Landing Down Under

So I've finally arrived. And just like the first time I touched down on Aussie ground, it felt uncannily normal.

Like I'd always been there.

Like the 8 hour flight (it'll be 7 hours next month; AirAsia would have finally obtained the licence without which they'd have to fly an hour away from alternate airports - think connect the dots) was just an extended bus trip.

And holding X, after an 11.5 month separation - I just fit right into his arms and it was just as if I'd never left.

My departure, thankfully was free of drama. I'd forbidden all my friends for the send off; I have a Pavlovian reaction to the word "goodbye" - I cry.

So we had a slightly teary family prayer back at home, where I snapped photos of the living room and bedroom - by the time I get back in 2 years, my family would have moved to my brother's new house. The apartment would have been sold.

My brother had on, of all days, fallen sick with chickenpox. We stopped by his house to drop off Mum's soup and I only managed to wave at him over the gate (I'm unvaccinated). We'd stopped by earlier at my sister-in-law's family home, where she'd moved in temporarily to avoid Matt catching the disease.

I had excess baggage of 17kg and paid up a fine of MYR255. I was relieved at the sum, having heard various horror stories about people paying up in thousands. Check in time was an hour before departure, so my parents, godparents, cousin and I sat at Mc D's to make use of our finite time together.

At 8.30pm, I gave everyone final hugs and walked through the gates, suppressing tears. After chatting to some friends and returning other calls, I boarded the plane.

The flight was ruined by the ugly Malaysians that seem to be growing in expolation. There was the family with a screaming tyrant infant. Like you know how babies cry for food and diaper change? This one was SCREAMING, not crying. For at least 4 hours, we would hear prolonged "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!"s followed by shushes from other annoyed passengers and the unsuccesful maternal attempts at pacification.

The seat to my left was thankfully, empty. Beside that sat an elderly gentleman, who routinely switched seats with his lady companion. We shared the use of the empty seat, occasionally to stretch our feet, or rest our possessions. They were nice, quiet people, the ideal flight neighbours.

To my right across the aisle however, was the stereotypical nosey-parker Chinese aunty (also know as the Ah Sou). She talked and talked and talked and talked throughout the entire red eye flight. She switched on the reading light while everyone was trying to sleep. Her equally nosey-parker Chinese husband (also known as the Ah Pek) who sat behind me, kept kicking my seat and routinely got up to talk to his wife. With his ass facing me (I was sleeping with my head leaning on the armrest). Another reason to dislike him - he wore a grotty fanny pack with a shirt tucked into his black slacks (yes, I am that shallow)!

Needless to say, I didn't sleep a wink.

The cold, windy Coolangatta air was startling to my sleep deprived senses. I had no trouble with immigration, unlike the unfriendly folks at the Brisbane airport. CHARLIE CHAN (don't you love the alliteration? I wonder if it's a pseudonym) did not smile at me, but neither did he single me out as a drug mule/ hooker/ terrorist.

A cute Ronaldo lookalike did check my embarkation form for goods to be declared but cleared me quickly. My checked in luggage to ages to arrive. Everything was damp, fueling the suspicions of the customs officer who asked me, "So you speak English?"

I paused for a beat and wisely chose not to say, "Yeah, yours isn't too bad either", and nodded.

I'd gotten into the baggage-dissection queue, which turned out to be a mistake on their part and got to cut into the baggage-X-ray line. Thankfully, they didn't confiscate my ancient (ranging from 15-20 years old) stinky bolsters and pillows, laying all my worst fears to rest.

The automatic door at the OOL arrivals lounge wouldn't open! Looks like I was shaking my fist at it, but I was really just waving at the sensor.

So I'm finally at X's place, all in one piece with none of my baggage missing, just unusually damp. And apart from banging my hip on the sharp edge of the bedframe, stubbing my toe on the coffeetable at the surf club and burning my cheek on a saucepan (X was trying to pan fry a tuna sandwich on low heat and I was leaning in to hear for a sizzle - I was sleep deprived!), I'm alright. It feels just like any other day, just a rather long one.

So long and thanks for all the fish

I've been loved.

I quit my job a good month before the date of my departure. My official excuse is that packing up the entire 23 years of my life into boxes will take time. Which is, of course to a certain extent true - tax clearance with the IRB, selling off investments, redeeming deposits, all the other random banking stuff and the tedious forms to be filled, it all takes time and many repeat visits. However the real reason laid in job dissatisfaction.

