Shutting the suitcase

Obi-1-konobi

My fairy lights add a warm glow to the old white walls of my new bedroom; a light pink rose garland is strewn across my desk and Marilyn Munroe winks seductively at me with her scarlet red lips next to Einstein's multicoloured 'imagination' poster.. To the left Bob & The Rolling Stones exhale a sexy breath of smoke that finds its way around the crystals on my (broken) fireplace, add a hippie sarong or two a touch and a delicacy is born. I've just moved into my first house! Built in the 1800’s, 5 bedrooms, a little garden and a shed soon-to-be converted, I’ve found my home for the next year. The characteristics of the house are what make it cozy; a lovely stained glass window welcomes you at the entrance and little detailed carvings on the edges of the doors catch your eye as you walk through. It’s the first time I’m not living out of a suitcase in a long while and although travelling gives you a sense of liberation from order and routine, having structure return is invigorating. One room-mate N has already moved in and we get along like a house on fire, the rest of the girls are to come gradually over the next few weeks, allowing the family to grow and the house to become a home – though the process wasn't easy, the product was worth it.

N & I had our first night out in Briz on Saturday with old friends from KL and their house mates.

Getting lost - Pre’s – underground raves – deep house – new friends – Bristonian accents – steep hills – chilly nights – warm onesies. On our way home before we the 'lost' part happened, we somehow bagged ourselves a free taxi ride with a sweet lady going in our direction and a frantic 19 year old that was on the run from a gang of boisterous youth. We got a mouthful of the town and its music in one night and fell asleep under warm duvet’s with smiles on our faces. Getting lost in this City is something I anticipated but the hilly roads, was not. If you have time to explore, getting lost is no burden, it gives you a chance to take in the multi-coloured houses, quaint cafes, scattered posters advertising gigs, vintage/ charity shops, restaurants – it never ends. Take London, shrink it, add an influx of rastas, hippies, wind and posters, raise some of the roads and add a farmers twang to the accent… and you've got Bristol. I feel really lucky to have moved from London to Bristol and not the other way around, as from what I've heard it can be a rather overwhelming experience.

First night in the hoouse

A shit picture but the clearest rainbow I've ever seen

London was great while it lasted, once you've got a knack of where to go, who to go with and how to get there it’s a wicked city. I changed charities due to ethical reasons and ended up working as a fundraiser for ‘Care International’ - it was an enlightening experience indeed. Every day you were posted in a different part of London/ England with different members of the amazing campaign group P2P. We’d meet, travel, change and disperse for the next few hours, trying to get as many sign-ups as possible and reach our target (10 a week). If you got over, you’d get a bonus, if you got consistently under, you’d most likely be fired. Fundraising involved thick skin, a big & enthusiastic personality and a strong sense of willpower; hence most fundraisers ended up being boys for one reason or another (I think it’s because they had more of an upper hand when dealing with abuse). The abuse was not something I expected; racist, ignorant, screwed up and untrusting people – you’re interacting with every member of the public so you see and respond to it all.
Fundraising in poor areas was never fun, if people couldn’t even afford to pay their rent or buy their kids cereal for the day. Those were the people I felt most inclined to talk to, as giving a bit of your energy to someone who just wants to be listened to, feels far more beneficial than getting their bank details because they like… your legs? I guess that’s a plus too. It was interesting watching the guys on my team sign up girl after girl who fell into their flirtatious traps, and realizing, that’s what a lot of sales is about – attracting someone to the product, yes. But you have to get their attention first right? So girls usually sign up boys and vice versa.

M and I <3

There were a few interesting experiences, watching the mentally ill man rock back and forth on a wooden park bench nearby. His eyebrows would rise up and down in an anxious fashion, almost in time to the light pattering of the pigeons feet that held up the fragile grey bird frantically pecking for crumbs in front of him. We continued with our day and at the very end while we were packing up, he made his entrance. Standing in front of us he took his position and shouted ‘You all make me sick! I’m part of the council and we all agree you should f**k your mothers and go to hell etc etc etc’. Woah! What a long order. We looked at him and smiled with compassion, the boys put their hats to their chest ‘have a good day sir J’.

