Voila, la deuxième tentative.

So I was wrong. here’s another blogpost before I turn 26.
A couple of things this time, as always, writing is a form of catharsis.
I intend to write the introduction to my thesis tonight before I go to sleep. At least so I can have a little something to look at tomorrow to continue off on, or stare at in amazement that it’s actually coming to life, nevermind that it’ll prolly change shape at least twice before being handed in.

But 3 things this time.
Home. Nostalgia. Music.

I’m thisclose to deciding what’s going to happen next year. Let’s just say that the realization of having upheaved and moved and adjusted and re-adjusted to living on three different continents in the past 3 years (actually, 4 different countries in the last four years if you think about it. 2004 started off with throwing myself in the melée that was the South of France, 2005 saw me finishing up my last year at Grinnell and then transitioning to post-graduate life, mid-2006 saw my return to Penang after my 5-year hiatus, and 2007 saw my calamity-ridden intro to living and studying in London)…well yeah, all that has factored in my decision for what comes next once my big baby of a D gets handed in.

Which ties in to coming back home. The first time I left home - in 2001 - there was a sense of freedom. Of I don’t care when I’m coming back next, I just know I’m FREE for now….and suddenly, 5 years went by. And then I decided it was time to go home once again, to reacquaint myself with the 4/5ths of my life that I’d left behind (because leave it behind I did, I have to admit somewhat ashamedly. I was more concerned about the Iraq war than I was about the impending stepping down of Mahathir in 2004, and more in tune with what happened with Hurricane Katrina because I fell in love with New Orleans back in 2002 when I visited, rather than with what happened with the Christmas ‘04 tsunami). And this time around, being home made me realize that even though I was hankering to leave, it wasn’t about escape this time. It was about needing to find the space to grow, to experience and savour the opportunities offered by the world, that I was privileged enough to grasp, outside of Malaysia….but that it wasn’t a matter of if, but when, I’d be back again. And back to make more of a difference than I did in the 9 months that I was participating in Malaysian society. This time, even though abroad again, I’ve kept track of the going ons back home. And while it heartens me that the people that I met while back, and the events that had just started to unfold then have progressed beyond belief, it still makes me extremely … I can’t find the right word. it’s not morose, neither is it depressed, nor angry, I dunno. There’s just so much crazy happening back home right now, it’s hard to see if there’s anything decent that can come out of it. I know, I know, come on right, there is. Heck my dissertation’s all about the possibility of change and all that….but really? it’s just all crazy.

I found myself explaining my Malaysia to friends last night, and it didn’t make sense. To understand it all, one has to submerge oneself in some kind of hegemonically twisted ideological world with flawed logic and subverted sense of justice….it’s just so warped. And it took a non-Malaysian to tell me "But Marie, that just doesn’t make sense at all" for me to realize how I have two selves, one which tries to see things objectively…and the other which has internalized this confusing, roiling, rotting mess of what makes Malaysia Malaysia (the Malaysia that I gleefully left behind the first time around).

And it’s hard to believe in the hope, or the small pockets of reality that do exist, where an alternative Malaysia can and will exist (the Malaysia that I caught a glimpse of while back last year, and that I want to claim and build for myself and possibly my children). One where you don’t have to convince yourself that a certain policy has logic to it if you were to only look at it this one way…from a certain viewpoint.  A nation where its people are allowed to thrive regardless, or perhaps BECAUSE of their diversity and spontaneity and ability to adapt and change and create and reclaim.  A homeland to be proud of and to love because, and not in spite of. Maybe I’m dreaming of being in the wrong historical era, or pining for a Utopia where manmade divisions based on "race" and religion and "gender" and age and class and language don’t play that important a role in our lives both private and public. but oh well.

I’ve gone off again, rambling away…and there went a good couple of hundred words I could’ve used instead for my intro to the big D. ha.

I guess I’ll end with just this short mention of music. Just in the past 3 days I’ve become obsessed with finding a version of "You Belong to Me" that isn’t butchered into sickly sweetness (Carla Bruni and Bob Dylan especially, SHAME on you two!!!!!). The original, released in 1952 sung by Jo Stafford is pretty awesome, but I do believe I’ve found my favourite in Kate Rusby’s version of it. And what creeps me out, besides the fact that the key phrase in this song is "You belong to me" is the haunting melody that just draws me into a orange-purple hued sunset of a nostalgia in my mind — for what I don’t know…but the internal workings of my mind tell me that I may be thinking of a certain boy and how things turned out with him (and I dare mention this openly because he knows not of the existence of this blog, and quite possibly, if he ever stumbles upon it, things will have evolved such that this is all neatly tucked away on the shelves of memories already…or who knows, maybe he’ll still be in my life and will turn around and ask "was that me you were making reference to?" and I’ll just give a smile and not answer yes or no) when I play this song on repeat….continuously for hours on end. I do do that quite often though, get fixated with just one song, and play it over and over again, or find different versions of the same song and play them on repeat, my all time top repeat hit was Bobby McFerrin’s Siamese Cat Song, I used to even play it through the night…and oh, once upon a time, Build Me Up Buttercup too (used to drive Katia mad…and an ex-boyfriend too…but that was when I kept singing along to it…on repeat. hehe). But yeah. so just weird. I guess I should just stop listening to this song if I want to let this weird mood dissipate but do I really want to? I guess the answer is no. I have a bit of a masochistic streak in me that way.

On the whole though, I’m reminded daily of how blessed I am, and I do try not to lose sight of that. I’ve been eating well, and staying quite in love with being alive, and laughing a lot. And trying to pass it all on. Most days I feel like I haven’t passed on as much as I’ve received, that how (I hesitate to say good) it’s been. But I’m constantly surprised by Life, I am, be it through people, events, tastes, moods, smells, textures encountered. For that, I whisper a grateful alhamdullilah in my heart.

Well then. On that unabashedly soppy note, I shall end with a picture, as always, it says a thousand words more.

Love to all,
~m. xox

This might be my last blogpost while still 25. I turn 26 next month. And seeing how fast time’s going by these days, it’s pretty likely that’s what’s going to happen.

Again, I have a 4 week deadline to my 10,000 word dissertation, so I’m updating this blog. ha. no sweat. I’m going to start on it, like, right after I finish this post, in the next 12 minutes. (because it’ll be 16:00 then). mhmmm.

So what do I say? what do i update about? so much has happened. And yet. I feel strangely the same.

So again, we’ll go with the word linkages: choosing own music (to life), mipod, barbeques for burmarelief.org, rare sunny sundays, the magic of red buses and public transportation, good meals, cooking meals, hanging out clothes in the sun to dry (after 9 months! they smell and feel different from coming out of the dryer), finally submitting to paying for, and thus getting to eat reasonably good M’sian food, sempoerna’s, fragility, fleetingness, foxes and birds, windows and sunlight, scents - smells - ringing/alarm tones, nostalgia, acceptance, fuck-yous! to fashion and the weather, carpe-diem-ing, moments of bliss, cuddling under covers and sprawling across a queen sized bed all stretched out with no one to share space with, naps, vivid dreams that donate answers to worries, laissez-faire-ness, cajoling, merry-making, crying, understanding, holding, hugging, being swung in the air, water, bridges, wasting time, being thankful.

And amazingly supportive parents (at the time being),
A big-little brother whom I’m starting to find I can enjoy being with immensely,
A lil-little brother who still doesn’t fail to crack me up, even from afar,
And an exam tomorrow and the day after and the Monday after.

It’s also World Day Against Child Labour 2008 tomorrow (well, today effectively) — rather befitting, seeing as the exam I’ll be sitting for is for my course on Child Poverty and Child Rights.

don’t you just hate it when at the very end, you find out that it all could’ve been so terribly interesting if only other factors hadn’t come in the way that you couldn’t bat away and now it’s just too late and you gotta grab just what you can out of it?
Yeah. i feel that way now.

