Thursday, June 28, 2007
The thing is, all the trash in Japan that you dump at the designated point-of-collection belongs to the government. Nobody (not even the public dumpman) and they mean it, Nobody has the right to claim that trash. So, the answer to the question is obvious here.
Aluminium and steel prices is high right now. There are many public things made of steel being stolen right under people's nose. Huge steel bells in front of shinto shrine, village emergency steel alarm-bell to warn villages of houses on fire, drainage covers, manhole cover and even unused railway tracks are now victimised. The thieves sell the stolen steel to be melted down and the payment is quite worth the trouble.
Every Thursday of the week, is the collection day for aluminium cans and such. There is this old man who make sure to come by before the public dumpman come to claim the treasure. This old man with an open air truck would go around the neihbourhood pincing those aluminium cans.
But you must remember same as the money found earlier, these aluminium cans are government property. The government recycle and sell them to the aluminium can manufacturer. The sale money collected would add some income into their budget for future upgrade on machinery and equipment.
So, what I am trying to say is the old man is stealing government property by pincing all the aluminium cans.
I just remember as I write this, years ago when I was about 6 years old. We didn't go to any kindergarten or the likes because there were none around. We kids used to be left on our own in the daytime and we just go around in groups doing nothing. Those time there were no phobia on rapist or child molester.
But, there was this boy who had a brilliant idea. He suggested we go around collecting bottle caps, those aluminium type, like the ones on beer bottle now.
So, we went to the river banks and all over doing our collection. We had no container to put all the caps and my dress ended up as a bowl to carry our priceless collections.
We collected for about a week and had like 5 rice bags of bottle caps, then we all went to the karung guni shop. The karung guni apek looked at it and said, "ah, ini tak tak guna punya balang, tak boleh juan lor."
See how silly we were, first thing we should check for the value of the caps. We were really disppointed because I had already planned to treat myself a big air batu kacang with the sale money.
You see, I was willing to wade in the dirty and muddy river with mouse carcass and the lot to get the caps. I smelled terrible at the end of the day and my legs was bloated with pekung buta, yellow with pus from the river infection. I still have bisul marks on my legs till now and am looking at it while writing this, hahahaha!
Actually, I wanted to write on koubo extract, something happened to me with koubo extract and I detoured. I promise you beautiful readers, I will do that koubo extract next round. Ok kan?
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
You may think coming from me, this is weird but I hate the sounds of things coming from my front and back garden. I don't really like the chirping sound of birds too loud or too near the house. I get quite distracted. I don't mind them so much when I'm in one of my light and easy mood but nowadays that sort of mood is hard to come by.
Here is the gist of the entry for the day.
A gangster group or some crazy, rich, dying person threw some lumpsome of money in the dumpster.
The dumpman who who works for the government, collects the money and claims it to be his after the claimable period of 6-months. In Japan, whatever you find on the street and report it to the nearest authority, if not claim, will be yours after six-months.
The money is big to Malaysian standard, a little over a million ringgit.
The sad thing is the dumpster man who found it cannot claim the money even after the 6-month waiting period is over.
Well, you think hard and reason it out. He found it, he reported it and he waited for 6 months but still he cannot claim it.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
It's the time again in Japan and especially in Okinawa. The TV is broadcasting it almost daily, the schools are having invited speakers to remind small minds of Okinawa, the survivors are relating their histories over and over and banners are everywhere about it.
It's the war, The Second World War season.
Around this time 62 years ago, 200,000 people died when the Americans and the Japanese Imperial Army made the peaceful soil of Okinawa their battleground, the only state in Japan with the real battleground. Do you know that only Okinawa people suffered the real battle of the war?
If you think Hiroshima and Nagazaki were another battleground, you are wrong. Those two places were bombed with atomic power without actual battleground. Within that 3 months period alone, 1 out of 4 local people died in Okinawa. The rest injured, homeless, tortured or barely surviving in some underground caves.
My haiku friend, Mrs. Higa is 75. She is the last remaining few of the atomic bomb survivors in Hiroshima. She was about 8 years old in Hiroshima when she survived the mushroom cloud. She is the spoke-lady for the group involved in the War Prevention-awareness.
A few days ago, she invited me to attend this group and hear her speech there. I went and found myself not belonging to the younger group nor the older group.
