USA: New York City, 2018 | Part III

I sat at the bar in the kitchen the next morning. you know what? I could get used to this. waking up in New York City in comfy sheets to have Oreos, thinking where to spend the day. a man in his late twenties joined the seat next to mine. his rich breakfast made my Oreos look pathetic.

he’s struggling to open something and I thought of offering help. but before I could, he already managed it himself. and in turn, he offered me his breakfast. it’s Indian food and I hadn’t had any curry or dhal ever since setting foot in American soil. so, I indulged myself, even made sure that I get this sauce/paste that tasted sweet and spicy when I have the chance to visit India. for a moment, I was instantly transported back to home.

he’s here on a business trip. being the “baby” at home, his family had packed all this for him to make sure he didn’t starve in the Big Apple. I said I was gonna hit Central Park. he was, too. so we headed out together. it felt nice for a change, to have a travel companion for a day.

during the 20-minute subway ride, I got to know him better. let’s just call him Harith. he’s 7 years older than me. he’s been running some sort of e-marketing business for about 3 years and was looking on expanding. which is why he’s here.

we got out of the subway to the Upper East Side. (after some fun tossing the tiny yellow human figure onto Maps, I think it’s 68th Street.) I got out my phone but not sure which direction I was facing. my new companion looked at the phone and instantly knew which way to head. I remember when I first used Google Maps in Bangkok, we would walk 10, 20 meters only to realize we’re heading the opposite direction the map intended us to. this guy’s a wizard.

we walked past neat buildings. I wasn’t sure if they’re used as office or residence. the basement unit somehow intrigued me more than the street and upper units.

“huh, must be nice,” I thought. in my head, I wondered, beyond each window, how those lives look like each day, each season, each year? fulfilling? miserable? complicated? just as ordinary as mine? really? you live in one of the nicest places in New York City!

we walked the perimeter of the park to the entrance. there were quite a number of runners and some auxiliary policemen controlling traffic. Harith pointed it out. later, we saw that there’s a marathon going on.

we made it to the park entrance and there’s nothing but greenery in front of us, around us. if corner buildings hold my fascination, then Central Park is all the corner buildings in the world put together. after seeing photos of it thousands of time on Tumblr (and Humans of New York!), from this angle and that angle, I was finally here. some hard facts: it was created between 1857-1876 and covered 843 acres. crazy big, right?! it’s an oasis in this metropolis.

the marathon ended at a few pink and white canopies. I think it’s a run that’s run (hah punny) by an organization advocating for women. Harith was like a little kid spotting a fun fair. he couldn’t wait to check them out. now, who’s the older person here?

I don’t know. I’m thinking something in me is dead, you know. I don’t get excited that much anymore nowadays. other than a riddle or a maths problem, it really takes something colossal to tickle my brain cells.

after a few touristy photos for him and getting a free bandana—which at first I rejected ‘cause I hate having to bring an extra thing home but later glad that I took it ‘cause it kept my camera dry in such lousy weather—we moved on.

I know it’s kinda idiotic of me. knowing how big the entire park is, I never bothered to look at the map beforehand at all. so we just followed a path with a general direction towards the West Side, ending up at a gazebo next to a lake. I wondered if this is the lake that Holden was talking about. oh boy, he’s sorely mistaken. it’s the end of the summer, but there ain’t any duck to be seen. maybe his question wasn’t valid at all. because there’s no duck to begin with. or was this not that lake?

I remember watching a (prominent) politician said on TV that Kuala Lumpur will build its own Central Park some time ago. they’re planning it. I just scoffed. so you think you can have a Central Park in 5, 10 years? how much money are we going to pour into it? and how much of those will seep into who-knows-who’s pocket? how many people are to be evicted from their homes of decades so you could turn that land into a park? how are you going to maintain the park? we’re a hundred years behind than the world. why not put that money into the forest reserves that we already have? our national parks are badly managed and could use some money anyway.

there were some rocks jutting out into the lake and we decided to take a look at it. I’m more of a lone ranger, really, very… more. (solo trip here, hello? self-explanatory.) but I have to admit that, sometimes, two is really better than one. we had to walk a narrow strip at the edge of the jut-out land to get to the rocks that we saw. usually, when I’m alone, I would just give up and go home. never underestimate my drive to “go home” when it comes to “go big or go home”. seriously.

from where we stood before the rocks, we could see the NYC skyline. it’s just like in the movies I’m not kidding. the movies ain’t kidding. sitting atop the rock was a boy around my age, or he could be younger than me. I really didn’t want to interrupt him appreciating the view in front of him. but he noticed us and offered that place to us. we took turns taking touristy photos for each other. then, he left. I couldn’t help but wonder if he too, had McMiserable. I hoped that he’s handling it well.

now that we got the view to ourselves, I stood there taking it in slowly. the weather really sabotaged it though. otherwise, it’d be amazing. I imagined fall, when all the trees in the park turn to gold and yellow. surely, it’ll look brighter than this summer’s day.

my fascination with New York City—if I have any—comes from Salinger’s The Catcher In The Rye. yeah, that’s what all the duck deal was about. so naturally, visiting the Museum of Natural History was a must.

our experience there was mostly a haze of getting from one gallery to another. it was so, so dark and so crowded, probably because of dum dum (remember Night at the Museum?). I don’t think I actually digested any information I got there. I only vaguely remember watching a presentation about the universe being projected onto the ceiling and thinking, “okay, so this is the ‘in’ technology nowadays” ‘cause I’d seen something similar in another museum, except there ain’t any seats then and I was the only one smart and indifferent enough to sit on the floor. I think they’re fine with neck pains. I think it was from that preso that I finally understood the phrase “when you wish upon a star, you’re a few million light years late.” love me some Physics lessons from time to time.

our stomachs were growling so we checked out the restaurant. it gave me a feeling of a merge between IKEA restaurant and boarding school dining hall. unsatisfied, we left. the Museum of Natural History was nothing like it was in the book. then I realized that 50 or so years had passed and I wanted to tell Holden that even the museum changes. the birds? they’re in some other gallery now.

it’s Harith’s first day in New York City so I somehow found myself in Shake Shack again. I didn’t mind ‘cause then I could have a double check if the burger was really just “okay”. spoiler alert: it was.

the restaurant was jam-packed. I was finally that person who has a partner to work out the logistics with. I got seats and he got food. the paranoid part of me was afraid that my food’s spiked. but I think I thought I’m a slow eater so by the time I fall to the ground, the whole restaurant will be looking at me and be sensible enough to call 911. so yeah.

we talked about family first during the meal. there’re some commonalities between us. we’re the youngest, the “baby” of the family which is why we’re always the protected one no matter what age we’re in. I don’t mind all that pampering though.

we’re also the one that took a different path in the family. his brothers have stable and secure jobs whereas he took the leap of faith to start his own business. me? none of my family pursued a creative path.

then, the conversation changed to relationship. I didn’t have anything to say about that. his story was what I assume most relationships are like in reality. to put it short, she wanted to continue a life of wanderlust and his business just took off. none wanted to take a step back so it ended eventually.

I said I’m bad at compromising too. you may say that we don’t love the other person enough to sacrifice ourselves. yada, yada, yada. but me giving up my blood and sweat just so my partner could travel? or we both half-ass our own shit? are you fucking nuts? I don’t see the point of going through all those arguments anyway. and c’mon, I’m too lazy for that. I’d much rather spend that energy on something else, thank you.

we moved back up to street level and headed to Brooklyn Bridge. I initially saved it for sunset time, but with this weather… might as well. before we reached the beginning of the bridge, he had to stop to take a cig. just like me and everyone else who sits at the computer most of the day, his number of steps taken on an average day was about 300. yeah, we compared our Health on iPhone. walking 10,000 must be a torture for him. I’m thankful that standing 8 hours a day for 3 months beat leg up enough for this.

the drizzle got heavier as we got nearer to the arch. it explains the missing Brooklyn Bridge photos from this post. Harith’s paper bag was soaked and torn halfway there. it was… I can’t find the right English word, but in Mandarin—狼狈. (nope, it’s not ‘Wolverine’, Google Translate).

