A young student who has always longed to “get out” finds herself looking back.
THE truth is, everyone’s got your identity carved out for you even while you’re trying to figure it out for yourself.
“The only reason,” stressed Amy as she plonked her books on her desk, “we’re doing homework is because it’s going to us out of here.”
I looked at my best friend. “Sure. That’s what all we want to do – get out of here.”
“Oh, come on, I can do without the sarcasm. Look at this. Do we really need to know how our Sultans signed contracts in the 1800s? Or whether the people in Greenland like to fish?”
“If it’s really to get out of here, where is ‘there’?”
Amy shrugged. “Somewhere better.”
Two years down the road, somewhere “better” turned out to be thousands of miles away from where I grew up. “There” was a place where people spoke to you in perfect English, where the cashiers smiled at you and said “Here you go, love”; where dogs were cared for in loving homes and did not run astray.
“Stop whining, Jas,” Amy said when I called her from Britain to tell her about this place. “You’re on your way to making it. You’ve got one foot in a better place. Don’t look back. I’ll come when I get the chance.”
“Amy, you don’t get it ...”
“All our lives, we’ve been talking about getting away from this place. Let me refresh your memory.
“The public rubbish bins here have rubbish all around them, not in them. People stand on the toilet seats when they’re supposed to sit on them. Half the citizens here would rather spend their money on fake jewellery and pirated DVDs than a good book.”
I fell silent.
“I’m right, Jas. You’ll see.”
So I waited, and waited, to see. Maybe I did because in Britain, the public transport was efficient and safe, the people polite and friendly, and they spoke with that smart, crisp accent. But I realised they lacked the lahs and familiar lingo we call Manglish. They said “love” and “sweetie”, not “Apa you doing?” And all around me, it was English culture, not mine.
Amy got what she wanted. She joined me a year later, having earned a scholarship to the University of York.
“This is brilliant,” she breathed, her eyes shining as she hugged me tightly. “This is it. We’ve done it.”
I smiled, because “here” was essentially a whole world apart from Malaysia. I chose to come here out of an illusion, I admit, because the outside world seemed so surreal and perfect. My disappointment was more of my own doing.
Amy and I grew up believing that “Netherworld” was amazing. Then I reached out and found that it was just okay. Amy heard me whining about the grass being greener on the other side, but she only had eyes for the positive aspects.
“Britain is great, Amy,” I began slowly, pulling away from her. “And you are right. I made a lot of friends and they’re great people.”
She turned to me, her excitement somewhat faded from her face. “But?”
“But I’m going back, after I finish this last year of my course.”
“You’re going back to Malaysia?”
I nodded, chin up, slightly defiant. “Yes.”
“Don’t you like it here?”
We were standing at the train station, where she’d just arrived. Amy looked at me as if I’d grown horns.
“I love it here.” I thought of the town that I’d lived in for the past two years, the people I’d met, the little shops I’d come to love. I thought of the luscious green fields, the cottage-like houses, and the very English essence of it all.
“‘But there’s somewhere I love more.”
Amy stared at me, as though she’d not really known me before.
“All this time,” she said, shaking her pretty little head, “I just thought you were feeling homesick.”
I gave a half-hearted shrug, feeling defensive of the country we both came from. “I’ve reserved the ticket. It’s cheaper when you book it early.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Positive.”
Amy bit her lip. Then she linked her arm through mine.
“At least show me this place before you leave.”
I laughed, the tension in my shoulder dissolving. “Welcome,” I said dramatically. “To Netherworld.”
It was okay, because I knew that being in Malaysia and the United Kingdom were completely different. Neither was necessarily good nor bad.
Sure, I’d have to live with the scorching weather back home, with people who say “Jangan block lah” instead of “Excuse me”; with a society that was still more receptive to spending time in the cinema than with a good book.
But it was okay. “There” had been “here” all along.
“The only reason,” stressed Amy as she plonked her books on her desk, “we’re doing homework is because it’s going to us out of here.”
I looked at my best friend. “Sure. That’s what all we want to do – get out of here.”
“Oh, come on, I can do without the sarcasm. Look at this. Do we really need to know how our Sultans signed contracts in the 1800s? Or whether the people in Greenland like to fish?”
“If it’s really to get out of here, where is ‘there’?”
Amy shrugged. “Somewhere better.”
Two years down the road, somewhere “better” turned out to be thousands of miles away from where I grew up. “There” was a place where people spoke to you in perfect English, where the cashiers smiled at you and said “Here you go, love”; where dogs were cared for in loving homes and did not run astray.
“Stop whining, Jas,” Amy said when I called her from Britain to tell her about this place. “You’re on your way to making it. You’ve got one foot in a better place. Don’t look back. I’ll come when I get the chance.”
“Amy, you don’t get it ...”
“All our lives, we’ve been talking about getting away from this place. Let me refresh your memory.
“The public rubbish bins here have rubbish all around them, not in them. People stand on the toilet seats when they’re supposed to sit on them. Half the citizens here would rather spend their money on fake jewellery and pirated DVDs than a good book.”
I fell silent.
“I’m right, Jas. You’ll see.”
So I waited, and waited, to see. Maybe I did because in Britain, the public transport was efficient and safe, the people polite and friendly, and they spoke with that smart, crisp accent. But I realised they lacked the lahs and familiar lingo we call Manglish. They said “love” and “sweetie”, not “Apa you doing?” And all around me, it was English culture, not mine.
Amy got what she wanted. She joined me a year later, having earned a scholarship to the University of York.
“This is brilliant,” she breathed, her eyes shining as she hugged me tightly. “This is it. We’ve done it.”
I smiled, because “here” was essentially a whole world apart from Malaysia. I chose to come here out of an illusion, I admit, because the outside world seemed so surreal and perfect. My disappointment was more of my own doing.
Amy and I grew up believing that “Netherworld” was amazing. Then I reached out and found that it was just okay. Amy heard me whining about the grass being greener on the other side, but she only had eyes for the positive aspects.
“Britain is great, Amy,” I began slowly, pulling away from her. “And you are right. I made a lot of friends and they’re great people.”
She turned to me, her excitement somewhat faded from her face. “But?”
“But I’m going back, after I finish this last year of my course.”
“You’re going back to Malaysia?”
I nodded, chin up, slightly defiant. “Yes.”
“Don’t you like it here?”
We were standing at the train station, where she’d just arrived. Amy looked at me as if I’d grown horns.
“I love it here.” I thought of the town that I’d lived in for the past two years, the people I’d met, the little shops I’d come to love. I thought of the luscious green fields, the cottage-like houses, and the very English essence of it all.
“‘But there’s somewhere I love more.”
Amy stared at me, as though she’d not really known me before.
“All this time,” she said, shaking her pretty little head, “I just thought you were feeling homesick.”
I gave a half-hearted shrug, feeling defensive of the country we both came from. “I’ve reserved the ticket. It’s cheaper when you book it early.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Positive.”
Amy bit her lip. Then she linked her arm through mine.
“At least show me this place before you leave.”
I laughed, the tension in my shoulder dissolving. “Welcome,” I said dramatically. “To Netherworld.”
It was okay, because I knew that being in Malaysia and the United Kingdom were completely different. Neither was necessarily good nor bad.
Sure, I’d have to live with the scorching weather back home, with people who say “Jangan block lah” instead of “Excuse me”; with a society that was still more receptive to spending time in the cinema than with a good book.
But it was okay. “There” had been “here” all along.
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