Sene, a time-warp and a serene morning

A winged ant, ensnared in a drop of icy water, struggled to free itself beside the cold enamel sink.

The chilly air gave me a glimpse of its suffering, so I lifted a finger to help.

Gratefully grasping the digit offered, it then hauled itself free.

It took a whole minute to compose itself, and then promptly took off and disappeared out of the window.

Before you start wondering if you've got the right blog, let me tell you that it's fairly easy to slip into a quiet Zen-like contemplation when you're in Cameron Highlands.

Especially when you're up early, as I was on a chilly and drizzly December morning.

The cold seemed to cling to every part of me, the sensation akin to moonwalking through viscous air.

Twas enough to evoke a sense of deja vu, the morning chill reminiscent of my old digs in Islington.

The classic two-bar heater glowing red on the living room carpet, where three junior Cipans tucked tightly under heavy blankets, did little to dispel the strong whiff of my past that swarmed into my head.

So much so that I half-expected the incongruous stink of curry powder as I headed into the dark kitchen.

With housemates like Sene, a 50-year old (then) civil servant from Colombo (and a horde of nut-cases passing themselves off as Malaysian law students at Holborn Law Tutors), curried dinners were simply on the menu EVERY bloody day at 11 Almeida Street.

There was this nice girl whom I invited over once - she mentioned that she'll never forget her truly exotic oriental experience.

I assumed she meant the heavily-spiced ambience and told off Sene and gang about it.

To which Sene promptly retorted that it helps mask the odour of lust that my room exudes every time I had a girl over.

Which were extremely rare occasions, I assure you ... *cough.

But Sene was a good sort, and a lot of fun - especially when you consider that he was born in the late thirties.

He took great pleasure in egging me on during bird-pulling expeditions (we usually crash the HLT student parties - law students = happy mouths, geddit?).

He really enjoyed it when I made a pass at a gorgeous older woman and we were really hitting it off before a frantic (nut-case) housemate pulled me aside and told that she's the vice-principal or something.

I've been wondering if I should have taken up law ever since.

Well, Sene was like a favourite uncle. He'd always remind me to enjoy myself while I was still young; and not to worry when things seemed to go wrong.

I thought about that old man as I brewed my tea and for an instant I wondered whether he was still around.

Then I realised that I didn't really want to find out and would prefer to remember him as he was in those pretty happy days.

Especially when I think about the troubles that his homeland has going through the past decade.

Like all good ghosts of my past, Sene slipped from mind as I moved on to the balcony, sipping hot tea while inspecting the view - still in my sleeping shorts and t-shirt.

But the feeling of being in a time-warp was still present.

That, and the comfort of a mug of hot Cameronian in hand, elevated my senses to an ethereal high.

I didn't really feel the cold.

Heck, I didn't even notice my morning wood.

Apparently a Zen mind-frame does detach one from fleshly realities.

Everyone else was still fast asleep, huddled under the blankets to ward off the unaccustomed cold.

As the sky lit up the far hills, the clock hands crept closer to half-past seven in the morning.

I had some fun watching the Strawberry Park staff scurry from their cars in an anxious hurry to punch their cards.

It was drizzling lightly - the sort that shows up clearly under the lights but so fine that you can hardly feel it, until you run a hand over your face and find it all wet.

Over in the hazy distance, Tanah Rata and Brinchang was slowly waking up.

It was all very serene.

For more than an hour in that dark, wet and chilly dawn, I was truly alone - and in perfect harmony with the universe.

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Junior Cipans enjoying a cacti farm in Brinchang.