And then there’s the bloody convenient customer service. Oh, god. America and its convenience stores of free delivery, quick returns, and  friendly exchange policies. None of which exists in Malaysia.

On top of that, as if by deja vu, exactly four years after my first arrival in Bloomington, Indiana, another someone walked on the neighbourhood sidewalk with a laptop propped open in one arm, strolling.

I’m going to miss the sense of security and comfort provided by this town.

It’s time for me to wake up again to cynicism and paranoia. My parents won’t be helping with my stress level. Let’s be on super guard with our belongings and personal safety once more.

.

* Sounds kinda like comparing with interpersonal relationship experiences; finding the right match and whatnot.

To sniff it is bliss upon bliss. Few things are as subtle as that strong note of red with other varieties of other reds. Old vine love with peppery spice, I dare not go into details for fear of your history lectures on zinfandel, petite sirah, carignane, mataro, syrah, and grenache.

Yes, I Googled them all. I googled our Three Valley wine, just like the researcher you fell in love with would.

::

I could not have imagined a more perfect dinner. Roasted duck with mandarin orange glaze and your favorite calamari and those pink red spots on my cheeks, with a dazzling waitress on our side…

…it was just like that one evening once more, in Indy in The Eagle with nobody to disturb us and to think that hours, weeks, months ago, I was paranoid and frustrated and definitely pissed off with the situations good Fate had brought us into, willingly or not,

yet, you were all worthwhile. You were worth my while.

I would not trade another moment for the one I had devour with you over saccharine sorbet of blood orange and lemon with buttermilk.

The question “what we were thinking??“—or what was I thinking—is of no consequence right now. Not to me, at least.

::

To humor your fantasies, and dare I dream again, I dream of us either in Venice or Rome or France or somewhere in Somali or Zimbabwe, having the warm summer breeze caress our cheeks and bare skins in shorts not tight as we laze beneath a great oak tree, watching them sheep or lions or zebras roam. Even goats would do.

I must say though, your cat has to be included. She is after all, an extension of your Self. Take good care of her then I can have faith you shall take healthy care of you and me.

With a glass of French wine in each our hand, we’d stroll along the dirty paths of vineyards of Southern France as you make small talks of grand-daddy stories as I’d patiently listen while my eyes dart between the expressions of semi-comprehensions between you and the wine-makers while my mind wanders to the ethical questions of our dinner that night: fois gras ou pas?

It is so delicious though. It’s a pity many just had to stuff globs of fats down their dainty swan-like throats.

::

Pandora’s playing a French song right now. I’m not sure why either. Perhaps everything is meant to be.

Peut-être.

What I do know for sure is that I await for the day our global American town stop raining billowing winds of Northern ice and snow and I can finally wear that swishy paisley psychedelic orange Bohemian skirt you got me once more.

It was your graduation gift to me. It is my graduation into the youth of adulthood.

It is me embracing life, the life the dreamer in you inspired.

::

I do, still think you are crazy, for everything you’ve said and done in my name, like what I said this evening when it was cold and raining and you wrapped your fancy eight-dollar jacket over my scantily clad legs, finishing with a knot over my slender waist.

“You’re crazy,” I laughed.

To which, of course, you said,

crazy for you.

I am gnomed.

Perhaps I’m spoilt. I’ve lived in a city all my life. Places elsewhere were mere passing interests. What I knew of politics came out of the mouths of opinion leaders. I’ve been taught to be cynical, afraid of strangers. Make friends with people of my age, of my background, of my race. Everything else kept at arm’s length. You can’t trust people you’ve just met. No late nights, no parties. You’re yellow, not white. Or brown, or black. Arts is bad, science is good. You can’t make a living out of scribbling, can you?

Sounds like parents manywhere.

Parents, when they stay away from your life, can make you realize how often you’ve barely tried to carry the responsibility yourself.

So, living here reveals how I never really left the cage. Got used to it. It grew on me.

And somehow, without control, I feel lost. There are too damn many choices.

.
.
A friend asked me if I still felt the same about the US as I did 2 years ago.
I wish I do.

I told him it’s still safer than Malaysia.

.
.
I’m not through yet. I’m still deliberating; to stay or not to stay. Half-hearted decisions are barely wise.