10 years on

As you walk past another person do you ever get that uncomfortable feeling of ‘what do I do?’ Are they far enough away for me to smile at them, do I say something or make eye contact? Watching children go through this thought process is really interesting. Mums and dads rush past me as their kids are the ones that want to talk and interact. ‘Come on!’ Sorry we don’t have time’ she brushes past me with 3 kids on tow, they look back at me and smile, not fazed by the rush but caught in the daze of the grown-ups busy afternoon. ‘I want to give to charity!’ The little girl turns and shouts to me. I love that pure compassionate intention that’s so common in children; of course, kids are shielded from half of what charity’s become, and what money means now but that’s not the point..

So charity work was good hours with good people and good pay. Inbetween was social time. A weekend in South London at a beautifully modern 7 bedroom house that belonged to M’s godmother. M and I had grown up together in Sri Lanka and hadn’t seen each other in years. It’s funny looking into someone’s eyes when you’ve known them for so long. Seeing stories rush back at you that had been tucked away in the back of a room and taken over by spi

ders and cobwebs. So we spent a luxurious weekend opening pandora’s box of memories with the scent of flowers wafting through the air. Another glass of nostalgia was enjoyed in Gordons Wine Bar with B. over a platter of French cheese. As though catapulted through time, my last night had arrived – I invited over those 5 special friends and we sat on the trampoline and chatted, laughed and drank, with a duvet to keep us warm. Leaving that morning did not go as smoothly as anticipated, I got my train times wrong and proceeded to run around London with the heaviest bags I have ever carried and no right hand man to help me out. I felt less sorry for myself when I arrived huffing and puffing into my carriage on the train to Tisbury. A man in a wheelchair rolled over my feet as he tried patiently to maneuver himself into a good position, an 80+ year old sat next to me uttering dry complaints about the weather and then to top it off a pregnant woman with her 2 year old ran in flustered about having just left her whole handbag in the coffee shop. What a funny bunch of people we were.

Living in the clouds

 A yummy lunch at Aunty M’s, a speedy drive into Bristol and a manic Ikea shop. I stood still and just took in where I was, this had been a long time coming. Fairy lights up, music on, friends over – a good first night in Bristol and my own bed to snuggle into, I can feel a good year coming on.

Recipe: Vegetable curry

http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/3084674/pea-and-new-potato-curry

A blink of summer sun

The girls <3

KL was filled with hazy excitement. It was different this time, 2 different addresses, a boyfriend on the other side of town (instead of across the room) and responsibilities. Dealing with those long awaited insurance forms, university applications, where to live, student loans… but somehow balancing it out with a few crazy nights out; seeing old and new faces, having friends from our travels dropping in and out to have a peek into our ‘other life’.

My boy

I love that initial adrenaline rush that hits you as you rush back into things. Telling the same stories again and again, yet somehow it doesn't get boring as you feed off the vicarious thrill from the other person. Spending time with J and the family, going out for yummy meals and enjoying the luxury of not having to pay for everything. We had a beautiful night with E and co. running around town to catch the last beats before the doors closed. It was frustrating coming back to '3am endings' after the all-night-all-day raves in Koh Phangan.. but that didn't stop it being eventful. We ended up at an unknown house, wondering with wide eyes where the music was. Around little apple speakers we crowded, as we made the springs on the bed bounce to the rhythm of the beat, while wearing our eye masks that were handed out at the Pyjama party earlier. The music flowed from the kitchen to the bunk beds, engulfing those in need of a tune, while all the while curious red eyes peered through the windows at the group that didn't stop moving. The flash of the camera went off, just as the bed collapsed beneath us resulting in a failed attempt at a group photo.. but as the blackness ceased and the party was hanging by a thread, we made our way out the door, in response to the first birds call. A group of invisible bats flew by in front of J's eyes so a taxi was called to his rescue; the rest of us wandered and hid from camera's galore until we found a spot by the pool. The sky got brighter and the day-folk awoke, the city was soon alive. So more taxi's were called after smudged make-up was wiped off and J and I began our days samsara..

