Life on Langkawi
Let me tell you about Langkawi. I am lying on a chaise longue amidst a patch of radiant green growth and the gentle morning breeze is tickling my bare feet and forearms. Running water, buzzing insects and the velvety timbre of birds' vocals form a soft blanket of sounds, the morning's background music. It feels like I have never not been on Langkawi. Night after night, in my bed in London, I would repeat the magically sounding word like a mantra trying to fight insomnia and visualise the colours, shapes and fragrances behind the otherworldly name. Lang-ka-wi, lang-ka-wi, lang-ka-wi...
Now that I am here, I spend my time admiring marvellous fruits or watching blackbirds drinking from the pool, their reflections quivering in the turquoise water. After a swim in the sea, I stand still against the wind, eyes semi-closed, watching semi-blurred water cones forming at my pulsing fingertips. I pay attention to my hands and my feet. I have managed to catalogue all the teeth in my mouth. On a side note, I think your adult life truly begins once you've realised that your teeth are not uncountable and you can explore each one of them.
At midday, I walk from the village to the beach, through rice fields and pastures of green grass. Sheepish cows grazing lasily are giving me "the look" which I choose to read as a look of silent approval. The air is sweet with the distant odor of coconut, cattle faeces and curry-flavoured smoke.
Life seems to be as easy as urinating in the sea on a sunny day.
In the retreating swelter of dusk, the magnetic sound of the adhan fills the air, calling all to prayer, mystifying the breath of every living creature on the island. Stray dogs freeze behind garbage cans alongside the Pantai Cenang road, awe-struck. Midget motion-blurred bats, caught unaware in Indian restaurants, previously swaying to the rhythm of Tamil songs, start hovering compliantly above baskets of nan. Previously carefree tourists, currently slightly more pensive, stare at the stock-still coloured cloud of life and the disbelief in their stare slowly melts into the water pool gathered in the corner of their eyes.
Meanwhile in the other world, life is happening hastily. People question, decide, prove, act, invent, conquer, fall in and out of love, moving from frame to frame in a stop-motion manner. There will always be a next personal or political war to wage, another Harry Potter sequel to watch and a new version of iTunes to download.
Right now, this all seems to me like an obscure movie I've once seen in an off-beat art cinema on a rainy day. I am one of the living creatures on the island of Langkawi. We all embrace the light of day and the mystery of nightfall. There are no events or milestones according to the hourglass we live by.
The sun caressed us today. The water washed us. We fed, drank and slept. We felt good today and we look forward to feeling good tomorrow. For yet a little longer, this is life on Langkawi.
Now that I am here, I spend my time admiring marvellous fruits or watching blackbirds drinking from the pool, their reflections quivering in the turquoise water. After a swim in the sea, I stand still against the wind, eyes semi-closed, watching semi-blurred water cones forming at my pulsing fingertips. I pay attention to my hands and my feet. I have managed to catalogue all the teeth in my mouth. On a side note, I think your adult life truly begins once you've realised that your teeth are not uncountable and you can explore each one of them.
At midday, I walk from the village to the beach, through rice fields and pastures of green grass. Sheepish cows grazing lasily are giving me "the look" which I choose to read as a look of silent approval. The air is sweet with the distant odor of coconut, cattle faeces and curry-flavoured smoke.
Life seems to be as easy as urinating in the sea on a sunny day.
In the retreating swelter of dusk, the magnetic sound of the adhan fills the air, calling all to prayer, mystifying the breath of every living creature on the island. Stray dogs freeze behind garbage cans alongside the Pantai Cenang road, awe-struck. Midget motion-blurred bats, caught unaware in Indian restaurants, previously swaying to the rhythm of Tamil songs, start hovering compliantly above baskets of nan. Previously carefree tourists, currently slightly more pensive, stare at the stock-still coloured cloud of life and the disbelief in their stare slowly melts into the water pool gathered in the corner of their eyes.
Meanwhile in the other world, life is happening hastily. People question, decide, prove, act, invent, conquer, fall in and out of love, moving from frame to frame in a stop-motion manner. There will always be a next personal or political war to wage, another Harry Potter sequel to watch and a new version of iTunes to download.
Right now, this all seems to me like an obscure movie I've once seen in an off-beat art cinema on a rainy day. I am one of the living creatures on the island of Langkawi. We all embrace the light of day and the mystery of nightfall. There are no events or milestones according to the hourglass we live by.
The sun caressed us today. The water washed us. We fed, drank and slept. We felt good today and we look forward to feeling good tomorrow. For yet a little longer, this is life on Langkawi.
you write so beautifully, Ilko!
ReplyDeleteMuch love, Akka
Thank you, Akka! Very happy to read this! X
ReplyDelete