Under the shadow of Bukit Aman, the Ministry of the Interior, which looms over Dataran Merdeka, Anwar addressed the crowd through a less than adequate sound system. Shouts of “Reformasi” were occasionally overtaken by demands for people to sit so that we all could enjoy the spectacle equally. After a speech that was hardly audible to me, Anwar was carried on the shoulders of his supporters, and no indication was given as to what would come next. But it felt like the crowd made its desires known as we found ourselves moving down Jalan Raja Laut chanting—some “Reformasi”, some “Allahu Akbar”, others “Hidup Anwar”—waving at onlookers and making a loud but friendly racket. Nothing in my experience was as exhilarating as this, spontaneously reclaiming the streets.

Twenty days later, on 10 October, thousands staged a noisy drive-past on Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman. The police did not intervene as people cheered and chanted; and then walked to Masjid Negara; finally returning to Dataran. The standoff lasted half an hour. This time when the crowds dispersed we walked towards the FRU line and shook hands with them. One or two officers refused my hand, but most obliged. More signs.

So. The signs were these.

I was coming down from E. Karin was nowhere to be seen. I felt hollowed out. Needed to get horizontal. Get home.

E makes you head to the bathroom and you empty your bowels. Sign number one. My stomach felt like it had been pumped out, like there was a long icy slug moving up and down my throat and whirling around my insides. I was hot and cold, hot and cold. My hands were clammy and I would have been grinding my teeth for hours. My jaw would ache for days. My eyelids were sluggish and I was completely talked out. I felt like shit, my brain felt like slime and all I wanted in the world was my bed.

You start talking nonstop and you allude to certain attributes to persons known and unknown and you say things like, God…I love…you…man. This is so…fucking…beautiful. Time for change. This country…has…to…change. You’re…important. Your work…is so…important. This…is…the…time. It is NOW.

You transform into a gushy, lovey-dovey mess and become one Big Love Machine.

Sign number two.

At around 5am, the club was slowing down. People were huddled in corners, some still dancing and chattering, inhaling cigarettes like their lives depended on it and swigging back gulps of water. You could always tell the ones who just kept popping pills all night, they looked like overcharged Energizer bunnies. Hundreds of empty plastic bottles everywhere. Clubs like this sold water for ten ringgit a pop on weekends. It was criminal, but there’s where the money was.

Where the fuck is Karin?