That evening J made me his tuna salad -- a definite uni recipe that'll be repeated at the bottom of the page. We turned a movie on at 11pm, but soon after our eyes were shut, not to be opened until late the next day. 

Half the family waiting at the airport

Family lunch in Devon :)

The days following consisted of many things, mainly involving food. I cooked a Chinese meal for S and J, two of my favourite boys, as they watched stand-up comedy on youtube; had a delicious roast dinner with dad as we bonded of a glass or two of vino, and enjoyed the aromatics of a sweet last Indian meal (something that had become somewhat of a tradition over our travels) with both J and I's family, this time the quantity of food was slightly more manageable given that I wasn't wholly responsible for ordering. We raised our glasses to celebrate our return and our future academic decisions.. the sense of relief in both our parents was evident as we talked about uni as opposed to the guest house we were going to run on the beach.  

That evening, plans were up in the air as always, different people, different commitments, spread out all over the beautiful city of high rises and motorways. The pre-drinks turned into all-night drinks as my face became gradually more and more red and the older drunks began leering conveniently over the shoulders of the gorgeous young girls that were friends of their daughters, hm.. 2 other guys joined us that night and we swapped 'Thailand stories'; I slunk back in my chair breathing a sigh of relief and feeling grateful for not having ended up in jail, as their experience sounded horrible. The witching hour struck and the bill was paid, so we all journeyed home. A last scream of joy, a dip into sleep and the alarm was going off, it was time to for me to leave. 

Bartenders

It was a bitter-sweet end. I tiptoed around the bedroom, collecting the last bits and bobs that I needed, still feeling rather intoxicated, and throwing brief glances in J's direction, taking every look I could get before it was over for a while. My emotions had reached their breaking point and my head hung low as I held on to J for the last time this summer, and wept. It was going to be a long time, but like a lot of people have told me 'if the love exists, there's no reason it shouldn't last'. I gave J a last kiss, trying to wipe away the endless tears before the long ride to the airport. But by the time my taxi ride was over and the ever-talkative but lovely Z had dropped me off, my spirits were lifted and I walked into the airport with my head held high, fighting back the tears for the soppy rom-com that was to come on the flight.

This was an all-too familiar feeling. Sterile air, uncomfortable aeroplane seats and a little screen to keep you entertained. 'You came into this world alone and you die alone' is the quote that was running through my head. Co-dependence is so easy in a relationship. It's so easy to get used to the other person always being there to lean on or bounce off of. But once that sudden support system is taken away, whether it be your partner, family or best friend, it throws you off tilt a little, and like a child learning to walk, you have to really make the effort to get up again and again and again, until eventually, you're running.

I watched a silly rom-com on the plane and just let myself fall down, taking as much pleasure in the weightlessness as possible. 'The Godfather' which I'd never watched before (don't worry I've already been given grief for it), was the next in line and the sound of the guns and gushing of blood managed to dry the tears and put a different crease in my brow. Unfortunately it wasn't a direct flight, so we stopped for a few hours in Doha - not a particularly exciting airport. I'd taken the sleeping pill too early so wandered around with my head in a daze, trying to keep my eyes open for long enough to see the departures board. I hopped on the next plane just in time, and my head fell onto my pillow for a 5 hour sleep. The pressure in my ears began to build, so I woke up as we began to descend. I wasn't in the best state to talk, but my neighbour struck up a conversation anyway; He was a 34 year old Malaysian, that loved the UK and what started out as casual small talk turned into a full blown debate on the contrasting values between the East and the West, he was debating the West's case..

