Prologue: In the Wake of the Wind - written for my intended book.

 

Prologue: In the Wake of the Wind

There are places in this world where the wind doesn’t just howl—it speaks.

It carries the voices of the old gods, of wandering spirits, of ancient longing. And sometimes, if you’re quiet enough, it speaks to you.

I was born in a mangrove tidal village called Sungai Pinang, Kampung Selut, Pulau Pinang, Malaysia. where barefoot boys built dreams out of driftwood and the scent of brine clung to everything. There, the wind had its own secrets. But it wasn’t until I stood on the docks of Sand Point, Alaska—cold, broke, and invisible to the world—that I heard it speak directly into my soul.

Some journeys begin with a map.
Mine began with a whisper.

I’ve never been content just reading about life or talking about it.
I’ve walked into it—raw and unprepared.

I’ve meditated in cremation grounds.
I’ve crossed borders with barely enough for a meal.
I’ve sailed the violent womb of the Bering Sea.
I’ve sketched sacred temples and strip joints.
I’ve eaten peyote in the desert of Arizona and stared down the urge to end my life more than once, in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

What you are about to read is not fiction.
It is a living journal of memory—scarred, blessed, haunted, and grateful.

It is the story of a boy from Sungai Pinang, who went looking for God in the freezing mists of the Aleutian Islands, and found parts of himself scattered like salt across continents.

This is my way of remembering what cannot be forgotten.

This is The Aleutian Blues.