Wednesday, June 03, 2009

Freedom in Malacca - Pt 1

There are calendar dates in life that we circle because of the magnitude of significant importance it has in impacting our lives, like graduation, weddings and rave parties. If you actually do know how to prioritize, then you’ll know that the prospect of attending a rave is worth a 4 hour bus ride.

The last time we organized a group trip out of Singapore to party, Tiesto – you should bow in reverence – was spinning over a two day event at Port Dickson and that event was aptly called Freedom. And rightfully so because it was a catharsis of sorts and a credible excuse to escape the righteous consequences of the law.

It was the right composition of what a rave should be. We are talking mind blowing laser lightings, goose bumping fireworks, bass thumping music and chemical tripping patrons in sunglasses at a night event. There were so many of them there in sunglasses, all they needed was sun block to convince me this was in actually a mass sun-tanning gathering.

This year, in the absence of a commercial Trance deity, I was reluctant to commit to trip up to Malacca to shuffle to acts that were already playing at Zouk couple weeks prior. I’m glad I did, because although the event periodically contributed to a yawn or ten to me, there were peripheral incidents that left me in stitches.

It was a 10 person trip that finally went through on the 11th hour through calculated planning from Muthu. I was basically travelling up with 8 people who were my closest friends and 2 second degree friends whom would eventually become the focal subject of my reiteration of the trip.

Contrary to what you might perceive from my archival chronicles of misdemeanor and probable anger management enlistee, I am actually very casual and easy going – unless of course you are a Whale, then I have every right to hate you, until you pay me to stop -, so when I actually write about you, then you’ll know that you either did something right or very wrong.

To make this easy for me, I will call them Anse and Ken, because that is their name and I have no intentions to mask reality for now, or protect identities for people I will not be hanging out with anyway.

When we started the trip up, I actually thought they were pretty entertaining because they were dancing to my silly songs while LB, Tigerlily, Faith and Totti surrendered to sleep. Sure, I thought Ken was effeminate to some degree and Anse was plump, but they looked sporting enough for me to overlook the short-comings.

Right after we got pass customs, we decided to buy liquor so the driver took us to the duty free zone and we got 2 bottles of vodka and a bottle of tequila and it came up to about RM300, which is what you would expect to pay for duty free goods.

When we got out, we were informed by the driver that we actually had to declare taxes for the alcohol. We thought this was the most ridiculous thing we heard, other than someone escaping prison through the toilet.

There was absolutely no logic in having to pay taxes because we were buying duty free goods, so why the fuck should we be taxed for something that is duty free? This was like having to pay for masturbating.

Me: “How much is the tax?”
Lady: “Let me calculate.”

At this point of time, we wondered if this was just another grand scheme to con us or the hand of corruption at work.

Lady: “RM330

If I was shocked before at having to pay taxes, I nearly went into seizure when I heard the taxable amount. I was that close to slicing of my penis and use it as barter.

This was turning into a farcical parade with a grand theme of absurdity. We had to pay more for taxes for start and it made it almost as good as having to buy it off the supermarket. I might not be right all the time, but I am never wrong, so correct me when I asked,

Which part of duty free actually means taxable?!”

I immediately told Muthu that we were going to try to talk our way into a refund, but obviously we didn’t know that the duty free zone was governed by a peculiar set of rules and principle. The primary one being,

‘We do not accept refunds, but we do take bribes’


This was great because all we paid was RM50 for some guy to smuggle the bottles out for us on a scooter. And I don’t know if it was integrity or stupidity, but this guy could have effectively ran away with our bottles and there was nothing we could do with it. I’ll just label that as stupidity, because I don’t know if I should cheer for the ailing integrity of humanity or for the blatant lack of economic sense.

When we finally got to the villa, Ken had lost his mock disposition of masculinity and collapse back onto the mocking hands of homosexuality. I only knew he was homosexual when I got back to the villa and everyone had ended a discussion about his sexual orientation, which apparently ended from a confession of sorts on his end.

By 7pm, we were already knocking back shots. I sorted myself two quick shots of tequila before we left to buy food and by the time we were done with or sodium filled cup noodle meals, there was enough alcohol in Ken to be bent over the bed seductively swinging his head and allowing Muthu to mock butt fuck him.

By 8pm, we were doing choreographed jumps into the water and having vodkas by the poolside. By 9.30pm, I was awfully pruned, my back was hurting from the repetitive flips into the pool but still sober enough to digest the hilarity of a failed attempt at sex in the bathroom.

It was a routine we were familiar with; a quick session under the shower running a gamut of positions, trying not to slip and fighting for breath under a stream of water running down my face. Then Poca took me by the hand to the basin and she propped herself up on it.

Before I was even close enough to reposition myself, the whole basin cracked and broke off the wall. I responded in the only way a human possibly could,

Me: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
Poca: “What the fuck!”

It was funny because we didn’t know if we should fix it or to pretend nothing happened because it was dangling and we were plagued with worry the next person to put pressure on it while brushing their teeth was going to entirely pull the whole basin off the way.

So we decided to be mature about it and deny everything.

The Rave…

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