The lark may as well have been the closest companion to my body clock.

At six-thirty, still in the dark of the morning, I awoke, and went back to sleep again.

When I woke up once more, it was seven-twenty, and the sunlight peeped in at the corners the curtain failed to cover.

Sunlight. Seven-

BREAKFAST!

Trying to get about the hotel room as quietly as I could (since the second occupant was still resting), my fumbling hands and hindered eyesight (thanks to triple-folded eyelids, a consequence for not sleeping early) found the vitamin box and the Essential Three: Watch, Wallet, Hand phone. I tried to slip out of the room without a squeak, but the door had to be shut with a slam.

Tearing down the corridors, it was not difficult to find the breakfast area, given the wafting scent of good food in the air.

At once I spotted Jordan and Nicholas, or they spotted me first, I really don't know. We had each other's attention.

Piling on a big breakfast, the two boys stared. They just ogled the food on my plate after each trip made. They asked me if I was all right.

I did not feel all right. I felt famished.

After breakfast, I checked my watch. It was a good while till the trip to the jetty and to Pangkor Island.

What could I do?

Minutes later, I found that I had wandered to the beach the resort sported. It was a small area of the beach I explored, barely a block. It was a good time of quiet and peace, some serenity before the hectic rush that was to be the day's events.

Wandering barefoot on the sand, the turning tides washing over the sand sprinkled feet of mine, I spotted some unique shells upon the sand, the brink of where the waves touched and receded. Brown and white banded shells still connected together, strongly resembled butterfly wings, and a lone shell resembled something that I saw of oyster shells, but it was marine green, like the sea that carried it there, and was the size of my thumb.

Gathering the aforementioned shells, I let myself wander the shoreline and watch the waves crash onto some rocks in the distance when my hand phone beeped, alerting me that it was high time to return to the room and prepare for the trip.

The entire convoy of (at least) ninety or a hundred embarked upon shuttle-vans to the resort's jetty. Upon arrival, I saw that Jordan and Nicholas were on the upper deck of the private ferry. I shouted to them to reserve a place for me, but they replied that I would have to stand.

Finding a place at starboard, the ferry moved off for Pangkor Island. I definitely know that the ferry could go a few knots faster, but the upper deck was literally teeming with people who had to grab onto the railings for support. No chance of a 'wind blowing in my face' experience today.

Upon arrival, I noticed that the island's shore was dotted with many houses above the waters, typical of the traditional boardwalk homes of the fishermen. In fact, the whole mass of houses seemed to house people of the sea, for each house had a yellow trawler at their own jetty.

The hinterland was an island that held historic importance to Malaysia, being that the Dutch had conquered Pangkor Island first before moving to the mainland. They eventually lost control over the island somewhere in the Seventeenth century.

Now it is a tourist attraction, a cultural melting pot for the different races that existed there, though it is still predominantly Malays.

We all were herded into minivans to be driven around the island, looking at the different attractions and (as the people of the island would like us to) to purchase the island's goods.

A 'Dutch Fort' was the first stop. Nothing much to say about this one. It's just a 'see and you're done' place.

The next venue was a Chinese Temple. I did say that this island was a 'cultural melting pot' and the presence of a Chinese temple on a Malaysian island is proof. There was also a Hindu temple that I spied from the ferry, for the Indians.

Uncle Albert the cameraman was hard at work, and Aunty Alice trying to handle the administration of the trip. I, even as a staff member, was finally experiencing the 'holiday' bit of this working trip.

The next pit stop was a 'satay fish' factory. No need to tell you what 'satay' is, but satay fish? I had to try.

Sure enough, it was in a cracker form, and was quite nice too. I bought some, along with some prawn crackers and salted nuts for my sisters and myself (for the coach trip back!) and a cold drink to cool myself of. I forgot to tell you that the highest temperature of the day hit its peak there and then. It did not rain today, while it did yesterday.

Monsoon period.

Lunch was taken in a small restaurant. The food was good, and by now everyone at the table which I had taken to accompany knew of my 'see-food' diet, especially when it came to steamed fish.

I'd attack the belly, the fins (after removing the bones), and the cheeks and... the eyes. Don't mistake me; the flesh that hides underneath it is unique in taste. Tastes good to me.