I looked down at the passing cars and tried looking for my friends’ scribble that they left a week ago among the graffiti. Harith pointed out One World Trade Center to me. I hadn’t noticed it the night before at Brooklyn Bridge Park. it’s amusing to me, that how your background and identity shaped the way you experience New York City, or anything else, really. I looked at lights, textures and structures. he’s interested in the Financial District. an architecture enthusiast may look at the cityscape and cursed at the few buildings that ruin the beauty. some adrenaline junkie friends went on an open-door helicopter ride above the city.

but either way, you wouldn’t wanna miss the historic Grand Central Terminal. that’s where we went after that. the thing with Grand Central Terminal is, if you look at these photos from the 50s, you can see lights pouring in—which is exactly why they’re so precious. you couldn’t get this scene anymore because of the tall buildings in Manhattan. according to Nat Geo, NYC won’t be getting any sunlight by 2020. sorry to bother you with trivias like this, I just love them. :P

coupled with the bleak weather outside, the inside was more sombre than it usually is. I watched the people come and go, come and go while Harith looked for the oyster place. we were denied entrance, so instead, we shopped at a souvenir shop.

we discussed where to go next. he wanted to go to The Rock, I didn’t want to with such lousy weather, because I wanted to watch the sunset from there. he didn’t want to accept my proposal to take the Staten Island Ferry. talk about compromising. in the end, we decided to head back so I could do my goddamn laundry and then we could go for an early dinner.

on the way back, we jumped onto the wrong train. when I realized that, we alighted at a station that’s elevated. it’s something new, considering that I was so sick of their filthy and stinky underground. it’s a view like this—New York City just the way you’d see on the silver screens instead of Instagram.

later in the evening when I knocked on his door—which was somehow left ajar—to return him his shopping bag, he was already snoring in slumberland.

USA: New York City, 2018 | Part II

my Oreos and Milo served their purpose again and I set out to Times Squares and Broadway for the day. half-priced tickets, I’m coming for ya. to the unpleasant subway I went. hey, wait, this… is not the entrance from yesterday, right? turned out that unfortunately, I took the long way the day before. man, all the panting wasn’t worth it.

it was almost the end of rush hour by the time I headed out. there were still some white collars getting to work, some other folks who I wasn’t sure what they do on a day-to-day basis, and of course, some tourists.

I got out of one of the many, many subways in the Times Square area and head to the TKTS booth. when I finally saw the huge LED screens that I’ve seen so many times on TV, I thought, a little unflattering, “oh, so this is the Times Square?” to be honest, it was… okay. it wasn’t anything outstanding or impressive. to me, it’s just a tourist trap. I remember watching a TV show and the host remarked, “no locals will come to Times Square.” sure enough, no one he interviewed came from New York City.

I asked a girl in a suit who’s promoting Chicago where the TKTS booth is. it was right in front of my eye and I’d just walked past it to ask her for the directions. haha. and so I went to the counter, armed and ready to pay five hours of my wages in exchange of three hours of an extraordinary experience. turned out there weren’t any $50 tickets left, only starting from $80.

“that’s the cheapest ticket?” I knew the answer but still asked anyway.

“yes, ma’am. $80, that’s the cheapest,” the man at the counter replied unapologetically. after working in the service line, I understood him. he must’ve had all sorts of weird requests every day, just like the receptionist last night.

“alright. no, thank you, then,” there might not be any hesitation in my voice, but inside, I was torn.

I walked back to the stairs at the center and sat down, watched the screens without processing the contents while I contemplated my options. $30 extra or look for something else to do? I texted two different people at that time and I got two very different replies.

the first was my sister, “huh so expensive?” it’s really demotivating, Er Jie.

the second was from my friend, it’s pretty straightforward, “$30 now or another RM3000 in the future?”

somewhere between waiting for them to reply me, I felt really, really, really bad my eyes started to well up and then my tear rolled down. I’m not kidding I even have a photo of it it’s just I can’t post it because well, um, I kinda walked around the entire morning with a little bit of Oreo still stuck at the corner of my mouth. but anyway, yeah, me, crying in Times freaking Square. no one else will do that other than a kid separated from its guardians.

after making my decision, I went up to the line again, hoping that fate doesn’t bring me to the same counter again. while queueing, the lady behind me asked, “what are you watching?”

Phantom of the Opera.” entry level. “and you?”

I forgot what she watched. sorry, lady. we had a small talk about the shows. though I hate small talks, it struck me… “so that’s how easy you can start a conversation with a stranger?” my skills are definitely lacking in that socializing department.

I didn’t want to stroll too far from the theatre, afraid that I wouldn’t arrive early enough to beat the queue. so I walked around the area, depending on Yelp to lead me to some good food at a decent price. I ended up at a cheese sandwich place which was okay for its price.

remember that friend that I said was supposed to come with me? while eating, I couldn’t help thinking again… what could’ve been? we probably would’ve skipped DC. I don’t think Broadway show would’ve ended up on the itinerary. even if it did, I would be convinced to change plans, as always, especially when the 50$ tickets were sold out. and I would say yes, as always. would I be led to an even more exciting adventure? or would I beat myself up every day after that for missing Phantom of the Opera?

by the time I got back to the theatre, the queue lined along the outside of the theatre building. if you’ve read enough of my ramblings, by now you’d know that, yes, it made me anxious. again.

I got in alright. got a seat with no one to my right or left. it’s McMiserable again. who the hell watches a play alone? it was better than last night though, because since a few years back I started going to the movies alone often. also, that means I wouldn’t have to come up with any opinions just to talk to the people around me. however, by intermission, I was already regretful for having this thought. because I couldn’t wait to share this experience with someone else.

the show was… how do I put it? “amazing” would be an understatement. the set was magnificent, the acting spectacular and the music breathtaking. I remember having to make sure to breathe slowly so that the sound of my sinus nose and beating heart didn’t distract me. there’s also something about listening to music you’ve known for over a decade being played right in front of you. although the story bothered me for some reason, I’m thankful I didn’t take my sister’s advice. it’s really a once-a-lifetime experience, so please watch it if you have the chance.

though I’ve watched Birdman before this, I didn’t realize the movie was set here.

when the show ended, people were directed out of the building but a small crowd formed at the front of the stage. ah, I knew it’s the orchestra, but I’ve never seen one myself before. curiosity brought me to the group. it’s quite funny in a way, sort of like looking down at animals in a zoo.

the musicians finished the score and started packing up. then, this… strange thing happened. my eyes met a brass player’s. and we both gave each other a faint smile. it’s not the stupid smile from the adrenaline after a show nor was it an awkward one you do to a passing stranger.

it’s more like some sort of… “I know”. “I know you get this twice a day, whenever the show ends. could be quite annoying yeah?” “I know you’ve never seen something like this before. welcome to Broadway.” I’ve never encountered anything like that anymore throughout the trip. or in fact, even until now.

and it was until now, months later, while writing this, that I realize why it’s strange. it’s because I didn’t look away immediately as always, being the shy person I am. that’s all the more reason why it’s important to write these things down to reflect on experiences, instead of mindlessly consuming them and for what, right?

anyway, another funny thing is, I can’t remember how that guy looked like anymore, yet I remember how strange the whole thing was. ain’t it like that with people? you never remember how they look or what’s their name, but you remember how they make you feel.

it’s already 5PM when I got out. museums were closed by now and I didn’t want to hit The Rock until I’ve made sure I have time to do the things that the New York City Pass includes. I should’ve gone there though.

so I made my way to Flatiron, confident that it would be easy to spot this landmark once I reached the area. “it’s flat, Ruo Ling, it’s flat. that’s why it’s called Flatiron.” lo and behold, I got out of the nearest subway station to street level and I didn’t see any flat building. I searched my phone while I walked along a corridor with scaffolding, thinking I shouldn’t’ve missed it unless… unless I’m right underneath it.

I was right. at the end of the corridor, I saw tourists at the opposite of the street. the youngsters striking their basic Instagram poses while the elder ones did their usual family photo thing.

