... notable events : My longest ever birthday gift

It was the morning of August 24th 1991. 5am in the morning to be exact and my parents and little sister were there to wave me off for what would be one of the greatest adventures of my life, one that would span 4 years and the entire width of the Pacific Ocean.

As I stood there in the immigration line, waving back at them, I couldn't help be feel a little mixed-up inside. Mixed feelings were warring inside of me as I fingered my passport and dutifully moved forward with the inching line. I was excited, sure, but I was also apprehensive as well as a little happy but yet annoyed all at the same time.

I was excited. Who wouldn't be at the thought of travelling to foreign lands to live in a foreign culture and to experience life in another world? But I was also apprehensive. It was an apprehension tinged with a healthy dose of fear. I would be all alone by myself 10,000 km from home, away from the comforts of mom and the security of dad who would be but miles out of reach. It would be cold in Canada, and it would also be the most trying struggle of my young untested life as I attempt to earn a degree. I was also on a university scholarship, and the onus to perform and to live up to its standards were extremely daunting. Also included into that heady mix of emotions was happiness, and almost deliriously maniac happiness which threatened to break out in smiles and chuckles. I was all grown up! Here I was, standing in line, waiting to board a plane that will take me to another life, one that I would have to manage and tend to myself. I was free to be me!

But I was also annoyed. As I cleared immigration and sat in the departure hall of Changi International Airport waiting for my flight, I couldn't help but dwell on the fact that I was now 20 years old on this very day. This was my parent's warped sense of humour, to pack me off to Canada on the very day of my birthday. In a way it was sweet. It meant that my university degree would be my parent's birthday gift for my 20th birthday. But young as I was, it also meant that I wouldn't be opening any presents anytime soon.

I was booked into a United Airlines flight transiting in Narita, then Los Angeles where I would have to change planes for a short internal hop to Seattle before changing yet again for the last leg across the Canadian-US border to Vancouver. What this really meant was that instead of a normal 24 hour birthday with birthday cakes, presents and friends, I had a full 44 hours of birthday as I cross the international dateline, the bulk of the hours spent cramped in a narrow seat restricted in motion on a plane full of strangers without even the benefit of seeing pretty kebaya-clad airstewardess since everyone who's ever been on an US airline would tell you that they probably chose their female staff by the musculature tonnage.

Cold, tired, sleepy and disorientated I arrived at LA International Airport. Already forewarned about the strict US immigration system I braced for the worse. With stiff muscles I dragged my two pieces of luggage which were brand new at the start of the journey but already looking as tired as I was through the customs and immigration lines, but strangely enough I was waved through with little fuss. The officers looked as bored as I would have expected to see on a hollywood blockbuster of some third-rate banana republic border crossing. Thankful for my good fortune, I made my way out of the International terminal building and out onto the pick-up road outside. This I knew from having been briefed prior to arrival, that unlike our usual transiting all done within the same terminal building, the Domestic flight terminals were separate buildings all off to the right of the International terminal as you exited the building. Naive as I was, I thought I would just walk over next door from one terminal to another. Little did I know that they literally meant Domestic Terminals in the plural, and to make matters worse, they were different for each domestic airline. My first impressions was that the famed LAX was such a dump! After the classy-modernity of Changi International, LAX looked decidedly third-rate. I'd seen local small town terminals in Malaysia look better than it did. Maybe I was tired and my brain was staging a mini rebellion of it's own.

Clutching my transit ticket, I trudged along the road, knapsack on my shoulder, luggage rolling along behind me and searching for the United Airlines Domestic Terminal. Twice I stopped to ask for directions, and twice I was told it was just further ahead. I'm not sure how long I walked but I dare say I reached it... eventually. Now this really looked third-rate. I'd known bus terminals in Malaysia which looked better than this, and with much better organisation. Shoulders were aching and sore feet now added to my grand total of stiff back and neck coupled with the usual sleep deprived jetlag-adled mind. The only good part of this story was that I was in no immediate danger of missing my flight as my boarding time wasn't for another 2 hours. Having spent the better part of the first hour walking the inter-terminal roads, I was still 1 hour early for my flight.

Marching up the stairs, my luggage bumping along, I came up to an empty seating area. Wait a minute. Is this even the right place? I began to panic a little until I noticed the small stand off to the side with the flight number on it and the departure time. Well, at least they did match my ticket, but where is everyone? The minutes ticked by and still I sat there alone, no other passengers, not even a flight staff to punch my ticket or anyway to check-in my luggage.

30 minutes to departure. What if I really am sitting at the wrong place?

15 minutes to departure. Hey, someone is coming! Finally. "Seattle?" I asked. The old man grunted at me. I think he said yes. At least he's also sitting down here clutching a ticket, one which I tried my damnest to peek at.

10 minutes to departure. More people arrive and a so does a flight attendant! I was up as fast as I could. "Is this the correct flight I should be on?" I asked her, thrusting my ticket in her face. "Yes, please take a seat." she said without my expected service smile. Well, at least I'm not lost, I thought as I plonked back down onto the seat.

The same scene repeated itself again at Seattle Airport but this time I was a little wiser and things nearly went just that little bit less scary as at LAX United Airline Domestic Terminal. After another hour of waiting, I was on my way into Canada. It was still early morning and the sun was just beginning to warm the land, or at least that's what they say. To me, born and bred in the tropics, I really couldn't tell except for the fact that it seemed to be shining well enough but the usual burning sensations were oddly missing.

As the final leg of my journey commenced, I finally had time to really take in the sights. Looking out my plane window, I was struck first by the vast emptiness of the land below. For miles on end, one could see acres upon acres of green forests or brown farmland. The roads and buildings much too sparse in between and the mountains in the distance seemed impossibly.

A short 30 minutes or so later, I was in Vancouver International. Here, the famed Immigration Officer made his presence felt. I felt throroughly like a common criminal trying to establish an illegal import business of banned Chinese drugs or someone who was the front runner of an illicit asian-bride smuggling network. It was at least an hour before I cleared immigration and customs to exit into the bright Vancouver late morning sun. A car was there to meet me, curteousy of the University's International House who had volunteers mainly made up of professors and lecturers who gave time to pick-up international students. His greeting was both warm and sincere, a very nice change to that first Canadian I had ever met in my life who had probably now gone on to harrass yet another poor bone-weary student newly arrived from yet another country on the other side of the globe.

As the car pulled out of the parking lot, I told him it was my birthday and he wished me a very happy birthday, and since it was only about 11am in the morning of the 24th of August 1991, I still had another 12 odd hours to celebrate. I smiled, wishing more for a soft bed and pillow than anything else in the world. He chatted away happily as I nodded off sleepily in his car, a very tired and travel weary first year student literally thousands of miles away from home on the opening phases of his longest ever birthday present.