	At the IU Foundation, we believe our friends are worth celebrating. This week, we are celebrating you. View your special greeting here.

~

Wow. I’m amazed that the school cared enough about my birthday to give me the exclusive link to their special greeting for me which 4382431 students have seen before, probably.

Though it’s actually a pretty cool flash animation, I’d rather have a bottle of Coke, thank you.

1. Spent more time with my youngest brother, Roy. Should’ve played all those games and sports with him when I was younger and back in Malaysia.

2. Meditate.

3. Called Dilly more often. Wrote her more letters.

4. Spent more time talking to my late grandmother when she was alive.

5. Continued my ballet lessons. And capoeira lessons.

6. Learned to swim better.

7. Ran more often in the Taman Tun park. I could have won many marathons by now.

8. Remembered to wear my retainers every night, not missing a single night.

9. Did my homework everyday in primary school. I was called “the laziest student” my Std 5 class teacher, Mrs. Wong, ever knew, and yet, I stayed in the express classes the whole time.

10. Rollerbladed more often. Cycled more often.

11. Gave those Cleo magazines to the orphanage near my house like I promised to, in person.

12. Stayed to tell those Interact Club members back in high school exactly what I thought of their activities, instead of walking away, leaving the meeting.

13. Introspected without self-judgment when I was in the psychiatric ward at UH, when I was 16, instead of thriving in the thrill from the attention I was getting from visitors.

14. Told the graduate student that he was shit when he told me “did you know that half the people here in this room, feels exactly the way you do?”

15. Spat at the psychiatrist who asked me “do you know what depression is?” after me telling him about the void I felt.

16. Continued group therapy back in UH. It’d prolly help distract me from my issues if I were to listen to the melodramas of everyone else. Then again, the only stories I remembered from my one and only session (I think) was some runaway case and some domestic abuse thing.

Nobody talked about the mind.

17. Be more sensitive and mindful of what my exes felt while we were still together. Some of them really tried to work things out. Oh well.

18. Bought a vibrator.

19. Kept the diary/journal habit. Wrote down the dreams I remembered first thing in the morning.

20. Wasn’t so stupid to encourage short-sightedness/far-sightedness by plastering my face to the telly when I was 7, because I believed in the aesthetic appeal of spectacles. In fact, I got mad when my parents refused to buy me the more expensive, nicer-looking ones.

21. Colored more often. I remember one of my first art lessons in primary school. It was an extra-curricular activity and was paid for.

One day the teacher wanted the class to draw the alligator she drew on the blackboard. Some alligator by the jungle river. Instead, I drew a farmer with a straw hat in a paddy field, mainly because I got bored and the alligator looked really complex to draw. She got so annoyed that she made me stay back after class, asking me to at least color the large print of Christmas stocking she gave me. Then she colored another sock while waiting for me to color mine.

I left the paper blank. She asked me why. I told her my sock was white. She said nothing afterwards.

So those were the 21 things I wished I did (better at).

~

As for the 22 things I want to do in less than 38 minutes, I think I’ll just go with the flow. I’ll start by visiting the girl down my floor. She’s been sick for a while now.

3. You know you’re an SL addict when you realize that you spend more time awake in SL than sleeping in FL. And you have dreams about SL. And you know what these acronyms mean.

Aside from that, here are some what’s-news:
1. I haven’t been doing my work. But I now have a clearer idea of what I want to do with my life. Perhaps this is the quote of the moment for me:

“We try to judge people not on how much time they waste but on what they accomplish over fairly long periods of time, like a half-year to a year.” – Les Earnest.

2. I am still in a relationship with the man I love. Hoorais.

3. I bought my first ever pair of rainboots. The are red with yellow ducks all over. Classic.

4. I still think Paddington Bear is the most adorable shit ever.

5. I am moving into a house for the first time in my life, with four girls, two of which are terribly amazing because they worship my legal age. It’s going to be sexciting.

No, it doesn’t involve orgies. Unless…, nevermind.

6. I have been on time for most of my classes.

I am happy, I guess. It still feels a bit unreal. But, I am happy, no less.

Because I love him too.