I lingered at the area just marvelling at this (flat) feat while searching a good spot to take a photo. but damn these traffic lights! corner buildings always hold my fascination and I have a lot of questions for this one. who would build a triangle building like this? this flat??? how does the inside look like? (answers, fellas)

for a while, I watched this couple that seemed ordinary at first. but later when they started doing these “influencers” poses and switching positions with each other and it went on for about five minutes, I started to roll my eyes. I wanted their help to take a photo for me initially, but you know what, forget it, let them live in their bubble, as most other millennials do.

I headed to DUMBO after that. after seeing so many photos of it, mom, I finally made it here!

unsurprisingly, it’s another spot that’s filled with these… I don’t know, influencers-wannabes, or are they already influencers? this spot was actually much worse than Flatiron, because they just stood right smack in the middle of the road, a four-junction crossroad at that. in terms of vehicular traffic, I would say it’s somewhere above moderate. there’s always someone who didn’t notice a car is coming. or someone who wouldn’t bulge immediately even after a honk. are you guys idiot or what? don’t bother answering. it’s a rhetoric question. you guys are idiots. if I were one of those drivers, I would’ve driven any of them to death just as they’ve driven me into road rage.

the sun was almost gone so I hung around a little longer. might as well see the night view. it’s not worth it. it’s so dark all you can see of Manhattan bridge is the outline. disheartened, I picked any one of the four streets and walked. never learnt my lesson, eh?

this was only possible thanks to RAW imaging.

I’m not sure what brought me to what should be Brooklyn Bridge Park. it’s drizzling and I didn’t want to stroll. so instead, I just walked towards the rail and took in the view right in front of me. ah, New York City. who doesn’t want to live here? there are more than enough movies, books, TV shows out there to make you dream of it. there’s the hidden bowling alley from the book Where She Went. there’s Gretta riding her bike across Manhattan in Begin Again. there’s Superman saving people in Queens. it’s unbelievable.

I took turns taking touristy photos with this family of four. the dad said he’s pretty good with photography, can even talk to me about the lights there. though it’s a point-and-shoot iPhone, the photo turned out… let’s just say he’s joking about all that camera stuffs he said earlier.

then, of course, it’s the usual, “what brought you here?” and “where are you from?”

he said something utterly true. “you’ve never been to the Twin Towers and you say you’re from Malaysia? and now you’re looking at Brooklyn Bridge in New York.”

I gave an embarrassing “yes”. I’ve been meaning to cross that bridge for a long time. ever since I read about how unique it is from my trip to Taipei 101... about five years ago. I told myself I’m gonna do it when I’m back home, but half a year had passed and I still… haven’t.

anyway, I didn’t want to stand in the rain anymore so I left. I think it was Shake Shack that led me to this park because I ended up knowing that I wanted to have Shake Shack. before I had arrived at the park, I passed two restaurants with long queues. it must be good, I don’t know. you let me know if you somehow end up in one of those restaurants someday. it’s Grimaldi’s Pizzeria (4.1 stars from 4192 Google Reviews. okay after a search through Google, it even has its own Wikipedia page.) and Juliana’s (4.6 Stars from 2651 Google Reviews. alright this has its own Wikipedia page too). I’m not gonna queue though. not alone. not in this cold.

it’s McMiserable all over again. although this time it’s not emotionally, more on the logistics part. how am I gonna order and make sure I have one seat in this crowded New-York-City famed restaurant? everyone seemed to have someone to chop seats for them. urgh.

I ended up at a table for 4 - 5 with a couple that’s about to leave. then, a family with a stroller joined the table. I thought, “why would people bring their kids and toddlers to travel? why? just why? it’s such a hassle.” then I remember that this may be their only time in a year that they could spend this much time together in a foreign place. alright, I approve.

I tried to look friendly, smile and soften my resting bitch face. but it’s undeniably getting more uncomfortable so I just focused on my burger and finished it as quickly as possible. speaking of burgers, I honestly found Shake Shack just alright.

and then, and then… I can’t remember what exactly happened after that. I only vaguely remember walking past a car park. I guess I got back, talked to my mom on the phone and settled down for the night.

HAH! so I managed to summon some memories from the previous night before I went to bed. I got back to my dorm and my lower bunk-mate was already in bed, like, his entire body was in the comforter except for his head.

seeing that he’s not asleep yet, we acknowledged each other and he proceeded to continue talking to me that way. it’s the usual “oh what have you done today?” turned out he’s French and he went to support his friend’s comedy. naturally, it’s awkward to be looking down at him this way so I excused myself.

I think I talked to my mom after that (mom, I’m sharing a room with three other guys!). I booked about ten accommodations for the entire trip so I wasn’t sure what I’d actually booked for each night. and no matter how my dorm mates rotated, they were always males. :\

while I was working away on my upper bunk, the four of us agreed to have the lights shut. but I forgot I’d left my contact lens solution in the locker. so I had to climb my way down, open it, feel my hands through my bags to find that damn solution, all while cursing myself for being loud. was I not embarrassed enough with my giant luggage? hmph.

USA: New York City, 2018 | Part I

when I changed my bus tickets, I already knew that I was gonna be late for free MoMA Friday. but life always gets in the way, so suck it up, girl. I opted for the one that would arrive in New York City faster with one transit.

the whole trip was about six hours. I couldn’t remember much except the transit because I pretty much slept all the way. sincerely feeling sorry for the lady sitting next to me. that’s when I learnt that I could wear my contact lens and close my eyes for such a long time! seventeen-hour flight back home, I’m ready. (yes, I broke my glasses a few months back.)

the transit station was a small one. there wasn’t any number anywhere. back in Washington DC, a lady in print pants who’s in line behind me had complained to me how Greyhound didn’t bother to send her an e-mail regarding the cancellation. I said, me too. I was afraid that I was gonna miss my connecting bus, so while journaling, I kept an eye on this print pants lady. a ball of anxiety swelling inside me. I don’t even know what exactly I was anxious about. Christ.

I arrived at a rush hour and gloomy New York City. now, I’m someone who has been to the shady bus station at Bangi, yet, I still found this station underneath Times Square just as scary. it was a busy one, but it gave me much more anxiety than the ones in Tokyo or Taipei.

okay, calm down, Ruo Ling. first, get your Metro Card. then get on the E line. you’ll be fine. after struggling through floors after floors, a dude tried to help me get my card. I said no, no thanks, no, I can do it myself and my eyes were on my wallet, my backpack, my luggage, my fanny pack and the ticketing screen all at once. it took me some time to find the ramp to the E train. I made a mental note on it for when I return a few days later.

guess who’s trained (hah, punny) to have a thick face when it comes to squeezing into the train at peak hours? embarrassed with my luggage, yes, but my thick face won. it wasn’t easy. the wheels of my luggage only decided to work perfectly well on the train. they kept sliding in all direction.

I arrived at Court Square Station. somehow, when thinking of arriving in NYC from another place, I always think of Lady Bird lugging her luggage out from the stairs of a subway to a random street. although truth be told, I look far less elegant from Saoirse Ronan. following my instinct, I dragged everything all the way to one end of the station. stairs. uh-oh. I was expecting this after watching a lot of Instagram Stories of my friends struggling with their luggage.

I couldn’t remember but if I’m not mistaken, someone helped me with it. as always, “ohhhh no, thanks, it’s heavy. it’s very heavy.”

okay. so where the hell am I? Google Maps told me to go straight all the way, cross to the right, go straight, cross an alley, go straight and make a left. easy, right? nope. I was panting all the way. I passed through this neat little hidden restaurant and couldn’t help but feel a little envious for the people inside. “at least you guys don’t need to drag so many pieces of luggage across New York City. you live in New York City.”

as I walked through the swing door to my dorm, I could hear a group of people outside remarking, “oh, I wouldn’t bring that much stuff to New York.” DID YOU THINK I WANTED TO? I would very much love to send this thing back to Malaysia if I could afford it. thank you.

the front desk guy asked if I had a pleasant trip to NYC. I looked at him, all sweaty, and said, “URRGHHH.” yes, I literally did that. when he told me that my room’s on the second floor, I was hoping he would help me with my luggage, this time it’s “oh PLEASE, thanks, it’s heavy. it’s very heavy.” but all he did was give me an “all the best” face. dude, really? but who was I to hate him though? he must’ve all sorts of crazy requests every day.

