As my friends return home for their break, I sit here on the 12th floor of the StuVi 2, facing the majestic view of the great city of Boston. Pieces of ice smack the think window pane, effortlessly trying to inflict that small crack. And then I see droplets of rain gliding down the cold air. The weather is driving me nuts.
A very kind soul offers me his couch for two nights because the dormitories are not opened to students as yet. The first time I view Boston city from this same living room on the 12th floor, I'm struck by awe. It's not beautiful; its simply picturesque. And here I am, living in this city.
Awe refuses to leave my soul as I try to familiarize myself to Commonwealth Avenue during my next few days. If I was as adept as Eva Hoffmann, I would write a 1000 word paragraph to describe the buildings here.
Red bricks line the walls of houses along the Comm Ave and Bay State Road. Marsh Chapel displays amazing Gothic architecture with an odd but amazing sculpture in the middle of Marsh plaza. The College of Arts and Sciences showcases American stone masonry through engraved names of donors. But, Comm Ave itself signifies what BU is.
Huge trees line the road from Alston up to Kenmore Square. They turn a beautiful shade of red in Fall. Boston city has been kind to provide benches along the road, for that random guy to enjoy the warm Fall sun. Or, perhaps for that girl who needs to cry on her friend's shoulder.
Diversity. The one word that BU will always be proud of. People from all over the world come here. From Paris and Buenos Aires, to the outskirts of Barcelona and the tiny nation of Malaysia, there are different people in every corner.
Diversity not only in culture, but in opportunities as well. Here, there's a place for everyone. No one discriminates you for your choices. You could be in the basketball team, play piano in the College of Fine Arts (we have 140 pianos here, more than 100 are grand pianos), join the BU dance troupe, be an art major and join the astronomy club for star gazing, row boats on the Charles, ice skate and the list goes on and on.
I am impressed by America so far, or Boston at least. The people here are different from the people back home. It's not really about being friendly; outsiders probably perceive the locals as friendly because they're more outspoken. It's more about how approachable they are.
I was definitely surprised by the change in setting at the beginning, but I've adapted pretty well. At first, it felt like I was putting on a play. A feeling of tesknota filled me as I thought about a Shakespeare's poem which describes our lives as a play. Now, I've changed. I've changed so much that I wonder how weird I will sound when I get home. Home, I breathe a sigh.
The food has been pretty decent so far. I am just lucky that BU has one of the best dining halls in America. It is one of the best because of the variety of food offered. On some days, the dining hall comes up with something special: Lobster night, Invitational Chef night, German cuisine a couple of other specialties. But of course, just like food at home, it isn't always nice everyday and sometimes we get bored of the same food.
My American adventure has been great so far. However, every adventurer will definitely feel like coming home some day, and so do I. The weather is driving me crazy here. It's cold and chilly all the time now. Some days, I just stare out the window longing for the warmth of home. I think about how I can run gracefully in the parks every evening under the warm setting sun. Here, it's too cold to run outside on most days. I miss those exploding runs in the heat.
On some days, I do crave for home food. Egg curry, chicken varuval, nasi lemak, wan tan mee and it goes on and on. The food here is relatively great compared to the dorm food that is served elsewhere but it can never meet the same level of satisfaction as hot-cooked home food.
I miss my friends and family a lot too. I always think about talking to them. I have a couple of great friends here, but they're not the same as my friends back home. We just shared a connection that was built for a long time. My friends here don't give me that same level of comfort. I wanna talk to friends back home every week, but those are impossible dreams.
Everyone has their own life to focus on. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm the one wasting too much time talking to people back home. My heart tells me no. Every week, despite having homework piling up and tests to study for, I always wanna put them aside and talk to people back home. I spend time scrolling facebook just to know what's happening at home. I send texts to random, old friends just to keep in touch. I post things on facebook as a way to keep my friends updated about me. But, it still isn't quite the same.
As I see the blinking lights and planes flying out of Logan International Airport through the clear glass panes of this apartment, I wonder when I will be on one of those planes. The thanksgiving season isn't helping with homesickness. I too wanna go back and see my family. I too wanna go back and play with Rusky. I too wanna go back and go out with my friends.
Those are all foolish thoughts now. I don't know what the future holds, but if things go according to plan, I have no long term future in Malaysia. I will probably only go back for a few months a year during summer for many years to come. It's just that, I'm still not ready to let go off home....
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Friday, November 21, 2014
I'm Finally Here
I feel indifferent. Is it because I have played this scene time and time again in my mind? Why am I not feeling overwhelmed? Is it a script written for me and one that I have memorized?
I set foot on Japan in the Narita International Airport. All I know about Japan is Naruto, sushi, geisha and hentai. For a moment, I wonder what I am to do now. I have never been in a flight that had to transit at places. I follow the crowd, and eventually find the American Airlines counter. I get my new ticket to Dallas.
With a couple of hours to waste, I walk around the transit area to look for food. As I slowly start to look around, I'm astonished by how expensive things are. I get a bun and bottle of juice and settle down beside a window. As I stare out at the planes taking off, I try to take a step back and think about what's happening.
Honestly, I don't know what to feel. Am I supposed to be sad that I'm leaving my family behind? Am I supposed to be overwhelmingly happy that I'm on my way to living my dream? I feel weird about how normal all of this feels. Why am I not tearing or jumping out of joy?
I take that time to read the messages on my phone and to update my family and friends on my whereabouts. I feel touched looking at what my friends have posted on social media about me. Encouraging words fill my silent voice as I recall how lucky I am to have these wonderful people around me.
My mum texts me about how everyone is feeling my absence at home. She tells me that my brother is still crying thinking about me. He probably felt depressed that that source of comfort was no longer in his room. My sister texts me about how she misses me as well. She might not show it out, but I know my sister well, just like how I know my entire family. My parents, who have had me by their side for 20 years, must be feeling heavy with my absence around my house. You know something big has happened when your parents text you in a different tone than they used to.
And then my emotions return to the other silent voice at home. I wonder what he is doing now. Was he looking for me when my parents returned home? Is he still waiting for me to come downstairs to take him for a walk? Is he waiting for a belly rub? As tiny drops of tears form around my eyelid, I shrug it off and decide to board my next flight.
The journey is taking too long. I've lost count of time. I wake up from a long sleep, facing the clear blue skies as the Boeing flight glides over the clouds. I'm lucky to have gotten a window seat. Soon, I see some piece of land. It must be California, I think.
I touchdown in Dallas at the sight of the burning sun. Expected. It's Texas anyway, the land of cowboys and outlaws and deserts. My hungry tummy leads me to a McDonalds. When I look at the menu, I realize that I'm actually in alien land.
I take a step back and try hard to decide what those words even mean. The menu is completely different. Why don't they have McChicken? All this while, I thought McChicken was the universal McD food item. I decide on a burrito and settle at one of the tables.
Again, I realize how indifferent I feel in this new place. It's an entirely new surrounding, completely different people, totally different atmosphere. But, it's as if I am meant to be here at this exact moment. I know I'm far, far away from home, but this doesn't feel so different from home. I see all the Americans walking past me, a scene that I've acted in before, and I feel that this is my perfect role.
A couple of hours later, I'm on a smaller plane, en route to the North East. I try to kill time on the plane because I'm sick of sleeping. And, I don't wanna fall asleep because then I would miss out on the meals. So, I flip through some magazines, but I find nothing interesting there. And so, I do resort to what I do best-observing.
I observe how the people around me are so different. By now, I decide to give up on trying to decipher why I don't feel the huge changes I'm going through. I see new people who speak using the American accent, I find my love in cran-apple juice. Then, I notice something different about the stewardesses.
They're really friendly. That's an innate American trait, but what catches my attention more is how these stewardess are not hot or pretty or have their faces stuffed with make up. They're average looking, not too young or old, and are dressed rather simple. This feels like how I like the world to be-non discriminatory. The first time I feel like I'm in Utopia.
