Now, time for some really glamour-less pictures (read: ghastly pictures without makeup).

You’ve been warned!

One of the nicest things I had done in 2008, was getting my diving license in Tioman, followed by a dive trip in Dayang. That was October.

For many reasons, it was a trip that I was glad I went, as I was taught to breathe.

It was also kinda “adventurous” for me to take leave on the very first day of my work to make the trip possible.

It was my way of moving on from a stagnancy. I wanted to do things I had wanted to, and to take that plunge. As much as I was looking forward to it, I was kinda scared of the concept of being trapped underneath the deep blue sea, yet looking forward to the kind of liberation the vast underwater will bring.

It was an early rainy morning gathering at Orchard DFS, where we boarded the coach for the journey up to Mersing.

Was tired but could barely sleep.

We split up for the ferry, and Norman and I were stuck for an hour. The verdict he gave me at the end of the journey, proved to be spot on after I experienced my first dive.

I am accident and incident prone, for reasons I know not of. Hmphf. Finally we arrived at our destination and we prep ourselves for the pool exercise, before we sat down for some theory lessons.

I hate theory lessons. I hate textbooks. I say it with plenty of vengeance like that of a Technical student (hey, I took Technical and I loved it!) who just wanted to file wood and hammer nails into my masterpiece instead of drawing up pictures, answering theory questions and worse still, taking tests.

Basically I just wanna get out there in the open water and dive.

The first evening was pretty unadventurous, as we swam around with full gear in the pool trying to avoid screaming kids jumping onto our heads.

I was particularly scared of equalising as I was darn afraid of going deaf. I was also fearful of clearing my mask, which I didn’t guess I would find it the easiest thing to do underwater.

Of course, back then I didn’t think of what a faulty BCD could do.

It was a night we played Indian poker and laughed till silly.

A night that didn’t end early as Norman and I were stroke by a drunk.

Memories can be bittersweet, and when washed with time, there could be little else to be written about it anymore.

And I run through all the pictures as I did my collages for the past week, I am glad to find myself smiling and finding no need to avoid memories.

It was a great start to the trip, and I can vividly remember the sea breeze, the slowed pace, and the star-filled sky.

There, a family was out in the open, under the clear sky, playing mahjong, and I remember snapping a picture, for that was the moment I thought of wifey.

I laughed at the tipsy boys, gathering evidence for future blackmailing attempts, but of cos, instant karma wasn’t too far away.

I felt young again. Like going on the school trips I used to, and that was like almost 10 years since I had been on one.

And I giggled lots.

I felt real joy.

Real joy of finding a part of myself that seems remotely familiar.