So I left, with a certain sense of trepidation like how I did in high school, when the popular kids' interest in me depended on their fluctuating hormone levels and mood swings then. Would I spend my free days glued to the computer/ TV monitor? Would no one notice my leaving? Would my entire existence leave no impression? Would anyone miss me at all?

It was a little like dying. I've always wondered how many would show up at my funeral. My long drawn "death" has yielded nothing but kindness from friends and family.

Thank you for coming out to meet me, I know you're all busy people. Thank you for filling my days with your presence and love. Thank you for going through the trouble of organizing farewells. Thank you for attending the ones I organized. Thank you for the thoughtful gifts and cards. Thank you for hovering like vultures over the books I can't afford to ship over. Thank you for planning the trip to Kuantan. Thank you for telling me you'll miss me, it means the world to me, I'll miss you all too. Thank you for the poem! Thank you for offering to accompany me to the airport - but I think I'll save the teary face for family. Thank you for offering to organize your engagement parties around my arrival.

Thank you for letting me know I mattered at all.

Butterflies in my tummy

I'm flying off in about 27 hours. And I only intend to return mid 2010.

1 year, 8 months.

A lot can happen in 20 months.

When I get back, my family would have shifted from our Petaling Jaya residence to the Putra Heights' current work in progress.

Matthew would be almost two years old.

My parents would have aged.

My friends, some would have gotten married, some have babies, some maybe more babies. Some would have forgotten me altogether.

It's frightening how much I have to lose.

Suggestions to dying happy

Here's my two cents on the three greatest regrets in life, as gathered by common census.

a) Getting married to the wrong person
I'm only 23, but I can already see the sheen of desperation in my peers' eyes. See, most Asian girls (especially) have a use-by date. Depending on the specific culture, it ranges from 23-35 years of age. Any older than that, there must be something wrong with you. At least that's how you'll be judged here.

(I'm lucky though. Mummy has always advocated the importance of being independent, married or otherwise.)

So I watch a lot of single friends bemoan their status and immediately leap into a relationship with anyone who shows the remotest interest. Then half a year later, they declare they're getting married. Nevermind their brief courting only consisted of two-hour best-behaviour dinners after work and on weekends (sometimes a movie is thrown in).

I don't know, they might have a happy ending. But I just believe it's not realistic to walk down the aisle without having at least spent a month in close proximity with the other party. Like cohabitation or at least a really long holiday. An example would be how X and I have done both several times and concluded: We are extremely compatible. He cooks, cleans and chauffeurs me around; I eat, litter and am banned from steering wheels of any kind.

b) Not keeping in touch with friends
We're all so busy with our own lives that friendships are often neglected. So most of us end up with a somewhat inbred social circle like my insecure ex-colleagues. Oh alright when I say we, I don't actually mean me. My friends are only second to God and family (which X is part of). I love my friends (group hug!). And they're the best anyone will ever find. Totally irreplaceable.

I suppose many may not have the luxury of time, what with work and familial commitments. That was my situation too, so Facebook is godsent (if company policy denies you access to MSN and Facebook, tough luck), what more now with my shifting to another continent. It's been amazing catching up with people I haven't seen (as far back as 1997!) during all the farewells thrown. It's just so rewarding (for lack of a better word) to see how everyone has moved on and is making the best of their lives.

c) Not travelling enough
When I was 18 and temping for an insurance agent as his PA, he told me: Travel all you can before you settle down. I really regret not doing so.

That piece of advice stuck and I've made it a point to go on trips every couple of months. I haven't been to many countries, but I'm thorough with each one I go to. I'm planning to do a partial Europe tour mid 2010 (I won't qualify for the Eurail Youth pass once I hit 26). Di, K and I think it's best to cover Italy, Spain and France (maybe throw in Portugal too) first.

Notice how none of the regrets are Not working hard enough/ Not having enough (insert unnecessary, overpriced luxury items)/ Not having a fat bank account?/ Not getting that promotion?

What are we all working so hard for?

I'm starting to see why people find Asian tastebuds weird

Apparently Indonesians have developed a taste for roadkill. I shall start supplying them with the roos and koalas scraped off Aussie roads.

The pretend bimbo meets the real thing

IL, JK, KS and I decided to meet up for dinner one last time. JK suggested The Cave in SS2. It's a pretty cool concept, no doubt copied from elsewhere (piracy is rampant here). The place used to be a college where I went to for some classes. We had this law lecherer lecturer who used to wear thin polyester pants that attained their unnatural sheen from being ironed to death. He picked on me ALL the time and had a repulsive habit of sitting with his legs wide open, on the table facing me. That was when I realised camel toes are not exclusive to women.

But enough about my traumatic college life experiences. The restaurant had a surreal ambiance and resembled the interior of a very clean, dry, guano and critter-free prop cave. There were mini-caves curtained for privacy, cushions scattered liberally across their seats. The food was unremarkable and service s l o w. The restaurant is open 24 hours a day, so we reasoned a homeless person might find it cheaper to just buy a drink and just hang out there all day. Especially since the staff moved as if they had sludge in their veins and brains.

There were two good looking under over under overdressed girls chatting nearby the toilets. The prettier one had just exited the only cubicle and the other stepped in. I waited at the side for her friend to be done. Prettier Girl was spending an awfully long time at the washbasin. I figured she was powdering her nose or something of that sort and didn't really take much notice.

After a while, she turned around slowly.

"Excuse me... how do you open the tap?"

I couldn't find a similar one, but this is pretty close. Minus the lever thingamajig.

I resisted With a pipe wrench of course! and wordlessly moved over to twist the ring on the faucet.

"Oh!" The sheer magnitude of the information just blew her away. Enlightened, she proceeded to reverently wash her hands.

And people call me a bimbo.

Kuantan 09/08

LC was able to get gift vouchers for accommodation at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in Kuantan. MYR120 a night at a five star facility seemed more than reasonable, so we all decided to go for the weekend.

I have fond memories at this place. Dad used to bring all of us there for holidays. He must have been able to get some corporate discount - I remember his Australian colleagues coming along, with their children and their rhyming names (Tilly, Chilly, Lily? Silly? - I can never get the third one right).

I hadn't been back ever since the 1990's. We were warned to have low expectations of the place because apparently "the rooms are old". So after a six hour plus journey (we stopped for food several times), we checked in.

The place was as beautiful as I remember.

This is the indigo pool I splashed about as a scrawny kid. My brother and I used to sit at the pool bar (without ordering drinks - they were expensive even then). I can still fit in the corner under the bar top!

I don't remember there being a second pool, this must have been new.

The pools were both salinated, for which I'm relieved. Chlorine turns my hair into a tangled sculpture and gives me bloodshot eyes (my fear of being knocked into by little kids far exceeds the burning in my eyes). The salty pool water (which we initially thought was due to the concentration of kiddie pee) eased the itch on my skin (I have eczema) and the sting in JL's leg.

We'd stood in the gentle waves earlier, chatting about everything under the sun (literally). The water wasn't quite clear, but there weren't any suspicious substances floating about. That's pretty good for Peninsular Malaysia standards. However ten minutes into our excursion, JL felt a pain in her leg and insisted we went onshore. It isn't jellyfish season - she was pretty unlucky.

We were all ready to pee on her leg, but the pool guy came to the rescue with lemon wedges (to draw out the poison) and sugar syrup (to reduce the pain). After a couple of rubs with both, the swelling became apparent. It didn't look too bad, but JL freaked out and insisted on going to the hospital. Thankfully things got better and we didn't make the trip later. The efficient pool guy did mention that the month before, a tourist's leg became paralysed and hospitalization became necessary.

The boat bar is still around

Seaview rooms - we were too cheap to pay more for them. We got the default garden view ones.

These are bamboo clams (officially known as Jackknife Clams). Their creepiness in appearance increases in tangent to their maturity. The adult ones have this bulbous eyeball-like protrusion at one end. Terribly disturbing. Obviously it wasn't my idea to order them. Not very tasty either.

The restaurant we went to was possibly the messiest eatery I had ever been to. Plates laid stacked up everywhere. The floor and tables were covered with grease and bits of shell and bones. The people were breaking fast and stuffing themselves silly. I was amazed at the amounts they could put away.

Now Kuantan is a relatively conservative state. I found this out the hard way. LC and I were wearing knee length spaghetti strap dresses, but we got stared and stared and stared at. People pointed fingers and whispered amongst themselves. At the restaurant, in the shopping mall (apparently the East Coast Mall is heaps better than the Berjaya Megamall). I felt like a distasteful museum exhibit. I noticed this only happens in public areas and not so much within the hotel though.

We went to the other end of the beach, where there is a forest trek. We just walked along the bridge, admired the view and took an unnecessary amount of photographs.

The antiquated lobby looks warm and inviting under the glow.

This is me, looking like the stereotypical Korean poltergeist during an impromptu photoshoot. Though seriously, I'm a bit less creepy in real life.

I'll be going there again next weekend, this time with the family. It seemed the most plausible choice, with the short distance (three hours on average minus stops) and it's cheap too. At least as cheap as it gets when you bring along a fussy baby.