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The road behind me fell away, as the old taxi coughed and wheezed on its journey back to my palace. The wheels crashed against the asphalt; every sporadic jump mimicked my heartbeat. It stopped at the junction. My driver, a burly man with a thick northern Vietnamese accent, lit a cigarette, took a puff, then snuffed it out, taking care not to let any smoke inside. It was very considerate of him, and I was glad. My motion sickness is bad as it is without the smell of tobacco. But as the light turned green and we were moving again, my stomach could no longer withstand its suffering, and I started expunging my breakfast into a bag. The smell of half-digested eggs stung my nostril, threatening another bout of bowel clearance, and I cursed whoever invented cars. I could feel my temples throbbing, and for a moment, I channeled my inner Hamlet and pondered whether it was worth it to continue. Yet, if Odysseus could brave through countless dangers in his 10-year journey back home, I too shall endure this plight.

My Ithaca was a room on the fourth floor of an apartment complex. She was your standard: stained-white ceiling, puke-yellow walls, tiny bathroom, window above the bed. She was my kingdom, and there was not a minute during the treacherous last week that I did not yearn to see her. The musty, damped smell of the furniture – 7 days of no sunlight will do that to you – greeted me at the doors before the keys stop rattling on the knob. I took a moment to take in the scenery. There is serenity in knowing that in this ever-shifting world, there is a place that would not change for anything but yourself. Even the coffee mug I dropped in my rush to the airport stayed precisely where it was on the rug, and I uttered a silent, religious “thank you” to see it in one piece. I opened the curtains and window.

Someone else lived here before me, and at times when solitude would manifest at the corner, its tendrils threatened to drag me away from this world, the unnamed Stranger would be there by my side, fighting the beast away. I have learned a lot about him through the little trinkets he left behind. There, on the table in the middle of the room was his collection of preserved shells, their perfect spirals folded in upon themselves until they vanished into the centre, too minuscule for the human eyes. Time and time again, I would take the shells out of the box to discover venous streaks of sand, tempting me to taste an ocean that was millions of miles away. My friend’s fascination with the sea did not stop there, for on the shelf that he had left for me – maybe it was too much trouble to move the hulking thing, but I tend not to question the good things in life for they rarely happen – is an impressive collection of scientific entries on marine animals. Although it meant some of my own would have to settle for the desk, I have left his books untouched from their throne. Next to the shelf was a tiny wardrobe – another boon from the Stranger - the like of which would lead me to Narnia had I earned enough to buy fur coats. Opening the wardrobe, what is now filled with my terrible choice of fashion, was then the box of shells, an old Minolta camera, and some 35mm films. I could see why such a treasure was left behind: the light meter was broken, but that was something I could do without. The films were expectedly ruined, most probably from the heat but I bet it was another attempt from the Stranger to hide his identity from me. “Enough about me,” the Stranger whispered and the wind was tapping my shoulders, beckoning me to turn around.

Of course! In my bliss to have returned, I have forgotten my bed. Checked first if the monster underneath was okay - loneliness is not so bad if you get to know her better – I jumped on the mattress, cueing the orchestra with a loud “thud.” The keys were only a teaser. Shuffled under the pillows, I took out my conductor’s baton in the form of a remote and pressed the red button. The ceiling fan began to play, and with it came the percussion of badminton medals clinking and clanking away. Happy with the music, I curled up into a ball, letting the real world recede into the corner of my mind, and my world arrived in its stead.

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