After lunch, I made a deal with Jordan and Nicholas that we'd play at the pool today. I'm just an overgrown child. The bought water pistols, so I hunted around for a larger water gun, preferably one with a pump, and got one, along with tit bits.

Pangkor Island was a tourist-based island, one could tell by the strip shops present at every turn. T-shirts and T-shirts galore, all of them literally printed with the island's name on it. They did a good try by making Billabong-like board shirts, I commend them on that, but printing the same words all over again and also boldly putting 'Malaysia' on it bugged me. Too tourist-y.

After that was the trip back to the resort that occurred without incident.

I did meet the boys at the pool, and they roped in another boy, and two new kid-friends I made joined us. A girl joined us later (The new guy who joined in wanted us to ambush her, but she was unarmed so we did not) and one of the four water guns present cracked.

I took the crack-gun and carried out an assault, until the crack-gun became a halved gun.

The water guns lost their novelty quickly, so we resorted to another means of fun.

There were a group of four adults playing water polo nearby. No one knew who they were, but Jordan piped up if we could play with them.

To my horror, they agreed, and wanted to play against us!

It was a vicious game we played. I was the oldest and the largest, out of a group of nine and ten year olds who were spunky enough to take on the adults, so I positioned myself at the goal post.

The adults, however, ruled the day. They caught the ball and were able to pass it from player to player without any hassle from the tiny shrimps bobbing around them. And worse, in the end, they tricked their way and used really hard shots to get their goals.

The kids, however (and I should not have feared) took the game into their own hands.

The pool where the game was being played had a waterfall feature, and ‘rocks’, rather abrasive ‘rocks’ I must add, were there to break the water’s fall into the pool. A child could easily stand past the head level of an adult in the pool by standing on those rocks.

And that was what the kids did. Two stayed in the water, near me to catch the ball, while the rest positioned themselves onto the ‘rocks’. A chain was formed where the kids would pass the ball without the hassle of the adults till the last one aimed for the goal. Unfortunately, Jordan did not have such a good aim as the two men we were up against, but we did score a few precious goals.

Then we went all up. The kids were brawling with the adults, trying to grab their way for the ball, and I collided into the adults more than once, and one such collision nearly made me kick one of the men’s head!

They stopped, tired, and so did we. Saying that we were too vicious, they called the game to an end. The kids were still raring to go, but I agreed to close the game with no called winner.

A rather short-lived game of hide-and-seek ensued. The girls were the first to seek (a Matilda, another girl whose name I can’t recall, and me) while the boys went to hide (Jordan, Nicholas, Julius and Xavier). The other girl launched before we could, and found the boys first. The three boys Nicholas, Jordan and Xavier took to hiding behind a rock together: their downfall. Julius was paddling away when I spotted him.

Then it was our turn to hide while the boys sought. I went off first, dog-paddling as silently as I could manage to my intended hiding spot. The boys made a racket whilst finding their hiding place, giving their places away. I was not to make that mistake.

Finding a hiding spot at a blind spot behind some ‘rock’ features, bruising my hands while doing so, I found that the other two girls had trailed after me. Horror of horrors!

We could not run, so we pressed ourselves against the rock and hoped for the best.

Our time span of absence proved longer than the boys’, but we were found nonetheless.

Xavier, the ever sporting one, offered to seek while we all hid.

I took to the ‘rocks’ at the waterfall feature, and it was not such a good idea. Matilda and I bruised our knees so badly that they were cut and bled a bit. Matilda hobbled her way after we both were found. I reported this problem to the adults (our adults, not the polo players) and they said it should be a small matter. However, I did not like envisioning a rather irate mother storming up to me demanding why her daughter had a wound.

Matilda was smiling again soon after, a hand on her wound and talking to the other girl at the poolside. The boys took to diving at a ‘no diving’ site, even if I dissuaded them to the best of my abilities, but you know how boys are.

I retreated and sank onto the deckchair where my items were. The energy drain finally kicked in, and I sat, jaded, at that chair for a good while before I left. Uncle Albert was there, armed with his camera, and Jordan and Nicholas’s mothers, whom I’ve also befriended, were nerved by the sight of the contraption being focused on them.

