After the briefing, we started walking slowly in single file on the pedestrian pavement, with all our five senses obvious to the surroundings.  Our faculty is on the hilly part of the uni – the best part actually.  Our uni’s ‘University in the Garden’ concept is to maintain the greenery in order to sustain the environment, so there are quite a number of thick forest reserved areas here.  Unfortunately, due to the persistent dry spell, there were more browns than greens we saw as we walked up the hill.

After a while, we stopped for a breather at a spacious lawn facing one of the office buildings.  As I observed my students, I noticed how absorbed they were in their thoughts.  Some were sitting on the grass, jotting down notes; some pulling out dry grass, their eyes wandering around to register details; some standing, with their eyes fixed on a certain tree; some leaning against boulders, sketching a certain landmark; some squatting, scrutinising tiny insects and their huge homes.  No one complaint of the heat, though some were perspiring like a leaking pipeline. No one glanced at their watches.  No one was in a hurry to leave. They were just engrossed in their own observation, unperturbed by the slowly increasing traffic. As the office hours end, c ars started to build in numbers, moving slowly on the tarred road passing us by.  Since it is uncommon to have this kind of class exercise, we attracted curious on-lookers.  Some of my colleagues honked; some waved; and some even stopped by to enquire.

We then continued our idle walk.  Our next stop was at the peak of the VC Rock. The view there was breathtaking.  From the high ground we could see the bumper to bumper crawl on the Penang Bridge at the distance; the inviting recreational Jerejak Island on the opposite side; the massive jam on the road below; the plush greenery of the virgin forest; the many many coconut trees amidst the concrete jungle; felt the pang of the hot dry wind on our faces; heard the chirping of birds; inhaled a more purified air. 

We proceeded a little more before we reached the carpark where we first started. Some of the students moaned that it was too short a walk, that there were so many more to see, to hear, to touch, to smell, and to feel – if only we had more time.  Some of them had started to miss the outing already, and were looking forward for the next one.  Before I dismissed the class, I reiterated what they were supposed to do and gave them a week to complete the haibun. 

Later when I had compiled their haibuns, I was so impressed by their write-ups, a real consolation.  Most of the students’ haibuns were good, some were really outstanding.  I sent some for Alan to read, and he was equally marveled at the students’ performance.

Haibun has since been taught as a part of our LHP 453 - Creative Writing course module.

Below is a beautiful haibun written by one of my students.  As Alan says, it is inspiring to see what results we can get when we give our students the freedom to be themselves…and even to leave the classroom for a change!

LHP 453 – CREATIVE WRITING 

Haibun 

The route we take is one that is not unfamiliar to me, but we walk out in the hot sun, and I am not overly fond of that great ball of fire.  The moment we step out from the building, the shadows clash with the brazen sunlight, and the heat sneaks up even to where we stand.  The hill before us is dry and brown and empty; a cheerless hill, but I suppose it doesn’t have much to be happy about with our Students’ Affairs Office perched intrusively on its levelled peak. 

Joy in concrete, or

Joy in grass

It vanishes anyway... 

There are many trees in the area; in the whole university, thanks to our spunky little ‘garden university’ concept.  But some say it breeds ghosts.  The first tree we see is a hideous old thing, overlarge with twisting, grasping branches.  The bark is nearly black in some places, and here and there are spots of pale green lichens.  And altogether wicked-looking tree, worthy of several hauntings. 

An elfin cage

So many arms rising up

Grasping the sky. 

There is an almost unbroken hedge of ixora lining the side of the road.  There is something stiff and dead about them, and even the pointed orange flowers look dusty and tired.  The leaves have oily black spots on them, the fragile twigs are peeling.  How miserable it is to be a roadside flower. 

Can a flower yearn for love?

I am a heartless watcher

Looking down from above. 

The higher up we go, the lovelier it is.  It is still hot, but the trees lend us some cooling air.  This is the part where the hill slopes off steeply, down into a rolling green land that is clean and peaceful and an entirely separate world from our book-bags and deadlines.  Some trees way down there resemble pine trees, with dark needly arms.  I half expect a house to appear, frolicking beneath it. 

Worlds within worlds against worlds

An inner-planetary turmoil

Blunted by a chance of escape. 

We sit down on this magical hill, at the edge of two worlds.  The grass is dead, but the earth is alive.  Insects, black and brown and multicoloured, with heavy bosoms or cinched waists or narrow figures scuttle through the dried grass.  Busy little automatons.  I wonder if they know fear.  Beside us is a tree that I remember seeing in Kuching. The bark is a gentle gray, and the branches grow outwards, then upwards, so that it has created curved sitting boughs.  Higher up, the branches break into hundreds of spaghetti fingers, some of them grasping bright flowers. 

Fluttering yellow rain

Leaves giving up the ghost

Even the candy blooms fall. 

Moving along, we pass my favourite part.  Behind the bus stop, there is a staircase.  It is a storytelling staircase, and has fairytale steps that are ugly and misshapen and which disappear down into the overgrown grass.  Myths live down at the bottom of the steps, and little pixies with ragged wings watch your awkward descent.  Before you think I am insane, I am perfectly aware that this is not the case.  I just like to imagine it is. 

There is another world somewhere

At the bottom of some stairs

In the middle of nowhere. 

Looking out, we can see beyond the boundaries of our university.  The traffic swarms within its grey confines and oceans spread beyond even the heavy freighters and the mind’s eye.  Even then come the sounds of some bird, enthusiastic in its searching call, breaking the spell of modernity.  A huge tree, dark almost to black dominates a part of the scenery.  Its delicate leaves mingle with the fan-like foliage of a parasite plant.  It looks so pretty, but it is rotting inside.  It is dying. 

Sun-dappled leaves

Of a tree dying slowly

Strangled by lovely parasites 

On our way back, we pass the same joyless hill, but this time there are pairs of magpies rustling against it, and vagrant mynahs perching upon it.  A magpie spreads one wing, elegantly black with a shock of white, and then flutters away at the sight of us clumsy humans.  

Soon there are no more birds, as all have fled for fear of us.  We are again where we started, only now we are filled with images and poetry. 

Samantha Joseph.  USM, Penang, Malaysia