We approach a bend at 150 km/h. Suddenly my cab driver lets go the wheel, jerks around in his seat and starts hissing like a snake.

I freeze in the backseat. Is he for real? He seemed so normal when I boarded the cab at KLIA.

“Senawang," I had said.

“Senawang…” He jokingly added, “Bukan Sungei Wang ah?”

I said “Sungei Wang sudah tutup la.”

He gave a small laugh and we were off – routine small talk for a routine cab ride.

However, within the first minute, I realized that my journey tonight was to be anything but routine.

He picked up speed way too quickly and drove too close to the divider. And this is before we even get to the highway.

Now, as we approach our first bend, he suddenly lets go the wheel, performs some “silat” movements (local martial arts) and starts hissing and snorting.

I’m tempted to pray in tongues – thinking that there might be more than just the two of us in the cab. But faith gives way to logic, and I foolishly stop myself for fear that my prayers will cause him to manifest and drive the cab into a divider. Sigh, when will I ever learn to trust?

Halfway into this bizarre journey, I notice a pattern. He becomes subhuman only when there’s a car blocking his path. Using his fingers, he seems to be “using the force” to get the guy in front to let him pass – failing which, he would lapse into another bout of cabbie kung-fu – all this while pushing 150 (naturally with rock music blasting in the background).

When we approach the toll, I’m curious as to how he would handle himself. Lo and behold, the moment the window goes down, he becomes Mr. Polite, and even manages a smile, a nod and a “thank you”.

“Oh good”, I thought. “Jet Li will behave himself now.” Alas, the moment the windows go up, pedal hits metal again. And again, the bouts of highway karate follow suit.

My journey ends none too soon in Seremban Garden. He stops the car in front to my parents’ house. Then, like a switch, he’s back to normal. He gets out of the cab and offers to help me with my luggage – mocking me, pretending that he’s the most normal guy in the world.

As he gets into the cab, I can’t help but ask if he’s OK. He nods, smiles and drives off into the still night.

You've been in the city too long when you stop to stare at a blinkin' butterfly.

Welcome to The Villas Lumbung in beautiful Bali. Over here, life switches gears whether you like it or not.

Brian and I came to a jerk stop from 6th gear to 2nd during dinner last night. Suddenly we realized we had something the poor sods back in KL didn’t: Time. Over here, seconds feel like minutes – literally. And minutes feel like minutes lah – takkan minutes feel like hours rite? Get real man.

This morning was pretty much like last night. We were on a slow cruise through Thursday. After breakfast, I took the scenic route back to my villa. I came to a sudden stop when the butterfly fluttered by. The thought of being stopped by an insect made me conclude that I really need to get out more often.

I’ve been citified. My jungle is grey. The only animals I know are jackasses, bitches and road hogs. On a good day, I work like a dog. On a bad day, I feel like a dog. Upon reaching home, Hazel is still working like a dog. Like lemmings we follow the sucker in front as he dives into this masochistic routine. Is this really our lot in life? Or are we conforming to how the media equates “doing well” with fame and fortune?

(The media? Hey, that’s me. I tell people what’s cool. They follow what we say, and then on the street, I try to copy them… sheeeesh!)

And while we’re on the subject of fame – the Spikes were just given out 2 hours ago. We walked out of the ceremony empty-handed, save for our handphones – which we used to call our better halves to whine. 1 year of hard work deemed not good enough by a roomful of industry gurus. What makes losing so infuriating, and to a certain extent, worrying?

The song “Money makes the world go round” comes to mind. Awards lead to recognition which leads to respect which leads to poaching which leads to you asking for the sky. Everyone does it. Once you’ve done it, you start over so you can do it again. Those who stop are not the ones who’ve made their money. Those who stop are the absurd few who dare say “enough”.

Unless the Lord leads me, I feel that 34 is not the time to say "enough". So life as I know it will go on until or unless led otherwise. My bogus Bali getaway will end all too quickly. Soon I will be in my aquarium again, slogging in the concrete jungle with the hopes that it will lead me to a bigger jungle with even more concrete.

I managed to unwind for 12 hours. That’s it. Even before my day ends, my mind is forced to think ads. So here I sit, in my Villa, on my huge king-sized bed – thinking of ads when I should be thinking about nothing. So here goes. Dani, Khai, Brian, Zayn, Bill, boss, subordinate, competitor, Mr. Client, here’s proof that I’m thinking…

Open on a gorgeous girl. She’s holding a bottle of beer. She speaks expressionlessly to someone off screen.

Chick: I wanna breakup. You are too short and too poor.

Cut to short guy dressed plainly, looking quite speechless.

Fade to black. Supers appear:

ICE COLD

Bottle of beer fades in.