I’m going to sleep after this.
But for now, I’m sharing a picture of my fridge with all of you.
Just because.
I’m hoping to have it out of my hands before I move out of my current accommodation into my summer lodgings (which I’m looking so extremely forward too! sweetness! Attic and summer bookshelf, and home grown tomatoes and breakfasts at the petite pattiserie around the corner with my favourite Polish boy in London and research research research into Malaysian socio-political history….oooh. Can’t wait. Just til Monday then I can start dreaming all over again and watch myself make it all happen - with God’s grace of course).

Ok.

went off on a tangent there. again.

HUGS galore!!!

xoxox
~m.

*oooh. clarification. this Polish boy is going to be my summer housemate. I love him to bits, but he’s not the same person I mentioned falling in love with a few posts ago (which I have to report, lasts about 3 weeks. After that, just plain ‘ol loving with all the drama and should-I’s and should-I-not’s come flooding into the picture. GAH). But here’s another connection, the easter egg pic from a few posts back? Taken after the Easter-Sunday brunch/food splurge hosted by my fav Polish boy in London. He’s fantastic like that.

** I so am going to sleep now. And getting up bright n early and ready for attacking this exam….thoughts on academizing the grittiness of the world’s most depressing situations will be saved for another posting another day. x

I blog when I’ve got deadlines coming up…essays to write, exams to revise for, applications to send in, those sort of things….(this time it’s a 5000 word essay on Multiculturalism/Liberalism due on Friday. I have no doubt I’ll get it done, but not without some head hurting and gut wrenching I’m afraid. f*ck. I’ll never learn will I. I just get more brazen and knuckle headed each time).

Anyway, an assortment of random thoughts this time around.

I’m fascinated by my country. By the parts of it that I know, by the parts of it that I’m only starting to find out, after reaching the unripe age of a quarter century. I’m fascinated by her history, by her many layers of history yet waiting to be told, that’s being told by those who dare to question the hegemon on history as told by the victors/powers that were and continue to want to be. I’m fascinated by her geography, her changing geography — gurney drive comes to mind, memories of when Ah Ma (grandma on Mum’s side) was still alive - I do remember, despite most of my memories that I can remember starting only after Mark was born (which was just right before she (grandma) died), those times that she and Ah Kong and sometimes my aunts and my mum and dad would go for an evening stroll along the drive…the malay word is so much prettier/apt. Persiaran is it. I wonder if it’s because it’s simply a longer word…which reminds me of how long Gurney Drive is….a long slinky smooth drive along the beach…well those days, and the years slightly after that (we’re talking mid-late 80s) you could smell the sea, see the waves, feel them, hear them. As the mid-90s came along, the sea by Gurney Drive started to recede…and then smell….and as the twenty-0s came…well. Let’s just say you don’t want to have the misfortune of being splashed by the "waves" when they come in at high tide…or get the chance to look down at the mess muck that is that part of the island from say, the 20th floor of the G Hotel overlooking the drive.

I have gone on….I wanted to make reference to the East Coast of Peninsular M’sia as well, which I only ventured to last year…amazing doesn’t even come close to describing it. It felt alien, foreign to me…not because I wasn’t capable of feeling that Malaysia could contain such beauty…but because I guess I’d internalized this kind of nature as being a treat for foreigners visiting M’sia only. I know. a little weird. What was also weird was that it was on a beach, in the wee hours before the crack of dawn, in the dark, with only the light of a nearby bonfire and the occasional lighted cigarette, on a little island of the coast of Terengganu that I had a proper heart-to-heart with another Malaysian…on the basis of our common bond of being Malaysian. Religion, race, class…those topics came up…differences in opinion, wry laughter, the usual…but it was one of the most honest and surprising conversations I think I had in 2007. Odd. I hadn’t thought about it until this stream of thought….

