Around four years ago, I was on a pilgrimage to George Town from the east coast of peninsular  Malaysia, Terengganu. Tightly gripped in my hand — a bag of rolled clothes, sketches of nudes, and books by Krishnamurti and Rumi. On my shoulder, a bagful of dreams. Finally, I told myself, I am responding to “the call”. This is it, the beginning.

Brilliant blue sky, the sign of a welcoming weather. But instead, the island was mocking me as I struggled with the map (left-right-left-right-no, you do not read the map like that!). Imagine continuous images, like a film: the flamboyance of refurbished heritage houses, the klunk-klank sound from famous hawker stalls (every stall is “famous” in Penang), crazy traffic (honk! honk!) and walls signed in patterns and colours by street artists.

As I passed along Masjid Kapitan Keling, a shirtless man approached me.

….Wah, a singer? he asked.

• Tags: Fahmi Mustaffa, Issue 17, Malaysia