The older people were mostly survivors of war, most of them experienced in Okinawa whereas the younger people are those backing the War-awareness movement.
Everyone has their say as we took our turns talking. The older people have lots to say recounting their sad and fading war experience. The younger few would talk of their plans in future of convincing projects. As I hear their stories, there were something odd that I need to tell them.
Their project on Peace Movement is mostly on getting the young generation to understand the meaning of war and its prevention. But I know this is very difficult to implement simply because the young people below 30 years old are not interested in politics, let alone try to understand war.
All they know about war is: it is global, it is large-scale, it is between religious fanatics and important of all, it will not happen in Japan!
Go ahead, ask any Japanese high school boys what they know about war and any one of these will be their answers.
Come my turn to speak and I spoke in Japanese unprepared, without notes and without data to back on. I speak from my heart and that was just my pure opinion.
Briefly, I recounted my late grandfather stories on his experience of war in Melacca. (Al-fatihah for him, he died at the ripe age of 90, 40 years after the war ended!) How the Japanese Imperial Army would forcefully take food from the villages, raped the women and killed anybody easily just because they wouldn't do the Japanese bow-greetings.
My grandfather, in his early 30's, were captured and sent in cargo-loads of rails and roads with other POW to Thailand to work on the Death Railway.
He survived the war with half-deaf ear because he was often beaten with the handle of the bayonet. He was thin to the bone and came home almost crawling.
They were listening to me so deeply even with my lowly, unpolished Japanese talent, mind you I was not prepared to make any speech. If I would have known earlier, for sure, I would have refused that speech.
Then come the point that I want to tell them so much. LIFE.
Before they talked so bombastically about war, about killing, about bomb. They have to instill the value of Life. The love for Life, the love for another human life. If everybody value Life, their own and others...FOR SURE, I said FOR SURE, there will be no war.
They have to teach the children in school today, the value of human life.
Their own and others.
Last year and for the past years, 32,000 Japanese killed themselves and if they can end their own lives so easily, I would think it is not difficult for them to end another human lives.
When they don't put values on human lives, I am very confident that, when and if Japan is involved in another war, they would become active and aggressive easy enough.
Actually, the way I put it across, its like saying "hey, change your style, your tactics is wrong". I think this message was understood well among them and during the Q & A session, one personal question that I dread came up.
"So, were there opposition from your parents when you married a Japanese?" (in Japanese of cours, don't hope for anybody with English language ability).
I told them my mother was too young to know about war that time. They kept her and other women folks well away in the jungle and she hardly had any bad war experiences other than being hungry all the time. Also, most young people in Msia below the age of 50 hardly know about war as it has ended when or after they were borned. So, its only with some older people now that they still feel bitter and hatred for the Japanese.
So, my marriage was approved.
I ended my speech with the reminder that they have to instill the value of Life to the younger generation to avoid war in the future.
Then I looked at Mrs. Higa next to me. She was busy snoring with her head almost under the table. Have to excuse her, what do you expect from a 75 year old granny?
When its time for her own Q & A, she would sometimes stop in a middle of explaination and asked what topic she was on *sigh*
I pat my own shoulder and felt quite proud of myself for being able to make an impromptu speech like that and most important of all, had made them understood my message.
ps: About the video on top, I heard the song on TV commercials as I was typing this entry and felt all nostalgic again of yesteryears. I doubt young readers below the 35 age-limit would know this tune at all.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Kancil, my first flaming-red love was only 6 mths with me. I had to sell it for cash because it was just a week before transferring to Japan that I made the selling transaction. It depreciated RM6, 000 for 6 mths that meant I used it at value of RM1,000 monthly. Which was not bad considering the running rate for renting Kancil by the day was RM60.00 that time.
I prepared Malaysian International license before going to Japan with validation for a year. We were sent to the northern part of Japan, Iwaki City, Fukushima state.
The test center was far inland into the mountains that took us 2 hours traveling on state highway. Hubby took the day off work to be with me.
Since I was just converting into Japanese license, it wasn't necessary to take the test on public road. I sat for the Highway Code test in English gladly enough. I passed this test and then went for the actual driving on the test-center compound.
Waited for my name to be called...aboduru lazaku bengte, more familiar to the bush-man of Africa!
I have driven on Malaysian roads for 6 months, I was more confident or so I thought.
