Early Mornings

I am not a morning person. Up until I was a teenager, I'm pretty sure I never saw a sunrise unless it was from an airplane (and even that was rare--I tended to sleep the entire 24 hour trip) or the few days I suffered from jet lag after every trip from Singapore to America or vice versa. I always enjoyed those days, though. My whole family being awake at three or four in the morning, and just hanging out until the sun came up. Then we would walk in the early morning coolness (although even that was hot to us after being in America) to the roti prata shop and enjoy the breakfast we had missed so badly while we were gone.
Even though I enjoyed those early mornings, as soon as jet lag was over, I was back to sleeping in until nine or so (one of the joys of being homeschooled). When I was seventeen, I got a job at a daycare that required me to wake up at 6:00 AM. I set my alarm and asked my dad to make sure I woke up. I took it for granted that he would already be awake--he's the only early riser in our family. While I didn't enjoy the actual waking up, I did enjoy heading out of the house while the world was just waking up. I actually kept getting up early even after that job was over, but before too much longer, I remembered how much I enjoyed sleeping in.
My next job was at Mcdonalds the summer before I started college. My brother and I both got the morning shift from 4:30 to 1:00. We figured that way we could get our work out of the way in the morning and have the rest of the day to do stuff. We were kinda wrong. We ended up going to bed as soon as we got home in the afternoon and basically sleeping until we had to leave for work the next morning. We were so exhausted all the time. Jody drove us in my awesome car, Blue32, and one morning he drove down the wrong side of the divided highway. When I pointed this out, he switched lanes. We jumped at the chance to change to the daytime shift.
Of course, in college, I had to wake up early every morning except for Saturday. Although some of my fondest memories from college are the Saturday mornings when my brother and I would get up early and go to Krispy Kreme or Bagel Heads, just the two of us. Now whenever I have the chance to go out early in the morning, those mornings are what I think of.
With all these fond memories, you'd think I'd be happy when Gehrig wakes me up at seven.

Singapore Memories v.1: The Van

Something got me thinking about our old van the other day, and I started telling Mike stories about it. It had personality for sure. Since I was only four when we got it and eight when we got rid of it, I only have vague memories of it in itself, but I do remember some stories involving it.
It was an old Ford van--this picture was the closest thing I could find to how I remember it. I have no clue about the year (other than that it was old) or the make, but this looks about right. Of course, the steering wheel was on the other side, and it only had one side mirror for some reason (I remember my dad saying that was crazy, and I didn't understand why). Also ours was older than this one and had a hatch in the roof that you could open to let more air in. And it was all white with a black interior.
Another weird thing about our van was that the seats weren't in rows like every other van I've been in, they were all around the sides. It was pretty weird, but it was useful if we had to move something large. We could also fit all of our bikes in the back when we wanted to go cycling at East Coast Park. I always thought it was so cool to be riding my own bike at East Coast instead of a rented one.
Now on to the stories.
We'd been promised that monkeys were everywhere in Singapore, but once we got there, we didn't see one (of course, later on we saw plenty). We kids (especially my brother) were so disappointed. Someone told us that we should visit Bukit Timah Nature Reserve--we'd be sure to see some monkeys there. So we headed to the other side of the island to trek through the jungle. We walked forever through that place and didn't see one monkey. We walked dejectedly back to the parking lot, complaining to Mom (as if she could do anything about it), to find a bunch of monkeys sitting on top of our van.
We couldn't believe it! But there they were. One was trying to pry the hatch open, and I was terrified he would get into our van and we wouldn't be able to get him out. A little one had found a piece of gum someone had stuck on the roof and was chewing it. We just watched them for awhile, wondering how to reclaim our van. Then they ran off, disappearing into the jungle. And we were finally convinced that there were monkeys in Singapore.
Our van was a pretty large vehicle by Singapore standards, and we didn't fit in many of the parking lots. The ones we did fit it, we barely managed to scrape under. We always had to remember to close the hatch (it was always open because, obviously, our van didn't have air conditioning), but, inevitably, one time, we forgot. After that, instead of a hatch, we had a hole in the roof. From then on we had to stick an umbrella out the hole and open it over the top every time it rained.
Since it was so old, the van was also unreliable at times. I remember hating storms because whenever it rained hard, the van would stall and we'd be stuck in the middle of the road. To this day I have a phobia of stalling when I drive through a large puddle.
For a few weeks when I was about five, my parents would drive a woman (who is now like part of our family) to the hospital every day for chemotherapy. We would all sit in the van waiting for what seemed like hours and hours. It was so hot, and we would get so bored. Sometimes Mom and Dad would let us get out and play in a small patch of grass or in an empty parking space. The thing I remember better than anything is getting amazingly thirsty. My older siblings told me to spit and swallow, but they forgot to mention the "and swallow" part. That method was not successful for me.
I also remember sitting squeezed into the back of the van with the last load of our furniture and belongings as we drove away from our first home in Singapore for the last time. Something wicker was squishing me into my seat, and as I looked out the back window at our house, I thought that I should be sad. But I wasn't. I was excited to move to our new home.
While we were home on furlough when I was eight, something happened to the van and whoever was taking care of it for us had to junk it. That was the first and only vehicle we ever had in Singapore, and I'm sure the rest of my family has more memories of it than I do. I think I was sad when I found out it was gone. I asked Dad if I could have the key, and I, the hoarder of the family, still have it somewhere. I'm not sure why other than the memories it holds.