"Have you finished packing your stuff? You're bound to miss out something, told you to pack earlier. See. See. Did you bring enough sweaters? Bring those that will keep you warm and not just look pretty ok? Remember to bring the ...""Aiya Mum, I know, I know, I've already done them!" I said impatiently.
It was September 2003, a few days before I left for Manchester to pursue my degree. Mum and Dad's been nagging for the past few days and trust me they almost drive me bananas. For I never really like the idea of my parents nagging at me, telling me what to do and yada yada, but then again who does? Afterall, I am already twenty years old and had been to a few places with them and my friends, somehow I just know how to take care of myself. Dad and Mum's "you are still a little girl" tone sometimes irritate me but they sort of make it up by believing in my ability to take care of myself, but still I was eager to prove myself.
Thus with much confidence I left, like a proud little young bird flying from the old, warm and fuzzy nest, without even looking back at its aging parents. University life was, not quite what I had expected, it's not as exciting as I thought it would be (perhaps it's due to the fact that I hardly attend any faculty parties) and even the people are not as hip and fun as I imagined them to be (save for the people I'm hanging around with). But but but, the city itself fascinated me with its freedom in the atmosphere and the exchange of fun ideas in its shops and restaurants.
I observed my surroundings with hungry eyes, hunting for excitement, yet something else surprised me even more. I found myself getting lost and my life a little out of control. There was no longer wake up calls to ensure I get to school on time or calls to check if I have had my lunch and so on. I would wake up and find myself missing the 9am lectures and making up for missed work always made me feel that I was trying to catch a plane by riding a bicycle.
Many other things did not just "happen" as of right, they had to be "done." Back home, the only thing I had to do with dirty clothes was to throw them into a pink basket (yeah, girly stuff rules!). They would, and yes they would disappear automatically and then re-appear inside my drawers, folded, clean and with the faint trace of concentrated laundry wash. Now the magic no longer worked (I must have missed a few black art lessons as well!). The pile of dirty clothes would just accumulate and get higher and higher unless I carry them down to the laundry room and feed the white machines some coins. Back home, a cold or a flu was nothing dreadful.
When I was sick, I only had to transform myself into a 4 year old baby. Then if I need my favorite snacks, I just need to mention it briefly and it will then appear on the table in a few days time. Everything's autopiloted at home. Now? Nothing can just be pulled out of the air, and the world is no different from what it was because I am sick. Everything had become my responsibility. I can blame the alarm clock for not ringing loud enough or accuse the fly viruses for attacking me, but the fact that I missed classes and got sick did not change save for the miserable part. I am still responsible for everything, there is no way out except for me to get on my gear and play the game by the rules. No wonder people used the term "homesick." It's like a chronic disease, a perpetual obsession. When I was fixing up my own meals (Don't worry, they are edible!), the smell of the steaming white rice and Dad's curry chicken suddenly became vivid sensations.
When I walked home out in the cold and dark streets at 5pm, the picture of the white light emitted from our cozy living room and the purple coloured couch where I spend much of time couch potato-ing appeared in my mind. The desire to have a cup of hot Lipton tea and allowing the brown liquid to run all the way down through the esophagus to the empty stomach became some unattainable dream. Whenever my hallmate blast me with her superpower digital stereo to the maximum volume and the screaming voice of some hysterical girl filled our corridor, my little bedroom with my favourite R&B's music seemed like a lost dream. Where was I going to find those old memories that seem so far yet so near, and when was I going to experience them again? After sacrificing say 450 GBP, I gotten myself a one way ticket back home.
There was a certain strangeness and awkwardness when I met Mum at Changi Airport Terminal 2. Maybe it was because I had been away for almost three months (My longest record was 11 days). People wearing spaghetti straps and shots looked almost like some erm aliens to me. The sight of the trees along the highways and the sun shaped like an egg brought back some unfamiliar familiarity. In 30 minutes, we reached my favourite prata store and had roti prata for breakfast, it tasted heavenly, I had never craved for any food like this before. Soon we reached our neighbourhood, and Dad drove the car slowly down the streets, passing the shadows of the HDB estates slowly. As I watched the things outside the car window passing by, the strange feeling began to disappear and something stirred in me. I took out my suitcase with Mum helping me with some other stuff and walked to the lift. While waiting for the lift, I looked at my Mum again, as though I was making a final confirmation. Then the stirring feeling of anxiety and fear disappeared, I smiled and said to myself "I'm home."
