"Hi. My name is Alex. Alex Lee Kah Wai.  I arrived in Melbourne 3 weeks ago.  I am of Malaysian Chinese extract and I'm happy to meet all of you." 
"Thank you Alex.  12 Brown welcomes you to McKinnon High."
"Now, class, please try and make Alex feel at home during his year with us."

12 Brown is led by a smiling Mrs. Blake. As well as being our homeroom teacher, she is also our English teacher.  Conservatively dressed and armed with a shiny leather briefcase, she is attractive, aged somewhere in her mid-30s.  Her chiseled porcelain face is contrasted boldly by her lustrous burgundy hair tied back in a bun.  Speaking with a hint of Irish, she seems extremely reasonable to me.  So reasonable that we make our own class rules!  Back home, we don't dare speak to our teachers like that, although at times it would have been nice to be able to have a little bit of input into the class.  The consequence for unruly behaviour is punishment through public humiliation. The sight of some naughty kids being hauled up for public caning during school assemblies is still fresh in my mind.  Publicly branded as the school's outcasts, I don’t ever remember hearing their pain but I’ve certainly seen the humiliation in their eyes. 

The classroom smells! I know it has been a warm day but it's not as humid as in Malaysia.  I don't remember my Malaysian classroom smelling.  Sweat and pheromones - something about these Aussie youths. You can really smell their energy -so full of life and vitality, so unlike ours at home.  We don't interrupt; we only speak when spoken to.  We don't lounge in the class; we sit upright.  We don't horse around in class; we concentrate. We have more respect, for everyone. 

By recess, I've already been introduced to so many that all their names are simply a jumbled mess in my mind.  Everyone is so friendly.  I feel so welcomed.  At times I do feel a bit like a novelty act.  I am more than aware of the hushed whisperings and furtive glances around the schoolyard or along the corridors when I walk past.  I assume that it is because I'm the only foreign Asian student around.
The school has a few other Asian kids but they are born here. I guess being a Year 12 student who doesn't have to wear school uniform also sets me apart. 

"Now, you've come to work out the subjects you'll be doing for your H.S.C."
"Yes Miss Greenbaum.  I am going to study Medicine."
She looks very taken by my forthright comment.
"Well… that's sorted out then," she half resigns.
"… But that is what my father says and that is what I would like to be.  I know it's difficult to get into Medicine.  I'll need very high scores in the exams.  So please help me get it."
Tilting her head, and gathering her brows into a slight frown, she squints at me from across the top of her reading glasses.  She looks lost in thoughts.  Suddenly realising her pose, she excuses herself.
"Well, …uhm… you'll need your Science and Maths."
" Alright, I'll take up Biology, Chemistry, Physics, and Maths.  What else do I need to be a doctor?"
"You will also take up English as that is compulsory.  However, in your case, you will be doing E.S.L. - English as A Second Language."
"Why?"  I turn to her, with a mixture of surprise and visible indignance.
She does not notice my concern. 
" Well, you are from a non-English speaking country and you have been in the country for less than six years.  So, you qualify for ESL."
"… but I've sat for and passed my English Entrance Exams at the Australian High Commission in Kuala Lumpur.  My English is not that bad."
She waits.
" I just want to be like everyone else and to be judged equally academically as any other Australian students and still become a doctor without any help."

Returning to her pose, she adds,
"…well, look at it as a bonus for you.  With your good English, you can achieve a higher score."
I nod but deep inside, I still feel like a charity-case.
"So far, you have 5 subjects.  That's good."
"Can I do more?  Will it help me get better scores?"
"Six is the maximum. Every extra subject adds 10% to your final score."
"I'll do six subjects then."
"Please remember Alex that you are new to the country and you'll need time to adjust to living here without your parents.  Attempting six subjects would be adding undue pressure on yourself."

"What about Music? Can I do Music as a subject?"
"Yes, of course, but have you considered what I said?"
"I guess so but I'm sure that Music will give me with the relaxation I need as well as getting some extra points."
"Hmm. If that's what you want…" as she presses her lips together and shrugs in surrender with both hands.
"…anyway, don't hesitate coming back to chat if you have any problems, alright?"
"Thank you very much Miss Greenbaum."
"Good luck Alex."

