Sept 14, 2009

While many who have gone home have managed to seamlessly integrate themselves into their old lives, my sojourns of being home have only served to highlight changes, differences and preferences for the new.

While many have found it difficult to build a diverse network abroad, I have found it difficult to accept the homogeneity of home.

While many who have been abroad long for the comforts of home, I live for the independence and anonymity of being foreign.

While many crave for the familiarity of comfort foods, I am satiated with promises of baguettes and sushi.

Nonetheless, I don't feel at home here. And yet I don't long to be anywhere else.

Hello again

In the two months that I have neglected this space, I have gained meaningful employment, saw old friends, made new ones, projectile-vomited that reeked the building I live in, and buried an uncle while away at a wedding.

These past weeks have been especially interesting. I attended my first ever French Jewish wedding. Needless to say, it was interesting: the DJ bore a resemblance to Cat Stevens (before he became known as Yusof Islam), the first dance was to 'Blue Danube', the bride and groom headbanged to 'Highway to Hell' (as requested by the wedding witness) and the groom didn't have a tie for his own wedding because Parisian ties were not good enough. Damn those Parisian ties.

While it may seem like a wedding in France is the ideal getaway for us Londoners, it must be noted that it took us a good 14 hours to get there - as a basis for comparison, it took our New Yorker friends 11 hours to get to the same place. Nonetheless, Brittany is absolutely gorgeous, the stuff of picture books. Not the same can be said of the girls.

Things are remarkably different now from just two weeks ago. The weather too has changed; it's colder now and even when I seek out sunshine, the chilly undertone of the atmosphere can be felt on one's skin. Already, I feel like a veteran, a creature of habit and routine. Like the beginning of most things bad for you, this feels almost pleasurable and most certainly good.

The One with the Friends Reference

So far, I've been able to avoid talking moving away. Then Kevin had to go do this (re screen shot), effectively bursting the dam. I spent a portion of my afternoon reminiscing over what we affectionately and aptly term 'the end of an era'.

Our sojourn in Vancouver concerned itself with worries and problems that in retrospect seem negligible in light of our new found status as adults. At that point in our lives, our biggest headaches were assignments and class schedules.

We lived our lives like lyrics of an MGMT song. It's especially true because Vancouver is so drug-obsessed. We talked about people we knew, people we didn't know and people we wanted to know.

I do miss Vancouver. Most of my growing up was done there. Most of my ideals, aspirations and inspirations were drawn from the professors who taught me, the people I sat and smoke with, and the people who passed me by on the corner of Robson and Burrard.

Granted though, I never did see myself being a resident of Vancouver. I couldn't stand the thought then and still cannot stand it now. Vancouver is very easy to be sick of. It's the perfect transitionary city, in my opinion.

Much as I liked it, I could not have chose a more opportune moment to leave. I left it at the height of my glory days: an apartment in the West End, the neverfuckingending snow, strangers on my couch and a well-stocked fridge.

To its end, Vancouver was both a faithful friend and a sleazy bastard. There are many things I miss about it and yet I can't say I am sorry I left.

Come Fall

Now that I find myself making my home in the Northern Hemisphere again (in the geographical context, not the political one), I find little excuse to restrain from browsing. It's been a while since I visited Etsy. The last time I did, this girl and her offerings sent my heart into palpitations. I vowed to spend my next paycheque on her but alas that paycheque never materialized. Today, I make the same vow. Her name is Yokoo and she blogs here. I think she's extraordinarily talented.

Three Ring Chain in Barley

The Elizabeth Pom Pom

The Pembroke Cowl

The Cambridge Chain
Pictures credit: Yokoo's Etsy Page

I lifted the pictures from Etsy and in the process I hope I have not infringed upon any copyright laws. I am more than happy to credit unto Ceasar what is due to Ceasar.

In the event that the illusionary paycheque decides to evade me again, I just might settle on this as a consolatory gift.

Hello

Oh wow, it's been a while eh? The latest is that I've arrived in the UK. As much as I'd like to say I am in London, the sad truth is that I am not. I am currently in Guildford and it is very much like being in Klang. Small town, an hour or so away from the real city, got a main street, got a mall, yadda yadda. We're living with the 'rents till we have jobs to facilitate rent payments and everything that goes with that. Since my last post, quite a bit has happened. Most notably is my being engaged, renewed and improved sisterhood with Sheema, Sarika's going away in September and my parents separated by continents. Nonetheless, true to the old adage, some things (and people) do not change.

These days, I spend most of my days internet surfing, internet surfing, job hunting, food cooking and soap watching. I started of this post with something witty and intelligent to be said but then I lost the plot.

Anyhow, it's nice to say hello. I promise it won't be so long before I next call on you. Oh, True Blood is damn on!

STS

My new-found mission in life (for now, that is) is to theorize an academic discourse that people will be quoting and talking about years and years from now. My area of concentration is small towns that are too small for its own good. I hypothesize that small-towners live caged, scrutinized lives whose abilities and talents are limited and constrained by small minds and the disability to recognize that a much bigger world exists outside said small town. As testament of my dedication to this project, I have spent a month and a half and will be spending another 2 months or so in a small fucking town in bum-fucking nowhere.

So far, a fellow researcher-cum-compatriot (lest I be taken in by small town and undergo conversion) has remarked that "everyone in this town thinks and act like they're Blair Waldorf except that they're not". I realise it is a very elementary observation but I believe this reveals volumes into the mentality of this town; the mentality that is henceforth known as Small Town Syndrom (STS).

The Motherland

This is for Sarika who I know is passing out more often than she will care to admit to.

Home is well, home. Nothing much has changed since I left four years ago. The routines remain the same, the people have aged a little but their habits untouched. It doesn't take any effort for me to fall into the routine - nothing is strange, different or unusual. Which in turn is unusual; I expected to feel like a stranger, to be introduced to new things, new people. Instead I come home to well, home. Nothing much has changed since I left four years ago.

I suppose we can have a conversation about the insignificance of my presence but I rather not.

Mummy is a lot better, both health-wise and emotionally. The surgery really did help and The Skoros were right about the surgery renewing her lease on life.

I miss Vancouver immensely. It is difficult to compare life here to that in Vanc. because it is so drastically different but Vancouver will always hold for me a large chunk of affection and sentiment. My affection may come too little too late but having placed it in the hands and hearts of people (as opposed to places and things) I am confident I will see everyone again sometime soon and it will all be good.

Being "at home" is a psychological condition more than it is a physical one. To be able to so effortlessly integrate myself into a routine that hasnt changed much is a comforting notion, it is the stuff of Petronas adverts and Christmas cards. At the same time, it is a stark reminder of how far removed I am from this routine and how much change I have imposed on my life away from home.

Nonetheless, it is good to be home.