One of the terrifying, yet most exhilarating experiences I have ever had is tandem hang gliding. I did this in Interlaken, Switzerland last June. Bearing in mind I have a fear of heights, and an even greater fear of kersplatting all over ground and dying a fairly gory death, this is not an activity that I would have carried out with glee. But you see, I had just started going out with D. He is a jock, one of those people who cannot sit still for 2 minutes. He is also persistent and cannot take no for an answer. We were in Interlaken for the day, to have lunch. Unfortunately the stall providing this hang gliding experience is situated near entrance of quaint Swissy restaurant. I was signed up before I could say "Are you out of your freakin mind you crazy activity obsessed man??!!". So I had a good lunch expecting it to be my last. Even had a cup of raspberry sorbet all to myself. Did not share with anyone.

A group of nice but irritatingly gung ho chaps picked us up from the restaurant and we drove for about 10 minutes into the mountains. Once we got to the launch site (or should I say downhill slope) a few of the gung ho types quickly started setting up the gliders while the rest were in charge of harnessing us with safety straps and giving launch/safety brief. "Do not on any account stop running downhill! Just keep on running downhill and only stop when you are airborne!" Gulp.




They had to be kidding me


So I was strapped in and ready to run. Scared, but strangely excited.




They look much flimsier close up


It is fairly simple. You are strapped on with safety gear not only to the glider but also the "expert" pilot. You wait for the winds to pick at the edge of the cliff. When the pilot says run, you hang on and run down the cliff as fast as you can, and just keep on running until you feel air and you are up...gliding..thousands of feet in the air. Then it dawns on you...you are strapped on to what is essentially a big kite. That is when you ask the pilot "Uh, for some reason this did not cross my mind on solid ground, but exactly how long have you been doing this?". I was safe, he had 20 years experience under his belt.



I am hanging on for dear life

You marvel at the beauty of the Swiss lakes, the mountainside, at the still snow capped alps on the horizon. You look down and note how small everything seems, the houses, the boats on the lake, the minute sheep, and how quiet it is up there. You only hear the wind and the flapping of the glider. You are flying with the Gods. Ok, in my case a rather hunky Swiss guy and a few birds. It is exhilarating as you are taken so close to the mountains that you can see right into the living rooms of the houses underneath you. It hits you how wonderfully free birds must feel as the expert takes advantage of a strong gust of wind to sweep you up even higher, and as the huge lakes get smaller and smaller.




I am still alive

Then you realise that you are so very very far from land. This is not like looking down from 3 story building thinking, ok, if I fall, I may still survive albeit with a few broken bones. This is if kite fails, I am beyond kersplatt. Of course the motion sickness helped me overcome the fear of death from extreme heights (I was thinking if I die I would haunt D forever). The pilot was very nice and he wanted me to enjoy the experience with acrobatics and the whole shebang...I was feeling sick. It is the sick to my stomach I am going to puke sort of sick that I get when I go on those damn gondola rides at Six Flags. I didn't think you could get motion sickness while being rather motionless in the air. The fun was over and the torture of keeping sick in began. After all, I hardly knew the pilot and I did not want to embarass myself.




I was feeling so sick then


It still amazes me now how I could feel sick up there, yet still feel so great flying like we are so not meant to be flying. It was a humbling experience to say the least. We had a smooth landing. I don't know if I will do it again. If I do though, I will take something for the motion sickness. But then again, if not for my having to concentrate on not hurling, I may have been more freaked out by possible kersplatting than I was. But I do know one thing, I would not trade feeling of being as free as a bird for anything.




The unbelievable sense of relief that my pilot and I are on land again.

I know what I am about to say may shock you. It is unheard of for a Malaysian to say this, but, more often than not, I am quite happy being away from home during Raya. There I said it. I am quite content being alone, sans famile, during the Eid celebrations.

Don't get me wrong. There are many aspects of the Raya celebrations that I do miss. I can, even now, smell the Nasi Dagang cooking away the night before at Che Ngah's house. I can taste the bubur lambuk (without the budu) she will serve me the minute I enter the house. I can still hear my Mum telling me to stop munching on Che Ngah's kuih and just arrange them in the nice kuih containers. God I miss all the kuih. I even miss the old style ice cream soda (in the old fashioned brown bottles) that we keep in the fridge for special guests, not to be kept out for the little kids who only want the paket hijau. I have never had any real bad memories of Raya, in fact they have only ever been good. So why is it I am unable to enjoy it as I see many others doing?