The whiskey distillery

A bit of passionate talk always manages to get the wheels rolling again, so no sooner had our debate ended, another conversation began. He was a 22 year old Brit that was sitting on my other side and flying home on his week off of work on an Oil Rig in Malaysia; the insight I got into that job was not particularly deep as it mainly revolved around 'easy work and lots of money' but that was no surprise... he turned out to be a lovely guy, and after the plane had touched down and I'd collected my bags, he offered me a lift into town. I kindly declined but felt a sense of faith in what was to come. I walked into the underground station to take the Heathrow Express to Paddington, feeling the cold gush of wind against my skin. I looked down at my thin, colourful hippie pants that were letting the wisps of wind lick my legs. I shook my head, I wasn't in Asia any more. 
From a tube to a train to a taxi to home I walked back in time, into the room I'd walked in and out of every day for 6 months before travelling began. I saw my best friend and roomie that had waited up for me, tucked under a white duvet with a laptop on her lap and eyes half closed. We squealed and hugged each other before beginning the non-stop chatter that only emerges when your heart's at its happiest. The mind is one incredible powerful tool, allowing you to go in and out of various modes of conciousness and flit from mood to memory to emotion to action. But when your heart has something to express, there should be no denial or fear, trying to interpret it using our logical rationale because the heart isn't rational. When that feeling arises, just see and feel the message it's telling you... like Malcolm Gladwell mentions in 'Blink' -  intuition is everything. Our eyes slowly drooped and we cuddled up next to each other, for my first night in London. 

Target practise in Islay with my lil cuz

Sheep skull, eek!

‘Situational distribution error’ is something I've mentioned before, but just to recap, it’s a psychological term that refers to what westerners tend to use when something goes wrong, they blame the situation as opposed to themselves ‘oh it was the roads fault we crashed..’. I was just about to write about money, and how it has a way of absorbing you, creating the illusion of power and greed (mainly because I'm just pissed off about the prices here). But if you apply the ‘fundamental attribution error’ to the situation... it’s not really the money, it’s more the value we choose to place on it, because at the end of the day, money is just an energy exchange, you get what you pay for. 
Money can be something you obsess about, calculating the cost of everything – which is what I began our travels doing. I planned to keep a tab of everything I bought and after an hour of trying, realized that if that’s what you choose to do, it just distracts from the experience. Obviously you've got to be aware of your spendings or you won’t have any left, but have fun with it. So instead of whining about the price of things here, I'm just going to try and think relatively without becoming obsessed, consumerism doesn't have to become you just because you're surrounded by it. 

Although the prices hadn't changed here, something else had... and it was putting everyone in a beautiful mood. Every year, my dads side of the family rotates who stays in our family cottage in Devon; the rotation is random, as is the weather, but somehow, whether it be luck or fate, our family always manage to get the few days of sunshine, that allow the cottage to shine at its brightest. The sun shined for a lot longer than just a few days though, from the very beginning to this present moment, the rays have continuously heated up the pavement, made the grass grow longer and the smiles widen. White clouds flying across a clear blue sky became the norm, and sun cream littered the shelves of all the local pharmacies. We spent a few days in London, catching up with friends, picnics in the park, bar tending for our parents house-party and then the morning after, when both mum, dad J and myself were on less than 3 hours sleep, we drove up to Devon (the majority of it was spent with our eyes closed and dad trying not to fall asleep at the wheel). The cottage greeted us with its usual familiar walls and furniture, warmth exploding from the Aga as we walked through the kitchen doors. Those 5 days were spectacular. Long walks over cliffs and rocks to our favourite beaches in the area, braving the bone-achingly cold waters for 2 minutes at a time, picnics and J's, fish and chips at the pub, treacle tarts, scones and a trip to town (where J browsed for toys and I for crystals). It all ended far too soon and we were walking back up that steep hill, passed our apple orchard, back to London. 