Anyways, more thought spillage. You know what else fascinates me? People with Downs Syndrome. I think I might’ve mentioned this before, but today as I was walking along the South Bank I was arrested by the sight of a photo exhibition by a charity associated with Downs Syndrome at a gallery in the OXO tower. I was pulled in, and my God, the pictures were beautiful. I think part of what fascinates me is that DS cuts across all hues of the human race, and somehow makes people look similar. Also, they are special people. not just because of the way they look, but because I’ve found that there is some kind of innocence, or something, something innately good, it seems to me, that radiates from these people. I’m not sure how to describe it, but even the cheekiest, sneakiest/volatile/uncommunicative person that I’ve known with DS hasn’t ever made me feel the way that some "normal" (obviously they’re not normal if they give you the heeby-jeebies..hmm) people do. I dunno.
Anyways, so yeah. I wandered into a gallery and was struck by what I saw. Openness, tenderness, love.

Another thing. So maybe I have to mention love everytime I blog, sue me. But today, I made yet another conscious note to myself to love unconditionally. It’s not easy. It’s way easier to stick to the routine, stick to the safe….and I must say, after learning about loving and being loved, I’ve been more than inclined to stay on the safe side. It’s just so much easier, and one feels so much more in control. This isn’t just with regards to romantic love, but love in all senses of the word/emotion/feeling/concept/way of life. But yet, there’s that tug, that challenge to go all out. So that at the end of the day….you can say, I really truly did. love.

And death. With life comes death. Everyday we live, death occurs. It’s been happening closer these past month though. Today I learnt of the death of somebody whom I’d gotten to know during my year back home. I only ever met her in person twice…but she was someone who loved, and laughed loud, and was just alive. It’s hard to believe that she’s no longer alive. I was speaking to Mum earlier on the phone, and all I could say was that "Mum, she was just so FULL of life." I know everyone has to die at some point, but she was one of those people that you just didn’t think would. You met her, she touched your life, and because she was just so full of life, thoughts of death would be the furthest thing from your mind, I think. So it’s a sobering thought that anybody really, can go.

There’s a wise man I know who starts off each email he sends with a greeting "Let your hearts not be troubled". And although a little paradoxical, I find it particularly calming especially when I’m being sent news about how fucked up the world we’re living in is…that there is this exhortation to "let not your hearts be troubled". I try. I’m trying. Searching. I do think I’ll find it. that place. And I do think it is findable in the midst of chaos and confusion.  (see picture on right! pointing! ever hopeful!)

What else am I fascinated by that I’d like to share this time around?
Food. I love the way food is such an experience. Explosions in the mouth, I love those. And familiarity, memories evoked, by the taste and/or the smell/texture of something you put in your mouth….mmmm.
On the flipside. I’m also extremely fascinated by how our body processes food and turns it into poop. Seriously. is quite fascinating. The end product is *nothing* at all like what goes in. And in between all that, we harness energy from the process. Amazing. hehe.
You must understand, I come from a family in which a member of will surely bring up the subject of "toilet" "poop" or "fart" or "bowel movement" during mealtimes (usually dinner). So you see where this fits in, no? (it’s no family secret, btw, though Dad tries to keep things in check when non-family members are at the table…heehee, small mercies, alleluia!).

Besides that, there was one more thing. Today, I met another Malaysian at an event that I attended. Post-event we were chatting, and he asked me where I was from, and instead of the usual "Wa si Penang-kia" reply, I thought to ask him to take a guess. He took a few seconds, and said quite surely "Penang". Is there something about not just being Malaysian, but being a Malaysian hailing from Penang that’s evident on all of us Penang-ites? I’m pretty darn convinced there is….don’t anybody tell me it’s all about deduction and general knowledge about the ethnic distribution of Malaysia (it well may be, but I’d prefer to think about something else a little less "technical"…something intangible, yet remarkable).

Ok. well I should go sleep now.
tomorrow’s D-Day. or well. D-Day Before. in which I *must* finish that essay. or else cringe up like a centipede being poked at and shut my eyes tight and wait for Saturday to get here already…that’s so not an option.

bye for now.
love to all as always,
~m. xox

Music is truly a balm for the soul.

As usual, when I can’t sleep, or when I have papers due is when I decide to add an update to my oft-sputtering-almost-dead-blog.