-

London was not at all how HappyHarry Potter and the English nursery rhymes cracked it up to be. There was no “London accent” nor were there “Englishmen” with top hats and matching penguin suits. Nor were there tall and thin beauties. Or people minding their “Ps and Qs.” Or something. I can’t think of more stereotypes and myths right now.

Then again, I am a romantic. I am always (not-too-secretly) hopeful. So there.

Though, I have to give credit to those who have warned me about the horizontal extent English girls can achieve. English people here refers to people who have been brought up in England, regardless of ethnicity, though, I must say that for lazinessconvenience sake, when I say “English people,” I refer mostly to Caucasians unless stated otherwise.

London town is probably one of the most culturally diverse cities I have ever encountered. One cannot really guess who is from where by mere once-overs and brief small talks. Lest we ask for their life stories. Then again, people can lie.

I used to say that I was the last Innuit in Afghanistan. Or a Mongolian refuge in Tahiti. You may not believe the number of people who asked me to elaborate with seemingly innocent, genuine interest.

Anyway, I digressed. So I arrived at Heathrow Airport on Tuesday morning in all my post 6-hour flight glory. The first meal I had was unfortunately from Starbucks. In times of need, pounding hunger prevails over personal ethics. My host, my cousin sister Irene, was 20 minutes late, but it did not matter. My croissant and Toffee Nut Latte were on her.

A half hour of catch-up later and down the tube we went. The Underground trains were impressive. They were by far more efficient than all of the public transportation I have taken in Malaysia, Singapore, Bloomington, Seattle, and Florida combined. You can pretty much go anywhere in London as long as you are willing to have skin-to-skin contact with random pub goers and uppity immigrants for five minutes or an hour or more.

The trains waited for no one, too. And none of that “late trains” bullshit KTM and LRT in good ole’ Malaysia were so well-known for.

Only that I wondered if the train doors could be more human. Their sense of timing was practically (forcefully) fatal. That man with a single luggage could have been sliced from the side profile had he persisted to be the last person on board.

-

Of cobbled streets and English pubs, I am still in awe of how almost all road signs and public service announcements here managed to squeeze in the legendary English politeness. ‘No Smoking,’ a sign said outside a large brown building, “because you will damage your lungs and others’ too.”

It was all very prim and proper. Even their grammar and spelling were impeccable. They actually spelled “Magistrates’ Office” with the god damned often-misplaced-or-omitted apostrophe. Unlike my dorm, Collins Living Learning Center, which sign on the computer lab door says, “Colllins LLC Computer Lab.”

Ah, the difference between British and AmericlishAmerican English education.

‘It is a stereotype,’ the white man said. He sat next to me during our two and a half hour ride from London’s Victoria Coach Station to the one in Bristol. This was two mornings ago on Christmas Eve. ‘That proper-ness.’

I smiled. I love it when people challenge my preconceived notions of stereotypes. Especially when I am a tourist and the critic is a local.

‘Still,’ I replied, smiling. ‘I can’t help but feel a lot more cultured when I see that I’m in London, or England. I feel a lot more polite.’

He chuckled. His layers of chin slightly wobbled. He struck my mind as a “jolly good fellow.”

‘So how are you going to spend Christmas Day?’ I asked. There was a brief silence, in which the rumbling of the bus engine reveled in.

‘In a war,’ he replied. ‘My in-laws don’t get along very well with each other.’

I laughed. He then told me how he would be visiting his parents-in-law with his wife and three kids first, then his parents elsewhere.

“At least it will be more peaceful there,” he said. “Hopefully.”

“I am sure it will be.” I gave him a kind smile.

“So what are you traveling to Bristol for?”

And there came the rush of adrenaline—warm, slow, and fulfilling—as I was pulled back to my cousin’s house twelve hours ago in London, where I recounted to my cousin and her husband how it all started, where this was all headed, or rather, where I hoped this was all headed to. All my hopes and dreams on a silver platter over dinner for three.

For this was it, this was what I have been waiting for; this was what we both have been dying for: The proverbial silver linings amidst the clouds of our dark past. “Happily-ever-after” was what the skeptics tried to murder for us. Too long was our physical separation of two years and more. Our meeting was “long overdue,” as he put it. We were going to meet again, at last, finally.

