Home Bittersweet Home

When I went back to Malaysia for Easter break, I developed a sun rash, called Polymorphic Light Eruption. It's different from a heat rash, and usually happens when skin is exposed to sunshine after a long period without sun. According to Patient.co.uk, it is "more common in countries with temperate climates."

Considering that I've now been residing in the UK for 4 years, I guess it's not a big surprise that my skin has gotten used to the weather here, and the tropical sun of Malaysia was enough of a shock that my immune system panicked and caused a red and extremely itchy rash on my exposed hands and feet. Yes, it should not be a surprise.

However, what surprised me was the feeling of betrayal, and of not belonging.

I felt that my body has betrayed my homeland, how it treated the sun that warmed me all those years growing up, as an enemy, as a stranger. I felt that my skin has betrayed me, by being more comfortable in a foreign land than in the land I was born and bred in. 

I felt like I no longer belong in my skin; my skin no longer belonged in my home. The discordance and dissonance between my physical being and my emotional state tortured me more than the constant itch of my raw red hands and feet. The sense of rejection by the skies of my childhood was more painful than the scores my nails made in my traitorous skin.

It's the little things like this that make me feel like a stranger in my own home. That new shopping mall where there used to be just empty space, the restaurant that's now my family favourite that I've never heard of, that street stall that was a fixture in the neighbourhood but no longer there, that relative who passed away but I was never told. Little things that are splinters in my heart, small but persistent, so difficult to dig out, running through my veins.

Going home can be a bittersweet experience. But it never changes the fact that my heart and my soul always yearns for that place I call home.

"Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;But when it comes to living there is no place like home.”  

-Henry Van Dyke

Single is Sin

Ahh, there it is again.

"You're still single?" The surprised look.

"So, have you got a boyfriend yet?" The expectant tone.

"Any good news?" The teasing question.

"There really isn't anyone you're interested in?" The disbelieving expression.

"You're just too picky. Your standards are way too high." The insensitive reply.

"You've gotta go out and meet people, socialize and mix around. You're not going to meet anyone if you don't put in some effort." The carelessly thrown advice.

"Maybe guys are just intimidated by you, you're so accomplished." The attempts to console, backfiring.

Is being single such a sin? Heck, I'm only 24. Still a student, barely out of the cocoon of childhood, the wings of adulthood still barely unfurled.

I don't even know myself well, how am I supposed to know another human being enough to trust and give them my all? 

I'm a stranger still to myself, how do I find another stranger and become intimate? 

If falling in love means letting someone in, how do I do that when I still can't find the door to my own heart?

I know the questions are well meaning, the teasing and the jokes merely good-natured fun, and their concern (that because I am single I am lonely) is only because they care.  Still, it makes me feel like I've failed somehow by being single; that my failure in finding someone to love and to love me back is a sign that there is something wrong with me. Perhaps there is, I don't know. Perhaps the fault lies with me, and I have to fix it so people will stop being worried and I can fulfill their expectations.

But that's not right. I shouldn't be trying to find someone to love for reasons like that. Shouldn't love come naturally, like a bolt out of the blue, or like the gentle swell of a wave, or is that another lie spread by movies and novels? 

Well if it's a lie, at least I know this must be true: that love should not be for anyone else's sake. 

Love should be because your heart couldn't help but fall, not because that person fulfills all the criteria on your list, or because people around expect you to be with someone, anyone. Love should be " not just because you can see yourself with them, but because you can't imagine your life without them."  I want my love to be for that reason, and that reason alone. 

If that means I have to be single for a bit longer, and endure the barrage of questions and advice for a bit longer, and continue my awkward attempts at finding "the one", I don't mind. If the reasons and the person is right for me, that's when it'll be the right time for me too. And that's all that matters. *smile*

The Massacre

Note: I apparently wrote this way back in 2008, when I was facing the national exams in my final year of high school. So please excuse the excessive drama :P

The Massacre.

There was a massacre

In school

In the classrooms

Thousands were dead

They were massacred

Eerily…silently.