I walked past the common area, the kitchen, to the stairs. oh, God, no. I’m not ready for this. not after I just dragged them around for almost an hour. being in an all-girls-and-only-one-guy department in the water park, one thing I learnt in the USA was I never knew what I can do until I do it. I used to always look for the easy way out… by look I mean I literally look at my guy friends and beg them to help me carry stuff most of the time. this time, I gritted my teeth, rolled my sleeves and got them both up into my room. one more step, just one more step, and one more, and another, oh c’mon, one more, another, and… you made it! two trips. 30KGs. three flight of stairs. your girl Ruo Ling is a strong, independent woman. *smugs*

after checking out the rooftop view (what a view!) and settling down (someone in my room plays with film camera, there are at least two guys, I wonder what they’re up to, oh my god the shower is so narrow, I hope no one is fat here, mmmm the sheets are crisp and nice, wait do I wear my shoes in or do I leave it… here… or here, shit am I the only one with so much stuff), I really wanna just conk on my bed, but it was still early and it’s such a waste. after much contemplation, I decided to check out NYC at night. having back pain just after three days, I left my backpack and only brought a sling bag with me.

NYC Subway, ew. as I waited for the train, I read the notices that were everywhere in the train station, something about this train closing for road work at midnight and additional buses, blah blah blah. it caused me a lot of anxiety. I don’t wanna be stranded in such scary stations at midnight!

before heading out, I’d plan to catch the Japanese animation Perfect Blue at the Metrograph—an indie movie theater (and it’s quite famous). I’ve made it a point to watch at a repertory cinema in the US at least once. this was a good time since my plans were all messed up and the showtime fitted perfectly.

to the Metrograph I went. I took the subway, got down the subway, walked past a park, walked past some Chinese shops, walked past more Chinese shops, looked into the Chinese shops to see which one I can run into just in case anything happens because it’s starting to feel scary, made it into a darker street and I was almost there. I looked into the left street where Metrograph is located and saw a group of party animals loitering there. I was so near! but my instinct told me to turn back. without much hesitation, I listened and almost broke into a run. I kept walking and kept walking without stopping until I saw a McDonald’s and realised that I was hungry. well, I was never a person who made sure her stomach is filled well.

eating at McDonald’s in New York City. that’s like the worst thing you can do, right? this country, in a lot of ways, is like home. think the melting pot and the racism. and New York City? it’s all the more. there’re so many people in this metropolis, which means there’s a lot of good food just like home. and of these choices, I chose McDonald’s. =)

my first time ordering from a machine at McDonald’s was this time. back then, there’s only one in Malaysia. (but so glad to have it at most outlets now!) dealing with machines make me stressful. I usually buy my ticket or pay my parking at the counter, where there’s a human. (I’m a lot better with McDonald’s machines nowadays, no worries.) however, this time, as always, was s-t-r-e-s-s-f-u-l. I couldn’t look for the number plates. I asked the lady beside me. she couldn’t help me too. so I decided to press for take-out instead. then I turned over to tell her my decision after the conversation stopped like two minutes ago. 🤦🏻‍♀️

spoiler alert: I got my McDonald’s fine and sat alone at the bar facing the street. now, eating alone wasn’t anything new to me. I did that half the time in Malaysia. but somehow, maybe it was because of the foreign place, or maybe it was my damn luggage (emotional baggage, perhaps?), this was different. the internet probably wants you to think that, “oh, look at this lucky girl, enjoying her solo trip!.” but truth be told, most of the time when I ate alone during my travels, it was, “oh, look at this poor girl, with no one together.” that was my first of many times feeling lonely during the entire trip.

I didn’t want to head back just after a McMiserable. so I decided to check DUMBO out. York Station was worse than Court Square. but the tunnel has this feel that somehow attracted me. those white tiles, dirty floors. mmm. *slurps* (more York Station love in the coming posts)

I got out of the station to a mostly empty place, save for an underground restaurant. there were two touristy looking women who got down from the same train and they seemed just as lost as me. I wondered if I should ask them if I could tag along if they’re heading to the same destination. but then, if the situation was reversed, I would be scared af when someone approached me like that, at night, in an empty neighbourhood like this. so I let it slide, plus they went this way that I think… is… not… DUMBO?

anyway, I just picked any one side of the street that I thought will lead to DUMBO at this cross street. pure guesswork. guess what? it didn’t lead me to DUMBO at all. it did, however, lead me to one end of the Manhattan bridge. so I thought, fuck it, I’m here, what am I gonna do? go back to the train station? might as well walk the bridge and take a look at NYC at night, right?

this… unfortunately… was taken on another day.

this… unfortunately… was taken on another day.

it was a dumb + crazy decision. the kind that would make a story of a lifetime. so, what’s the story you ask? the story was I walked the entire bridge, the whole 2KMs of it, alone, at night. it was SCARY AS FUCK. as I later told my friend, “it was scary when I was alone on the bridge and there wasn’t anyone. it was even scarier when there’s another person on the bridge. ‘cause I don’t know if they’re gonna rob me or what.”

why did I finish it if I’d known it was scary from the beginning? it’s just the same as how you keep giving in to someone. you keep giving in, keep giving in until there’s no point of return.

I got on the bridge, walked a bit, saw nothing. maybe if I walk a little more there will be something? once I see something I’m just gonna head back where I entered. I saw some buildings. not impressed, I walked more. hmm, I don’t think I can see the entrance now. then, I saw the East River. I turned back. I think I’m nearer to the other end than to this end now (fact check: I WAS NOT), might as well keep walking. then I saw the Brooklyn Bridge and felt envious for whoever who owned this beautiful, chill balcony with this view that I’m seeing. now that I can see the Brooklyn Bridge, I’m somewhere in the middle of Manhattan Bridge… right? (fact check: NO) so I kept walking, thinking that it wouldn’t take me long to reach the other end. at one point it got so frightening I wanted to FaceTime my friend just so we could “walk” together just in case anything happened to me. the scariest part was the end of the bridge but I was so glad I was over it.

so after walking the Manhattan Bridge, what’s my thought on it? every once in a while, there’s the strong tremble on the bridge from the passing trains. there’s an old couple walking a few hundred meters ahead of me. I tried not to lose them, but at the same time kept a distance to not creep them out. occasionally there would be bikers and joggers, and group of friends chatting and laughing. how do I put it? it’s a terrifying and lonely walk if you do it alone, but contrastingly, it’s a charming, romantic walk if you do it with your lover, and it’s a fun walk if you do it with friends. bring your camera along. someone tore down some parts of the fence so you could take pictures of the entire Brooklyn Bridge.

I got out and into a part of Chinatown (only guessed but didn’t know it was Chinatown for sure until March 6, 2019, as I’m writing this and did some fact check). at that point, I was so frightened that I didn’t register my surrounding much anymore. all I’d wanted to do was to find a subway station and get the hell home. I walked past fruit stalls, I walked past clubs, I walked past Rich Kids of Instagram getting out of chauffeured cars, I wondered if any of them has a spam account that followed me on Instagram, I wondered if their parents are stinky rich or they’re in fact struggling at a food stall and I couldn’t help but felt a little sad for the parents.

I got back fine. I couldn’t remember much from the trip but decided to not stay out that late anymore as I settle into slumberland.

USA: Washington DC, 2018 | Part II

wonder what’s in my giant suitcases? it’s embarrassingly stuffed with Oreos and some 3-in-1 Milo. breakfast was made with the attempt of reducing them. c’mon, they’re serving their purpose!

