Christmas Crunch Time

Meoww, champapi <3

Another day is dawning as we glide over a patchwork quilt of dark olive and mustard yellow land; the colour scheme now shifting to dark ocean blues as though a paintbrush was slowly waking a piece of art out of its deep sleep. I take a swig of the last few drops of my 4th delectable cup of aeroplane coffee and lean back against the rigid headrest to reflect upon the manic week just passed. My body clock is completely out of whack, minutes and hours merge, days have been skipped and nights forgotten. The tell tale sign was when I was handed back a form I'd just signed at the airport that I'd wrongly dated '8/12/2014', it took me a good few minutes to realise what the issue was... a pretty representational result of the last 4 months of madness. The deep rumbles of the engine begin to stir stagnant memories back to life into a stream of incoherent movie clips. The first scene to pop up is accompanied by the soundtrack of a new favourite (https://soundcloud.com/mono-massive/sunday-jazz-party) played at our pretentiously suave house party that was so Young & Fuller Sol as everyone leisurely swayed past each other in long dresses and suits, champagne flutes in hand.

Finally
making it out of Butlins
after The House of Fun Weekender :)

Madrid <3

More Bristol nights followed, meeting crazy captains that manned all sort of vessels along the way and then the madness moved to Butlins for a weekend as I stayed with the skariest crew in a House of Fun, finding my inner groupie somewhere on the way.. (https://www.youtube.com/watchv=sTZxeiydcUk)
And then one last cheeky adventure to warmer weather, for a whirlwind weekend in the sexiest basement of Madrid with my girls and some gorgeous company, listening to tunes and living life nocturnally for a few days, before returning to grey skies and a winter wonderland :) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4k6gcbgUvM4). 

Madrid 4 days later...

Skating at winter wonderland 

Academia's supposedly been going on simultaneously, I’ve slowly settled into my last year of uni, delving into dreams with my new passion for psychoanalysis, questioning my sanity during our consciousness course and slowing down the rat race with a new yoga class, that I get to teach once a week to a few gentle souls. It's been a heart warming few months of the usual highs and lows as the 3 year mark hits and grants with it a sense of comfort and a funny feeling of home…

The seatbelt sign's on and the energy in the MH003 cabin is getting uneasy... a similar sensation to the rumbles of discomfort that's brewing in many bellies as the headlines maintain their reign of terror: another attack, tighter immigration laws, more war. Watching the incredible response on social media as everyone responds and reacts with statuses, articles and profile pictures, that transition from gay-pride rainbows to French flags; feeling both shocked and amazed at how fast the notifications popped up “15 friends marked safe“ as soon as the Paris bombings occurred. Going to uni that day I felt a worried pang as the cacophony of murmurs suggesting 'World War 3' resonated in the room, at a low tone suited to the subject of conversation... the high shrills of the canteen ladies retained the normality of the situation. The conversations moved on, I ran to my lecture and people continued leisurely sipping on their coffee's & talking about the weather … surrealism at its best.

I went to my first protest to not bomb Syria the other day after conveniently having just had a seminar on crowd psychology. L and I cycled in a dramatic haste through sheets of rain, feeling excited and purposeful as we raced to join the crowd that was blocking off the whole high street in our wage against war (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztZI2aLQ9Sw). I observed the many splits between groups: the transgressive lot demonstrating their disobedience as they skanked out to D&B playing from their mini-rigs, while another group chanted “1,2,3,4 WE DON’T WANT NO TORI WAR, 5,6,7,8 STOP THE BOMBING STOP THE HATE” waving their signs above the masses.

Someone just opened their window a peek and the sun shot through my eyes, it was like being born for the first time :/ and then to add to that weirdness, I can hear that familiar, cheesy welcome video “Salamat Detang, welcome to Malaysia!" Switch.
Back into Asia-mode, eeek i can feel my inner hippie stirring and swirling and singing dem songs :) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rynxqdNMry4)! The dark colours that make up my English wardrobe are soon to be stripped and replaced by trippy sarongs and flowery dresses.
My eyes are adjusting to the tropical rain forests that are appearing as we swoop lower;

just as smooth as the air lifts the wings of this huge machine, my heart settles down from the mass of caffeine with not a patch of grey in the sky to be seen.
Palm trees and tinsel time, ho, ho, ho… 
this is the Christmas that I truly know. 