Don't guess, I think you should know by now from the past phobic encounters of the road kind.
Why? You may ask. Why am I so uncontrollable behind the wheels?
Hey, take me for what I am, like my hubby, he was shocked beyond jumping!
Anyway, I failed because I didn't make the proper safety procedure before starting the engine. You know how the Japanese are very particular about the starting and the finishing points.
Hubby made me go to a driving school and learnt the proper driving way according to the Japanese road laws. Hubby always felt the way they teach driving in Malaysia was inadequate. This time I should be taught the proper way, the Japanese way.
At that point of my life, I took anything that comes. I was willing to do anything but just give me that magical paper that said part of the road belonged to me.
I took five lessons and mind you the price I paid was most expensive compared to Wales and Malaysia. The teachings were good, very official and compact.
For the second round of test, I made my way alone this time by the express bus. Left the house very early in the morning after giving instructions to the old lady next door. Relieved that she was willing enough to take care of the children after school.
You would think I should pass this round, wrong!
As I said driving a car is not part of my system. Driving was like a virus that the anti-body system in my DNA rejected all the time.
Well, second round I failed again. This time on the road hump. I was told to stop 1 min on top of a road hump. I stopped and counted 1 min. and continued. Big mistake!
I didn't pull the handbrakes!
I wanted to cry on the spot if not for the tester still with me. I was sobbing all the way home on the express bus. The word dumb, dumb, dumb kept on running in my head like the updates of stock exchange price on my TV screen.
First thing hubby said when he saw my miserable face at home was he wondered how I ever passed the test in Malaysia, the old festered “menanah bisul” repeated. He told me to take the test again and again, even if it I had to go over the 100 landmark!
I went back to the same school and this time a more serious and senior instructor took over. He was the no-nonsense type and he repeated everything he said twice even 3 times just to let me remember strongly. He told me I was the type that needed to be reminded all the time.
The third test came on the last day of summer school vacation. The test-center was crowded with young people taking advantage of the summer vacation from work.
It was a humid, wet and steamy especially when all the winds were trapped in between mountains. I was shaking and nervous. I was having some kind of heavy head preparing to fail again.
I went and this time I was familiar with the roads and places there. All the reminders and all my failures were in my head. Should not do this, should not do that...
This time after the test-run, the instructor didn't tell me my failures. He just left the car and told me to wait at a certain counter.
Waiting for my name to be called seemed like ages, all the people waiting were silent. We just occupied ourselves with our own thoughts or looked blankly at the TV screen on the wall.
I got the result slip and looked at the figures and still couldn't read the result. Again, I was told to wait in line at another counter.
Then, after some anxious hour, they gave me a rectangle, laminated card with my photo and details on it. Just like this here.
Hey, that was my license. I managed this time. I was feverish and wet with sweat. I slept all the way home on the express bus. Reached home, took some fever pills and was knocked flat for two days.
See how easy for me to be hurt. The stress and built-up to the third test was so unmanageable for me.
Now, as I write, I give praise to myself at the strength to keep up, the determination to success and the sheer hard work.
Anyway, that was 10 years ago. Last week I went to renew my Japanese license and was told that I had a clean record on the road for the past 10 years. This time they gave me a blue license to indicate that I am a safe driver. That was another certificate to prove the success of my life.
Counting the sun's repeated cycle, I am 51 today. I have done what I had to do and now its time for me to let go. This time it's my children turn to enter the cycle of Life. I can sit back and count all blessings with peace in my heart.
Happy birthday girl! I love you, I love you.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
That historical morning, I went to the test center and took my number. The test went in two sessions. The first session was done within the test compound. I did alright with the S-turn, U-Turn, parallel parking, 3-point parking and the rest went unexpectedly smooth.
The second session was the actual driving on public road. We were given a white Kancil. A young, late 20ish, slim Malay man sat next to me in his JPJ-official uniform. He was already in the car waiting for me to climb in. Before I started the engine, he confirmed my name and identification. I made the proper preparations when starting the engine, mirror, looked front, back and the whole gimmick. He had a report paper attached with a paper board and he kept putting marks without looking at me at all.
That man was stone-cold, his voice made me thought that I was made to flop. I felt like there was an unspoken message warning me, "one wrong move and you're a dead bird, lady!" from him.