There were no screams

No stench

Just the quiet sigh

Of last breath

Escaping.

The Grim Reaper walked past

Footsteps echo

Papers in hand

Eyes straight ahead

Blind to the dead.

Yes, it was exam day.

The day that our

brain cells

were killed.

Tales of the Supernatural #2: Under the Table

Tales of the Supernatural #2: Under the Table

Exam season is over for everyone in university now, and people are starting to plan their Easter holidays and getting excited. No more long nights burning the midnight oil and no more eye bags so big people can't recognise you anymore (this actually happened to one of my friends, no joke).

But all those nights you were up cramming till dawn, when you thought you were all alone and the world was dead asleep, perhaps you weren't really alone...

My cousin was studying at a boarding school, and as a straight As kinda guy, he studied alone in his room till the wee hours quite often. Those were the nights so quiet, that all he could hear was the scratching of his pen on paper, and the flipping of the pages of his books. 

One night, he was doing his usual midnight revision session, when he dropped his pen. With the table lamp as the only light source, under his desk was really dark. Fumbling around with his hands under the table looking for his pen, suddenly his pen was handed to him. Automatically, he said "thank you", and continued writing. Due to sleep deprivation, his brain wasn't really at it's clearest, and it took him a while to realise that someone, or something, had handed him the pen back. 

As he realised this, a chill went up his spine. He pulled the chair back from the desk, and stooped down to get a better look under his desk. There, crouching in the dark, was a child-sized creature, with green skin and large yellow eyes. It grinned, showing a full set of sharp pointy teeth, and said: "You're welcome". 

So to all students, try not to stay up too late? Revise regularly instead of cramming all night. It's much healthier and probably safer as well...


*Note: The creature described here is called "toyol" in Malay, and according to folklore has the appearance I described, similar to a goblin. Its origins are said to be a child spirit evoked by dead human fetuses using black magic. People often keep them as pets/servants, using them mainly to steal from others or to do mischief. 

It is sometimes called the "Kwee Kia" in Hokkien. In Thailand, they are called Koman-tong (Male) and Koman-lay (Female). In Philippines they have a similar child spirit called the "tiyanak". In Cambodia they are called "Cohen Kroh". In South Korea called "Do Yeol".

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toyol

Tales of the Supernatural #1 Don't Look Back

If you're a close friend of mine, you'd know that I absolutely love listening and collecting stories of the supernatural. As memory is an unreliable source, I've decided to write down the stories I've heard from people (and some I've experienced myself) to share with my dear readers.

Even if you don't believe in ghosts and spirits, I hope these stories at least provide you some entertainment (and perhaps some chills down your back), as well as provide an interesting look into the cultures of the people who recounted these stories.

First up, I thought I'd start it off with a light one, not too terrifying in case I scare some people off :P

#1: Don't look back

When I was a child, my grandmother used to tell me stories of spirits, and certain superstitious rules that I should follow to avoid getting in some supernatural trouble. One of them goes like this: if you are alone in a room or in the house, and you hear someone calling your name. When you look back there's definitely no one there. If this goes on, and the second time you look back, there is no one there again, the third time you hear your name being called, you MUST NOT look back. If you did, you'd see something terrible, and it may even be the last thing you would ever see again.

One afternoon, I was home alone after school, and was sitting in the living room, doing my schoolwork. I heard someone call my name, and looked back expecting to see my sister coming home from tuition class, but there was no one there. Getting up to go to the toilet, I heard my name being called again, this time much more loudly. I turned back again, but no one was there. Feeling chills creep up my neck, I proceeded to walk to the toilet, and just as I reached the door, I heard it again. My name being called, loud and clear, as if the person was standing right behind me.

I did not look back the third time.

If this ever happened to you, would you dare look back that third time? Let me know what happens if you do.

Inertia

Inertia. The first law of motion, stating that an object at rest stays at rest, and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an external force.