Street art in Bristol

Sunny days

Gran painting

Beginning a job that you haven't done in a while is always an interesting experience. I downed a coffee and made my way to the national portrait gallery where my company was holding an event. On entering I was greeted by a few old faces and a few more new ones. We caught up, the endorphins buzzing as we ran around with silver trays, serving champagne and canapés in black trousers and white shirts, while sneaking peaks of the beautiful art-work in the room. One painting in particular caught my attention, it was a large canvas that had paintings of Zebras, giraffes and a few words, this huge piece that took up the majority of the wall it was placed on, was outstanding, not for its detail, but for the fact that it looked as though it had been painted, by a 3 year old. Amongst all the detailed, abstract and extraordinary work in that gallery, this one stood out to me, why exactly was it priced at thousands of pounds when a child at nursery could have achieved the same feat during her break-time, and with a bullshit description I'm sure she could've charged the same amount. But I guess that's the big debate of art. What is and what isn't. It reminds me of the documentary on Marla Olmstead, check it out (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CeyM9dG7Uzw)

J caught a crab :)

I legged it home, stuck in rush hour, to a delicious dinner cooked by my cousin E. It's so funny seeing family members get older when you always have a set age in your head of what they are. 'How's university' is never a good starting point when that stage was 5 years ago, but due to time's racing nature, it never feels like that long. We sipped on red wine and ate fresh chicken satay presented in beautiful iceberg lettuce cups and doused with peanut sauce. The accompanying dishes were just as amazing but I that dish was talked about for days after. 

We had a few days in London before journeying up to my uncles place in Islay, Scotland for our family reunion. One of those days was spent beginning my new job as a chugger (charity mugger) holding a bucket to passers-by, trying to keep a smile on my face and remain positive as people walk around you avoiding eye contact and pretending they're on the phone. Others however, like the ex-heroin addict/ alcoholic, do stick around. That day I was confined to 'outside starbucks' in Hampstead, London. A very small space means you don't have much to work with, so getting stuck in a conversation with this man, meant that there wasn't much room to escape. It was a bizaare experience, at one point he began pushing pressure points on my hand to 'release my anxiety' which actually worked, for about 10 minutes.. We then began discussing music as he used to be a musician as well as an acupuncturist (or so he says) I briefly mentioned how I like to sing, much to my regret, he began chanting 'SING FOR ME SING FOR ME' so at a loss I began singing for this man, in the middle of the street, outside Starbucks, in South Hampstead. It was an enlightening moment and my soul felt lifted, people put a few more coins in the bucket and the man sat down, happy and quiet. I thought busking might be the next way to go since it seemed to generate more profits than talking did. The man disappeared for a few hours and then returned. The people that worked inside Starbucks came out and told me they'd call the police if he kept harassing me, but I didn't really see it as harassment, it was more charity work than my bucket was doing so I didn't mind. Soon enough 2 police cars pull up and 6 policemen get out to surround the poor drunkard that just wanted a song. Now the passers-by had something else to distract them as they walked with their pockets jingling, away from the bucket. Don't get me wrong, some people were generous, but the police cars weren't doing me any favours. Another lady stopped by, a 'mentally ill' patient as she described herself, before we began discussing the unnecessary presence of this many policemen, when dealing with such a small situation. One policeman joined in the conversation and didn't seem to understand our viewpoint -- they didn't seem to help much either as after they'd left with him, he returned 2 hours later, with a big grin on his face and another can of beer..

Islay

Tomorrow is when I begin a month of charity work, and I tell you, I now have an immense amount of respect for those that dedicate their lives to charity in the face of such a ruthless world. It lifts your heart when you get a nice reaction or comment or smile, but asking people for something they don't wanna give, is never easy. The other day in the newspapers an article was released about 'where the charity money goes', to the big cats of course, but seeing as fundraising is the most available job in London at the moment, the lectures from the public on why they will not put a penny into the bucket, don't really help the messengers. So before the hard-work and lectures began, we jetted off to Scotland to check out a few sheep and do a bit of family bonding.

