Portal #1 – 'I bought a one-way ticket to Frankfurt and never looked back'
Singapore-born Ann left her family home when she was 20 to travel the world.
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St Kilda, March 2024
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon sometime in mid-March. The F1 Grand Prix was taking place in Albert Park that weekend, hence I was waiting for a bus replacement to St Kilda instead of taking the 96 tram. I was talking to my mum on the phone when a small Asian lady suddenly tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, do you know if the bus is coming anytime soon?’ she asked me. I shook my head. ‘Have you been waiting long?’ she asked me. ‘Only 10 minutes,’ I said. ‘But it should be here soon. They come quite often.’ As soon as I said that, a bus appeared from the other end of the road. I boarded the bus, struggling to find a seat amongst a sea of people in their F1 merchandise. Somehow, I ended up sitting next to the Asian lady. We smiled at each other.
‘So what are you doing in Melbourne? Are you a student here?’ she asked me. I told her that I’d been living here for the last four years, that I came here as a student, and now I am a professional content writer. ‘I was born and raised in Indonesia, and I also lived in Singapore for a few years before coming here,’ I added.
Her eyes lit up immediately. ‘Oh, I was born and raised in Singapore,’ she said. ‘My mother was a Chinese Indonesian from North Sumatra. She met my father in Borneo and they moved to Singapore.’
‘Are you Eurasian?’ I asked her. Even though it was a sunny day, the lady was wearing a long-sleeved jacket and a pair of black trousers, her pixie haircut was barely visible under a woollen beanie, and she hid her face with a face mask. I could only see her light brown eyes, which was how I picked up on her Eurasian background.
‘I am,’ she started to sound warmer. ‘It’s such a shame that a lot of people here only believed in homogenous race. They didn’t understand the concept of having mixed ethnicities in your blood. And it annoys me every time Australians assume I don’t speak English. The other day, a plumber came to my house and he was speaking to me word per word with dramatic hand gestures. I just frowned at him and said: Can you please speak decent English?’
‘So how did you find your way from Singapore to Australia?’ I asked her.
‘Oh, I went to Europe first, and then I came to Australia,’ she replied.
‘I went to Europe two years ago,’ I said nonchalantly. ‘I visited Spain.’
‘Oh yeah… Did you see the Sagrada Familia?’ she asked.
‘Who would miss the Sagrada Familia when they travel to Barcelona? Of course, I did, and I loved it! Gaudi’s work is incredibly stunning – he doesn’t miss any details, even in places that aren’t visible to the eyes,’ I said, recalling the Sagrada Familia, along with Gaudi’s other work that I saw – Parc Guell, Casa Batllo, and Casa Vicens.
‘Oh wow. This is strange,’ she said. ‘You lived in Singapore and went to Spain and loved Gaudi’s work just like I did and I just happen to be on the same bus as you.’
‘Mam, I think it means we’re gonna have a good day,’ I smiled at her.
The bus stopped across Luna Park, which was the last stop, and all passengers got out. I thought the lady and I would part ways immediately but my intuition told me to slow down. So I did, and she took that as a hint to continue sharing her story, which came out in bursts of excitement rather than a linear shape, like how a colleague would tell you about their weekend. However, when I thought about it later, I wasn’t sure whether it was excitement or loneliness.
Ann left her parents’ home in Singapore when she was only 20.
‘My parents would stop me from doing a lot of things when I was young. They always said: don’t go out after dark, don’t do this, don’t do that. I was always the black sheep of the family. So one night, I finally left the house. I had nothing but the clothes I was wearing, and I booked a one-way ticket to Frankfurt. Nobody sent me to the airport, nobody said goodbye, and nobody cried. I didn’t stay in touch with anyone and I still don’t. I didn’t even go to my parents’ funeral when they died. I could die, I could die tomorrow, and nobody would know. Nobody would remember me. And this is my own choice,’ Ann shared.
‘I respect that,’ I said.
‘My parents always told me it was dangerous out there, but it wasn’t for me. I mean, I did a lot of stupid things, but nobody ever hurt me, especially being a young girl travelling alone. I would sleep in bus shelters or train platforms, and hitchhike with strangers. This is not something for a lot of people. Once, I even tried to hitchhike at night in Germany. That was quite stupid, but someone did pick me up. People were kind to me. They offered me a place to stay, they offered me money and food. Someone even once paid for a hotel room so I had a place to stay for the night. And that’s why I always try to see the best in people.’
‘It doesn’t always work like that though,’ I argued.
‘Be on guard of course,’ Ann said. ‘But sometimes you have to stay open and positive. Everything is all about your mindset.’
‘So where else did you travel?’ I asked her.