I set out my journey by taking the free tram (never took one before in my life). I didn’t know I was at the last stop until everyone alighted. it’s supposed to stop at Union Station, no? confused, I broke away from the crowd and took a detour unexpectedly.

back when we had the trip to Washington, my friend posted a photo of a corridor that caught my attention. he couldn’t remember where it is (“one of those buildings”). turned out that it’s just outside of Union Station. I didn’t notice it the night before because I was busy weighing my choices + getting distracted by the lit dome, hoping for some action sequence, maybe a helicopter chop, chop, chopping above and Nicholas Cage descending from a rope stair.

anyway, while I was mesmerised with the beauty, I had my first stranger interaction. seeing that I was busy with my camera, a working class man offered to take a picture for me. I know, what are the chances of someone running away with your big, bulky DSLR? but there’s this funny ad that I once saw, (sadly, I can’t find it anymore), where a photographer offers to take photos for strangers and then run away with their camera to capture the strangers’ reaction. plus in my head, there’re ten thousand ways to rob a camera, (though most of them aren’t viable). anyway, spoiler ahead: the photos he took of me were okay.

first stop was, of course, Capitol Building. the last time we’re here, we didn’t make it down to the visitor center. this time I did. that is, after spending a good fifteen minutes or so under the sun, trying to get a good photo of the dome.

upon entrance, people were being rejected to enter from the security gate because of the water they carry. not wanting to embarrass myself, I dumped my water to the grass. usually I’d be worried, but in big cities, everywhere you go, there’re always water fountains and clean bathroom, and that’s what I love in America. I know Malaysia is still a developing country, but hopefully one day we’ll come to this point.

it was such a shame that I didn’t know that I could watch the congress in session. if I did, I would’ve planned it in advance. channeling my #NerdyRuo. otherwise, there’s the exhibition hall that you can visit.

anyway, after some time in the dark hall reading about the dome (pretty impressive), it’s time for the next stop—The Library of Congress. it’s another photo that’s posted by my friend which caught my eye. the details of the interior are just… *inserts Owen Wilson’s WOW* just look at it for yourself.

my favourite thing (so hard to choose!) in this library should be all the famous, remarkable quotes on the ceiling. the one that first caught my attention was this—"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings."

then, I made my way to the National Air and Space Museum. again, there’s a security check. I was puzzled with the tight security at first. then, I realized, “oh, this is DC, the capital. c’mon.” most places have bag scan, or at the least, a hand search. now looking back, you know what, America, forget about fences or teachers learning how to shoot, maybe you should just put these machines at school entrances. get some control on your gun control yo.

anyway, I knew this museum because of… *drumrolls* yes you got it, my friend’s Instagram post, again. XD jeez, do I have any of my own ideas? apparently Night At The Museum was filmed here?

but before I was at the museum, my stomach was already growling. a guest at the water park who’s from DC told me that there’s a restaurant offering good Malaysian food in DC. alas, I couldn’t find it, so in my indecisiveness, I resorted to eating at the museum in the end. pretty sure if I were travelling with pals there would be sounds of complaints but I really don’t mind much when it comes to food. I sat at a spot with sunlight and enjoyed my lunch.

you wouldn’t imagine how much time I had spent at the museum. almost three hours of reading stuffs and playing around with the interactive exhibits, which I love a lot. the How Things Fly part of the museum made me miss Physics class. and c’mon lah, there’s no broken stuff whatsoever unlike here.

it’s partly also because of my indecisiveness (again). I’d wanted to visit Newseum (journalism fans out there, anyone?) initially but my itinerary was running an hour late. so might as well just hang in this museum, right? so I bade goodbye to the museum. I mean… it’s been three hours, hello? at last I skipped Newseum to go straight to the National Gallery of Art.

I didn’t have any good photo of the National Gallery of Art, but some interesting things happen while I was there.

there was, of course, the bag check again (ugh). that’s not the interesting part. somehow, I made a swift turn into the visitor centre to grab a brochure because I thought I didn’t wanna waste my time finding my way in this big, art maze. the friendly elderly man at the desk asked me if I needed any help and realised that my huge backpack was somehow allowed in, so he advised me to sling it to a side so it wouldn’t be noticed. hey, thanks man!

the brochure that grabbed my attention was the one with Van Gogh’s face on it. surprise, surprise. I didn’t know they have Van Gogh’s work here…

finally at the gallery exhibiting his work, I plopped down on a sofa and just… look at the paintings. after so many Madonna and Child (I swear, they’re the art world equivalent of pop songs) and other works that do with religion, it’s pretty good to see something different.\\

there’s this guy taking photos really, really up close to the painting with his phone, as though he’s looking for some secret Van Gogh code in it. the Vincent Van Gogh code, Professor Langdon?

“Excuse me,” a voice next to me said, “may I know what picture you’re taking?”

“Oh, just… a picture of a picture.” I replied rather awkwardly.

the middle-aged man continued, “are you Van Gogh fan?”

now, here’s a man, sitting on this sofa long before me, just looking at the paintings, and at the people looking at the paintings. so I said, honestly, “not really.”

I’m not a die-hard Van Gogh fan, no, didn’t know much about him. only heard bits and pieces about him from my good friend Tumblr. I love Starry Starry Night for the fact that many of us see the night sky the same way (thanks to the ever growing timelapse video on the net) but this guy saw it so differently and beautifully.

he laughed. he said that’s fine. in fact that’s actually good, because I can really tell which painting I like. I told him, of all the paintings currently hanging on the wall, I like his self-portrait best. I like the blue in the background. it’s very moody.

“What about Roses?” he asked.

I thought that’s not quite like Van Gogh. to be frank, if it weren’t for the brochure / leaflet / whatever you call it, I wouldn’t’ve known that that’s his painting.

another lady joined in the conversation and said, “that’s because he was trying to make money!”

we chuckled. God, nothing beats people who share the same humour. it made me fell instantly in love with galleries.

I pointed to the painting next to Roses—Farmhouse in Provence and said I actually like that one more than Roses. it felt more Van Gogh to me. he then explained to me what he thought is so good about that painting. the man in the painting was Van Gogh’s best friend. the postman, I assume? (see, I told you I’m not a die-hard Van Gogh fan) he asked if I know how Van Gogh died.

unsure, I said, “uh… he… cut his ear?”

this got him. losing an ear led Van Gogh to his death, yeah, really, Ruo Ling, just what the hell were you thinking? I was ignorant so he proceeded to tell me that he shot himself on that very field in that painting. and that’s the story.

silence followed as we continued contemplating the art pieces. a moment later, he said, “you know the thing about Van Gogh? No one buys his painting, yet, he still draws, for fifteen years. Why do you think so?”

I continued staring at the paintings because I thought the question was rhetorical at first. realizing that he was waiting for an answer, I said, gingerly, “he is… crazy?”

he laughed again this time. I like how my new friend laughed. taking his time to appreciate all this silliness and to only reply when he’s ready. I laughed too and to my defence, I said, “I mean… he cut his ear!”

he replied, “well, I was gonna say perseverance… but he is crazy too.” and we both laughed again.

ain’t it weird that one can share a similar sense of humour with another person who’s double her age? in fact, I find that I’m always more chatty with middle-aged people when working at the water park. maybe it’s seeing too much of life and accepting all the foolishness that it is, thus, sharing the same sick humour.

it was a few months later when I had the chance to watch Loving Vincent in the cinema that I knew what he’s trying to say about Van Gogh’s passion and determination.

we parted ways after some general topics, agreeing that I should stop taking picture of a picture, because they’re so… Googleable. you know, when Google Image Search is full of the similar photos… and that I should take it the Vincent-Van-Gogh-code way since it could be my one and only time to be this up close with these paintings. we also noted that life's pretty odd in that in a few days, he’ll be closer to my home (he’s based in Vietnam) while I’ll be closer to his home, and I’ll be travelling the path that he’s travelled in the past few weeks.

I’d thought of walking to Lincoln Memorial but then I saw a few people standing in line at a bus stop. so I took a $1 and got on the bus but the driver said, “nah, just get on.” I insisted on paying but then he said something like, “it’s passed the time” or something like that. shit, did I do something wrong again? T~T

I really, really didn’t want someone to run off with my camera or my phone, yeah? so I tagged along this kind-looking person who’s sitting in front of me in the bus so I could ask her to help me take a photo. but then the vibe wasn’t right. then, I noticed this family speaking Malaysian Bahasa Melayu. trying my best to you know, jadi kawan, I went ahead and asked, in BM (HAHAHA oh God now thinking back I really wanna laugh at my desperation) if the daughter could help me take a photo. gotta send it to my mom so she knows I’m safe.

since I took the bus, I’m now running early. so I just sat at the stairs facing the Monument, swiping my phone while getting used to being alone. it suddenly hit me that, OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO PRINT MY BUS TICKETS. distressed, I texted Aaron (as if he could magically bring me my tickets), figuring how to overcome yet another hurdle in this trip while overlooking the city, thinking, “where the hell do I look for a printer?!?!”