I was shaking inside-out, not because of driving but because of the fear for this tester. The test-runs was about 5km if I remember. But, with the no-nonsense icy-cold man sitting beside me, it seemed endless. I was actually looking forward to ending it soon.
So, we came across a T-intersection traffic light. Two signal light side-by-side. Straight road, green light...I saw that. So, I went...afterall it was green.
Then, this booming voice screamed at me, my urinary tract almost letting go...
"Kenapa awak jalan, lampu tu kan merah!"
"Merah? Bukan merah, itu hijau", I said timidly, trying hard to control my bladder.
"Awak berhenti sekarang juga, tukar tempat, awak gagal!"
Whoa...on the spot, I failed, so I said my stand again.
"Saya jalan sebab itu lampu hijau!"
Then loud and fierce, he said, "nampak tak ada dua lampu, yang hijau tu untuk jalan lurus dan yang merah itu berhenti sebelum belok kanan, awak seharusnya tunggu lampu belok kanan itu jadi hijau baru boleh belok...
....AWAK BUTA KE?"
After changing seat, he drove all the way back to the test-center with me trying to keep my eyes dry. I was sobbing inside. I knew I failed, so I just jumped in a cab immediately and head for home.
Let me count now, altogether I had like 40-plus lessons, putting together the time I had with the famous Lesby and Peterson.
I went into mourning period for two months. In the meantime, I tried to avoid taking cab after that memorable incident at the golf range parking lot.
I often used the company driver after that. But company drivers were unrealiable lot. They were forever late and always had valid and official reasons for it.
Moving around in Johor Bahru was becoming very stressful for me. Also, being driven by company driver always put me in dilemma.
During lunch time, he would be waiting for me and forgoing his own lunch. Sometimes I had to buy for him lunch and occasionally, we took lunch together.
Us. Eating together and chatting like some old time pals. On some occasions, talking topics could reach personal level and I hated being too personal. I might not know, the very next day, my personal routine would spread like bush-fire on the factory floor!
Life was so stressful. I must get that paper even if I had to die for it. I went to see Cik Kassim again. This time, I took the pay-till-u-pass course. I told Cik Kassim, I didn't want to go on his car, I insisted on a better car. The driving school gave me a new instructor with newer model car.
This instructor targeted only 5 lessons for me and told me to get ready for the test again.
He wasn't teaching me driving so much because by then I was used to the wheels, after all latest count was like 50 hours of lesson altogether. We just went everywhere on the road with the intention of making me get used to the traffic. He would stop suddenly and instructed me to do the 3-point turn when he saw the road was clear, that was how it went with the 5 lessons.
So, I made my way to the test-center again and this time I made sure I emptied my bladder real good.
Same procedure as before but this time the examiner was a fatherly-figure, 40ish, cheery voice with a "5-month pregnant" tummy.
This time I was given a different test-round and I heaved a sigh of relieve to know that I would't have to go through that same T-intersection that flopped me before.
I went through the very end of the test-route and managed to finish up neatly. Of course, I had to wait this time for the result. Tougue-biting, nerve-wrecking and when I heard my name being called, I went to the counter and collected my report.
20 movements and 4 pangkah. That meant....
Let me see...3 years in Wales with 35 hours lesson. Almost a year in Malaysia with 15 lessons, altogether 700 Br. pounds plus RM1,500 and 50 solid hours.
What did I feel when it set in that I passed?
I could only afford to smile. I was alone in the crowd. That place was so noisy, loud-speaker calling names and car numbers and I sat down to stare at the marking report for some timeless moment.
I can drive, I can drive now...that was the only noise I heard over and over in my head.
One week later, I went to a car-showroom and that time Kancil was just 3 months in the market. I saw this beautiful, blood-red, small bettle car and paid cash in two parts, that showed how desperate I was to drive. They delivered the car within 2 days.
Initially, I drove around the neighbourhood to get used to the car. Then, came an unexpected hassle from hubby. He didn't allow me to drive because he believed I bribed the tester, one way or another. He didn't believe I could pass the driving at all!
He took the Kancil key and told me to return it back to the shop.
Hubby never trust anything in Malaysia. However hard I convinced him that I earned the passing with strong determination and hardwork, he still never believed me.
The arguments were big and long.
