Little did I know it’s nearly 2 years since my first touchdown in N. America. I remember feeling all excited and exhilarated, because I ran away, or flew away, from the cage I saw as Malaysia. The Malaysia I knew was a place of control, hypocrisy, and apathy; land of psychological abuse…and many unwanted memories.

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.


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