Song of the day: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfJRX-8SXOs

Hosts from Hell

The day is closing in on me as the seasons shift and the temperature drops. Those cold shivers are making their way into my bones and the thickness of my clothing is increasing by the day. Minced pies prematurely line the shelves of supermarkets next to the halloween pumpkins as a little reminder that winter is near.  But despite the difficulty that the cold brings, one does have to appreciate that cosy feeling; being inside, engulfed by warm winter duvets and clouds of pillows, wearing your wooliest socks and watching a good autumn movie (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KaHmg4ulyfE).

LBD and I have moved into our new, sexy refurbished 2 bedroom apartment; a process that has been chaotic and stressful but worth every moment to get the results of a home that we reeally want to spend time in. And ooh my days, how greatly we appreciate living in a comfortable house that doesn't have the lingering smell of fish seeping out underneath mysterious closed doors... Let me rewind a little bit. 

Just as summer slipped by..

So I arrived back in the UK after a long 2 day whirlwind of a journey from Kuala Lumpur to Delhi, through Dubai to London and then finally to Bristol. I watched summer spin off about halfway through the second flight, floating down onto one of the glorious mountain ranges that I gazed at from our tiny portal in the sky. As our lease wasn't due to start for another 10
days (and the number of bags I'd left for my future self to pick up was exceeding my capabilities) I'd organised for us to stay at a convenient Airbnb that was close to uni and our new place. How simple it all seemed.
After a nurturing pit-stop at my grandmas in London, I rode back to Briz with an old friend L, catching up on our extreme summers and listening to some good tunes. I opted to stay at hers for the night, enjoying comfort and company and delaying the move to our 'lovely' new Airbnb. Uni started first thing the next morning and the reality hit couldn't have been more intense. I broke my first sweat running to the catch the bus as I nervously glanced at the time on my dying phone, trying to figure out how late I was going to be and where the hell I was supposed to go. AH! The rat race had begun.

That afternoon, I went to meet our hosts that had just made a free 40 pounds from our lack of appearance the night before. I was shown into our dingy room with its drab curtains and stained carpets. It was like stepping into a really depressing care home set in the 1930's... but there was a sure silver lining when I was told that there was 'fresh' water in the jug (... at least I didn't have to worry about mould in the water?) As I started to unpack my many bags, my phone rings and I hear a friendly and unmistakeable 'Good friend o' mine!' at the other end. My partner in crime LBD had arrived with a beaming smile and a backpack of belongings. I showed him into the house and my nose again crumpled at the strange odour of damp fish... the hosts J & E were standing under the door frame in the confined, dark hallway. LBD stood, polite and eager as ever with his hands clasped in prayer position introducing himself. We chatted about the small things in life until we accidentally hit a sore spot. Detecting the foreign accents of our hosts, LBD asked innocently where they were from, creating quite the unexpected reaction. "Jewish" E muttered, while J began hysterically repeating "No! No! No! We do not talk about that!". We apologised and the energy of the hallway became tense, the conversation quickly moved on to practicalities. We'd realised a few days before arriving that the kitchen was unfortunately not one of the public areas of the house listed online for guests but we'd been offered hot meals for 5 pounds each... The offer was quickly retracted following this dip in conversation, instead it was suggested that if we were on a budget, we hopped on the lunch offer at the local supermarket that was available around the corner until 6pm. As much as the thought of stale egg and cress sandwiches thrilled me, I settled for a ready-made soup from Co'op. The host E and I ran into a spat when I stepped back into the gloomy hallway and asked if there was a microwave available, she responded defensively, revealing her phobia of microwaves and repeating that we were not allowed access to the kitchen. Oh dear...

LBD and I sat on our beds, hoping that the negative vibes would disperse and not foreshadow a difficult 10 days. Host J came up to our room and knocked on the door holding a saucepan and offering to heat up my soup as a one off favour. He stood lurking in the shadows of the doorway, eerily eyeing LBD through the slim crack of light... I thanked him, passed over my soup and politely turned down the offer to watch a movie downstairs. We danced to the silence of our eerie room, wondering what all the other guests were doing and eventually dozed off in the comfort of our damp beds. 

We followed a strict routine. The noise curfew was 10pm and there was a sign in the shower reminding us to only be a few minutes. Breakfast was between 8-10am and for 20 pounds/night we received an exciting assortment of 3 pieces of bread and a choice of spreads that got recycled daily. The first breakfast that we made on time was on day 3 and our bread was going stale from oxidisation having been left in a sandwich bag since we'd arrived, mm. I swigged some instant coffee and ran to catch the bus to work, late again. The week was wavy; rajasic moments of mania, seeing old friends, getting back into daily struggles and living in-between houses to avoid our situation... The energy would then drop into a tamasic lethargy, burnt out from the the race. 

