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 — 

Tingles of summer

2/07/2014

Reunited 20 years later..

Little train rides :p

During my nightly wanders through this huge airport I’ve caught a glimpse of Dubai’s flashing lights even though I’ve only seen them in the distance through the curved airport glass…  but even though I’m not going to step outside this time round, I can delve into fantasy and peer through the window frame to create the image within… I’m sure it’s more exciting than the reality anyway (or at least that makes me feel better on this 6 hour stop over :s) I’m on my way to Adelaide, South Australia to see lover boy. It’ll be my first time in the land down under, where the toilet flushes backwards and everyone hits a high note at the end of each sentence… I can’t wait.

Godson overtakes godmama 

It is a shame to leave England at its best though, after having to go through cold and rain for most of the year when everyone’s working themselves to the bone and conserving their energy for the seasonal high of summer. And then the clouds clear and the sun comes out (and it’s actually warm!)… Festival season takes off and everyone’s masks melt away as girls strip down to flaunt their stuff with a touch of glitter and a natural tan, while the boys get to actually see what they’ve been imagining beneath all those layers...

Beautiful women & best friends 20 years on...

I’ve been lucky enough to catch two festivals this year so not all is lost… ‘Digital’ for deep house in Amsterdam and ‘Loves Saves the Day’ a bit closer to home in Castle Park, Bristol. For a 3.5 hour shift each day I got the perks of a free ticket and an incentive towards sobriety. My first sober festival was quite an enlightening experience… I never thought standing still as a human barricade for 3 hours could be so entertaining (no sarcasm intended)… Everyone around me was clearly mashed, so I watched the stories of the crowd; to my left, a guy wearing some kind of latex contraption sat ogling at a motionless pineapples on the floor for 10 minutes, his facial expression transitioning from looks of horror to delight. It was so provocative I found myself unconsciously mimicking him as I watched, before realising with a slight blush and turning my attention to the gurners next to him or the fist pumpers behind me.

Congo Natty at Love saves the day

At Ms. Dynamite!

The first day poured down with rain so we danced to DJ EZ, Nina Simone, Annie Mac etc. in welly boots with mascara running down my face and not a care in the world. The second day was all sunshine and sparkles, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M36OGCfYp3A) my housemates all came along with their friends so the group was huuge and somehow, within the crowded confines of the parks perimeters, most of us managed to stick together for the majority of the time… It was nice having the headspace to pick and choose who I wanted to see without being plagued by the worry of what level I was/ wasn’t on… I waltzed into that sunny afternoon with Gentlemen’s Dub Club getting the vibes flowing on the main stage; later we wandered through the mud (in my incompatible shoes), being herded along like sheep around the ancient castle ruins until we popped out the other end to see Shy FX playing a rather disappointing set (due to a crap MC). Ms. Dynamite took over and dropped the bomb with her set, the words pouring out of her mouth like melting gold with a seamlessly sexy flow. Bumping into Congo Natty and ending with a skank to Jakwob’s heavy dubstep we all walked home with the crowd through the living streets of Bristol. We passed people freestyling in the bearpit, danced passed all the drunks at the bars and made friends with festive strangers, leaving our muddy shoes in a pile outside before our heads hit our pillows after a cup of tea… and a clear head for mee :)

Muma #2

So love saved the day and then Vipassana hit and my world was spun on its axis in every direction before reaching some kind of stability within the movement… Being thrown back into real life after 10 days of silence was a shock to the system… 
The pollution stung my nostrils and the horns hurt my ears… the homeless flowed past me engaged in broken conversation but wearing distant expressions on their faces with Ketty eyes and speedy legs. The suffering surrounding me was so apparent now, after seeing how much is within yourself one begins to recognise it externally in ten fold. This may, I recognise, be a pattern of projection… when you’re scared of facing something or anxious/ feeling any negative emotion, it’s easy to project that onto whatever you’re experiencing. In other moments its the love people are sharing or the happiness on a childs face as they wonder off in thought that captures me. This morning for example, my Grandma, my mother and I all hurried through Clapham Junction train station in South London to send me off to Gatwick Airport. Three Generations, each ascending in height from my pepper pot Chinese Grandma to my half irish muma to me, everyone talking at the same time trying to be in control and no one listening. I looked at them with utmost love and laughed to myself at the repeating patterns.