I couldn’t remember what made me felt assured that things would go smoothly. somehow, I just went on with my day without giving any damn about those tickets.

I walked the tree-lined path (not pictured) to Martin Luther King Jr.’s Memorial, all while appreciating the good weather, although I was sweating a lot, and the fact that I was at a very walkable city. throughout the day, I could see that some people had already reset themselves and gone back to their daily routine for the rest of the year, while some were still trying to catch the tail of summer with their kids. it was nice.

I figured that there would be many tourists at the Lincoln Memorial catching the sunset. so, I’d planned to do it at Lake Basin. it’s actually the highlight of my plan, haha, ‘cause I was excited to get a photo of the Washington Monument in the evening sun that’s different from the usual angle from Lincoln Memorial.

granted, there’s no one there except mosquitoes swarming around at dusk. growing up in Malaysia, I thought it wouldn’t be such a big deal. I was wrong. holy crap, the mozz fest was HORRIBLE.

I shot a timelapse while non-stop swatting the mosquitoes away till sundown and walked back to Lincoln Memorial to catch the monument at night. remember I said that I’m glad that drink fountains and bathrooms can be easily found? guess what, the water that came out from this fountain was yellowish. I was doomed. I can’t go without plain water for more than half an hour.

when I was finally back to Lincoln Memorial and prepared to take a photo, my camera died, like died DIED. not even the pull-battery-out-and-stick-it-in-again trick would work. I had the crazy idea of borrowing from some Nikon user, but then borrowing a battery just to shoot a photo? I fit perfectly well into the “Japanese tourist” stereotype. 😐

I was pretty upset. I mean, I came all the way to DC to catch the lit dome at night (cues action sequence fantasy again) and there wasn’t a point to see it without my camera (maybe I am truly a “Japanese tourist” at heart). you can tell it’s a hard decision. in the end, I reluctantly called an UberShare (one of the best inventions, seriously) and got back to my dorm.

my new friend had told me that DC serves great coffee. unfortunately, this girl doesn’t do coffee. I was hoping that maybe I could still visit a cafe for a quick breakfast, but it turned out that I woke up earlier than these businesses did. in the end, I cashed out and bought some okay-only-lah food from the grocery store. the ATM that’s built into a hole in the wall was fascinating to me. (channeling my #GeekRuo). I don’t think this type of thing exist in Malaysia, does it? we don’t have good sidewalks to begin with. they’re usually terribly made, ill-maintained, vandalised and badly designed. I mean, sometimes the sidewalk just narrows and then… disappears completely and you find yourself walking dangerously next to the open road. ah, also, there’re snatch thieves.

anyway, when I got my stuff in order, it’s time to leave. just when I made sure I had everything with me—my backpack, my big luggage, my small luggage, my money, my passport—and reached for the front door, I felt something wrong with my feet. MY SHOES! they’re still on the first floor. I bolted upstairs to get them and made an embarrassed smile to the cleaner. I should nickname myself “embarrassment”, really.

being the person who always have to make-make sure (you know, make sure again and again), upon arriving at Union Station, I asked the Uber driver, “is this where the bus station is?”

to my horror, he said he thought it’s somewhere else. this is the train station. what now, do I still wanna stop here?

I said, yeah. it’s not like I could make it to my bus on time if the bus station was really somewhere else, right? might as well take a look here and make sure this is the bus station. I might look calm on the outside but it’s really a panic-stricken moment, I tell you. I was worried that I was running late, what with my bus tickets and you tell me THIS IS NOT THE BUS STATION?!??!

rest assured, things didn’t get better after that. I frantically looked for an elevator. but that’s not the only thing that I couldn’t find, I couldn’t find THE WORD too.

in screenplay format, it went like this



(calm outlook but nervous on the inside)
Hi. May I know where’s the li-

(realises that the Americans don’t use the word “lift” and it means Lyft the e-hailing service not the big box that goes up and down)

um the

(a beat)

(another beat)

(another beat)



I didn’t know where the lady pointed me to. anyway, I made it into a service elevator. and it was scary.

when I finally got to the upper floor, it turned out that bus station’s another floor upstairs. I knew I was definitely going to be late if I went to look for another elevator (the service elevator couldn’t take me to the rooftop) so I told myself fuck it, just use the escalator. guess what? IT FITTED. my damn luggage fitted on the step. just nice, just right. as if escalators were made so that a big luggage could fit, or the other way round. a matchmake on Earth.

alright so things were turning brighter right? NO. life always gets in the way. I went straight to the bus line, waved my phone to the conductor, asked him if I could board with just a confirmation e-mail. he said, “oh no, your bus is cancelled. please go into the office to sort it out.”

right… thanks, man. it was a good thing amidst the bad, really. ‘cause they’re gonna have to print the ticket for me. so ticket problem: solved. bus problem: uhhhh let’s see. spoiler alert: I arrived at New York City that day, safe and sound.

where the bus station is situated and the direction we’re heading, I couldn’t get a decent view of DC when I left. I remember back when my first time visiting DC, while searching for places to visit, I found this place uninteresting. yet, my heart was heavy when I left for the second time because I wasn’t able to take one last good look at this city that captured my heart so easily with its second chance.

USA: Washington DC, 2018 | Part I

I never thought that writing this would take such a long time… probably because it’s the first post for the trip and I’m trying to make it good. I’m sorry that it’s gonna be a long word post without any photos, because I never used my DSLR the entire day. anyway, you can follow me on Instagram, Twitter or Bloglovin’ to get the latest update from the blog or if you wanna read through my USA story: click here to teleport.

after passing by the set of swing doors through the train station countless times, I finally walked through them. despite a few waiting passengers, it was peaceful and quiet like in Spirited Away and everyone seemed to be minding their own business. I made my way to the table with lotsa brochures to see some bag tags, good, I never thought of having one. I noticed that my two trolley bags made a lot of noise against the small, red tiles.

according to Amtrak’s terms, I was supposed to check my baggage forty-five minutes before my departure but there was no one behind the train counter. shit, was I late?

calm down, I told myself and began to weigh my luggage. It’s an extra step, really. it’s not like the weighing scale here would miraculously make it 0.2 pounds lighter. Ash and I had actually weigh them multiple times in my room and I knew they were slightly overweight because we argued what to eliminate when I was packing. I even took my toiletries out to weigh them again and made sure they’re more than 0.2 pounds so if shit happens, that had to go.

so I grr, grr, grr, grr, grr, grr-ed my way to the other end of the station to the bus counter—mama said never to leave your belongings unsupervised. worriedly, I asked the receptionist if there’s something I should be doing, and she told me to wait for the train guy to come back. so, I grr, grr, grr, grr, grr-ed my way back to this end of the station and saw the sign that said the train guy would be back fifteen minutes before departure. good obversation, Ruo Ling, good observation.

having nothing to do but only to wait, I opened my notebook and penned down my memories, occasionally staring into space to teleport myself to the there and then that I was trying to recall, my tear-streaked face clearly noticeable by the other passengers.

when the train guy was back, I let him know I wanted to check-in my luggage so he asked, “have you weighed them?”


“How much does it weigh?”

“23.2 lbs.”