Escapes to the park

On the third day, the uncomfortable environment of the Airbnb took its toll, so we decided the money wasn't worth it and tried to cancel our booking. The policy was a 50% return unless the hosts were happy to refund it all. I crossed my fingers, took a deep breath and called them up with a cheery tone. It didn't take long to realise that if we left now, we weren't going to get our money back for the next 7 days. J responded aggressively, shocked that I'd even consider breaking the policy and promising to report Airbnb for their lack of professionalism. Suddenly his tone changed, "we'd be happy to have you". I pictured a cheshire cat looking at me with a wide sarcastic grin... oh the superficiality that can exist in hospitality "Oh we'd be thrilled to stay."
The 10 days finally came to a close and the story reached its climax. It was 8.30am and check-out was at 10, we were well prepared having been warned we were not to out-stay our 'welcome'. Our bags were packed and ready to go into the garage where we were to collect them at 7pm exactly. I'd even managed to fit in a spot of yoga on the smelly, stained carpet that I was growing so fond of, the fishy odour had almost started reminding me of home... and then it all kicked off.
I had 5 minutes to make a piece of toast, gulp a cup of coffee and return my key before the tight schedule of the move-in day began. My partner in crime hadn't returned the night before and had misplaced his key (that he later found). This sent E into hysterics and I was quickly launched out of my satvic state with a rapid pulse as I desperately tried to ring LBD. With one hand I buttered my toast and with the other I held my phone, attempting to shout over the rising noise in the room. Their remarks had become personal attacks, from what 'pigs' we were (leaving 4 mugs in our room) to how hilarious it was that I did Yoga. Hospitable host #2 soon joined in "Who do you think you are, asking us where we are from, you are racist!" 1 minute left before I had to get the bus.

MOVING HOUSE!

LBD agreed to arrive before check-out to discuss the key-issue in person. I put the phone into my pocket, handed them my key and began walking away from E that was red with rage and asking to be taken to the health clinic. I got halfway down the street before I hear "NO! Come back here!" She didn't want our stuff in her garage anymore so began to open the door, threatening to leave it all outside. "We are going to report you to the police, the health centre and your university for racial hate crimes." That's when my body started to shake... the thought of our macbooks, passports and money sitting on the street with nowhere to put them and having to deal with false accusations of racism on top of collecting a house of furniture and moving in. AHHHH.
Needless to say, they had nothing to report. I did not go back at 7pm that night, so LBD and our mate T experienced the last of the love. They returned having experienced another wave of insults and some insight into their mysterious ways (when they revealed having had their car keyed a few times...) Our report on the matter was taken down from Airbnb as it did not follow regulations, so E & J will continue to exist according to their profile as 'open-minded, fun and sporty individuals'; but for anyone looking for a temporary home, I'd suggest looking beyond the devil horns of 32 Filton Grove. 

Song of the Day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjFaenf1T-Y

Turbulent love

Phew! I made it onto the plane this time ;). A tumultuous storm is brewing in my belly as my heart fluctuates between sadness, anxiety and exhaustion; contradictory emotions to reflect this complicated situation. Oh how many times this moment has occurred throughout my life.

Having lived an extremely privileged multicultural existence, one has to develop the ability to adapt quickly to ever-changing environments. It evokes a sense of what yogi’s would refer to as ‘aparigraha’ or non-attachment, which seems an impossible task when investing oneself in new situations and making heartfelt connections inevitably creates attachments. The pangs of letting go, while ‘normal’ are still heart-breaking every time. As I listen to the thoughtful melody of 'Black Sands' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTjF2_-bneM), I ask myself if it’s a blessing or a curse to have your loved ones spread out so far? I prefer to favour the former, although in moments like this my decision wavers. For the last 6 years of my life I’ve developed a pattern of ending up in long distance relationships; becoming another ripple in the technological, new-age wave of cyber love.

Brown Hill Creek

J and the family on our Claire Valley wine tour

In some ways, long distance is a blessing: liberating oneself from the trap of co-dependency, living separate lives with space to discover who you both are. Free from the cyclical routine of monotonous nights at home watching episodes of reality TV shows (although sometimes I crave that)… And then after months of doing your own thing, the countdown comes to an end and the drum roll sounds. The time comes to reignite the flame that’s been on hold for months.

