Meeting Ol' Mel

Hey, Melancholy. I’ve been expecting you.

I had thought you would come earlier. It’s already June, and in about two months I would be leaving the States, leaving a dream that I had since I was seventeen, only now the dream has undressed into Reality – or at least, I hope it has, though sometimes I still find it a little surreal. You know, come to think of it, I never really bothered to double-check what was the medicine that shrink prescribed to me. Hmm.

Anyway.

I had thought you would march in when I was playing with the kids, enjoying the rare moments when they forgot to kill each other, and realising that man, I’m really gonna miss my Rowdyruff Boys.

How Little Boys are Created

And I thought you would sink in during those many times I immerse myself in Red Rock café, breathing the intellectual aroma (you can tell by the way the smell of caffeine practically knock you between the eyes).


I curled up at my favourite spot with my laptop opened in front of me, the Microsoft Word prompter blinking in anticipation of the next word – which is usually “zombie” – while a gig plays in front, and promised myself that if I ever leave that seat, it would be because someone had pried my cold dead body (the caffeine is that potent) away.

Sometimes, Red Rock feels more like home than home does.

I had also thought that you would pop by when I roamed the streets of San Francisco, where the Weird and Wonderful combined (though in Make-Love-Not-War-Hippie-Happy-San-Francisco, the right word would probably be consummate…) into something that explode into, well, Awesome. The people, the culture, the spirit of the city – its artsy and colourful and vigorous and, best of all, it’s Odd and OTT.

China Town, San Francisco

The pub/tavern outside Steampunk band Abney Park's concert. This is not in San Francisco, but in Oakland, which is about 20 miles away. But yarr, everyone was dressed like a matey. Odd and OTT.

St Patrick's Day Parade, San Francisco

Latino Parade, San Francisco



Latino Parade, San Francisco

It’s my third favourite city in the world, after Klang Valley, which is technically a cluster of cities, which makes it a cluster of Chun-ness.

But no, you didn’t come. I didn’t feel you much, except during the times when I concentrated and really tried, because it seemed like the right thing to feel. Instead, I panicked because I didn’t feel panicky at all. It was like I was okay with going home. Which is all fine and dandy, except I wouldn’t want it to sink in all of a sudden when I’m checking in at the airport. I wouldn’t want the realization that I’m really leaving the States to hit me like a ton of overweight luggage. I want to be mentally prepared now.

Then, just now, in my last class in Stanford, when my classmates were talking about coming back for another course in the summer, the sadness finally dawned on me. I can’t join them, because I would be gone. I am just a passer-by in their world.

My usual route to classes

I had, on occasion, drove down the roads of Stanford University, passing by the dorms and the Pi Beta Kappa Etc signboards, watching the students threw football or laid in the sun, and sitting in student cafes listening to these young intellectuals in their Stanford merchandises debating on subjects I couldn’t even fathom (I lump them all in the category of Quantum, because General Logic is full). I realised, after a while, that I was envious.

Memorial Church, Stanford University

Yet, that isn’t my world. Sure, I study there, but only for the adult classes. I am where they are, but not who they are. It was like a bubble that I could not penetrate.

It always just feels like a peep

I am surprisingly fine with that.

But I will miss Stanford. It is the place that I came to the States for. To find a Voice for my writing. I got more than that. Infinitely more.




The melancholy came from the reality check that I have to leave Stanford behind, and that it was something that was wonderful while it lasted – nothing more, nothing less.

I am, also, surprisingly fine with that. Now, at least, after that pleasant 30-minute-drive back.

A big part of me being so nonchalant is perhaps this: I’m not leaving the States. I’m moving on. Because after almost one year here, you realise that truly, Everywhere is The Same – the bad, and the good. You just need to know where to look.

There will be other places. But for now, I’m coming home.