Penang (+)

The end begins.

With the eyes of a hawk and the skills of Michael Schumacher, the man in white trundles and twists his steering wheel with the might of a Greek God. His senses untainted, his English refined and his outfit white and tidy. 

The taxi driver spoke softly, his Indian accent mixed with the slang of a Penangite, and at the back of the car, familiar faces smiled and talked about their experiences in this wonderful food wonderland that is Penang, talking to-

Me?

No. Not me. I am the man in front, the guy who has taken the invisibility cloak from Harry Potter and shrouded himself from all attention. I am one with the taxi driver, a speck of importance amongst this group of friends.

They all speak in the language of all common folks, English and yet despite their crisp and clear mastery, I can never comprehend why am I never, never the one that fits. The only one that kills time by being alone, my thoughts being permeated only by the husky singing of the man beside me, the invisible man

The powers of language are strong, and relationship, as stable as a pillar, but I can never taste it. To sip from the bottom of the bottle is hard to take in, but it's alright.

(Alright?)

Yes.

penang (-)

Do I really fit in anywhere?

This question would have its neon lights turned on whenever I am in a group of acquaintances or more recently, friends, and as I am here, fiddling with my phone while my friends and my girlfriend is at the other end of the apartment, laughing and snorting over things I can never comprehend, my head hurts. Really hurts.

Penang has been kind to me. The sunburn, the vibrant and colorful energy it offers to anyone who cares to give it a look and the engorgeous amounts of good food piled up till the tip of my neck, it has everything that anybody would die to have, except for the weather of course, which, I suspect, could be Jesus masturbating to Madonna or Zeus screaming lights out at the humans who take the rain and sun granted. Traveling with this bunch of friends, even for the first day, albeit being tiring, was fun, and pretty hilarious. It was a much milder version of the Hangover, where everyone seemed to have so much joy to give and so many matters to share.

But am I able to partake in this responsibility? To bask myself into these humans that are my friends, beings whom I care for and cater for, and let them be the judge, jury and executioner of how I feel for the day?

I'm afraid not, because in the end, I seem to never fit in.