‘I went to Goa, and I remember seeing these travellers living inside the caves. Once you’ve lived such a lifestyle of discovering enlightenment, there’s no way you can return to normal life! For all I know, those hippies are probably still living there. I love Italy – it’s one of the best places in the world that doesn’t change with time. It feels like everything has always stayed the same as how it was at the beginning. It’s like the Trevi fountain; it looks like how it was when they filmed La Dolce Vita. If you ever go to Italy, you must stay there for at least a year! There are too many things to see. Did you go to Museo Reina Sofia in Madrid?’
I shook my head.
‘I went there and saw Guernica by Pablo Picasso. It was my favourite painting and to finally see that in person, it was so beautiful,’ Ann paused for a moment. ‘You probably think I’m lying but I’m not.’
‘No… I’ve met too many people with crazy stories. This is absolutely normal to me,’ I smiled.
‘A lot of people often thought I did,’ she continued. ‘They wouldn’t even believe me when I told them I saw the Berlin Wall and crossed through Checkpoint Charlie. But I really did! Some people visited my house and saw all the items and photos from my travelling days, and they would think I was an anthropologist… with all the masks and figurines. Oh, I wish I had photos to show you right now.’
But I didn’t need photos. I saw everything Ann described as vividly as the blue sky on that Sunday afternoon. Unless she was a very good liar, and those imaginations came from my artist brain that loves to daydream.
‘It’s strange,’ Ann said. ‘I’ve never spoken this much with anyone before. It’s just such a coincidence that you’ve been to Spain, and you loved the Sagrada Familia. Something just clicked and the energies I felt were like… It’s like… It’s like you are my incarnation and I’m not even dead yet,’ she laughed.
Ann looked me in the eye and continued, ‘You are so young. Go out and see the world. Do not ever let anyone hold you back. And when you talk to people, always look into their eyes. It shows that you are brave and confident.’
Something about her tone made me want to burst into tears. I wasn’t sure whether it was my tears or hers, because it felt like her advice was directed to herself as much as it was given to me.
‘You will do great things,’ she said. ‘You know how I know that? You could’ve told me you were busy and left. But instead, you chose to stay here and listen to my story.’
‘Somebody needs to share it, Ann,’ I said. ‘I do need to go, though,’ I looked at the time, realising that I was at least an hour late to meet a friend.
‘Wait I want to give you something. I want to give you a little present,’ Ann said. She started looking through her pockets and at the shops around. ‘Maybe chocolate or something, ah you know what…’ she pulled a note out of her left pocket. ‘Take this.’
It was a 50-dollar note.
‘No I can’t!’ I shook my head. ‘You don’t have to!’
Ann cut me off. ‘Every time someone is kind to you, allow them to be. In my younger days, so many people gave me money and helped me out. Don’t ever reject kindness. Just pass it on to the next person,’ she insisted. I hesitantly took her note and said thank you. I mean, there was a KFC right behind us – she could’ve bought me fried chicken and that would’ve made my day. But to give a stranger 50 dollars? In this economy?
‘Can I give you a hug?’ I asked. She nodded and I embraced her tiny figure.
‘Can I write your story?’ I asked again.
‘You can write my story, but I’d rather stay anonymous. I like to live in incognito mode. I don’t want anybody to know me,’ she replied. I knew it meant I couldn’t take her photograph, or that I wouldn’t see her again. ‘I’ll remember you,’ I said. ‘You’re never alone, Ann. There are so many people around you. If you ever change your mind, you know.’
‘That’s true,’ she smiled. ‘Now, take care.’ We turned around and walked in opposite directions, and that was it.
On the way to meet my friend, I did a quick Google search on the different things Ann had mentioned. Learning that the Berlin Wall was built in 1961 and only torn down in 1989 gave me slight goosebumps – the conflict didn’t happen that long ago. I also found out that Goa was a key destination of the Hippie Trail, a popular backpacking route stretching from Western Europe through the Middle East and South Asia, before ending in Southeast Asia. Goa was also the birthplace of psytrance music, with many electronic artists developing this genre and hosting parties in the late 80s and early 90s. This immediately reminded me of the music festival I went to only a week before, and a BBC TV Series called The Serpent, a dramatic re-enactment about the serial killer Charles Sobhraj, who targeted backpackers travelling through Bangkok, Thailand (also part of the Hippie Trail).
However, Ann’s energy lingered with me for quite a while. A week later, as I watched a video of the Spanish artist Rosalia performing a flamenco song at Museo Reina Sofia, it took me a good minute before I realised the performance had taken place right in front of Ann’s favourite painting.
Well, whether Ann was lying or not, we’ll never know, but I guess that’s up to me and to you to decide.