I finally land in the Logan International Airport. The moment I step out of the airport, reality hits me right away. It's always been this way since I was a young boy. I've replayed this scene many times in my head, so much so it feels like I'm acting out what I practiced. My childhood dream is waiting for me somewhere out there. I'm finally living the American dream - my American Dream!
I set foot on Japan in the Narita International Airport. All I know about Japan is Naruto, sushi, geisha and hentai. For a moment, I wonder what I am to do now. I have never been in a flight that had to transit at places. I follow the crowd, and eventually find the American Airlines counter. I get my new ticket to Dallas.
With a couple of hours to waste, I walk around the transit area to look for food. As I slowly start to look around, I'm astonished by how expensive things are. I get a bun and bottle of juice and settle down beside a window. As I stare out at the planes taking off, I try to take a step back and think about what's happening.
Honestly, I don't know what to feel. Am I supposed to be sad that I'm leaving my family behind? Am I supposed to be overwhelmingly happy that I'm on my way to living my dream? I feel weird about how normal all of this feels. Why am I not tearing or jumping out of joy?
I take that time to read the messages on my phone and to update my family and friends on my whereabouts. I feel touched looking at what my friends have posted on social media about me. Encouraging words fill my silent voice as I recall how lucky I am to have these wonderful people around me.
My mum texts me about how everyone is feeling my absence at home. She tells me that my brother is still crying thinking about me. He probably felt depressed that that source of comfort was no longer in his room. My sister texts me about how she misses me as well. She might not show it out, but I know my sister well, just like how I know my entire family. My parents, who have had me by their side for 20 years, must be feeling heavy with my absence around my house. You know something big has happened when your parents text you in a different tone than they used to.
And then my emotions return to the other silent voice at home. I wonder what he is doing now. Was he looking for me when my parents returned home? Is he still waiting for me to come downstairs to take him for a walk? Is he waiting for a belly rub? As tiny drops of tears form around my eyelid, I shrug it off and decide to board my next flight.
The journey is taking too long. I've lost count of time. I wake up from a long sleep, facing the clear blue skies as the Boeing flight glides over the clouds. I'm lucky to have gotten a window seat. Soon, I see some piece of land. It must be California, I think.
I touchdown in Dallas at the sight of the burning sun. Expected. It's Texas anyway, the land of cowboys and outlaws and deserts. My hungry tummy leads me to a McDonalds. When I look at the menu, I realize that I'm actually in alien land.
I take a step back and try hard to decide what those words even mean. The menu is completely different. Why don't they have McChicken? All this while, I thought McChicken was the universal McD food item. I decide on a burrito and settle at one of the tables.
Again, I realize how indifferent I feel in this new place. It's an entirely new surrounding, completely different people, totally different atmosphere. But, it's as if I am meant to be here at this exact moment. I know I'm far, far away from home, but this doesn't feel so different from home. I see all the Americans walking past me, a scene that I've acted in before, and I feel that this is my perfect role.
A couple of hours later, I'm on a smaller plane, en route to the North East. I try to kill time on the plane because I'm sick of sleeping. And, I don't wanna fall asleep because then I would miss out on the meals. So, I flip through some magazines, but I find nothing interesting there. And so, I do resort to what I do best-observing.
I observe how the people around me are so different. By now, I decide to give up on trying to decipher why I don't feel the huge changes I'm going through. I see new people who speak using the American accent, I find my love in cran-apple juice. Then, I notice something different about the stewardesses.
They're really friendly. That's an innate American trait, but what catches my attention more is how these stewardess are not hot or pretty or have their faces stuffed with make up. They're average looking, not too young or old, and are dressed rather simple. This feels like how I like the world to be-non discriminatory. The first time I feel like I'm in Utopia.
I finally land in the Logan International Airport. The moment I step out of the airport, reality hits me right away. It's always been this way since I was a young boy. I've replayed this scene many times in my head, so much so it feels like I'm acting out what I practiced. My childhood dream is waiting for me somewhere out there. I'm finally living the American dream - my American Dream!
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