Even though he took the Kancil key away, I still had a spare. I used the spare in the daytime to drive around and made sure by evening the car was in the front porch.
This went on for two weeks until one day he came home early to find the house empty. I brought the children to their swimming class and told him slowly that I had a spare key and had used the car.
Heavily and unwillingly, from that day on, he let me drive.
I did not forget the two person who pushed me so hard to success.
Sally, who had moved to New Zealand by then, gave her a thank-you card telling her of my passing and my appreciations.
Not forgeting Shida. I went to her house and gave her a Japanese tray. She was happily surprised with the gift without occasion to celebrate and happier still when I told her my appreciations for the push from her.
Well, I was with Kancil for only 6 months and again hubby got the order of transfer. This time, back to Japan.
In Japan, I needed a Japanese driving license and hear me out... another rounds of test again.
Continuing my love-hate driving episode in Japan.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Anyway, hubby was given another transfer and this time to Malaysia.
We were given this 3-floor detached bangalow in front of The Tengku Mahkota Palace at Taman Pelangi, Johor Bahru. Sometimes on weekends, I can see him having polo with his riding buddies or just alone riding his horse.
During that era, taxi fare in Malaysia was RM1.20 for a start and I find it very convenient to just call a cab and hop in. The roads in Johor was too complicated for me to understand and here again came the benefit of cabs for me. But most times, I wouldn't get a cab in time or I would be put on waiting list. That I didn't mind so much but the trouble with taxi drivers in Malaysia was the feeling that I need to make some kind of conversations with them. I always felt like being interviewed. Normal questions would be what would I be doing in that big house because the house-owner was a timber rich-cinaman from Sabah. This question came when I leave my house. Then when I reach the front gate coming home, the question would be like is the rich timber-cinaman my friend sort.
I normally have a favourite taxi cab company to call on and on a few occasions this same driver came to answer my fare-calls. After 4 rides with him, he seemed neighbourly sort of friendly. Whenever I called for a cab rides, he would be there to take my round. He was young, around 30ish, neat long-sleeved shirt, clean-shaved and quite a good-looker.
It happened on a curtain-heavy dark wet day, I went for tea at a Japanese friend's house and as usual he came to take me. He said he would come to pick me after the tea and of course, I was thankful for the kind thought. Saved me the trouble of calling and booking for another cab.
I remember that day, dusk was setting in as I climbed in and I just said to go back home. He knew my house anyway!
Before reaching my house, he detoured at the golf putting range nearby (in front of Tengku's polo ground)and stopped the cab engine. He came out of the cab, opened the back seat door to sit next to me.
He made small talks like "malam nie kita pergi makan sea-food nak?"
I pointed with my finger to my house (I can see my house because it was over a slight slope), and said "situ".
I was sitting straight up, facing front and looking blank, not thinking of anything and he was sitting in the same position, straight and facing front. He took one hand and held it and went on making small talks. I saw other people walking passed the cab and strange thing was, I did not panic. I knew maybe he took to fancy me and want to be closer to me.
I knew I had to remain calm and controlled and I told him, without planning as well, the azan maghrib was so loud because the surau was nearby. He turned his face towards the sound of azan and let go my hand. It was like a finger had snapped in his face and he was awaken immediately. He opened the door, went on his seat, started the engine and drove me home without talking. Reaching my front gate, I gave him the fare but he declined and started the engine to move off. He left without a word and without a backward glance. That was the last time I saw him. Anyway, I remember his cab plate number and sometimes I saw him doing rounds on the roads.
But, I narrated this happening to Shida. Shida was an ex-SIA flight attendant, got married and became full-time wife to a Johor guy. Shida made me realized the more dangerous events that could happened if it was another rough cab driver.
And Shida, like my friend Sally in Wales, insisted I took up driving. In fact, Shida begged me to do it. She made me promised her as well.
I had to do it since I am the amanah-to-promises type of girl.
All I had to do was to call one driving school and the instructor would pick me up to the lesson spot. After getting the price quotations, I settled for a school and after Peterson, came Cik Kassim.
Cik Kassim was 50ish, homely, harmless-dirty jokes type of man. By now, I knew a bit about driving, after all the lessons I had with Peterson. Cik Kassim drove to a parking lot behind the stadium near pasar Larkin. That parking lot became his teaching ground. First thing I said when I touched the wheel was, "Cik Kassim, kereta ini kena buat alignment, semua sengget!"
