Motorcycle trauma and the helmet that goes with it

A few days ago, my colleague taught me the basics of... well...starting and moving a motorcycle. In a secluded street in the middle of the day it was easy to go, break, go, break, in a speed and lane of my choosing, where all the cars are parked. I was ecstatic that I learned something new yet again, so I bought a trendy new helmet to go with it, one that looks like an ordinary cap but is made with real helmet material for serious motorists. And so I wore that helmet today, my first day out on the road with the motorbike issued by the office-every staff can have one if they don't own a car or bicycle. My colleague who had lent me her bicycle rode alongside a little bit of the way on her own motorbike but soon I proceeded alone to navigate the busy roads to my gym near the Chiang Mai airport.

I realised quickly whenever I neared any intersection with a red traffic light that I have trouble coordinating the brake with the gas. To my horror, it dawned on me that the left foot pedals where one raises or lowers gears are not suited to the size of my left foot. Meanwhile the right handle bar of the motorcycle where the 'gas' is, is also where the only hand brake is. I am also completely unaccustomed to balancing my weight on a motorcycle at low speeds, such that if I try to squeeze between cars like other motorbike drivers, I WOBBLE!

By the time I got to the moat in the middle of the city I swore that I wouldn't be sweating this much from nervousness if I was on a bicycle. But pour it did, and I had no choice but to take it all the way. I had to look down to shift gears, which is extremely dangerous in these busy rush hour streets. Each time I reach for the hand brake my palm rubs against the gas too so my bike jumps instead of braking! I should have known better than to get too close to other motorists. At the intersection near the mall where my gym is, what happened was exactly as I feared: at the red light I tried to squeeze into the lane between motorcycles and cars, at the same time trying to catch the down shift and braking with the hand. I had completely forgotten my foot brake and had jumped my bike into the motorcycle in front of me, where a lady was driving her son home from school. Luckily it wasn't a hard bump as I was almost stopping already. I apologised profusely, not letting on that I am inexperienced and am driving without a license. I also asked if I was on the right lane...just to keep them from focusing on the small 'bump'.

As if this was not enough, as soon as I put my hands on the handles the bike jumped again and again it plowed into the side of the car to my right. This time a boy got out to look at the paint. I honestly don't know how I got out of that one. There was a little scratch, but it seemed that the boy was more concerned whether I dented the car. He simply went back inside and all of us started up at the green light, and went our way.

The last thing I needed, being already shaken up by the car incident, was to lose my concentration while entering the parking space at the mall. Having trouble navigating small entrances/exits I AGAIN nearly plowed into the parking lot attendant. This time I was sure they were going to call the police because they looked as shocked as I am. Surely this has never happened to them before...EVER! Finally I got my ticket and asked as casually as I can (although I could feel my voice shaking) in English-so as to be taken as the "silly foreigner" instead of the looney local, "is there a payment for parking?".

Upon reaching the gym I was physically shaking with the stress and anxiety. I never wanted to use that motorcycle again, but how will I get home? In a place where everything closes at 9:00pm wasn't I excited about having the motorbike so I could stay late and drive home any time I wanted? Wasn't the motorbike my ticket to the late night bars, night market, karaoke and far away temples and parks?

I was in a daze, like someone who was involved in an accident but couldn't believe she got out alive... I glared at my trainor in case she asks me to start with a warm up. But I found myself stepping on a warm up machine, absent mindedly doing my exercises. I was in shock. My hands were shaking on the machine bars. My eyes were unfocused. I had to compose myself because it's not like my Pilates session will calm my nerves-- in fact it will stretch my body like torture!"Should I go on with this or should I just go home--NO NO-- home means using that bike again..."

"My God I really have to get my own bicycle now because I already told my colleague she can take hers back since I've "learned" to drive the motorbike..."

I realised that one, well...one, I was praying--here-- in the middle of my exercise. Two, that I am in such a trauma to get me praying here and now. Three, I have to tell somebody and get help calming myself down. There was no one else I can call (hands still shaking too badly to hold the phone) except my trainor. So while pushing the pilates pads I told her about my ordeal. She was shocked that I could attempt to go on this 'SUV-speeding' highway on my first motorbike ride (but speed wasn't my problem, it was slowing down and navigating the narrow spaces...). The fact that she looked truly afraid for me made me doubt my decision to do this. But, as my friend Juliette says: "in my heart"... I knew I had to try it. I mean, where else will I learn? On a video game?

