Ulu Uban

The sun was really hot, apparently, but I didn't feel a thing. On the speedboat on the way to the island, it felt like we were being fumigated by petroleum fumes, yet you had no choice but to breathe harder because there was so little oxygen to begin with.

Dry ground, unevenly comforting. The streets are flanked by drains filled with black oily water, clogged by plastic bottles and all sorts of rubbish. The makeshift rubbish bins (oil drums sawed in half) are filled with with rotting vegetables and rats, scavenging boldly in broad daylight. Huge. There are no birds, maybe because there is llittle to sing about.

Wait. There are roosters wandering around, crowing, eating garbage, blissfully oblivious to their impending death.

The male children are surprisingly quiet, shy, coy even. They look at you out of their liquid eyes, and whisper and giggle to themselves. The baby dressed head to toe in pink is a boy, and not because the parents are trying not to be gender biased, but because the child before this one is a female and they are recycling her clothes.

A boy that looks undoubtedly Malay speaks Teochew and Bahasa, yet replies to neither as long as the question is asked by a stranger. I learn his name; his name is Ahn, and some one follows up with the revelation that

"He's adopted". Or more accurately, "jian3 hui2 lai2 de4" (in Chinese). Maybe the person who said that meant the latter, which I won't doubt, given the general state of neglect of the place. I'm not surprised that people will abandon babies on other people's doorsteps. At least it's better than Singaporeans who throw babies down rubbish chutes.

Around his hands, neck and ankles are rubber rings, very much like the black rubber bracelets that used to be a fashion statement. In reacting to what people say, he turns to look at me first, as if seeking for cues of an appropriate response, but in a flu-y state I manage nothing but a weak and (what i perceive as) encouraging smile. He teaches me how to say goodbye in Bahasa, and I think that maybe he won't come back to the church on Sunday, but he does, surprisingly.

Weird are the things you remember when you're sick.

First Aceh, then the oil price hike, then now the Bali bombings - Indonesians are really having it bad now, and who are we to complain about high living costs in comparison? Singaporeans are, really, a fortunate bunch.