The first few days is always the most interesting as you see the other person more objectively; becoming aware of the small quirks that make up their character and noticing how so much time apart really does distort ones memory. The ‘real’ memories soon come flooding back and the comfortable groove sets in. The joy of sharing easeful banter in the same time zone, allowing ones actions to sing in the absence of words with a simple touch or gaze. Growing slightly older each time round and noticing the slight changes in how you communicate together and develop as people… Soon enough, you merge and a routine develops together.

Our trip to Uluru

This time round, I was lucky enough to connect to my many Adeladian loves: yoga seshes, curry nights, hazy days on the hill, wine tours and drunken dances (with family time in-between of course); taking full advantage of my audaciously long summer holiday in the first few sunny days of an Adelaide spring.

Last curry night

My visit this time was supposed to be brief, but old habits die-hard and saying goodbye always comes around too fast. So (on top of a few other reasons) we extended my flights aand then accidentally missed the one I was supposed to get on (eeeeekkk!) but as a result, we got to enjoy a few more unexpected glorious days together. And then just as fast as Abbot lost his position, the 5 alarms we’d set (so as not to miss another flight) were going off all at once and we were saying our last arbitrary words of goodbye to each other. The penny dropped and landed facedown, the flipside of long-distance... That familiar heartache began its slow, dull thud. My hands clenched into fists and my jaw hardened as I swallowed the uncomfortable lump that was working its way up my throat. The unfairness of the routine and the pain of letting go again made the walk to the gate a struggle, as I tried hard to retain my composure and focus on the task of getting on the plane.

As L. and I were discussing the other day, the cheesy line ‘if you love someone you should let them go’ actually holds a great deal of truth…  To truly love is to release them from your illusory grasp and allow it to extend beyond the barriers of ownership and entrapment. In his book ‘The Road Less Travelled’ psychoanalyst M Scott Peck describes love as ‘the nurturing of another’s spiritual growth’; growth requires one to pass through various stages of suffering to release ones old self – a beautifully tragic process to experience with another. But as a good friend of mine says: ‘always count your blessings’, as the bumpy ride never ends... Aha, turbulence just got real and the seatbelt sign is on. My clinical aeroplane meal has formed a hard, congealed layer in front of me :s and I have just about enough time to fit in a soppy rom-com before I arrive home to Malaysia for some family time. Goodbye to one love(s) and hello to another; gawd almighty, I’m gonna have to top that all off with a taste of cheese ;) :(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l51UfkpamiY)

Seas of yellow

Song of the day: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jfHalX5atA

Rocky roads

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxpTx0VDBKw

The sun was beating down on my reddening face as I watched the colour of sand change hue with each hour. My travels have flown me down under for the second time, to catch the last week or so of a 'Strayan winter. There wasn't much wriggle room in-between narrowly catching my flight from KL and waking up in Adelaide... I'd been through immigration and was walking to collect the last of my luggage as the strings of that familiar purple backpack caught my eye, sitting patiently in cue on the conveyor belt. A sense of relief rushed through me knowing the airline hadn't lost anything and the journey was almost over. My body was in a state of flux: half tamasic/ delerious from the sleeping pill that hadn't yet worn off and yet my tummy, swarming with butterflies was giving me bursts of nervous energy and clammy hands. J was standing at arrivals wearing his rasta beanie with a calm smile in his eyes. I gave him a squeeze and felt my heart release all the pent up tension that inevitably exists when you're apart from your loved one for half a year.

It still amazes me how fast humans are able to adapt to new situations, people and places. M put it perfectly when she wrote about having to 'change her rhythm' when her boyfriend joined her on her travels; and it's just that. Another beat comes in and the rhythm changes but the melody goes on. So we both merged back into our old, familiar rhythm. I opened the passenger door and slid into the seat that I'd comfortably sat in exactly a year ago, noticing the subtle changes that had occurred since then...
We were heading off on a road trip through the centre of Australia all the way to the largest rock in the world, known by the Aboriginals as 'Uluru' and named 'Ayers Rock' after its discovery by the first European William Gosse in 1872 (This disparity between local and western ideals continued to reveal itself as we discovered more about the giant...)

