It gets hard sometimes, this whole long distance relationship thing.

Misunderstandings will happen. You'll get angry at the time difference, the distance, everything.

You'll feel helpless when she cries because there's nothing you can do, nothing you can give her, not even a hug.

You congratulate yourself on every day you make it through, and then you realize it's only been three weeks without her.

You can't talk to anyone because nobody knows you're gay. And if they did they wouldn't want to hear about it anyway.

You can't shut her out of your head. Everything reminds you of her and you're on the verge of tears every time you open the fridge door and see the stupid sour cream.

You don't know why you bought sour cream in the first place, you don't even like it.

You try to keep busy.

You try to be strong.

You know?

It just gets hard sometimes.

The Echo.

I've been hanging out with the best friend, henceforth known as Echo, for the last couple of days. I call him the Echo for a reason, and the reason is this: he acts just like my echo. (If I'd said he is my echo then that just makes me sound pathetic for not having any friends.) But anyway, Echo and I have known each other for about five years, and this is how we 'decide' on things:


Me: I'm hungry.
Echo: Yeah I'm hungry too.
Me: I feel like going out for fried rice.
Echo: Omg I was just thinking that! I feel like going out for fried rice too!

+++

Me: I think I want to do a Masters degree.
Echo: That's a good idea. I think I'll do a Masters degree too.
Me: I'll do a useless arts degree.
Echo: Of course of course. Same here.
Me: I was thinking of going to the National University.
Echo: Oh yeah me too!
Me: But in the mean time I'd like to look for work.
Echo: Yeah okay. I'd like to look for work too.
Me: What do you wanna do?
Echo: I dunno, whatever you're doing.

+++

Sigh. The irony of Echo is that he is the most eccentric, opinionated, unique and all-round individual guy I know. At our fairly conformist college, located in the heart of Malaysian Suburbia, he showed up with black fingernails and a mohawk, wearing a skirt. These days, he's toned it down a bit. In fact I think he's skipped his twenties all together and gone straight to being an old man.

Anyhoo. I've lost my point with this entry.

Oh yeah. The point is, I'm going to enroll to do a Masters degree and I'll have a friend to go to class with. Hooray. :) And I've told my parents I'm not doing That Program which they wanted me to do, and they've more or less accepted the fact that they can't tell me what to do. So I'll get to do what I want. Hello, useless arts degree #2. Hooray. :)

Makan lifestyle.

I am so full.

I've been full for days, and I keep eating.

I eat and eat and don't get any thinner!

How now, like this?

+++

My father's mother, from now on known as Grandma #1, always asks me two vital questions each time I return from the faraway land of Oz. First she gets mad, then asks "WHY haven't you called?!"

And then I stammer some lame excuse.. uhmm akshully I meant to call, in fact I was thinking of you today Grandma, and I wanted to call but my phone died, uhmmm...

And then she asks the second question, "Are you hungry?"

So today my sister and I were coerced into waking up early and going to Grandma's for lunch. Of course we woke up late, and by the time we got there people were finishing up already, but it never matters. From the moment we stepped in the door it was calls of Makan, makan! (eat) and makan, makan lagi! (eat some more!)

I had two plates of rice, and when I said I was done everyone looked at me funny.

Done?

Two hours after lunch is tea, and more food was brought out. I said I was full, and everyone looked at me funny.

Full?! What has the land of Oz done to you?!

And so I ate, and ate, and had coffee, and ate some more. There was some socializing too. I have so many aunts, uncles and cousins. Sometimes I had to play this game in my head called Guess the Cousin's Name, and more than once, a random kid walked by and I had to ask my cousin, uhmm... which one is that?

But it was fun. I got the boyfriend question a couple of times, but it was only out of curiosity, and they let it go when I answered Nah, I've got more interesting things to focus on. Everyone welcomed me home, and wished me luck in whatever I decide to do next. With my dad's family I have a healthy, almost neighbourly relationship, whereby we're in each other's lives only as often as we see each other. We unite over food; there's always way too much food. We're supportive and affectionate, but everyone knows when and how to back off.

And after lunch all the aunts and uncles take turns sitting in the massage chair. Sometimes you get a little sibling rivalry, e.g.

Aunt #1: Didn't you already have a go?

Aunt #2: Eh, I just sat down lah!

Aunt #3: Eh, hurry up, I want a turn too.

Uncle #1: She just had a turn, it's my turn after this.

Aunt #1: Hrmm, she'll be a while. Come let's go have coffee first.

+++

One of my aunts also commented that I wear stripey socks all the time, ever since I was little. "Nadia ni dari kecik sapa ke besor, paka setokin belang." I didn't know.

Anyhoo. Now I am so full. I have two hours to relax and digest, and then my mom wants to take me to dinner.

Ah, I really missed the makan lifestyle.

Magic tricks.

Today my mom woke me up at 1 pm (awfully early by Naddie's Jetlag Standards of today) and managed to get me out of bed by promising me a banana leaf.

I don't know what sort of fancy china you guys use, but over here, the amount of food you get in restaurants is inversely proportionate to the price of the plates. At fancy restaurants, because you pay so much so that the restaurant can afford fancy schmancy china, the amount of food you get is measly, stuck-in-the-teeth teeny tiny. You don't pay for the food; you pay for the ambience, the air-conditioning, and the waiters' bow ties. Subsequently, at those mamak shops that Malaysians miss most when going abroad, it is noisy, it is outside, and they serve food on cheap metal plates, but that doesn't matter because the plates are huge. The quality is okay lah, but if quantity is important to you, always, always go for an eatery with the cheapest china, preferably huge cheap metal plates. You get a small hill of rice, and enough curry to feed a small family.

Now, can you imagine how much rice, curry, veggies, pappadoms and Random Fried Things you get on a banana leaf?

(And that is how my mom got me out of bed today; the sneaky, sneaky woman.)

+++

Today I also performed a few small magic tricks.

Magic trick #1: making a whole mountain of rice, curry, pappadoms, and Random Fried Things...

disappear!

Ta-daaa!

Magic trick #2: turning myself into a kid.

After a huge breakfast + lunch, I went to the bank to withdraw some money, and to change my signature. You see, I opened my account when I was 10, and had the shaky, childish signature which looks like a worm wriggling its way up its own butt, and I've grown up (some) since then and have a new, grown up signature.

Unfortunately for me, my account is still categorized as a Youth Account, and that coupled with the fact that Naddie is a Chicken who is Afraid of Banks and All Types of Bureaucracy, I went to the bank with my mommy. At the bank, mommy took my form for me, and mommy filled it up. When it was Naddie's turn, Naddie looked at her mommy apprehensively, and only approached the counter after an approving nod and "Go on, it's okay" from her mommy.

I kid, I kid. Mommy did come with me to the bank... (and she did fill in my form for me).. and I am quite afraid of Banks and All Types of Bureaucracy.. but uhmm. I'm a grown up. Really.

The lady at the counter, upon seeing my Youth Account, immediately addressed me as 'little sister', and herself as 'big sister'. She was really nice, but talked to me like a kid. I overheard her talking to her supervisor when they were checking if I need a new bank book, and she said "Mak dia tak marah ke?" ("Wouldn't her mother mind?") I looked at her. She couldn't have been more than 6 months older than me. A year, tops.

Sigh. Serves me right, really.

Ta-daaaa!

I walked out of the bank nervous with a big wad of cash in my pocket. Really, really, really nervous.

But then, I'm going to perform magic trick #3.

Turning the cash... into...

a new computer!

Ta-DAAAA!!

Heeeeeeee.

+++

Speaking of which, I have to go before the traffic jams start. Y'all be good now. No blanket stealing!

Bai!

Hujan.

