole bike started to shudder, something was caught in the wheel. There was no resistance in the pedals. I heard the chain scraping the air. Without even looking down, I knew what had happened. The entire gear system had been ripped off the chassis of the bike and was now dangling, caught between the rear spokes. I was well committed into the scenic route by now, and not only was it scenic, it was long... and uphill... and apart from the last 30 minutes of riding, I was now pushing the bicycle. Again. Someone really needs to send that bike a memo. Talk about unclear on the concept, eh bicycle???

Then, the sound of thunder. The wet of rain. Great. As I pushed my way back to Justin's place, I called Farouk and explained the situation to him. He laughed in sympathy, but also mostly in thanks because now he had the perfect excuse to buy a new bike. *sigh*

As I squished forward in my wet shoes, the rain turned out to be a cooling relief from the heat of the day as well as all the anger boiling up in me as my recollection of the events leading up to this point cycled very pointedly through my head. The agonizing search for the bicycle, borrowing it from Farouk, emotionally blackmailing my brother, giving up my RM90 Odyssey bus ticket, the 8 hour drive to Singapore, the money that I didn't have that I spent on the lock and the reflective strips and the mirrors and the front light and the back light (those last purchases not more than 10 minutes before the accident), the guilt from not buying a helmet, the 5km from Orchard to Little India to Bukit Timah in mid-day sun, and now, stuck again pushing the bicycle uphill through the rain. It was so tragic I just started laughing to myself.

As I pushed on through, I realised that I was walking through a really upscale neighbourhood. There were some amazing houses. Some were ugly and made me laugh at them. The poor rich people with their money and ugly houses.

HA HA HA HA HA I laughed from the safe rain-filled confines of my broken bike and my iPhone 3gs (which by the way, almost impossible to buy accessories for it in Singapore because everyone here is OH so iPhone 4 where have you BEEN all of last seasonnnnn?). Then there were houses that made me if not want to work harder, then at least marry rich.

One small saving grace was that I could still use the bike to coast downhill, so every opportunity I got, I was on it, and glided through the wet. Silently. Without pedalling. Now the bike is sitting in the carpark downstairs. I'm not sure it's going to see the light of day again. Justin doesn't want it, I think, I'll ask him tomorrow. It's going to be way too expensive to fix. Ripping gears off the chassis? Maybe in Malaysia I'd have a fighting chance. In Singapore where a frikkin' Hazelnut Magnum costs $4? Until I get paid, everything is on hold (pay me lah please lah please lah). It's funny though, the bike was as much a cost saving exercise as anything, but with all the money I spent on gear and getting it down to Singapore in the first place, it's still exponentially cheaper to use the bus to get to rehearsal every day. All I need to do is top-up my bus pass every so often and not forget my umbrella. I already carry a spare pair of headphones, so I'm sorted there.

Here is a self-portrait of the artist as a dumbfuck, stuck in the rain, with a broken bike.

I guess it wasn't mean't to be, eh?