Sunny

So where was I… after the initial shock, the wheel started turning and I went straight back to work, the imaginary pound signs raining down over my summer holiday that was almost in reach. A lovely last afternoon with N at St. Nicks Market, stripping down to our bikinis in the one patch of sun in our cat shit ridden garden. My last Japanese dinner with the girls in long dresses and high heels as we stumbled along trying to remember how to walk in the impractical inventions that are supposed to look elegant (even though the ‘walking’ was only to and from the taxi…) And before long I was taking the posters off my wall (trying not to rip all the wallpaper along with them) and cramming my life’s belongings into all the possible hidden free space in the house. I stood, one last time, in the empty room that had been my safe-haven to reflect on all the good, bad and ugly that the last year had contained…

On my last morning the fuse had blown (literally) and the women were wailing as N returned from her night shift to realise her months worth of meat had all defrosted, while the rest of us were in slight limbo as to what to do. We still managed a cooked breakfast though and K dropped me off with 5 minutes to spare for my bus to London!

Heaving through the crowds with too many bags and no will to carry them, I broke down in frustration and tears, wondering why it was so hard to ask for help… I gained a bit of sympathy from passers by who kindly offered to carry my bags part of the way. Mum met me with the car in South London and off to Grandmas house we rode. My brother greeted me as I teared up, hugging a completely different boy from 6 months ago who’d since sprouted like a beanstalk, sounds like someone’s cranked up the bass but despite the manliness, still has the same loving tenderness that I hope will never go away.

We all enjoyed an English tea with my godparents, a chinese dinner with family and then out of the city we drove as fast as possible to the lovely vintage cottage that we had the pleasure of staying at for a few days. When we ‘arrived’ I’d proudly navigated us the whole way using my phone and instructed everyone to get out the car when we had ‘reached our destination’… if only it was the right destination :s. We unpacked all our stuff, parked the car and were beginning to walk into the house that we were quite pleased with, when mum paused for a moment and asked what address I’d typed in … it saved us an embarrassing confrontation with whoever actually lived in that big and beautiful house that we were more than ready to move into. So like in some kind of cartoon, we packed our bags back into the car, took more than a few wrong turns and finally arrived at the right quaint and much smaller cottage…  woops :s. Pale flowers were strews around the rooms in glass vases and all the furniture and floorboards were wooden, white and rustic. We added our own little touches of colourful fruit and bowls of chocolate or brightly coloured millions for everyone to munch on. During the days we explored Rye (where Rye bread was created!), rode on little trains, shopped, visited arcades, beaches, fish n chip shops, lighthouses, watched the world cup and spent some quality time with our extended L.A family…

We returned to London after a wonderful few days (with far smoother navigation) and Grandma spent the evening with me in her tiny little kitchen with all her pots and pans out, teaching me how to cook a few Chinese staple vegetarian dishes. It’s the best way love can be passed on through generations really, don’t you think? Especially if some people aren’t as comfortable with lovey-dovey cuddly stuff…

Creative veg meals

Dad was next on the list of people to see, so we picked him up the next morning from aunty K’s, briefly stopping off for a chat to hear about Glastonbury that was coming up and hopping back into the car for what turned into a 9 hour journey to Devon. My sanity went out the window first, I blame it partially on the spider that had left two fang like bite marks on my swollen foot… J very patiently dealt with me flouncing around singing opera of tunas and caves. The big annual food shop meant there wasn’t much breathing space in the car with everyone’s luggage and countless bags of food so we were more than relieved to unload at the top of the hill where a big hunky tractor was blocking our path. Obstacle, obstacle run around the obstacle (my regular mantra) & we finally got to the cottage.

Beach time

The sun was setting, the swans and their fluffy grey signets  were swimming around in the high tide of the evening and we sat down for a delicious dinner, a world cup match and a well deserved rest. I tried to remain equanemous with the passport office as I called daily to check on its progress (as I lost it a few weeks before flying), the date to Australia was looming near and a hefty fee of a new plane flight was at stake. To ease everyone’s worries we went on our long walks through countryside’s, cliffs, beaches and ruins. We kayaked, boated, ate, watched movies, swam in cold English seas and sunbathed to our hearts content. Rejuvenating those worn out cells with fresh countryside air.

Sibling time :)

Family time <3

Old friends came to visit us and we all took pleasure in indulging in cream teas, roasts and champagne. One afternoon as the numbness began to spread through my body after a few minutes of immersing myself in the cold seawater, dad spotted a jellyfish floating around next to us. I observed this magnificent creature for a while as it spun its transparent figure and lengthy tentacles in circles and allowed its frills to just break the surface of the water before gliding below again. I appreciated its simplicity and its symbolic nature of what this holiday represented. As a wise friend quoted in a recent letter ‘absence is the greatest form of presence’ and to some extent I agree – holidays really do bring you back again…

So I got my passport in time :D (after having to make a day trip to Bristol because I wrote the wrong address down :s) and it arrived a few days before my departure as I thanked the universe with open arms because now, I’m here! Sitting in Dubai International Airport, awaiting the call to board the last 12 hour flight of this 24 hour journey before I can see my soon-to-be-not-virtual boyfriend, tehe!





Clip of the day: Jonah and pip 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAVWBmblVFQ