The Rambling Mind: Reflections from the Malay Fisherman's Jetty
Chapter from "The Aleutian Blues and Other Migrations"
By Cheeseburger Buddha
I still spend time staring out to the horizon at Mie's Pondok at the Jelutong Malay Fisherman's Jetty, just off the Lim Chong Eu Freeway. This will always be my port—a place where I can sit and simply be. For more than ten years, this jetty has held my presence in quiet witness—smoking, reading, looking beyond the horizon into the unmanifested scape of my subconscious… stoned or sober.
My buddy paddles by, heading to his favorite fishing hole. I sit back and ponder: what is reality? What are space and time? Who or what is God? How do I fit into all of this?
I lost a close friend not long ago, and the place has changed much. My visits are rarer now. But during Ramadan, especially, this place becomes my hermitage. I sit here in the stillness of fasting, contemplating the unknown, meditating upon questions that might never be answered.
“Honor and respect must be earned and returned,” I’ve come to understand. It’s how we develop trust—from heart to heart, fostering relationships built on love, understanding, and compassion.
I believe the collective Human Mind/Spirit has projected this existence into being. Each of us contributes, thinking the world into reality. Sometimes I recline in my deck chair facing Bukit Mertajam far in the distance, addicted to thought—wild, tangential, unfiltered. If people could hear what goes on in my head, they might call me insane. Perhaps I am. But I cover my tracks well, so I appear more like a thinker than a dreamer. Among the Penang Mamaks, I am ‘Mamu.’ In Kedah, they call the eldest Pak Long or Wan. And so, the mind rambles…
Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream…
We are all adrift in this vast dream boat, sailing through unknown waters. I am the skipper of my own ship, the director of my movie. I am the master of my space and circumstance.
"So sail on, silver girl, sail on by...
Your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way..."
—Simon & Garfunkel, Bridge Over Troubled Water
Human connection is sacred. We need one another, across all layers of relationship. It is through these relationships that we preserve honor and dignity—the essence of being human.
The Buddha is said to have declared:
“Place no man above or below you, for there is none greater than you.”
This is the Dharma seat, the original mask we wore before we were born. Whatever roles I’ve played—artist, dreamer, father, wanderer—I sometimes feel like I’m simply spinning in circles, pretending to do something useful or creative. But for those who read, perhaps something real is passed on.
“Sitting at the dock of the bay, wasting time...”
I dedicate this chapter to all my friends at the Fisherman's Jetty—those who let me into their lives and their humble sanctuary. From them I learned humility, the meaning of respect, how to love cats and share meals. This jetty, this tiny corner of the universe, became my sacred ground.
January 1st, 2025: A Mirror of the Soul
If the external world reflects the inner state, then on this first morning of 2025, I must be doing alright. The sea is like a mirror, birdsong fills the air, and I feel at home among my longtime friends.
This has always been where I come when I need to chill, and today was no exception. The still water reflects the sky as if offering a silent promise for the new year. Whatever lies ahead—be it challenge or blessing—I am ready. At my age, I’ve little to lose and everything to accept.
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Just a mile away from my birthplace in 1949, this location didn’t even exist back then. These huts were built on reclaimed land, extending into the sea. The low hill in the distance is a landfill. What you see—stilts poking from the water—once held fishermen's huts where they stored nets and gear.
This place reminds me constantly of impermanence. Some of my dearest friends here have already passed on. The jetty may soon vanish too, swallowed by concrete and progress. I visit less often now, feeling the subtle detachment of farewell.
Like Green Gulch Farm in California or Sand Point in Alaska, this was my retreat—a place of quiet practice, though I didn’t always realize it at the time. I was simply escaping the humdrum, trying to survive life with a little more awareness.
"The devil," I say, "is in the details."
And I could write books on the details I've experienced here—how each place and moment awakened my mind just a little more.
Now, I'm making my Hijrah, as Muslims say—a spiritual and physical migration. From Georgetown to the East Coast. From past to future. This move is inevitable. I feel it. It’s time.
In the stillness of the ocean I found the truth:
I do not belong in one place, but everywhere.
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