Okay. This might come as a big surprise, but I haven't unpacked anything. The boxes and suitcases I shipped are still intact, and the suitcase I brought to London has sort of been gruesomely murdered, the contents of its guts spilling out all over the place. If anything's changed in my room, it's the accumulation of more dirty laundry, and in the absence of a proper laundry bag, they too are spilled out all over the place. The right side of the bed is covered with lumpy pillows, random books, National Geographic magazines and my computer, and there is a path from the door to the bed that is not covered with laundry/ suitcase/ random shoes, and the left side of the bed is where I spend most my time.

The last few days I've done nothing but eat, read, play games and chat with the Girlfriend online, and it's been good.

I've realized though that you cannot not shower in this humid country. You sweat constantly, and the sweat evaporates and mixes with the humid air and just stays in a lovely mist around your nostrils. The max you can go without a shower is 12 hours, and after that you have no-one to blame but yourself for the strange lifeforms sprouting out your armpits.

+++

My sister and I had big plans to go to Ikea today. I don't know if that's quite happening. It is 4 pm and we're both still in our respective beds. She hasn't left her room much either. And now to top it all off, it is raining.

Hujan (hoo-jahn), the Malay word for rain, is the appropriate response and excuse for anything and everything. Why is there a traffic jam? Hujan. Why are you late for class? Hujan. Why did you miss your own wedding? Hujan. Why did you stay in bed all day? Hujan.

Hujan, hujan, hujan.

I missed Malaysia's hujan. Over here it rains properly, it lasts a respectable while, and it rains a respectable amount. There is rolling thunder, there is some lightning, and the entire country grinds to a halt, as if in awe.. but really it's the flash floods and massive traffic jams.

I can hear my mom downstairs, she must have come home early from work. Why did she come home early? Hujan.

Still, hujan or no hujan, I should go say hello. So, see you next time. Until then, stop stealing the blanket!

Bai!

For good.

At Heathrow Airport, as we were trying to get the luggage sorted out, my strange 10-year-old brother blinked a few times (I think it's a nervous tick he's developed, but he says it's just because he's sleepy) then asked, "Err... you're coming back wif us, right?"

"Yep," I said.

Blink blink. "Err... back to Malaysia?"

"Yep."

Blink blink blink. "On the same flight?"

"... Yep."

Blink. Blink blink. "Err... and you're coming back for good?"

"... Yep."

Blink blink blink. Smile. Big grin. Look at Mom. Then look at me.

"Oh," he said. "At first I found it hard to believe."

Me too, kiddo. Me too.

+++

A short transit in Dubai, and a few hours of boredom/terror on the plane later, I am back in my room, at my parents' house in Malaysia. For three and a half years I didn't know what it was like to be anywhere "for good", I was always moving in a few days, weeks, months. I missed out on my siblings' milestones, I wished many happy birthdays from a distance. When I came home on holidays it was always such an event, because I'd leave again.. and when I was in Oztraylia it was always temporary.

And now, it seems, I'm back in my home country. For good.

(I wonder what that means, exactly).

The boxes that I shipped over arrived safely, and the first thing I did was check on my guitars. They're safe.

My room looks exactly the same, with the sheets that I like, and the piles of junk I'd forgotten I had, and the motivational posters I made for myself when I was 16, still stuck to the walls.

The house has changed somewhat. There's a new tv. My mom's redone the kitchen. My brother's toy corner, which evolved into a toy room, has eventually spilled over so that now, if it's not someone's room, it's a toy space. I look at my snobbish house with its snobbish cars in the garage and its snobbish Home Entertainment System and I wonder if I belong here at all, if this will ever be my Home again. (For good.)

It is now 5 in the morning, and I'm entertaining Mr Jetlag. Tomorrow I have to unpack my boxes and suitcases, next week I have to redecorate my room, and sometime in the near future, I have to decide what to do.

I know the questions will come soon: So what's your plan?

So what now?

I dunno, man. For now the extent of my foresight is up until the next meal, and then we see how it goes lah.