First nights camping

The drive was set to take 16 hours (one way) through the raw Australian outback and my lack of a valid drivers licence, meant that task was set for J. After the first few hours of driving, adaptive instincts kicked in and we started to feel comfortable with the hum of the engine and view of the trippy, infinite road through the windscreen; biding time by listening to G's stack of funky CD's,  reading little excerpts from my heavy book 'The Road Less Travelled' (suitable title) and expressing to each other everything that a Skype conversation cannot. The numerous dead animals on the side of the road also started to take on a grim normality: spangled limbs of kangaroos, wallabies and dingo's that had been splattered by the humungous 55m road trains... I didn't quite realise the ruthless nature of the metal bars on the front of all the monstrous vehicles.
Day merged into night and the sky started to lose its colour; our eye lids were getting heavy and yet our systems were snapping into alert-mode as we drove at 110k/h passing warning signs about wild animals up ahead. The bright headlights searched for movement, the road started to look surreal and just as we'd reached a period of seeing no life, a herd of cattle appear in front of the car. SCREECH of breaks, rush of adrenaline and the mission continued... J fortunately managed to avoid any collisions and we made it to the opal mining town 'Coober Pedy' at about 12.30am, driving down a side road and drowsily setting up our 2 man tent on a patch of barren land. The wind was strong, making the task harder as we repressed our paranoia and tried not to speculate about the headlights of the mysterious car that was parked 100m away; all those horror stories about what happens to backpackers in the outback started to simmer in my mind...
But luck was on our side and the morning sun was soon streaming through the tent walls. We poked our heads out to see where we'd been sleeping; my eyes landed on the opal mines and houses that formed a ring around us, we giggled knowing that we hadn't been in the middle of nowhere all along... back in the car and the drive continued (with many pit stops and Farmers Union ice coffees on the way).

Uluru

By sunset, we'd arrived at our destination; parking up at the viewpoint and joyfully stretching our legs. Never before have I seen so many shades of red: from the hot glow of the setting sun to the surrounding clouds, my gaze continued to fall over the magnificent standing giant Ularu and finally down to the rusty particles of sand in-between my toes. With each click of a tourists camera, the colour scheme of the picturesque scene shifted until all that was left was a luminous full moon that outshone any potential of a starry sky.  

Uluru by night

We pitched our tents at the official campsite on a soft patch of grass that we'd paid an extortionate $40 for (although to grow grass with limited access to natural water in the middle of a desert is pretty extraordinary). Fumbling along with our pots and pans, clearly looking like newbies, we got in with the camping vibes. As we stood together, trying to chop onions with butter knives straight onto the countertop (for lack of a chopping board) we soon realised we were fairly ill- equipped for such an organised event, but we managed nonetheless. There's something about interacting and sleeping in nature that has a very grounding effect - allowing your circadian rhythm (sleep cycle) to merge with that of the sun and experiencing the movement of the elements around you.

Uluru from behind

You'd never know it was winter with the way the desert heated up as soon as the sun came out... we took advantage of the hot showers that were on offer &  made our way to Ularu.
The signs at the site were confusing 'Do not climb on the rock!' or 'Opening hours for climbing are between...'? According to Aboriginal law, it was only the most respected elders that were allowed to climb the rock, so in consideration of the tradition, we stuck to the ground and made our way around the longest path.

Black tears

Emu's

Aboriginal dreamtime stories were written on placards along the way; they were all based on native animals and plants that gave certain shapes on Ularu some significance. Beautiful water markings fell like black tears down its sides next to deep crevices where young men would learn to become hunters by observing their elders through little holes in the rock. Chalk like drawings in the lower caves evoked a sense of timelessness; The Aboriginals are said to have existed for up to 60,000 years, having migrated from Africa through southeast Asia. They developed an intimate understanding of the land on which they lived, learning to survive in harsh conditions ranging from below 0° winter nights to 50° summer days. Walking barefoot around the rock where many ancient traditional ceremonies took place was awe-inspiring; I could barely hold my agitation in at having swarms of flies constantly circling my head but to think they were connected enough to adapt to these dry, arid conditions by passing their wisdom down through story-telling... Amazing.

Underground camping

Opal mines

So we did it! We drove up and down one of the biggest islands on the planet; the equivalent of driving from the bottom to the top of the UK and back! We'd watched sunrise and sunset at the magnificent mound protruding from its completely flat surrounding planes. Back to Coober Pedy for an adventurous night of living like the locals do (underground!) and after another 16 hours past beautiful landscapes, pink lakes and wild dingoes we arrived back where we'd started for a curry night with the crew ;) Life, is alright.

Sunrise

 Song of the day: Rough Rider
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFaqJC_tXP8&list=PLl8UdbmjwcGxuhJUxj6Ph0XRV338bFSU3&index=1 —