“You’ll need to take that 0.2 lbs out. Then go out to the platform and wait for me.”

so, once again embarrassing myself by making lots of noise, I began Operation Tetris and re-organized my stuff. the thing was, my big suitcase had all the space, but it’s overweight. on the other hand, my small suitcase and my backpack were packed to the brim. I desperately took my phone out and read the terms again, “passengers are allowed two carry-ons.”

smart, Ruo Ling, smart. the packing time was shortened down to one minute as I took said toiletries out and chucked them into my extra tote bag.

later when I told this story to friends, Zoe said, “see, don’t see this girl macam so smart, in fact, sometimes she is naive.” I know right. I could’ve told the train guy that it is 23 lbs. but, hear me out. I lied to an acquaintance once a few years back… ok, it wasn’t even a lie to most people! I said I was at the restaurant we’re supposed to meet when in fact I was 20 meters away walking towards it and I got busted. 20 meters. from that day onwards, I told myself I’m never gonna lie anymore.

when the train arrived, I didn’t know which door I should get on. “Logically speaking, the carriages near where I’m standing should be first-class, right? My ticket is the cheapest one, so maybe I should go to the end?” With only three minutes for passengers to board, the conductor told me to get on the train when I showed him the tickets. This weak heart of mine can’t take that bothered face he gave me. I don’t remember the last time I took a train to another city being such a stressful task I actually wanna cry???

road trips aside, the mode of transport that got me the most excited was taking the train. I mean, c’mon, dining car! that aside, silly of me, I know, I have this romanticized idea that maybe, just maybe, I would bump into my Jesse like Celine did on that train from Budapest in Before Sunrise. haha. no, but seriously, Malaysia’s trains are either brightly lit or creepily dim, there’s no in between.

now, you may have wondered, why is this post all just words? I love the countryside view outside my window, especially that they’re washed in the golden evening light. though funnily, I hadn’t thought of capturing it with my DSLR. the scenic views all live in my iPhone.

anyway, when I’m not taking in the view, me being me, I tried to do ten thousand different things but ended up getting nothing done during the entire train ride. I tried to read, I tried to write, I tried to organize my photos, I tried to eat Cheetos. it’s something that I took on since young. I remember having to bring my notebook, my novel, and my sudoku book all at once while waiting for my ENT appointment. you know, just in case.

at one of the stations, an Asian-American family boarded the train—three young adult sisters and a mom. they’re noisy, though not to a point that irritated me. I tried to listen what they’re being so noisy about, turned out they’re just bickering like my sisters and I usually do at home. “Mom, you should sit here.” “Mom, where did you put the candies?” “Sis, why?” “Sis, please.”

once, I chatted with a man at the water park where I worked. seeing that I’m from halfway across the globe, he asked, “don’t you miss your family?” I said, “sometimes, especially when I see families in the park, you know?”

I can almost picture my sisters and my mom in this train. “Mom, take this shawl, you’ll get cold.” “Er Jie, where did you put the power bank?” “Da Jie please, take the aisle seat, you pee a lot.” “No, I don’t.”

being the paranoid that I am, I checked my GPS often to make sure I was on the right track—a trick I learnt from two foreigners on the bus to Tioman. at one point when I checked, the train was travelling on water. I thought I was the only one who noticed this, until I heard the Asian sisters laughing at it, “mom, look, we’re actually travelling on water!”

I waited at the designated area of the train station for my luggage, all the while holding tight to my claim receipt, making sure that I don’t lose it. jeez, why is travelling alone so much hassle? I have to remember where I put everything, Er Jie is not here. realizing that I was the only one who checked-in my luggage, I already felt embarrassed… but soon I would get used to that embarrassment for my entire trip.

as I made my way out of the station, I stopped and marveled at the grandeur of the architecture. train stations at home damn sure won’t be this impressive. I mean, C’MON. at the same time I was thinking, you know what, that’s the kinda perk of travelling alone. pretty sure no one would stop to just take in the hall for a moment when travelling in a group. it was too much trouble to take my camera out, so I settled with just taking a few photos of it with my phone.

well, well, well. here came the problem. my Uber promo code didn’t work. I know, it’s not such a big deal. but then I didn’t wanna break my budget on my first day. so, bus or e-hail? can my luggage even fit onto the bus? God, what should I do now? UGH. maybe I should… walk? no? spoiler alert: I called an Uber in the end.

the driver was a nice middle-aged guy. mama said, “when you’re out there, (for chrissake) make conversation.” I’m no conversationalist. I remember my first time being in a car alone with only a strange driver in a foreign place, I tried asking him about the weather. and that was that. boring. no new information. dry. so, this time I tried asking what’s his favourite food to get an idea of the place. then, I asked him ‘bout DC and how long he’s been here, things like that. slightly better than my first time, at least I know he’s been in DC for thirty or so years. way to go, Ruo Ling!

the entrance to my dorm didn’t look like a… dorm. it’s a small door wedged among coffee shops and hair salons which were closed by then. the driver helped to carry my luggage onto the sidewalk and went back to the car but didn’t leave until he made sure I was okay after I was done struggling and shoving my giants into the dorm while holding the door with one hand. the gesture was small—a pair of worried eyes, but I find it sweet in this lonely, lonely journey. (oh c’mon it’s only Day 1) *heart melts anyway*

inside the dorm, I was greeted by a steep flight of stairs. After getting my check-in done, the receptionist offered to carry my hugeass luggage for me. (YAS!) it was my first time staying at a dorm and I tried to not be as awkward (as I already am .____.) when I was done settling myself down, I wrapped up the day as I lay on the upper bank in the dark room, noticing that the room was slightly warm because there’s only a ceiling fan, no A/C, which I didn’t mind really. despite the conditions that I wasn’t used to, I fell asleep easily in the heat from the tail of the summer.

I’m sorry there isn’t any photo that I can show you from the day so I’ll make it up with this photo from the next day.

till the next post, which is coming very soon… by soon I mean in a few days. cheers.

USA: So Long, Williamsburg

every ending is a new beginning. so it only feels right to start off the story from when I left Williamsburg, VA—the main reason why I was even in the States.

for months it felt like I’m falling, falling, falling. when the day for me to leave finally arrived, I went crashing onto the ground.

but wait.

before I start my story, I feel that I should make some things clear.

Liz from the book Eat, Pray, Love pointed out that the countries she visited started with “I” and if you look through reviews of the book, someone noted that instead of self-searching, the “I” is more for narcissism. I love the first two arcs, but couldn’t get myself to finish the last two chapters of the book, because honestly, I’m getting tired of you and your narcissism too, Liz.

however, when planning to pen down my travels, I feel so much like Liz. *looks into mirror in disgust*

but then that’s the whole point of a blog, right? think old skool blog—without the ads and sponsorships, etc. who would run one if s/he doesn’t think that people care enough to read? and this is my blog. my blog. so of course this is the place that’s filled with my memories, my worldviews, my thoughts, my opinions and my twisted sense of humour. my, my. five my-s in a sentence, I’m doing this whole narcissism thing pretty well.

well, I don’t know how “stalkerish” y’all can be, but if you happen to come back and read old posts again and again, you’ll realize I edit them from time to time. my memories are good but they’re very scattered. if I were to wait till I remember everything to hit publish, these blogposts will forever be buried in my ever-growing drafts. so, here’s the way: if something happens to float into my mind in the future, I’m gonna come back and edit. this is, afterall, my blog. also, names are fictional for privacy’s sake.

so here it begins.

the whole while I was living here, I kept thinking, “so there’s this tiny spot on the map, so tiny that no one probably cares about it except those who live there, and I’ve actually spent three months of my life here on this tiny spot.”

I remember the first day we were settled in our village, we rode the bicycle to the bank. it has always remained one of my favourite things to do, although I’d only done it for like, what, four times during my whole stay? the first time, my shit stamina couldn’t get me riding past half the path, I had to push my bicycle. by my last time I biked to the bank, I could reach there in about five minutes without having to get off. and boy, did I ride fast, ‘cause my accommodation payment wouldn’t process and I might end up on the streets of New York City.

what the locals always told us, “Williamsburg is a very vibrant place.” vibrant how? the summer is very summer and the winter is very winter. right… okay, they did elaborate to us, but other than putting it this way, I don’t really know what else can I say. if someone were to ask me, if that someone is Asian, Hong Kong restaurant which is next to Food Lion has good sesame chicken, but the other food are meh. be careful of the cacti in front of the Mexican restaurant next to BB&T when you park your bike. I’ve never done it, but I think you can just get one movie ticket at Regal Cinemas and sneak into all of the halls to watch other movies. they even make it easy for you by stating the movies and their showtimes outside of each hall. oh, and do it on a Tuesday, because tickets are a lot cheaper then. there’s also a sushi buffet next to the cinema. if that’s not enough Japanese food, there’s another Japanese restaurant at the premium outlet.

there’s this old lady whom I always bumped into but never talked to on the Number 5 Red Monticello bus. the first time I noticed her, she was reading a thick book and used a library receipt as her bookmark. she’s one of those people who moved her fingers across the line as she read and she wore a pretty ring. that day, the sunlight was hitting perfectly on her ring, which was why I started noticing her. why am I telling you this? I don’t know. I’m kind of thinking of her right now and wondering if she’s on the bus with her new read.

you would think that I miss Williamsburg a lot. well, I thought so too, until recently my friend Sam asked if I missed Williamsburg and what’s my favourite spot there.

