The Dragon On My Back

SINGAPORE was where I set foot the first time I travelled outside my home country, the Philippines, on the way to my new home down under. I was in Singapore for only 20 hours, an unseasoned traveler who was overwhelmed with the enormity of step I was making.

At that time, my first romance novel was going into print by Books for Pleasure. I also had six graphic novels and four weekly columns that were currently being serialized in illustrated magazines with the highest circulation figures in the Philippines. I must have been mad at the time to leave a burgeoning career!

Before my Singapore layover was up, I unexpectedly found something most fascinating – my dragon. And this dragon provided me with soft and silky company over the next decade and a half.

Comforting, like being in a cocoon of safety

In New Zealand where I worked at the University of Auckland from 7:45am to 4:15pm Monday to Friday, this dragon was not with me. Neither was it on my back when I got home for dinner.

But on weekday mornings while preparing to go to work, I had this dragon for company. On weekends, too, it was on my back as I did more writing to meet my deadlines in Manila. The golden-red dragon provided me with coolness in summer and warmth in winter. Its soft-and-silky feel provided me with comfort, like being in a snug cocoon of safety.

A dragon supporting a workaholic

My relationship with the dragon on my back did not stop at my Auckland home, neither was my writing for Philippine publications. I reduced the number of my writing commitments because there were only 24 hours in a day, eight hours of which were spent on my full-time university job.

Notwithstanding the hours I spent working, I managed to sneak holiday breaks with my dragon. It was with me when I spent month-long vacations in Manila and a few days’ layover in Kuala Lumpur or Sydney or Bangkok, or in Singapore many times.

In all instances, whether staying in hotels or beach resorts, I wore my golden-red dragon in the morning and in the evening while doing my hygiene routine. In between, I could be found and not infrequently with the dragon on my back, hunched over a table either typing or writing notes for my next novel.

I was an unapologetic workaholic. This did not resonate with my family. I was there with them, but not really.

Only the dragon on my back understood. It supported me robustly in my willful lifestyle.

Fear of losing my dragon in suitcase

So attached was I to this dragon that when I packed my luggage to return to Manila supposedly for good, it was the first item that went into my cabin bag. I dared not pack the dragon in my check-in luggage that would go into the aircraft hold; I was concerned that it might get lost during air travel.

I could not bear the thought of being separated from my dragon.

A mute dragon for company

Returning to the “small pond” in my native backyard at that point in time was fortuitous. Local romance novel publishing was on the threshold of an unprecedented boom. Readers’ demand for romance books (à la Mills & Boon) rising in unbelievable numbers spurred several print publishing companies to supply the demand. Small-time publishers later followed suit.

Local writers were delighted; the cream of the crop were over the moon.

The dragon on my back could not be happier in supporting her workaholic mistress.

Days, nights, weeks and a few more years passed. I was like a romance-novel factory. My children hardly saw me. I was always in my room, door shut, writing, doing research, reading, writing again. I slept at sunrise until midday, and worked after lunch until my brain cells felt foggy.

The golden-red tint of the dragon on my back, as well as its green canvas, started to lose the sharpness of their hue. The same with its silky sheen. It felt tired against my skin. Its cocoon-like snugness screamed used and abused. Worse, it looked more and more tatty each day.

I knew it was time to retire the dragon on my back. Haven’t I received enough taunts from my children who saw me wearing my dragon?

It’s high time, said my youngest, to banish that dressing gown of yours to the bin!

I totally get it. My threadbare silk dressing gown had to go. But the dragon on the back – that thing of beauty that I found over a decade ago at a duty-free shop in Singapore before I caught my flight to Auckland – had become a friend. It had become my trusty companion in all seasons, at any hour, at home, in hotels, in resorts.

And this was how I regarded my old green dressing gown, with the embroidered golden-red dragon on its backside. It was tatty, no argument there. But it had accompanied me during many milestones in my life’s journey.

So, could you now see why I preferred the muted company of the dragon on my back?

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

My decision to finally put away my used-and-abused dressing gown, and thereby get rid of my dragon, came to pass after a very embarrassing circumstance.

I was at the height of being a familiar face by many in my small pond. My photo was on the outside back cover of my books, in feature articles in magazines and newspaper.

There were also interviews on local television, further making my face familiar.

Those were the days when I could not go out without dressing up nicely and making my face up; with every strand of hair in place, with freshly manicured fingernails and toenails.

The shy person inside me had had to generally put on my romance-novelist persona as soon as I stepped out my gate.

So no-one could imagine the embarrassment I felt when one Saturday morning, I opened the door to a television crew of four. They were to shoot initial footages of me, my house, my work station, my family.

A preliminary interview was done over the phone a few days ago, but the date of taking background footages and clips was to be have been confirmed by my publisher’s secretary. I did not get the confirmation.

And that was why I opened the front door to the TV crew. My hair was unkempt, eyes puffy from another all-nighter of writing, pale face, pale lips, and wearing my scruffy dressing gown.

The dragon on my back must have sensed how my blood turned frozen in utter, utter disgrace.

My dressing gown went straight into the bin.

And I still cringe, to this day, remembering that dreadful experience with the dragon on the back of my dressing gown.

* * * * * * *

Thank you for reading the story of my journey with the golden-red dragon. I have searched the shops in Singapore for another silk dressing gown, with the exact same embroidered dragon on the backside. But no luck, so far, in finding a twin to the discarded dragon on my back.

A version was first published here.

Follow me on Facebook, WordPress, LinkedIn and Twitter. I’d like to connect with you.