His just laughed cheekily and said, "takpelah sengget sikit, nanti pandai-pandailah awak ajas (adjust)!"
His car was maybe the 1960 Nissan Datsun model. Longgar everywhere, I hated that car. I hated that car so much and I would have stopped the lesson if not for Cik Kassim tidak apa attitude during lesson. Parallel parking I would knock the corner post and he would say "tak ape", everything tak ape!
I took about 10 lessons and he set me up for the first test in Malaysia with JPJ Johor. I didn't need so much lessons, do I? After all I had 30 lessons done with Peterson. That was what I thought!
Wait for another narative and find out my first test result in Malaysia...jeng, jeng, jenngggg tayangan akan datang.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
I took the highway code test in Singapore and I passed the first sitting. But from there on, I had to do the actual driving and those days, I was so pitifully poor. I had to pay for the lessons myself and that time I didn't really have a job that I can survive on. So I stopped and forget all about driving. Finished and I thought I would not drive at all.
Got married, got the children and hubby got transfered to Wales, UK.
I was a good friend to neighbour, Sally Llewellyn and the first year that I knew Sally, she couldn't drive at all. But once in a while, I saw Sally's husband giving Sally some instructions in the car and after sometimes, I heard Sally passed her driving and proudly showed off her driving license to other neighbours.
I envied her so much, I mean she passed without much effort and not even getting the proper teacher to give instructions on driving.
Sally advised me to take up driving and I did. Tomo was about 1 year plus and I had to pay Kathy, another neighbour's daughter to babysit on lesson days.
My first instructor was a lady, very jumpy and edgy. She always repeat the mistakes I made over and over and I was with her for about 4 lessons only. Not because of the boring way she taught but because she was a lesbian.
Of course, nothing like she touched or smoothened my skin. I knew because she was a famous lesbian in that area. People would asked me and the minute I mentioned her name, one brow went slightly up.
I knew too late about her and after a couple of lessons when she didn't turned up, I had to tell her the deal was off.
That was a one-time thing I had with a lesbian and I promised till now, no more lesbians crossed my pious path.
Actually, that incident turned me off from driving for a little while but Sally insisted again that I shouldn't give it up half way through.
Then, I took up with somebody called Peterson. Peterson was tall, heavy top and middle and the typical mid-age english man. I still remember very clearly, like the vivid water from the stonefall in my neighbour's garden, the first thing he did was to teach me how to fill the car at a self-service station. Peterson said all instructors teach how to drive but never a lesson on how to fill the car up. I knew that was just some lame excuse he made up since the car's gas was empty for the day's lesson.
On my first lesson and already I felt cheated and used.
Anyway, I continued with Peterson but I took his lesson as a get-away from home, like a breath away from house duties. Peterson lessons were more like looking the scenery, very distracting and not at all in seriousness.
After 10 lessons, he put me up for the first test.
Failed to make the proper movements at the roundabouts. Little, little towns in Wales have roundabouts every couple of miles or so and you can never missed about 5 roundabouts when you go for the weekly shopping less than 3 km away. To the Walshes (I forgot what you called Wales people...Whales or Walshes), roundbouts are like the aorta of their hearts, don't ever make mistakes at roundabouts over there.
I tooked another 10 more lessons and this time again, I was still distracted but improved a little by showing some attention to my driving. This second round, Peterson was more personal. He talked on more personal subjects like his first marriage, his second, he first wife and his second wife, his first house and his second house. This is what I mean by distracted and still showing attention to him.
After the 10 lessons done. Took the test and....FAILED again!
Couldn't do the parallel parking on a steep slope. I parked alright but forgot to pull the handbrake and the car slide gingerly, ever so gracefully, down the steep slope.
Did I give up...oh no. I signed up for another 10 lessons. But trouble was, I still couldn't keep my eyes on the road. I was always looking at some yellow leaves maple tree, squirrels jumping between branches, wild raspberries heavy with red fruits or granny smith apples hanging down some front yards.
At the end of that 10 lessons, I took the third test and you guessed it...I FAILED again!
Peterson didn't want to take me back. He said his teaching time was fully-booked but I knew Peterson gave up on me.
Too much narative in one day here, I will continue my driving lessons in Malaysia and Japan the next entry.