Maybe it is because I have never felt that I fit in. I have a fairly complicated family life. To cut a long story short, lets just say that I am not from Trengganu, am not a blood relation of anyone from Trengannu, but each and every Raya for the past say 10 years is spent in Trengganu. With the family. My mum is very big into tradition and each year it is the same drill. We will stay with the same relatives, we even get the same rooms, we MUST buka puasa in Trengganu at least once and sembahyang terawih at the floating mosque (after it was built), so we have to be there at least two days before puasa. We will usually hang out at Che Ngah's house which is opposite HQ at night because she makes the best Nescafe and Puddin (aka creme caramel). Her bubur lambuk is to die for so I am there after buka puasa to have a bowl of speciality because...well, that's the drill innit. We wait for the other KLites to arrive (kiss kiss, kiss kiss), have more Nescafe, watch Astro, and hand out the presents (household stuff for aunts, clothes for all the kids). The parents will play poker/gin, the older kids will play with their mobiles, and the little ones will be running wild outside, with the "villagers". On Raya morning, the men go and pray, breakfast is prepared, the girls get dressed and jewellry is chosen (my sister again complaining about wearing the kayak ring, you know that ugly ass ring which looks like a mini diamond encrusted kayak that all grandmothers seem to have bought), and we all go down to salam to meet the returning men, ask for general forgiveness (confessions of specific sins are a no no) (kiss kiss, kiss, kiss), take pictures, and head out to Che Ngah's for breakfast Nasi Dagang. Che Ngah's, post breakfast, is also main green packet trading floor. I will of course start cursing the fact that older cousins who used to slip me a tenner 10 years ago have popped like rabbits and thus I end up having to slip them at least 5 tenner packets each (please, who are we kidding...like they actually let the kids keep the dosh). A few hours later I am in front of the TV watching yet another Erra and Awie film in my baju kurung top as it is too hot to wear kain, and I have gained 10 pounds in 3 hours. Raya over.

Sounds great doesn't it? It is, unless you continously ask yourself throughout the day "What the hell am I doing here?". Mind you, the feeling has decreased since I started work and able to make excuses for limiting time spent in this surreal "ideal family" situation. I have, since earning own keep, flown in on the last flight to Trengganu the night before Raya, get there, sleep, go through the motions the next day and fly out in the afternoon of Second Raya. I will go to work the next day. I feel a sense of relief when I get home, it is dark, the maid isn't there, I look in the fridge for those goodies Mum keeps in KL for entertaining upon the family's return, decide not to risk another telling off and call Dominos. I am always the only one home early.

I think Raya makes me uncomfortable because it is so family oriented. Heck, the whole fasting season leading up to it is. Raya to me just calls attention to the fact that I have never had a normal "family" and I still don't. It is like being in a play where the cast have known each other for eons, and you as an outsider have to step in and act the part of a character who gets the inside jokes, understands the motivations of all the other actors, pretend to be a veteran cast member while knowing that the other cast members think you don't belong. The extra effort you have to exert to make it look effortless just emphasises the fact that you are an outsider. Last year, I spent Raya in my office, doing work. This year I will be in an office, most probably doing work. And you know, I have never felt so content in my life. I can be myself all day.

Colonial Cool

There I was, watching a rerun of Friends last night, while simultaneously flipping through the most recent edition of Time Europe and munching on my dinner (Doritos Natural style nacho chips) when lo and behold, I spot an article on KL, Colonial Cool. Good ole KL. With all its fab restaurants. KL, eclectic at its best. I remember when they started work on the row of shops on Jalan Doraisamy (a.k.a. Asian Heritage Row). I remember trying out the bakery that had just opened as my office was opposite Sheraton. I remember thinking that it would be difficult to attract the cool bars becuase of the constant threat of roadblocks. How wrong I was. And how strange everything will be when I go back in January.

I just love this advert.

My TV chair

The idiot box

I watch way too much TV. Way too much for my own good. I am sure I watch more TV than the average person. I may even watch more TV than the whole population of Newfoundland. (On a tangent, D finds it fascinating that I have studied the geography of Newfoundland, when the Nuffies, as they are called, are generally a national joke in Canada).

For now, Tuesday is my favourite day. Not Saturday, when the Tilburg town centre is heaving with clubbing Uni students. Not Friday nights when The Grass Company (local posh Coffee Shop) has cheap pasta and uhm, space brownies on the cheap ( I have heard). It is Tuesday because the TV lineup goes like this: Charmed rerun, Friends rerun, SATC rerun, Gilmore Girls, SATC final season, and the OC. On Tuesdays, I get home by 7pm as usual, but instead of sitting my on my comfortable chair (see pic above) with the remote strapped to my wrist to make it easier to channel surf, I just press No 8 on my remote, rush to the kitchen to stick some meat and veg in the oven while Charmed is about to go on, run down to stick cooked meat and veg on a plate during a commercial break, grab some beers from the fridge..and spend a few mind numbing hours in front of my trusted companion.

Why do I watch so much TV here ? I don't think I watched that much TV in KL. I did not have Astro in my room and I hardly used my cheapo VCD player. Oh, but I was hardly at home... There are 29 terrestrial channels available to me here, but I can only watch a few, such as BBC 1 and 2, CNN, MTV, Discovery Channel, and a few others on Channel 5, 9, and 8 (my fave), as they have quite a few English programmes. I don't really bother with the others as they mostly have Dutch programmes. I know I should tune in to try and improve my non-existent Dutch, but heck, life is too short for me to spend 30 minutes trying to figure out the Dutch version of ER. Maybe I watch more TV because there is always something interesting to watch. With less channels, I spend less time surfing. With more channels, I tend to get this feeling that there must be something better on the other channels. So, with my limited choice I am able to convince myself that I MUST tune in to that Discovery programme which will teach me how to survive in Arctic conditions, how to build a fire, how to hydrate myself...because God knows, if ever I am lost in the mountains of Norway, that knowledge will save my life. Btw, I also know how to survive in desert if my car breaks down while offroading and how to survive in the plains of Africa, Masai style. As I said, I watch waaaayy too much TV.