“my bathroom,” I answered, without even having to think.



I know it sounds horrible. sadly, Williamsburg is one of those towns that I would definitely wouldn’t return. what did I do during my free time there? mostly shopping at the premium outlet, catching a movie or staring at the Criterion Collection in Barnes and Nobles. is there a club? well, a “club” is an overstatement. it’s just a small, dark room with crappy lights and DJ spinning Turkish and Spanish tunes (what?) on Wednesday nights. people were either shit-faced or pretended to be shit-faced. the second which was also my last time I was there, I spent the night at the hotel lobby next door chatting to an old lady and stroking her black dog (“it’s hair, not fur, hair like our hair, go ahead and touch it”).

but then it’s precisely the reason why I was crying so hard when I left. because I know I’m never coming back.

the day before, on our way back from my last-minute shopping, Dee said, “aren’t you afraid that you start forgetting this place? like it’s not how it is right now in your memory.”


there honestly was no reason for me to cry anymore. I was one of the few last ones who left. and the people sending me are Malaysians whom I can meet with just a phone call when we’re all home.

the lady at the reception—the lady who always took longer than normal to process our stuffs—took longer than normal as usual to realize that the two pieces of fully-packed luggage belonged to me and only me.

“you’re leaving alone?”

amidst the ugly faces and ugly embraces, someone replied, “yes.”

“oh, poor girl.”

I got asked this question a lot. before the program, during the program, after the program. the thing is, I was supposed to come with a friend (not gonna mention your name, but you know who you are), but then, long story short, he changed plans like he always did so this time I decided to ditch him.

sometimes on my journey, I couldn’t help thinking if things would be different if we came together. I could be working a completely different job in a different city in a different time zone and meet different people. perhaps I wouldn’t believe that I could actually handle a lot of things on my own, especially travelling solo for two weeks, which was a learning curve as steep as a 90° for me. one thing for sure, I wouldn’t be seeing what I saw and be so focused on my experience.

wherever I went and whatever I do, I often find myself learning lessons that has nothing to do with the place or the job itself. I was an optimist, then a pessimist, then a realist and Williamsburg somehow in its own way, changed me into an opportunist.

another of those weird lessons is realizing that my never-ending to do list can wait. up to four months. or even more. or even till the day I die it still won’t matter much. maybe the real lesson is to live life from moment to moment, instead of constantly worrying ticking things off.

also, thanks to all the overcooked and underdone pretzels, I now know that the importance of right timing when it comes to doing things. not too early, not too late.

as for serious life lessons, meeting all kinds of customers day to day is definitely eye-opening. let’s just say the word “stereotype” is in the Oxford English dictionary for a reason. nevertheless, I understood perfectly well that good people comes in all shapes and sizes, so does bad people.

the night before, Ash came over to watch me pack. my roommates had already caught the midnight bus to New York City. it turned out, unsurprisingly, no matter where we are, we youngsters never fail to do that one thing we do so well—procrastinate.

in between my trying to focus on packing and my complaining about having so many things to pack and getting full blown anxiety on what could go wrong with my plans (“Sean, I know I’m smart, but I’m not street smart you know, I’m more the book smart type.”), I tried to memorize Williamsburg.

I left quite hastily the next day, not knowing that I didn’t need to then, leaving some things un-completely-done, which caused me an anxiety attack in DC. more on that later.

realizing that time’s up, I called an Uber hesitantly. very hesitantly. when my friends were loading my stuffs onto the car, the driver asked the same thing, “oh dear, you’re leaving alone?”

I knew how short the journey is. even by Number 3 Orange Merrimac Trail bus, it only took about seven minutes to reach the train station. the driver tried to make conversation with me during the trip and I tried to answer as best without my voice cracking.

when we arrived, I reluctantly got down the car and removed my stuffs from the car. when she said goodbye and wished all the best to me, I kind of wished she would board the train with me. little did I know in the coming twenty-six days, whenever a driver dropped me at a station I always wished that they could come with me.

even thirty minutes after leaving my friends and my home-for-three-months, while waiting for the train alone, I still couldn’t stop myself from sobbing embarrassingly at the platform.

I remember myself saying, “the thing with me is, I always hate something when I’m in the midst of it. I hated secondary school when I was in secondary school. I hated university when I was in university. funnily enough, now I can’t even tell why I hated secondary school or university so much. you see, time filters the bad things out. I always say that I hate the park, but I also know that I will miss it once I leave.”

but OH MY GOD!!! I thought I couldn’t care less about the park anymore but after a couple weeks of staring at this draft, everything I hate about the park just comes back to me. but maybe someday, a month from now, a year from now, or twenty years from now, I will only see Williamsburg in all its goodness (but still not return :P)

with the paper that comes in my fortune cookie that says “fear is just excitement in need of an attitude adjustment” in one of the many purses that I carried around, I left Williamsburg for good and embarked on this journey that I’ve imagined times after times.

Colonial Williamsburg through the eyes of First. the Georgian buildings from childhood illustration books make sense to me now.

Colonial Williamsburg through the eyes of First.

Colonial Williamsburg through the eyes of First.

Colonial Williamsburg through the eyes of First.

Colonial Williamsburg through the eyes of First.

Colonial Williamsburg through the eyes of First.

Colonial Williamsburg through the eyes of First.

walking back to the village from Colonial Williamsburg surrounded by my everyday view. yours truly through the eyes of First.

walking back to the village from Colonial Williamsburg surrounded by my everyday view. yours truly through the eyes of First.

Hedwig is that you? animal show in Busch Gardens Williamsburg.

Hedwig is that you? animal show in Busch Gardens Williamsburg.

majestic beast. my first time seeing the wolves after many times walking past their crib and calling for them.

majestic beast. my first time seeing the wolves after many times walking past their crib and calling for them.

musical at Busch Gardens Williamsburg.

musical at Busch Gardens Williamsburg.

Griffon and Loch Ness!

Griffon and Loch Ness!

laser show at Busch Gardens Williamsburg. a lot more exciting than the so-called “club”.

laser show at Busch Gardens Williamsburg. a lot more exciting than the so-called “club”.





Virginia Beach.

Virginia Beach.

nightly routine.

nightly routine.

Water Country USA Team Member's Night 2018 | A Beautiful Distraction by Ruo Ling Lu
the long walk back home. most of the time thankful that my room was tucked in a corner at the very end of the property, away from the noise but not so when it comes to running for my bus each morning.

the long walk back home. most of the time thankful that my room was tucked in a corner at the very end of the property, away from the noise but not so when it comes to running for my bus each morning.

another walk back home. one would never know how much one could run at a lightning speed for such a long time until one needed to catch the bus home. otherwise it’s another one-hour wait.

power outage in Block B. walked through this dark hallway twice without having to turn on my flashlight at all and even turned to look back to see if I might find a surprise behind me. look, ma, your girl is not a scaredy-cat anymore! in her words, “humans are much scarier than ghosts.” I agree.

power outage in Block B. walked through this dark hallway twice without having to turn on my flashlight at all and even turned to look back to see if I might find a surprise behind me. look, ma, your girl is not a scaredy-cat anymore! in her words, “humans are much scarier than ghosts.” I agree.


I have no idea what’s happening.

not seeing each other till who-knows-when after months of seeing the same faces every single day.


national day firework show at Busch Gardens Williamsburg. pretty much sums up my time in Williamsburg—short but brilliant. :)

national day firework show at Busch Gardens Williamsburg. pretty much sums up my time in Williamsburg—short but brilliant. :)