Voila, la deuxième tentative.

Granted, the weather over here has been pretty wet and blustery and cold and icky of late. But I’m sure there’s more to it than that which has got me feeling like a smurf with the sinking feeling that its got something extra tailing it after escaping from Gargamel’s lair.

Ah well. An assortment of factors abound, I wonder if listing them somewhat obliquely will even help. well here goes nothing:
Top in recurrence is wondering if my decision to pursue this MSc in Political Sociology was the right one, no, the best one. I can’t help but wonder sometimes. I am where I am, and have plenty to be grateful for, have had some pretty awesome experiences, made new friends, like special people with that *connection* that you knew if you met in some other place at some other time you’d still have clicked just that way….for all that and more I’m grateful. Yet there’s that occasional niggle at the back of my mind that does get to me. Occasionally, I think about the what ifs … my mind imagines life in an alternate universe which  includes Georgetown and Washington DC, and a fat ornery cat, and proximity to all that was more familiar to me.
I wander around London’s wee back alleys sometimes, and around its monuments and read its plaques and wonder at what the resources of my country helped create and support way back when. I think about my dissertation topic and think about the alternate universe where if colonialism hadn’t occurred, how it wouldn’t be a viable topic at all….can one think the unthinkable without feeling too much a fool? And then there’s the influence of certain individuals in my life space, whose intrusion I feel like swatting at like Edmund Tan’s hand motion which is forever etched in my memory along with the accompanying utterance of "Lalat! lalat!".
I want to be towards these "lalats" the gracious, nice, accommodating person that I’m sure so many other people are towards me when I’m being a lalat to them, but oh I so badly just want say/do/indicate the equivalent of " arrête conard, va te faire foutre, laisse-moi la paix!". eh bon. le sigh.

And yet, I remember at the same time the many positive people out there to whom I’m connected, whose waves of love it must be that I feel whenever I sense a nudging away of this Gargamelian cloud that seems to be dogging me of late.

I remember this morning’s absurd burst of laughter that bubbled forth when my mum called (I texted them to call me if they could, while on my way to school, b/c i’d been having recurring dreams of them and my little-little brother for nights on end now… I just wanted to make sure that all was ok over at their end) and upon hearing my "Ok Mum, this is going to sound weird, but are you all ok, wa ti bang lu lang ta-ta meh (I’ve been dreaming of you all every night for a while now)", she responded with a quick "Haiyoh, don’t be silly we’re all ok-lah, what’s on your mind that’s bothering you? I’ve told you before, you better take up meditation! It’s very good especially for sleeping, I tell you Daddy and I after doing meditation we go straight to sleep, no dreams, very peaceful……" Oh Mummy dearest. I just might go check out that meditation centre, actually, given that its awfully close to the LSE (she went and got the info re the meditation centre pronto while I was on the phone with her, my "But Mummy, London is HUGE you know" didn’t hold up. she won). But then again, given that it’s 2.30am and I’m blogging instead of getting ready to sleep instead doesn’t bode well for the self-discipline I’ll need to practice meditation right?

ok. this is becoming a total monologue. I’ll shut up now.

oh, wait. one more experience that I wanted to share. After downing the most sinful pot of hand cut potato chips at a nearby pub with some coursemates this evening, I ended up having socio-political chat with the local roadside fruit vendor. It started off because after all those potato chips, I told myself I’d better get some fruit in my tummy too, and I noticed that the persimmons (as they’re known back home) which were labeled at "Sharon Fruit" and were going for 5 for a £1, that’s like 20p per fruit, which, in my mind, is an awesome deal. the word "persimmon" skipped my mind though, so I asked the vendor what other names it was called mentioning that the reason for my asking was that they’re called different back home (I always ALWAYS offer justifications *especially* when they’re not entirely necessary, just because, like I’d not want the fruit seller to think I’m a little nutty, that totally makes sense, right? right). Which got him asking me where back home was…..to which when I replied Malaysia, he asked "how is it back there?" And I thought he meant the weather, because we’d also gotten to talking about the weather in which persimmons are grown…and I said "hot!" and he said "ah…but the economy…."…to which we ended up discussing this past weekend’s events, and all that surrounded it, and what might happen and who knows what else…..but it was just SO exciting, hearing myself tell a story about a new Malaysia, a Malaysia with a different twist to it, a Malaysia that is, at the moment, pregnant with promise…. no more "that’s just the way it’s been" ending sentences…but rather a with a to be continued "I’ll keep you updated on how things go on after this…." And that was how my friend Russell - who ended up deciding to walk back using the same route I was taking instead of visiting another friend across town - bemusedly (I use the word bemusedly because I totally caught the cocked eyebrow/what are you doing? look on Russell’s face [when he]) found me happily indulging this fruit seller’s curiosity about the state of ‘things’ in Malaysia.

There are moments when my Gargamel’s cloud disappears for a bit, this was one of them. I suppose tonight I shall pray in thanksgiving for all those Malaysians who went out and cast their votes on March 8th, for the gift of hope. And for those whom they elected, the strength, courage and perseverance and grace to carry out what they’ve promised to do.

On that note, I think it’s finally time for bed. I’ve gone on for enough anyhow.

And what people say about writing about things? It really does help. a little.

love to all,
~m.
xox