Jake, The Fat Man, And Albinos At The Equator

One of the joys of traveling is the opportunity for chance encounters with folks that you might never meet if you remain on your couch, smoking cigarettes, eating Cheetos, and watching reruns on Nick-At-Night (which is, in actuality, the career path of my neighbor). Without venturing into the world, I would have never met Krishnan the Bicycle Thief or the most famed wigmaker in the UK.

I also would not have witnessed something that, to me, proved there might be merit in the old proverb/wish of there being someone in the world for everyone. It only required a journey halfway around the world to Singapore, where I was attending the National University as an exchange student.

Now, my friends and I who participated in this program deftly translated "a semester studying abroad" into "a six-month vacation." I rarely attended classes and setting foot on NUS' campus was mostly prompted by a desire to spend time poolside as opposed to learning about the Koumintang, Chiang Kai-shek. or the Long March. Campus was a forty-five minute trip requiring two bus transfers.

However, on one occasion where I did make this arduous trek, I noticed a pair of fellow passengers sitting nearby. It was difficult not to do so. They were albinos.

Albinos. In Singapore. Fifty odd miles or so from the equator. I immediately thought how hard that must suck.

Then, I noticed that the two were obviously a couple, holding hands and whispering to one another, gazing at each other with no apparent interest in whether they were living directly under the sun or on the surface of the moon. Smiling at each other, they seemed to be unaware that another soul even existed in the world let alone on that bus.

I wanted to ask them how they met. Was it some personal ad? Was it a support group for people afflicted with albinism? What were the odds?

Who cared? They seemed happy. From time to time, during the remainder of my stay in Singapore, I saw them again. I sometimes wonder if they're still together. Hell, for all I know, believin has crossed their path and, perhaps, he knows exactly to whom I refer.

I made my way back to our decrepit dorm compound and sat in the lounge, staring at the only television screen in our student housing. My viewing choice was between some "gameshow" featuring a burly, loin-cloth clad fellow tearing the husks off pineapples with his bare hands and "Jake And The Fat Man."

I had never watched "Jake And The Fat Man," an American detective show, while in the States, but it was oddly comforting to zone out on something semi-familiar (at least in style). There was a cop named Jake. His sidekick/foil was, indeed, a fat man with the physique, if not the sartorial inclinations, of Sebastian Cabot. I watched them bicker like an old married couple as they solved some misdeed in time for a drink together at the bar where one of them lobbed a cringe-inducing pun regarding that week's caper before the credits rolled.

Indeed, it would seem to be. There is someone for everyone.

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