Superstar Mark Tuan, that is I, dropped my luggage at the foot of the temple and peered from under my sunglasses. The flight to China and the drive to the mountain, was nothing compared to the trek up here. Who knew that a mountain didn’t have something as basic as an escalator? I mean, I wasn’t expecting a lift, because let’s be real, how would you engineer a lift on a mountain? Attach a wire to the sky? -- Naw man!

The journey up here was the most uncomfortable. Piggy backs are meant to be a romantic experience, stuff you see on sitcoms. Me on my manager’s back, yeah, that was plain weird. Now don’t get me wrong, my manager has a very cushiony back; comes from all the burgers, late night carbs and beers. But, a sweaty cushion isn’t something you’re looking for in a sofa.

Granted he had me hoisted, carried 20kg of luggage in each hand, and was treading a slope he was going to sweat but that much perspiration for a four hour hike is surreal. The guy is super unfit.

At present my glossy, super out-of-shape manager was speaking to some figure of authority, presumably the head monk -- that guy is a skinhead, yo.

They, my label, wanted me to stay at this place until some scandal died down. Now let me just clarify, I hadn’t a clue what I’d done wrong in this. Some dude had been harassing a chick outside of a club in NYC. So me being knightly, socked it to him; full blow in the face. Chivalrous? Not in this era. Turned out the two were a couple. This couple wanted to sue me. I became the talk of the continent, and who knows what other continents.

‘Mark Tuan uses violence.’ Headlines similar to these cropped up everywhere. One sided slander really gets to a person. So I did what any reputable figure would do in this situation. I took to social media. On twitter I ranted about how no one cared for my bruised knuckles and if that guy had a broken nose then I was also suffering from injury.

Turns out something like that brings a heap of backlash. I was hurled insults until my inbox capacity got too full -- I didn’t know that could even happen.

Sending a world renowned superstar to a Buddhist temple somewhere in China, seemed to be the solution. So I was here, watching my manager leave. We had had our disagreements however I couldn’t fathom why he never looked my way as he left me alone -- bro, we used to be twinsies.

I stood there for a few minutes until reality gave me a whiplash -- there is no wifi! I panicked a little thinking something was wrong with my phone. Then it dawned on me, there shouldn’t be wifi in the wilderness, something to do with embracing nature. If I’d paid attention in school I’d know, but nowadays no one really cared about school. I wasn’t alone in my ignorance, at least I’d like to think so.

After that dilemma came another. The skinhead monk, who’d been eyeing me all this time, finally wandered over and explained some stuff I vaguely understood. He expected me to carry my bags to my hotel room.

I’d never touched my suitcases. That was my manager’s job, but that guy had abandoned me. I had no other option but to ask the monk to do it. He seemed appalled that I had the gall to make such a request. He gave me the dirtiest look he could muster, and commanded that I either carry my luggage myself or never see it again. I can assure you I’d never been treated so disrespectfully in my life. However being the nice person that I was, I didn’t sue him for his impudence. I wasn’t that kind of celebrity! And no, I certainly wasn’t afraid of the fact that he was a skinhead -- okay maybe a little.

The skinhead monk glided across the paved pathway as I struggled with the sheer weight of my belongings. My teeth gritted and grated in a way my dentist wouldn't like. My delicate and bare ankles were occasionally walloped by the plastic boxes. This aggressive battle continued past the paved pathway, unto crackling gravel followed by a dirt track until we reached some kind of shack.

That was where I met him -- my life's nemesis.

Jackson Wang was primitive from first appearance. He was raking the dirt out of the grass, undoubtedly mending some area of his soul as monks did. He was garbed in a kind of toga.

We must've been around the same age, but he and I were too different. I knew from the moment he eyeballed me that we would never get along. And we didn't.

I learnt to dislike him very quickly. He was a vicious breed. He belonged from the farming area but his family had sent him to the temple because he was full of vigor. His animation was quite comical. I didn't feel the need to clean clumps of clay and wipe down sitting stumps as much as he did.

As for me I'd my bean bag chair to plonk on and was quite content with it. The hut we shared didn't have rooms. It was like a studio flat except it was made of wood, mud and thatch. It was as appealing as it sounded. Inside we had that tree stump seat as old as the world itself, some kind of fireplace in the corner, clay kitchen pots and wooden chopsticks-- the free kind you get at as store. Apparently Jackson had a collection -- great, I'm living with a kleptomaniac.

Now back to the reason for my animosity towards my housemate. Well, why he was left to fend alone for himself was quite obvious to me the moment I tasted the chili in my lemon water.

The guy was a brute! He laughed when my tongue swelled. “Serves you right for abandoning the homeland.”

Back then I didn't know he was vengeful about me taking his hot water. I was under the impression he was some kind of political extremist. He had me fearing for my life -- another reason to hate him.

Amid the fright my appetite died and it wasn't until ‘meal time’ that my stomach grumbled greedily.

Jackson sat huddled in a corner mixing some weird chemicals together. As he did this my teeth chattered involuntarily -- I am going to die at the hands of poison. I braced myself for something unjust and cruel, a homicide that would leave a devastating impact on those I left behind. Maybe they would find me hanging in the trees, my body decaying in acid.

Mixing a concoction he constructed play dough and began to abuse it, flattening it with a roller and beating in between the palms of his hands. When he was done with this torture he laid it on a pan.