GARGH!!!!!!!
frustration is when you know your body needs sleep and your mind won’t let go of being awake and it’s yet another cycle of struggling with mind over matter and remembering that sleep log you kept for Behavioral Medicine when you were a Psych major back in college, and that essay over dualism that you struggled with one fall night. And bah.

Anyways, what do I have to share with y ‘all this time around.
Well, for starters, I got myself a new camera, courtesy of a certain darlin’ of a M who brought it back from her visit back Stateside for me….and so am back to taking pictures again. I took one specially for a certain Chee Beng Kean today, but haven’t uploaded it yet. heck. I might as well do it, right? gah. Here you go Kean! lookie what I snapped on my way to the library today… ^-^

In other news: I have on my firefox window, open in separate tabs, the following links:
Click on this one if you want to LAUGH!
And this if you want to have a good SHUDDER.

The former is hilarious. I mean. seriously. the blurb it’s got is as follows:
Drunk Darth Vader’s Jedi assault
Arwel Wynne Hughes, 27, from Holyhead, Anglesey, admitted assaulting
Barney Jones and cousin Michael with a metal crutch. They suffered
minor injuries.
Uh huh, I’ll say it again. Seriously. HA HA.

As for the second link. Ooooh. the Man himself is going to be speaking this Friday at Imperial College (info thanks to Suan, oooh she got my feathers all fluffed up with all this) …. someone’s batted around the idea of having a demo/protest/awareness raising thingamajig already….what I can’t come to grips with is how this man can combine being the political leader that he is (a pretty ‘effin scary/urghy one. I’m sorry there’s just no word that’s good enough to describe what he’s promulgated in Malaysia in his 20+ years of "rule") with being the father, husband and grandfather that he is as well. You can’t separate the different parts of your life can you? You just can’t. not when you’re a political leader, a religious leader, or really, any leader of any kind. You can’t say one thing and then be another, can you? I don’t know. Call me naive, but I really do believe that you’ve got to walk the talk regardless of whether one is a leader or not, or else what’s the point of anything? Living a lie is just so not worth it. But then again, is it. blaaaaaa. do not. like. the.way. my thoughts are flowing when I’m deprived of sleep that’s what.

More news on London. the weather is crazy. A couple of weeks ago, it was sunny and bright…so much so that I had the chance to laze on the steps of St Paul’s cathedral with only one layer of clothing on. My companion for that afternoon had ventured out of his house with only a t-shirt on, no jacket, no nothing. he took a chance. brave boy. and he won. because we got to sit outside and bask in the sun. But then the following Sunday, I woke up to looking out of an attic window feeling curiously like I was in a snowglobe.You know those glass balls you shake and then the "snow" inside twirls around furiously? Yeah. It snowed. Like gorgeous fresh snow, reminiscent of that of the Grinnell landscape at the beginning of wintertime.

Ah well.
Voyages. Two weekends in a row I have been out of London.
First Dublin, to visit Mark, and then Sardinia, on a impromptu (at the time of buying the tickets, it was, and actually, right up til when we finally met up at the airport terminal and landed in Alghero with no idea where we’d be sleeping that night, it still was!) get-away with my two M’s.
Pics here (Dublin) and here (Sardinia).

Also, might’ve just fallen in love. Like. just simply. without expecting to. it’s early days yet, but wow, it’s been a ride so far.
However right now, I’m just wishing I weren’t so in love/awe with/of my essay topic. Then maybe I’d be able to write it. Because right now, it’s scaring me to write it even more than writing my personal statements for grad school did.
HAH. The ironies of Life. they never stop coming do they?

Ok. well that’s all for now. it’s half past three in the morning now. The birds haven’t started singing yet so that’s a good sign.

Time to pick a picture to end this entry with.

love to all as always,
~m. xoxox

My room has become a 7th floor dungeon, a trap if you may.
MiBook, a lure into another world.
facebook? the devil’s incarnation.

CRAP.

Anyways, updates for this installment:

In the past 4 days it has rained, snowed, hailed, sunshined (?!) here in London. whoop for crazy weather.

I have more to share but somehow as is symbolic of my attempts with essay writing, when given the chance just won’t let it all out. Anal retentiveness much? probably. blah.

