Begone!

It has been a long 48 hours where everything has gone wrong; and I have been trying to do all sorts of things in all sorts of places in all sorts of ways in one big hurry-scurry-flurry; and I find myself pedalling furiously on a failing bicycle, fighting (quite futilely) against the relentless rain, dodging (quite desperately) these uncaring pedestrians; and finally, oh Lord, Dear Father in Heaven, King of my Heart of Hearts, Ruler of my Life in Time and Eternity! You make me SEE! and KNOW!

That I am in no rush to get anywhere, I really do not need to be quite so dry, I sure need not plan weeks’ worth of minutes of my life, I really must not mind that I have been a scatterbrain, I certainly can wait for them to cross, I surely need not worry about the silly bike and I really, surely, certainly can stop. And take this suffocating hood off. And these ridiculous gloves. And go as slow as I want, over however many puddles I want, and smile in the rain because really, surely, most certainly, moping about is not how you want me to glorify you today. And it is not quite how You will lead me to love You today.

Not today!

London at a glimpse

A summary of random things I have done in London over the past month:

• Discovered one of my all-time favourite dishes ever now – Thai calamari at Busaba Eathai.
• Yummy jerk chicken, horrible rum punch and disgusting sights of jiggling bellies at the Notting Hill Carnival.
• Used my first ever Groupon with Nida, at a random Thai restaurant that really cannot make the cut.
• Beheld Van Gogh’s Sunflowers at the National Gallery.
• Caught a giant rwainbow on a rainy day at Trafalgar Square!
• Attended Training Contract interviews… and dealt with lots, and lots, and lots of rejections.
• Spent many an evening staring at the orange-pink sunset outside my window.
• Went for a movie in the cinema alone, for the very first time! A milestone!
• Cleaned a bathroom, for the very first time! A(nother) milestone!
• Watched the Oxford Philomusica perform Haydn at the Kings Place Festival… and in true Malaysian fashion, arrived late and missed the first piece. That said, the second performance (Haydn’s Trauer) was passionate and beautiful!
• Braved my first Vogue Fashion’s Night Out at Oxford Circus, alone. What a great place to learn just how scary women on a (shopping) mission can get.

London, I’ll be back for more of you soon

Elite Education?

I have been pointed to a wonderful article by William Deresiewicz, “The Disadvantages of an Elite Education“, which is worth a read whichever university you attend/ed. It’s a long article, but it’s worth getting through the whole thing. He puts forward several arguments supporting his point and I believe everyone will have one in particular which speaks a little louder to them.

As for me, I found my resounding point in the 5th section of the article. To paraphrase (perhaps a little simplified), we often perceive an elite education as a door-opener. Opportunities abound for the elite-educated graduate – riches and fame are within your grasp. But what we fail to realise is how many doors we graduates ourselves close, because of this elite education. We deny ourselves the opportunity to not chase riches and not chase fame. We chain ourselves to notions of guilt (“wouldn’t that be a waste of my expensive education“) or shame (“[w]hat will my friends think“). And above all, that very sense of elitism to which we are accustomed (“[i]sn’t it beneath me“).

This is such a profound and valid point. Certainly, it is a generalisation – many of the elite-educated go on to pursue careers they are truly passionate about, salary and public opinion be damned. A rare few are truly passionate about a career that involves riches and fame, yet these they view as incidental to the job – not the purpose of the job itself. Others yet find a way to sojourn away from high-paying-high-pressured careers, to live out a few years of meaning through programmes like Teach for Malaysia. Some go on to fulfill legal (and moral) obligations to undertake particular work to serve out scholarship bonds.

But for all of us who fall short of these categories, what do we do with these “elite” degrees we wield? Or more pertinently, what do we allow ourselves to do with this education? Once you have tasted the actual joys of daily, intellectual challenge, would you really be willing to seek opportunities that call for more heart and hands, rather than head?

Not-hing

After two weeks in London, it finally dawns upon me that I have flown 10,000km across the world to throw my hat into a ring, with not the slightest bit of earthly security. I’m crazy. Or, no – this is just the craziest thing I have done. At least I will have done it before I turn 21.

This trip is supposed to be for work. But I am not working. It is supposed to be a vacation. But I am not vacation-ing very well either. Instead, I cook, eat, clean, watch BBC iPlayer and keep the good sleeping hours I have not kept in almost a year. Not work. Not vacation. Not… well, not anything really.

I think it’s time to reignite! Three weeks to go. And oh, what three big ones they are.

Not Quite Science

A few days ago, I found myself stuck in one of the Federal Highway’s infamous buka puasa traffic jams. Seeing as Driving is a No Phone Zone (thanks, Sue May), I figured, what better way to kill time than to shoot evil glares at drivers who turn our usual three-lane highway into a four-lane battlefield. This, after all, is what emergency lanes were designed for. I’m sure.

Only joking – evil glares were less productive than conducting a demographics count on said drivers. Haven’t you ever wondered exactly what type of person decides that a few minutes saved on the road, is worth the risk of scraping someone’s car or driving up the road shoulder?

Well, if you (like me) do, then here it is:

Gender? Male and female;

Race? Chinese, Malay, Indian, Indeterminable through my car window;

Age? Anything in between me and my grandmother’s age;

Type of car? Spotted: Mazda RX-8; Perodua Kancil; spanking new BMW 5-series; Proton Wira spouting exhaust fumes black enough to kill your pet hamster; Honda Odyssey; Perodua Myvi (my car’s evil twin, I am sure).

And so, with nothing else in common, I can only conclude: what type of person is an inconsiderate driver?

Malaysian Macam-macaaam ada.

(And now I will never live it down if I ever succumb to the seductions of the emergency lane.)