The tremors didn't go away during my Pilates exercise so my trainor sought to help me relax by showing me pictures of nearby lakes and parks around the city which I can visit, and by reminding me of the upcoming flower festival. But she couldn't help herself from stressing "this one is just an hour's bicycle ride...this one not 20 minutes on bicycle...here I can take you on MY motorbike". So sweet of her but also so telling of my future fate with the motorized world. I wanted to cry...she must've seen my face because finally she said: "you will get used to it and then it will get better". I wanted to hug her but my torso was entangled in the chain and bars of the...thing.

At last my training session ended and I dreaded going out to the parking lot. I did not want to stay later than 9:00 pm after all.I had dinner to buy me some more time. Finally all the shops closed. My footsteps became heavy and my heart started pounding as I made my way to the motorbike. I became wobbly again at the narrow exit gates of the parking lot and had to literally throw the parking ticket I was returning, to the attendant. I made a mental note to use the other parking lot next time, because this one surely knows by now and I can't return to it without a license.

Fortunately my ride home was less eventful and thankfully, with lesser cars on the road (Jesus, people really turn in early here). I've made a successful second run on Mahidol highway, and finally turned into the street leading to my condo. My shakes were gone by the time I reached the condo parking lot and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Tomorrow I am taking this motorbike to the office but will go home with the bicycle.

When I reached my room I texted my trainor to thank her for listening to me. She texted back her reassurance and confirmed that when we do go to the lake it will be my turn to help her overcome her fear of drowning by teaching her how to swim. It's a good deal.

Goodnight Trainor Cooper, I look forward to that lake.

Life in Colour

I should have been a film professional. I didn't know that in the beginning, when I was starting out in the university. Although I wouldn't be listening unless people shouted "down with something!", if someone had just hinted that maybe I should shift to film journalism or something that is connected with film, I think I would have seriously considered it. Except at that time a popular actor named Richard Gomes was also in film class. I was so repelled by this actor, who was nowhere as attractive as my brother or cousins, I didn't join the class for fear of being branded a film enrolee after his attentions. During his term in college the film class swelled to four times its normal size! Of course there were also students who turned out to be well respected broadcasters and film directors with whom I was proudly acquainted in that department. But at that time yes, they were thought to have taken up film because they are fans. True, they had a unique courage to endure that kind of humiliation.

Almost twenty years hence I have not lost my interest in watching good films despite my brain's unfortunate lack of memory space to recall all the endings. Provided with almost every opportunity and convenience to go to a spa or a bar after work hours, my first impulse would still be to line up at the cinema.

Before reaching my teens we had our first betamax machine. My father immediately spent most of his small salary purchasing many classic films. Most of them he had wanted to see when he was young but was too poor to afford the cinema. My sister and I would cuddle up beside him and watch one after another until we fell asleep, but this was only done during weekends when school was out. Gradually betamax was replaced by laser disks and then VCDs then DVDs. My Dad's betamax tapes had molded over a long time ago. And before he could change the machine he had already retired. Years later when he visited me in my workplace outside the country, he saw the same films now in DVDs in my collection. He was so happy I remembered the titles, and that works of favourites like Alfred Hitchkock Mysteries and the Pink Panther had been so readily available.

It is one of my regrets that I do not work in this industry. Film has changed the world in a decade more than radio or print did in fifty. It continues to depict the realities of life in its most beautiful and terrible faces, while giving flight to humanity's greatest dreams. The so-called idiot box has become the one mass educator for people who could not go to school. It has connected us in more ways than we can imagine. Generations before could not have "pictured" a future where watching a movie in the palm of one's hand can be done while writing a letter and chatting with friends at the same time -- on the same machine. Yet this was the subject of early film makers' so called "science fiction" themes wasn't it?

So I decided that if I wasn't going to be one of its creators I could surely be an avid spectator. And keep to what I know-- writing about it.