Castle park, Bristol

Our first flight to Glasgow was delayed by 3 hours, meaning our connecting flight was long-gone. Uh oh, a night in a b&b in Glasgow with a few pints and grim weather, none of us were particularly looking forward to it. But to our surprise, we were directed over to a different part of Glasgow airport, where we sat in the waiting room, drinking galaxy hot-chocolate in anticipation for our private jet to Islay eeek! Dad's contribution to the Margadales was some delicious cheese that was scoffed with grapes, crackers and wine after each meal every night. But the journey that that the cheese went on, was one that could be smelt by all. Dad sat at the back of the little plane with the cheese that made its presence known. We took off and soon, that wasn't the first thing on our minds as we flew over the beautiful green cliffs and crevices of Scotland. The glistening seas, hundreds of sailing boats and tiny houses spread sporadically around the land. Down, down, down we came until we landed smoothly on the runway next to the two 4-wheel drives that were parked at the end, with an excited uncle and aunt waving their hands in the air. 

The jet we flew to Islay!!?

We hopped into their cars and drove down the loch to rinse off the journey with a beautiful swim in the clear, fresh-water lake. Swarms of white swans could be seen approaching from the other end and white clouds twirled above the green rolling hills surrounding us. We hopped out and headed back to the beautiful house where dinner was served. 

Beers in the park with Adelaide and co.

For the next week we lived in luxury, cherishing every moment before student life began again. Meals of scallops, oysters and lobster, wines, cheeses and truffles. Clean white beds, long healthy walks, swims, jet-skiing, tours of the local Bruichladdich whiskey distillery, bonding time with cousins (and watching the little-uns get drunk for the first time, lmao at the fact that my brother gets Asian Glow too), games of rounders, cricket and table tennis, fishing, sailing, target/dear and rabbit shooting and surprisingly few family feuds. It was a long awaited reunion with the 17+ members of the Fuller family on the wonderful Islay estate. 
On the last day I went for a lone wander, determined not to get lost as I had done the day before. I skipped along the hills, past highland cattle and trout in the water below. Jamming and dancing like an idiot to 'Fat Freddies drop' with no sense of insecurity as the only eyes around were those of the huge cows and beautiful butterflies that flew amongst the ragwort (a weed that's deceivingly pretty but toxic to horses and humans alike). The blue sky stretched out in front of me - how amazing that everyone has the ability to share the same air, sky and beauty - we just have to look up once in a while. 

Painted by Rory McEwan, as he
started dying so did the things he drew

Rory McEwan

The journey back was longer than the first one, We used just about every mode of transport possible in Scotland, the 5-star ferry that came equiped with a casino, tv's, shops and canteens (where the boys managed to fit in a full Scottish breakfast), a car to Glasgow (seeing beautiful old castles woosh by our windows), a plane to london followed by a tube a train and a walk back home. A simple meal of choritzo, cherry tomatoes & scrambled eggs on toast was appreciated after the richness of the last week, and we fell asleep, with the hum of aeroplanes flying overhead. 

We spent J and dad's last days wandering cue gardens (the one park in the world that has every plant and flower imaginable), taking in the beautiful (and appropriate) artwork of the deceased Rory McEwan in his exhibition and eating delicious meals. The fambam have now left and I've began an internship with 'urbanfoodfest', as well as continuing the rather draining chugging, to keep the cash flow steady. I've fallen in love with my future home-town 'Bristol', greeted on my first day by a Rasta in the bear-park and old friends with fumes in the garden. So the sunshine still shines though the temperature has dropped; I manage the odd meal with friends, morning runs and yoga, the dry responsibilities of being over 18 and a bit of fun/ a fried brain after a 4-day bender at 'Wilderness Festival' that will be paid its dues in the next post. Keep reading! ;)

Last night at Wilderness

Recipe of the day: Fresh tuna salad

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/tuna-salad-recipe/index.html