.... Something, something "office" said
the young chap at the booth. After leafing carefully through the passport some
kind of red flag had come up on his screen. Almost thirty-nine months in and
out of the country, often coming through the Causeway gate at Johor Bahru. If
you flew into Changi on an Australian passport it was likely a different
matter. We would be escorted to the office. Just wait where you are. Five
minutes later another young fellow with a gun in his holster arrived on his
iron horse to show us the way. 10 30 PM on a Sunday, it had taken half an hour
to reach first base at the Checkpoint.
What are you doing in Singapore?... Long time you have not returned to your country.... Can I see your return ticket?.... A writer? You write about politics? (There had been no prompting; the man was not making small-talk either.).... No sir. Culture, the social scene on the streets and at the Eateries.... religion. — What you write about religion? Askance glance and eyebrows elevated.... Oh shite! That was wrong, wrong. Like writer was immediately suspicious and wrong, but what else was one to say? A romance keeping one here? Romance with the country perhaps?... Well, the Analects, the Hadith, Confucius.... A few months ago I went to Shivaratni and wrote about that. (Was the fellow Indian or Malay?).... Under the interrogation lamp the reversion to weasel cockroach was automatic.... Give me the address of your blog.... There you are sir.... How much money do you have with you? (S$250 providentially.)....Take a seat outside.... Would "Ibrahim and Ismail" raise suspicions? Unlikely the man would burrow through the mountainous pile to "May-day Singapore". No way. Two Viet lasses waiting on the orange chairs, one pregnant Nance said. Possibly trying to have her brat on the soil here.... A Food Writer. A real Travel Writer taking in resorts, beaches, the shopping experience, that would have been different. The faded old tee from the night flea market at Chow Kit in KL likely didn't help..... A riff-raff kind of writer without gold chain or even watch. If he asked to see the old Samsung cell-phone with the worn pad Zainuddin had gifted we were sunk.... You're definitely going to Jogja end of next month? And then returning to Australia?... Stating only a 40 day stay weighed in the matter. (Old hands had warned it was a mistake to put the 90 maximum on the form.) Definitely leaving?!... Almost certainly the Viet girls were returned.... A couple of years ago after locking horns with an expat American writer here the relative standpoints needed to be identified: there was the grace of a writer sailing a boat adrift on the breeze—the viewpoint seemed to suggest art for art's sake, beauty, elegance, release ultimately; opposed on the other hand to one delivering some kind of matter from a pulpit. Oh alack the day!....
What are you doing in Singapore?... Long time you have not returned to your country.... Can I see your return ticket?.... A writer? You write about politics? (There had been no prompting; the man was not making small-talk either.).... No sir. Culture, the social scene on the streets and at the Eateries.... religion. — What you write about religion? Askance glance and eyebrows elevated.... Oh shite! That was wrong, wrong. Like writer was immediately suspicious and wrong, but what else was one to say? A romance keeping one here? Romance with the country perhaps?... Well, the Analects, the Hadith, Confucius.... A few months ago I went to Shivaratni and wrote about that. (Was the fellow Indian or Malay?).... Under the interrogation lamp the reversion to weasel cockroach was automatic.... Give me the address of your blog.... There you are sir.... How much money do you have with you? (S$250 providentially.)....Take a seat outside.... Would "Ibrahim and Ismail" raise suspicions? Unlikely the man would burrow through the mountainous pile to "May-day Singapore". No way. Two Viet lasses waiting on the orange chairs, one pregnant Nance said. Possibly trying to have her brat on the soil here.... A Food Writer. A real Travel Writer taking in resorts, beaches, the shopping experience, that would have been different. The faded old tee from the night flea market at Chow Kit in KL likely didn't help..... A riff-raff kind of writer without gold chain or even watch. If he asked to see the old Samsung cell-phone with the worn pad Zainuddin had gifted we were sunk.... You're definitely going to Jogja end of next month? And then returning to Australia?... Stating only a 40 day stay weighed in the matter. (Old hands had warned it was a mistake to put the 90 maximum on the form.) Definitely leaving?!... Almost certainly the Viet girls were returned.... A couple of years ago after locking horns with an expat American writer here the relative standpoints needed to be identified: there was the grace of a writer sailing a boat adrift on the breeze—the viewpoint seemed to suggest art for art's sake, beauty, elegance, release ultimately; opposed on the other hand to one delivering some kind of matter from a pulpit. Oh alack the day!....
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