"What are you doing this weekend Alex?"
"I'm moving house, again."
"From Hudson Street?"
"Yes, to the old white house right next to the school, round the corner from the 7-Eleven."
"Why? How come you didn't tell me? Hey, I'm supposed to be your good mate."
"I only found out this afternoon; plus Dean, I didn't really want to trouble anyone."
"What trouble? I'll give you a hand."
"Dean, I only have very little to move."
"Doesn't matter.  We'll still do it."
"Well, thanks.  I'm sick of moving.  It has only been a month and I've already lived at two places and now heading for my third."
"Hey! Third time lucky.  Anyway, what happened man?"
"… this lady I board with in Hudson Street, well, she's been acting very strange for the last few weeks.  I was preparing my dinner one evening and she walked ever so casually into the kitchen wearing nothing- she was starkers!"
"Whoa man, how come you've never told me this before?  Is she sexy?"
"Don't be disgusting Dean, I had the fright of my life.  I was embarrassed for her.  She's a bit old for me - she's in her late 40s."
"So what happened?"
"Nothing, idiot. She smiled, I looked away and she disappeared into her bedroom.  I thought it was a once off, but since then, she has been making similar appearances in the public areas of the house but much more regularly."
" I happen to mention this to Mr. Carson this afternoon."
"What were you doing at the principal's office?  You're in trouble eh?"
"No! He just wanted to find out how I'm settling into the school. On top of that, I wanted to ask him if I could use the school's auditorium piano for practice."
Sensing that I'm starting to lose Dean, I return to his question.
"Anyway, I also happen to mention my landlady and what has been happening.  So, after a few phonecalls, he told me that I could rent the school's house.  I saw no better alternatives and that is why I'm moving."

"Man, I hear that house is haunted."
"Thanks a lot Dean.  I shall sleep tight tomorrow night."
"I didn’t know that you, a man of science, believe in the supernatural."
" No I don't but anyway, I was always told that a person who has not harmed anyone should not fear anything, especially from the supernatural."
"Look, I'm just pulling your leg.  The house belongs to the school and I hear they used to let the school janitor live there."
"Yeah, that's what Mr. Carson said too.  Apparently the current janitor lives nearby with his mom, so the house is empty and now I've got it."
"Have you had a look inside yet?"
"Yes.  Briefly."
"It's bare and large.  Three double bedrooms altogether and a large lounge room."
"There's a single bed, heater, stove, uhm… a fridge, and an old couch.  Not sure if all the appliances work though."
"You'll be right.  We'll sort it out."
Ah, that familiar Aussie mantra of 'you'll be right' - a bandaid for all problems

 "There’ll be lots that I need to buy."
 "Look, I'll ask mum and dad if they have anything they don't need.  We'll get you going."
"Thanks but don’t go to too much trouble.” 
"I'll help you move too, and then you can come over to my place for dinner."
Getting visibly excited, he continues mischievously.
"I'll walk you home, bring over my sleeping bag and sleep over.  Maybe tell some ghost stories.  How's that?"
"Great. I look forward to eating your mom's cooking again."
"O.K. Catcha.  I've got to get home to practise before dad comes home."

Dean has adopted me since my first band practice. I was bored with just playing solo piano and so I asked Mr. Hunt the band conductor if I can join them as a keyboardist.  Following that short conversation, I am now learning the trombone.

Dean is a year younger than I, doing his Year 11. He plays the trumpet and plays it pretty well.  He is stocky and yet agile, with an impish mischievous face.  Dean's Italian - a wog which I'm sometimes allowed to call him - but only in jest.  When I found out how much he struggles with his schoolwork, I started tutoring him and helping him with his homework at his house after school, twice a week.  Mr. and Mrs. Mantone treat me like a son because "I help their babyson (named after Dean Martin) get better grades".  Dean doesn't really have a head for dry academic subjects.  His entire head is filled with the trumpet and music. 

Dean's passion for the trumpet is undeniable.  It actually borders obsession.  Posters of all shapes and sizes of his idol - Wynton Marsalis, adorn his room which is really a bungalow at the back of the family home.  His parents decided to banish him there after he started getting interested in playing the trumpet.  I don't mind listening to him practise although I find that scales sound just as boring played on the trumpet.  What I look forward to most while lying in his beanbag, is listening to his customary musical wanderings after the practise.  With his eyes closed, temporarily lost to the world, his body fuses with his instrument as he improvises - making up sounds and colours; phrases with puncutations.