Oh well, Happy Belated Easter everyone!

<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />(yeah, I made that!)<br /><br />&lt;a href=&quot;http://www.shinystat.com&quot; target=&quot;_top&quot;&gt;
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To each their own moment in time.
Tonight I heard for the first time, yes, I do believe so, Bob Dylan.
Thanks so musicovery’s lovely option of being able to select which era of songs you want to hear - I’m such a 60s -70s child of music, seriously, was born decades too late - I suddenly heard this person singing which struck me to the core, much like Elvis Costello did the first time I heard him. And I ran to mibook’s screen to check out who was playing…and lo and behold, I found out that it was Mr Bob Dylan.
Had been contemplating whether to catch "I’m Not There"…and the last thought I remember having about it was, what’s the point of going to catch this highly acclaimed movie just because of it being highly acclaimed when I don’t know smack about Bob Dylan, cept that he was a famous musician.
But after hearing "All I Really Want to Do"…..

*slaps head on forehead*….I’ve HEARD BOB DYLAN BEFORE! Musicovery’s now playing "Lay, Lady, Lay"…it’s also by Bob Dylan. but ok, seriously, "All I Really Want to Do" is the first song of Bob Dylan’s that has struck me just like that. Hearing it, I felt like all the air had whooshed out of my chest for a second there.

-.-.-.-.-

In other news: have started working at a cinema. part-time. So far, it’s pretty cool. Me happy.
But then I watched Once, and that just made me feel all confused inside. It reminded me of two other films: Prime and Les Parapluies de Cherbourg.
I think these three films are rare in the same sense that they don’t provide a neat tied-up happily ever after of the love story that’s being told/filmed, but rather, of a more twisty-hearted kind. The kind that makes you go "shucks, I recognise that as love, but ouch" ….or in the case of LPdC "ARGH ARGH ARGH! Why didn’t you wait for him, 
Geneviève, you stupid cow!"

-.-.-.-.-

Again, more for myself than anyone else’s benefit: for all my (icky)moodiness of late, I am aware of the love that I’m surrounded by both near and far. To list out all the people and occurrences that have made my heart smile (if not my face) in just the last 48 hours would be a lengthy job. So for all that and more, I am thankful. :o)

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

oooh er!

been feeling funny these past few days, odd dampened moods, plus the occasional break of sunshine through the clouds (both literal and metaphorical) even today.
but nonetheless, some thought shares:

• Malaysia’s 12th General Election results. NAIL BITINGLY TANTALIZING RESULTS! WAaaay beyond the who wouldathunk imaginable is happening. holy crap. I feel wrong saying that I’m so gleeful because I know it’s only just the beginning and who knows what lies in wait, but HOLY MOLY! I have never been so proud to be a Penang girl ever. no. I shit you not. serious. SOLIDARITY with my Penang people, from the mainland folks to the mamak shop people to the kopi tiam tau kehs, and char koay teow sellers, schoolteachers, businessmen driving big cars, made up tai-tais, the MPPP workers, young uns’, all those who from all walks of life who went out and voted. for.the.opposition. WOOT. The winds of change have blown. Now to pray and hope and DO.
• Bicycle shop guys. I don’t know why, but I’ve always had a thing for bike shop guys. It’s not just about finding them cute (which I do, but then those of you who know me know my attraction towards "cute" boys runs the gamut from simply speaking, odd-looking ones to the "huh? but Marie, he’s so…NOT CUTE!" ones). ok that aside, I think maybe there’s some kind of self selection involved with being a bike shop guy. Maybe besides having the whole grime and greasy fingers thing going on, they’re also just, naturally, NICE. I dunno. But I went to another bike shop today (hadn’t been to one in a loooong while) and met another nice bike shop guy. Inside my head I was squealing "Y’alls just SO NICE!". I love bike shop guys.
• Nutella on table water wafers: nyumnyumnyuminess.

Well that’s all for now.
Back to squinting at updated election results, and muttering prayers under my breath and wishin and hopin bad icky mood/feelings away.

love to all.
xoxox