Fare thee well

Twelve more days and it’s my turn to the jet plane. Since the end of Form 5, I have farewell-ed so many friends who were flying off to all corners of the world. While I hugged them goodbye and wished them a safe arrival, my heart ventured the question, “When will it be my turn?”

Circumstances always laughed at me for asking such a naive question.

Thankfully, though, I’ve never cared much about what Circumstances think.

Now, at the age of 23, I am the one packing my bags and worrying about the customs regulations. It may not be a usual path of going to the States – I’m doing an Au Pair programme, a way cheaper option compared to studying there – but it’s my shot to experience the U.S. all the same. My only shot, to be exact. At the age of 17 I harboured the dream of studying there – it was such a fervent dream that it filled most of the pages of my angsty journal. But alas, there was the dream, but there was also the financial difficulty.

“It’s just not possible,” I was told, over and over again, and each time my heart died a little.

But I’m not the type of person who likes to see good dreams go to waste. Having “possible dreams” is an oxymoron that I recognised later, and it is as laughable, and perhaps as genetically modified, as “chicken tuna”. Plus, I’m wired with the Chinese kiasu-ness that will make my ancestors proud (except that I always defy my parents, so maybe they won’t be so proud). The more you tell me “Oh, no”, the more I wanna say “Oh, yeah?”

So it is with this almost-suicidal-but-don’t-blame-me-blame-genetics stubbornness that I wind up filling up countless forms for the Au Pair programme. It took me a whole year to prepare – completing the paperwork while gaining experience in childcare. And suddenly, as abruptly as I started, the preparation is almost complete. On July 12, it is my turn to soar for the sky.

Do I feel like a hero (or heroin, but I hate to sound like a najis masyarakat aka drugs) who defeated Fate? I dunno. Do heroes often feel like they should have, perhaps, sat quietly like everyone else? Do heroes feel so nervous about the path they take that sometimes they thump their heads for choosing it? Do heroes feel the guilt, oh, the damned guilt?

I thought not. I’m not hero material – in fact, I have a whole lot of talent for being a chicken, except I can’t even cluck as proficiently.

While I prepare for my year in the US, I have also developed a kind of crippling anxiety. The fear of the unknown, coupled with the guilt of leaving my aging parents, becomes a kind of anti-climax for a trip that I have dreamed of since forever. It takes a lot of walk away from people who needs you, in order to pursue what you need.

This is the reality of following your dreams, if you are anything like me. Coming from a family that has always try to make ends meet, buying a dream incurs a cost to people you love. I have always lived with this tug of war between being selfish, or being a sacrifice. I made the choice many years ago to follow my heart and be a writer, but this would mean that my parents may never enjoy a life of luxury, or just not needing to worry about money. Now, I made the same choice of going to the US, but this translates to the fact that my parents would be alone in KL most of the time, with no one to keep them company.

The pattern emerges – I am always selfish, and my parents always become the sacrifices. To add to the guilt, my parents have been supportive sacrifices.

I wrote about a similar topic in my column a while back, and a reader wrote to me, asking “Why is it that when we want to be ourselves and follow our heart, people think the worst of us and calls us selfish?”

Why, indeed? Up until now, I have never found the answer. But that could have been because of the self-imposed mental block - part of me is reprimanding myself for asking such a question in the first place. Sigh, self-censorship a vicious cycle.

Many times, I kneeled in church, asking God why my heart would tell me to do things that hurt the people around me. I stared at the portrait of Jesus, His face warmer than a painting should be capable of, and asked, “Should I really leave, Lord?”

And He just stood there, smiling his knowing smile, as if He already knew things that I don’t. Well, He does, actually.

Last week, the priest I love dearly said in his sermon, “We get so used to our comfort zone that we forgot that we are on a mission.”

And he recited this prayer by adventurer Sir Francis Drake:

Disturb us, Lord, when
We are too pleased with ourselves,

When our dreams have come true
Because we dreamed too little,
Disturb us, Lord

When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.
Disturb us, O Lord, disturb us.
(Full prayer here)

And that was my answer.

I have been too caught up with feeling guilty, too preoccupied with the future that I failed to see how far God has brought me. My dream of going to the States is coming true, a dream that I have been told would not happen – not with my financial background.

God has disturbed me, over and over again, so that I may never cowardly and comfortably settle for less. He has made me for something, God knows what, and perhaps that is what I really need – not just a year in US, not just a writing job, but to know what I’m really made for.

*********************

Thank God for friends, and one big fat liar as a boyfriend.