At times, I temporarily mute the sound to my ears, and just observe him.  Bent slightly at the knees, he would crouch his upper torso into his instrument - focussing to search and produce the sounds and shades that he wants.  He leans and rocks in sync to the phrasing while his strong arms clutches firmly onto this extension, saluting the room as he shapes and releases each phrase.  Throughout all this, his stubby fingers would work the well- oiled pistons, 'tapping out' the tension that is powered by his thick lips pressed hard against the cold brass mouthpiece. 

Thanks to Dean, I now possess a growing collection of trumpet music cassettes.  Although I am greeted and welcomed warmly by everyone in the school, I have befriended few.  Within this small circle, he is my most constant friend. Dean is practising hard for his AMEB Trumpet exams which is in two months time in April.  I have agreed to accompany him on the piano for his exams.

"Hello? Susan?"
"Yes, Kah Wai! Hi!"
"I've got something to tell you… I'm moving."
"What?  What happened babe?"
"Uhm…, well, you know Mrs Hill, well… she has sort of been flashing at me.."
"What!?  You really mean that she… oh shit!… Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I was going to.. after your exams but I ended up telling Mr Carson today.  So he handled everything and found me a place to move into.  He even spoke to Mrs Hill."
"OK.  Thank God.  Now… where is it?  Is it far?  What's it like?"
"Calm down Susan, it's the house next door to the school.  I've checked it out.  Its fine."
I try sounding as positive as possible.
"Are you sure?  Do you want me to come over and have a look at it?"
"No.  It's not necessary.  Anyway, I've already agreed to it.  I'm moving tomorrow."
"What!?"
"I said, I'm going to move…"
"Yes I heard you.  I'll come over to help you move."
"There's no need to.  You're still in the middle of your exams.  Dean is going to help me and it's only around the corner from this place."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure, I 'll be right."
"You're starting to sound like an Aussie" she lets out a snort of a laugh.
"Well, call me and let me know how you go with your move.  I'll drop by this weekend to visit and check it out."
"Sure. No worries."
She lets out another snorty laugh.
"I'll drop by the Uni. Accommodation Office tomorrow and inform them about our salacious widow Mrs Hill.  I'm sorry.  My friends have never had problems using their services before."
"That's fine.  We didn't know that this would happen.  Anyway, staying in your flat and sleeping on the floor in your room was not a long term solution."
"Anyway, that's why I'm calling and also to wish you luck for tomorrow's paper."
"Thanks.  Remember.  Call me tomorrow OK?"
"Sure. Good night!"
"Good night."

From the public phone booth, I decide to go for a stroll and take a path home.  It is a balmy night.  The full moon hangs low, casting a long shadow over my stride.  My first full moon in a foreign land.  Gazing up at it, I am reminded of home, of Malaysia.  Born on a full moon, this satellite occupies a special significance in my life.  Though it may not be visible every night, I know that it is there.  It is my constant.  The only constant in my constantly changing life.

Prior to leaving Malaysia, I had made a pact with my friends that each time we look up to the night skies and see the full moon, we should be reminded of each other. Though separated by vast distances, we agreed to use its presence; its illumination as our link to each other - a sort of memory jog of our friendship, our times together and our affections for each other. 

I suddenly yearn to be home. People say that 'there is no place like home'. But where is my home? Is it the one I had plotted for years to leave? The one I return to tonight or is it the one I will move into tomorrow?   None of these satisfy me.  For now, I just want be supplanted from this continuous up-rooting that's taking place in my life.  My dreams seem so distant to me at this moment - so inconsequential to my needs. 
I look around me and try searching for the familiar but see none. Only the moon. 

I stare hard at the moon, willing it to conjure up images of my friends and to find a glimpse of my past.  But the moon is unyielding and silent tonight.  It looks alone and sad, sagging low, barely clearing the rooftops and struggling to lift itself up into the night skies. 

With another gaze, I try once more to find some comfort from my constant and 
wonder how many of my friends are thinking of me tonight.
 

Tuck Leong