I put it down to guilt. I mean, I feel guilty when I read a book. Strange, but true. My work now comprises reading and writing. Not the fun stuff though, the boring law and economics stuff. If not reading a journal article, I should be writing an analysis of article. If not writing, then I should be looking for more articles to analyse. To be honest, I am so very sick of the words venture capital and private equity. And I wish I could go home and snuggle up under the covers with a good book. But when I do, I am always thinking that I should be reading that article I downloaded from SSRN, or that new chapter my supervisor wrote for his book. So what do I do, I switch on the TV to drown out those voices in my head telling me to read "Personal Insolvency Law and the Demand for Venture Capital by John Armour". So I blame my addiction to the idiot box on my job.

My younger brother works in Switzerland. He has 60 channels at his disposal. If he is lucky he may be able to get one movie late at night which is not dubbed in German/French. I am so glad I am in Tilburg where MTV, CNN and the wonderful Discover channel is Free.

A woman has the last word in any argument.

Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.

Old friends

I had a dream last night about an old friend. J was a good friend during those A-level and Uni days. We were not in the same A-Level class (he is smarter) and we did not attend the same University (as I said, he is smarter). He was in London and I in Liverpool. But it was always his place that I would bunk in during those breaks in London. It was always his roommates I would trounce at Risk (never fall for the I'm a girl and how do I play this game act). Heck we would sleep on the same bed. We would fly back home together for Summer holidays. We were good buddies. Then we sort of lost touch when we both started working. We saw each other maybe once, twice a year. I think I last saw him 2 years ago at a wedding, where I saw his wifey for the first time. She was pretty and nice, and I was really happy for him. So why did I dream about him last night? It was a strange dream. We were having coffee/tea (not sure) at a dining table, in a nice sunny room. I say *a dining table* as it is not my dining table. Never owned one. And we talked. About what I don't know as at the same time in my dream I was thinking why on earth am I having this dream? I hope this is not one of those, you know, he visited me before ....sort of dreams. (Did I mention that I am very morbid?).

So anyway this morning, I got to thinking about all those friends that I have lost touch with. You know the first *best friends* in kindergarten...then the few best friends in primary school...and the list goes on. I moved around a bit as a kid (and funnily enough still moving) so I could never one of those people I envy who still have friends they have known since playschool. Heck, in my secondary school, most of the girls'mothers shared the same Obstetrician. I still think most of them shared the same floor on that maternity ward. But I digress.

Am I a bad friend? Yes, I do have some mucho mucho good friends who I love as much as I love my siblings (I have quite a few blood/real siblings and siblings once/twice removed). But I also have friends I take foregranted, I think about keeping up with but don't, and worse still, even avoid. Am I trying to spread myself too thin and should just concentrate on the ones I would gladly donate a kidney to? I have no problems with calling a stranger a friend within hours of meeting and chatting. As they say, a stranger is just family you have yet to meet. I suppose I am able to differentiate in the many many storage cabinets of my mind the different categories of friendship. But my friends may not see it my way and would expect me, a friend, do be more like what they would expect from a friend. Like J...should I have made more of an effort to catch up with him after work, to have a teh tarik instead of heading straight out to Modestos Damansara Heights for pre-dinner drinks (ah, fond memories). Am I a bad friend?

Lemmings

When I was a student in junior high, we read this book on Lemmings for English. We did some pretty weird stuff actually in that class. I remember spending a few weeks analysing the lyrics of the song "You've Got a Friend". I was always a space cadet in school so I don't remember much about that book except that I found, and still do, lemmings fascinating. Why do they all throw themselves over the cliff? Presumably lemming mothers never had to say "So if your friend jumps into the lake...." (You know the rest, we've all heard it) .

I find myself in a quandary. I was a lemming, did well in school, followed everyone "overseas", joined the rat race, went on the lookout for perfect soul mate in cool watering holes of KL...but I stopped and decided to go against the lemming flow, and haul my rebelious lemming self to a country halfway round the world. I have what some would say regressed, stepped off the carreer ladder. I am in *shriek* academia. I sometimes think that I made the best decision of my life. I sometimes feel like turning back and just going with the flow. Do the easy thing. I know that I am very lucky, able to experience the experiences of several lives and lifetimes even. But sometimes I feel so lost.

On a lighter note, on the programme Top Gear recently, Jeremy Clarkeson talked about this irritating graffiti on a huge wall along the M40, which many many commuters pass every morning. It reads "Why do you do this?". His co-host then added that written on a bridge located along that same motorway, the word "Lemmings".

I love spicy food 

Taking the plunge

I am finally doing it. No more living vicariously through others. No more posting long comments on blogs I visit. No more sending out mass email updates to friends and family. If they want to know what I am up to, then jolly well log on.

Now, if I can only keep this up....