It was September 2003, a few days before I left for Manchester to pursue my degree. Mum and Dad's been nagging for the past few days and trust me they almost drive me bananas. For I never really like the idea of my parents nagging at me, telling me what to do and yada yada, but then again who does? Afterall, I am already twenty years old and had been to a few places with them and my friends, somehow I just know how to take care of myself. Dad and Mum's "you are still a little girl" tone sometimes irritate me but they sort of make it up by believing in my ability to take care of myself, but still I was eager to prove myself.
Thus with much confidence I left, like a proud little young bird flying from the old, warm and fuzzy nest, without even looking back at its aging parents. University life was, not quite what I had expected, it's not as exciting as I thought it would be (perhaps it's due to the fact that I hardly attend any faculty parties) and even the people are not as hip and fun as I imagined them to be (save for the people I'm hanging around with). But but but, the city itself fascinated me with its freedom in the atmosphere and the exchange of fun ideas in its shops and restaurants.
I observed my surroundings with hungry eyes, hunting for excitement, yet something else surprised me even more. I found myself getting lost and my life a little out of control. There was no longer wake up calls to ensure I get to school on time or calls to check if I have had my lunch and so on. I would wake up and find myself missing the 9am lectures and making up for missed work always made me feel that I was trying to catch a plane by riding a bicycle.
Many other things did not just "happen" as of right, they had to be "done." Back home, the only thing I had to do with dirty clothes was to throw them into a pink basket (yeah, girly stuff rules!). They would, and yes they would disappear automatically and then re-appear inside my drawers, folded, clean and with the faint trace of concentrated laundry wash. Now the magic no longer worked (I must have missed a few black art lessons as well!). The pile of dirty clothes would just accumulate and get higher and higher unless I carry them down to the laundry room and feed the white machines some coins. Back home, a cold or a flu was nothing dreadful.
When I was sick, I only had to transform myself into a 4 year old baby. Then if I need my favorite snacks, I just need to mention it briefly and it will then appear on the table in a few days time. Everything's autopiloted at home. Now? Nothing can just be pulled out of the air, and the world is no different from what it was because I am sick. Everything had become my responsibility. I can blame the alarm clock for not ringing loud enough or accuse the fly viruses for attacking me, but the fact that I missed classes and got sick did not change save for the miserable part. I am still responsible for everything, there is no way out except for me to get on my gear and play the game by the rules. No wonder people used the term "homesick." It's like a chronic disease, a perpetual obsession. When I was fixing up my own meals (Don't worry, they are edible!), the smell of the steaming white rice and Dad's curry chicken suddenly became vivid sensations.
When I walked home out in the cold and dark streets at 5pm, the picture of the white light emitted from our cozy living room and the purple coloured couch where I spend much of time couch potato-ing appeared in my mind. The desire to have a cup of hot Lipton tea and allowing the brown liquid to run all the way down through the esophagus to the empty stomach became some unattainable dream. Whenever my hallmate blast me with her superpower digital stereo to the maximum volume and the screaming voice of some hysterical girl filled our corridor, my little bedroom with my favourite R&B's music seemed like a lost dream. Where was I going to find those old memories that seem so far yet so near, and when was I going to experience them again? After sacrificing say 450 GBP, I gotten myself a one way ticket back home.
There was a certain strangeness and awkwardness when I met Mum at Changi Airport Terminal 2. Maybe it was because I had been away for almost three months (My longest record was 11 days). People wearing spaghetti straps and shots looked almost like some erm aliens to me. The sight of the trees along the highways and the sun shaped like an egg brought back some unfamiliar familiarity. In 30 minutes, we reached my favourite prata store and had roti prata for breakfast, it tasted heavenly, I had never craved for any food like this before. Soon we reached our neighbourhood, and Dad drove the car slowly down the streets, passing the shadows of the HDB estates slowly. As I watched the things outside the car window passing by, the strange feeling began to disappear and something stirred in me. I took out my suitcase with Mum helping me with some other stuff and walked to the lift. While waiting for the lift, I looked at my Mum again, as though I was making a final confirmation. Then the stirring feeling of anxiety and fear disappeared, I smiled and said to myself "I'm home."
NB: This post was first posted in December 2003 and not January 2003.