I could barely believe myself.

And so, in that bus, upon reaching the coach station in Bristol, I smiled to the man next to me.

“I am going to see the love of my life,” I declared.

Who, for the first time since we met more than three years ago, since we clicked more than two years ago, said that he loves me.

He first said it to me, out loud, on Christmas Day, yesterday.

I did not even need to ask.

-

“Morning.”

Ah, he is awake now, my sayang.

A) I like Collins a lot.

B) Collins is short for Collins Living Learning Center (CLLC).

C) Nobody calls Collins “CLLC” here.

D) It is a Hogwarts-looking hippie dorm.

E) Why hippie?

1. Collins officially has the healthiest, vegan-friendly menu in their dining hall. And they serve good shits (sometimes).
   a. It’s pretty sad, actually, when I think about the dorm food of all the other American campuses.
2. We recycle everything from beer cans to assignment sheets, except leftover Panda Express.
3. We have courses where you can get credit for sleepingmeditating.
4. I’ll bet you all $1500 of my meal points that at least 50% of the residents here smoked pot at least once in their stay in IUB.
   a. If you lose the bet, you will compensate with actual cash.
5. Although most of us shower like most capitalists, some of us don’t support hair shampoo.
6. LGBT-friendly. (Officially, at least.)
7. Truth, beauty, freedom, love.
8. Etc. E.g. “Hogwarts Week Fall ’08.”

F) Why Hogwarts?

• Why don’t you do a Google search or come see for yourself?

G) OfMontreal is in my good books. And so is Radiohead.

H) Pandora has the smartest radio ever. Not only does it kick Deezer’s ass at least twice, it can only be accessed in God bless Amedika, hah!

I) Ayam very excite about arriving in LONDON in less than twenty two fucking days, w00t!

J) I really should describe Disney some time before I forget what’s it like to be an adult-like child.

K) It’s raining snow here right now. I’m surprised that not enough people wore their Eskimo suits and popped out umbrellas on the streets, like I did.

L) I wonder why I don’t blog more often. There are many sexciting people around here to talk about.

M) Oh right, I have a 10-page thesis due next Monday based on a 350-page novel I have yet to read, and a 20-page short fiction to revise by the end of this week!

Crap, and a 3-page for my Capoeira final presentation.

I probably need to catch up with at least 10 of my readings as well.

And one fucking French chapter worth of homework.

I told you I have a Ph.D in Procrastination.

1. 0015, Nov. 5th, 2008: I semi-led a screaming mob from Collins –> IU Auditorium fountain –> Kirkwood –> past Trojan Horse (restaurant), in the name of Obama. Met his puppet/effigy somewhere towards the end of my journey.

It’s interesting how you can make new friends by having a common enemy.

And I am annoyed at the guy who took all the credits of leading the mob, without a mention of my original idea whatsoever. Whatever.

2. I salsa danced the last two-three weekends in a row.

3. On Halloween Night, I attended the Rocky Horror Picture (disappointingly not-so-live) Show in Buskirk-Chumley Theater. Nine fucking bucks for mediocre voiceovers and terribly limited acting from the Cardinal Theater Group.

Then again, I received a coupon for one large Pizza Express (worth $5? $6? $7??). Because I won the Orgasm Contest.

I don’t really want to elaborate on it because I sacrificed my laundry basket so that I could be a fucking Duracell Bunny (but wearing the goddamned basket is too clumsy for me to sit or run with. Fun.).

Oh, and nobody remembered the Duracell Bunny. Even with my fucking handmade golden cymbals. Apparently the Energizer Bunny didn’t need fucking shades and drum sets to be venerated by Americans.

So I was remembered as either the Energizer Bunny or Slutty Bunny (because I wore mostly only fucking Victoria Secrets, thinking that I needn’t part with my battery suit of a laundry basket).

4. I am still quite annoyed with someone who bailed on me tonight because of retarded text-communication.

5. I updated honestlydead.

6. I need to study for tomorrow’s French test. Mia prolly expected me seven minutes ago.

There goes my phone.

I can’t believe we’re approaching the last chapter already.

À bientôt.