If a ball stays at rest, it will not move. If a ball is rolling down a hill, it will keep rolling, at the same speed, in the same direction, until some external force, like friction or an obstacle blocking its way, makes it stop.

Human lives are also subject to inertia. When people choose to do nothing, the world doesn’t change. And when we do start something, it keeps rolling on and on, building momentum like a snowball. Here’s a story of inertia, how things can never change, and how things can keep changing.

A girl gets on a coach, heading to the airport. She’s tired and distracted, stuffing her bag in the overhead rack before sitting down with a sigh. A guy boards the coach too, and sits just behind her. He’s on the phone to his dad, telling him he’ll be home in a few hours. The girl overhears the conversation and smiles, as she’s heading to the airport to pick her mum up. She looks for her mobile phone to check the arrival time again, but her phone is nowhere to be seen. 

She panics, and starts rummaging around her handbag and coat pockets again and again, but to no avail. She checks her backpack in the overhead rack, still no phone. As her tears threaten to fall, she checks under her seat to see if her phone was there, and turns around to the guy behind her, asking: “Could you please check under your seat if my phone is there, I can’t seem to find it.” The guy, just finishing his phone conversation, immediately checks and looks around, but no phone was in sight. As he tells this to the girl, he notices her red watery eyes and her distress.

Inertia. If he had left it at there, this story ends just like that. The girl doesn’t find her phone, she cries silently, and nothing changes. The ball stays at rest.

However, an external force starts the ball rolling. He asks her: “Do you want me to call your phone and see if you can hear it ring?” She was so relieved at the offer, and gives her phone number to him. He dials, and at first they hear nothing. He tries again, and she hears a faint sound from the gap between the seats, and finds her phone. She cries in happiness, and thanks him profusely. They smile at each other, and he’s happy to have done a good deed.

Inertia. The ball keeps rolling.

She found her phone, and manages to call her mother at the airport, who had arrived early and didn’t know that her daughter was coming to pick her up as it was a surprise. If she hadn’t found her phone, that girl and her mum would likely have missed each other at the airport, and another sad event would have occurred. That one good deed has spread the happiness and spared two people from unhappiness.

Inertia. The ball keeps rolling.

The girl tells the story of the guy on the coach to her mum, and her mum insists on sending a message to the guy to thank him. She sends a thank you message, and he replies. That conversation somehow lengthened, and they became friends. He told her that he’d gone home and taken some time off because he couldn’t cope with life in university, and it turns out they went to the same university but different courses. She becomes a really good friend, and thanks to her support, he goes back to university, and they graduate in the same year.

That guy is now my husband. On the day of our wedding, he gave me a framed print of my thank you message, the one I sent him all those years ago. “This was the message that started it all, this is where our story started. This time, it’s my turn to thank you, for choosing me, and we’ll continue our story together from now on”.

Inertia. Our story is still going on, like the ball that keeps rolling, until the external force called death comes and parts us. In every moment of life, we hold the power to change the lives of people around us, we all own a force that can decide whether the world changes or stays the same. Love, kindness, and empathy can move people in the right directions; every good deed keeps going on and on, spreading like ripples. Don’t let the forces of anger, selfishness and envy stop the ripples. As long as we keep those ripples going strong, we can make the world a happier place, if only just by a little bit. 

A wise fool

The professor asked: "Does anyone NOT know the answer to this question?" 

I raised my hand. 

I was the only one who did. Everyone else stared; I heard a few snickering. 

I kept my hand straight in the air, and my head held high. The professor sneered and said:"Why do you look so proud to be the only one who doesn't know?" 

I answered: "I am not ashamed to be ignorant because I have the courage to seek knowledge. I pity those who are ignorant and remain so out of shame, and I pray that God may give courage to them. I pray that God bless those who are knowledgeable and give such knowledge to others freely just because they wish others to be knowledgeable too. And most of all, I pray that God forgive those who are knowledgeable, yet they look down upon the ignorant who wish to learn, and take foolish pride in their knowledge."

Silence reigned in the room.

"A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool." -William Shakespeare