Knowing anxiety about leaving, they decided to help me face my fear by plopping me right into the Departure Lounge. It’s a method endorsed by psychologists, called “gradual desensitization”, which showed you that my friends are actually really intelligent people. It’s just that we happened to like to talk about zombies and gossip a lot.

But of course, being so intelligent and thoughtful, the gang knew that they couldn’t plop me into the REAL departure lounge at the airport, lest I turn hysterical and get pinned down by security (we really don’t need any more attention, thank you, being as famous as we are already). So, they took me to a mock Departure Lounge in Solaris, Mont Kiara.

It was the most kick-ass surprise farewell party ever (but of course, I may be biased :P). I had a five-car convoy driving to the destination, and that in itself was exciting. We kept losing each other as other cars, and at one point, a bus kept joining into our convoy because we are attractive like that. But eventually, we all made it to Solaris in one line. Hail to awesome PJ, Subang Jaya, Damansara and Nilai drivers, and Pauline’s iPhone GPS!

Oh yeah, I also discovered my boyfriend can make up stories with a straight face. Not exactly a comforting trait for a boyfriend to have, but since he threw me such a sweet party I let him off the hook. I’ll just add a lie detector to the shopping list muahaha.

Anyway, we arrived at Departure Lounge and did what we do best – talking too loud, laughing too hard, camwhoring too much, and forcing guys to pose with pretty pink cupcakes, courtesy of darling Pauline! We also discovered the freaky accuracy of the Magic 8 Ball, which dear Jee-sama bestowed upon me for my birthday :)

I also got a call from “Grandpa” Bear from Kelantan! Happy to hear from you, and don’t forget to give me my inheritance!

Mucho thanks, Bryan, Pauline, Jee, Eileen, Wan Qi, Dr. Carmen, Matthew, Seok Ping, and Goh! You guys sure know how to make me fly!

(Oh yeah my Brainz Assembly buddies/Familia - minus one workaholic :P - also gallivanted in Melaka for me birthday! Haven't processed the pictures yet but will talk about that soon! Brainz.)

*********

Thank God for sister and brother-in-law too.

Last month, I spent a whole week at my sister’s place in Penang, where I was treated to all the yummy local stuff that I’m so gonna miss, posed for way too many pictures, berkecoh with my sis and bro-in-law, fell into the sea and got flown up into the sky.

Whee! That's me!

Yes, I went parasailing in Penang, thanks to the persistence of my sister and the financial support of RM50 from my brother-in-law. We went to the Batu Feringghi beach, where there were businesses for every sort of beach activities imaginable. Anything that can float, be eaten, fly, sail or be played with, they sold it.

It was terrifying to think that I’m going to be dragged half way up into the sky with nay a life insurance. The parasailing guy, of course, had an airtight guarantee for customer safety which I found hard to argue with.

Me: Uncle, what happens if I drop into the sea when parasailing?
Parasailing Uncle: Oh, no worries! I guarantee you won’t drop wan. If you drop into the sea, we won’t charge you a single cent! *grins*

How to argue with such a solid policy? Thus, I paid the guy, got strapped on to the colourful parachute thing, listened to another guy barking the instructions to me, suddenly got told to RUN!, trotted clumsily on the sand, felt the great woosh of wind and the feeling of sudden lightness, like all my troubles have been blown away, and there I am – high in the air, the sea right below me.

It was exhilarating and dream-like at the same time, as if I couldn’t believe how high I am, and how nonchalant can the rest of the beach-goers be, minding their own business, camwhoring with their boyfriends, building sand castles, playing volleyballs... I mean, hello? Can’t you see? I’m in the friggin’ sky! This is big deal!

It was about five minutes of having the sky all to myself, no traffic and no people to avoid. Just a huge chunk of space, all mine. The breeze was mine, the scene was mine... unfortunately, the back-breaking pain was mine too. I may not have strapped on the parachute properly, so I was in a pretty weird position.

All in all, it ended too quickly. Soon, it’s time to get down. But you know me, I always generate unnecessary excitement for even the most mundane tasks. In my 2-second journey of landing, I almost took out a family playing on the sand, bumped my pinky finger and had two parasailing workers chasing at me hysterically because I touched down too far from where I was supposed to.

Now, that’s what I call going down in style.

(No lah, actually you’re supposed to pull a string to steer yourself downwards, but I didn’t pull at the correct position so the force wasn’t enough to land me at my designated spot. I would have flown right into the forest, but thankfully I saw the parasailing guy waving dramatically while yelling “PULL HIGHER! HIGHER! AAAARGH HIGHER AND HARDER!” So, that saved an embarrassing trip to the forest.)

Mucho thanks to my sister and bro-in-law for being such awesome hosts! Both of you also know how to make me fly! Very good very good, “murderers”! :D