Bridging Fantasy & Reality

kia ora all the way from Malaysia!

Okeh. I know it's the holidays. And I know that means more blogging time. And I know I haven't exactly been proving the theory right. But you can't blame me for surrendering relentless to pure and utter bliss in this place I oh-so-lovingly call home. Ah. The peace. The noisy banter of everyday traffic that prattles about just 12 floors beneath me. The embrace of humidity that suffocates my pores. The ability to lounge on an actual sofa in front of an actual plasma tv with actual chanels and actual DVDs. To look around and see in the eyes of your loved ones genuine concern. Pure bliss. It's good to be home. And to take it all in. The good, the bad, the ugly. What do they call it again? A smile from within exuded through the eyes. Me is smiling that way.

One look at the family shows no changes. Apart from subtle differences, the house remains the same. Everything from the feverishly clean off-white walls to the crystal clear glass doors and obsessively swept floors. But a closer look revealed change on a larger extent. Habits. Some good some bad. Profound changes. Tifts. Probable shifts. Additions. Subtractions. Already I feel like I have a task to achieve before I return to Auckland (apart from the UMSA newsletter I have to come up with). A depth to plummet to and spread my stubby fingers across if you will?

Homecoming was awesome. There was a celebration at my expense. And elsewhere, the rotaractors greeted me in embrace. Not many were present at the first meeting. But enough to have made me feel spesh. Plus, all those awards and accolades that Leez collected for me from the Rotaract District Awards Night awarded for my term as president got to my head a little. And now I walk around with an inflated head. No. Literally. My face is a little chubbier. My grandma calls me a moon face now. Except. She says muka bulan. Sigh. Thanks! I still love u!

Went for a visit during the weekend. And Seremban was still same old Seremban. But the house was no longer the one I remembered. The lawn wasn't mowed impeccably. There was no diverse range of flowers to admire. The pride and glory of my grandpa. The garden that he lived for. The sweat that dripped morning, afternoon, night on the very same expanse of land that hugged the borders of the half wood half brick house that sat beamingly in the middle. He took all of it with him. Leaving all of us to wonder if he was laughing mockingly from heaven as we padded around the knee length lalang that tickled at our shins. Or if he was weeping in agony at the wasted hours he spent with dirt driven up his cuticles and having nails puntured into his heels as he groomed his mammoth sized baby - his lawn. Inherited perfectionism. We all have that syndrome. Runs in the perfect trickles of red blood that runs through our blood vessels.

Enough of this literature. I will now grace your sight with visions.....ahhh....forget it. Enjoy the pictures! =) (........u better! I spent two lifetimes loading them.)