The camera went wild, with a good lot of photos taken, and I had my fair share of lens time.

When we finally had a look at the pictures, we could not complain.

Uncle Albert had a hankering not for figure photos, but face photos. He believes that the emotion is best captured that way, and the person’s full quality and character is shown via the face.

After that incident, I did not mind him keeping the photographs but I left before he could shoot anymore.

Dinner was at a restaurant, the last dinner we were to have together I believe, at a wayside piece of land. The food there was a real serving of Chinese fare, and I ate my fill, though I commented later on that ‘I should be worried for my appetite for I’m not full yet!’

You could imagine the shocked faces of those at my table of ten.

I had taken two servings of rice while everyone else could not finish their first; I took the most amounts of soup, vegetables and meats, often heading back for seconds.

Another family joined us at the table: a couple and their young son, Darren. I’m worried about the little boy. He makes his demands clear and loud, and his parents deliver. But when they don’t, he breaks into whining, his face scrunching up and his eyes squinting. The tan boy would inch into hysteria, and his parents would slowly pacify him with promises.

And he had a few bad habits of his own. They’re not the regular kind; they were his kind of habits. He spat ice from the cup of coke his mother had, for one, and when his mother glared at him, he whimpered in Chinese, “Please don’t beat me.”

I gave this all a moment’s thought. The boy was a familiar sight. He had given more than a fair share of whining and crying during the trip. The parents were quick to pacify him and preventing a worst-case-scenario of a child overboard. He whined about going back to the hotel. He whined with impatience. He whined for the smallest of things, and his fussy choices of the slice of mango he wanted. I want a big one, Daddy. No, NOT THAT ONE, THAT ONE!

Piecing something of a puzzle together, I spoke to the lady beside me of my theory. She nodded, and I took that it was safe, and plausible enough, for the parents to accept.

I voiced out my thoughts, but not after reminding them that I was no psychiatrist.

Darren is an insecure boy, in my opinion. He is absolutely dependent on his parents, no matter what the demand. He sees them as ‘the fulfillers of desires’, and he knows that whatever he wanted, be it something to make him comfortable or something that he knew he really liked and badly wanted, he knew that, by the end of the day, his parents would provide.

Hence he keeps hankering, and pestering them to get him what he wants. If the first attempt fails, he’d go into a state of persuasion, where whining and cringing and crying out a mumble jumble of incoherent words with a swing of his voice intonation (I think that is the definition of whining) to get his parents to give him what he wants.

Later on, his parents teased that if he wanted Coca Cola so badly, he could join Uncle, another adult at the table, and get all the coke he wanted from his cooler. He immediately showed that he was adamant, and clearly insisted that he wanted his parents, not some stranger.

Darren had it fixated in him that only, and ONLY, his parents can fulfil his needs and desires. No one else will do, and no one else could. Only Daddy and Mummy.

With that said, the lady who sat next to me asked me, “Are you a child psychiatrist?”

However, I added in as a side note, that little Darren may grow out of his temperament, or his parents can wean him off it.

That soothed them quickly, but just then Darren demanded for a refill of the soft drink he wanted.

Right now, I’m back at the hotel. Sooner or later, it’d be lights out. Tomorrow is the last day, and I would be a little more than miserable when this trip finally ends.

Through this unexpected working trip cum holiday, I found out things about myself, and of others. Through this bedlam of fun and mixing with English-Chinese-Singlish-slang folks, I was able to relate and make friends out of a quiet small circle of genteel I’m surrounded with for nearly all my life thus far.

I also found myself to be not overly spontaneous at the dinner table, a common misdeed I’m guilty with for such dinners and functions, and not too zealous about attention on myself, another bad trait I have. Instead, it all went out through another porthole: kids. I was an overgrown kid, my main role being that I was the mother hen and I was mingling with the chicks. I had a blast with them, and would miss them sorely (and quite factually too, being that we all had a fair share of bruises from scampering around those ‘rocks’.)

Well, that’s enough from me. I’m bugging out. I have a coach-load of fifteen people to look after tomorrow and I must not look haggard!

Time check: 11:23pm. Listening to: Evacuating London – OST Chronicles of Narnia

(P.S. This seems like a dose of ranting and reality, if you ask me.)