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I do this most of all with my money, and my snacks. There must have been at least fifty times in the past four years, when I've exited the school premises, and on my way home, noticed that I had a lollipop or a Mars Bar in my bag or in my jacket pocket that I forgot I even purchased at least a day ago. And I would often hide my money in between the pages of books, and then I would forget about it until I found it again, long after the day I hid it in the first place.
And everytime I found one of these nice surprises, I look up at the sky, for that is where destiny/fate/the past is to me, and I say to myself, Well done, Michael...
Because in some weird subconscious way, I was treating myself for the future without even knowing it.
Today, I was tidying my room here at university because I wanted it to look neat for when my mother comes to visit me next week. Inside one of my drawers, I unexpectedly found £10. I was so happy, 'cause I had actually come to believe I was broke. For almost seven weeks, I had almost nothing in my bank account, and nothing but a bowl of copper coins in cash. And I somewhat believe that a few months ago, I had hidden that £10 purposefully for a day like this - where I was on the verge of starvation, in desperate need for some seed money for my mini-welcome party for my mother... and low and behold, I got it.
It's been nearly five months since I last saw my mother, and after she leaves, it'll be close to another five months 'til I see her again. Since I've come to the UK from Hong Kong, I've forced myself not to think about things like missing my parents or missing my best friend, because I know it's not healthy to yearn. I never had to will myself not to think about these things, though... it wasn't a challenge. It just happened naturally, subconsciously, and I think, again, these things that happen in the subconscious are my mind's attempt at treating me well in the long run, a form of forward-thinking, you might say.
Eighteen years and seven months ago, I was born in Hong Kong. My aunt accompanied my mother back to my grandparent's apartment, the 4th flat on the 7th floor. Our family has had 704 for over forty years. That place is not just home to them, but is home to all eight of their daughters too. After my parents got divorced, it became my home.
Somewhere along the way, I had the opportunity, or experience, of living with my father, which turned out to be rather awesome. While he was at work, I spent time with his personable wife and his three fun-loving, laid-back daughters. Dad's house (or Dad's houses as he always moved a lot) was home to me too.
Somewhere along the way, I attained, as lame as it sounds, what you could only describe as a 'best friend'. His parents know me, and trust me, his younger brother knows he can call me in times of trouble. I call their humble Filipino family my home as well.
Somewhere along the line, my mother moved out of my grandparents' apartment, in an act of great motherly sacrifice, to give me my own room - her room - as I was finally becoming a very demanding teenage boy. I've stayed at the place she now owns, and I also call it one of my homes.
Although I had all of these places for my choosing, the one place I always went back to at the end of the night, the home I yearned for when I had other obligations throughout the night, was always my grandparents' apartment. The sense of familiarity and familial attachment, I feel, was mutual. My grandparents wanted me at their place every night as well.
In the weeks leading up to my departure from Hong Kong, I could feel a general sense of internal struggle and hardship every time I was around them. I was working a bartending job too, that often meant I had to leave before lunch time and not return until late in the night. I barely even spoke to them for eighty percent of the summer holiday.
In the final two weeks I was in Hong Kong, I was often waiting for the moment when I would start crying like a baby, missing everything, wanting to stay, suddenly hating the idea of coming to England. I guess I built it up too much in my head that I had tired the emotions out. I remember I cried about leaving my mother's side, and as I sit here typing this, I actually cry. All the emotions that I had when I was alone in my room as I was still going to high school all come back to me the minute I think about it. I cried about my dad. I cried about leaving my 4-year-old cousin. I cried about leaving my job. I cried about leaving my best friend.
But when it finally came to the moment I had to take one last look at my room in 704, I didn't cry at all. I had already shared my final conversations with all of classmates, all of my friends, all of my coworkers, and pretty much all of my family.
And then as I was heading out the door, my grandparents were standing there in the corridor, waiting to send me off. And I could see the bittersweetness that rested in their eyes. I'm crying at the moment, because the love I get from them is so surreal to me, it's so incredible, it's so unbelievable. You would typically think there was a generation gap, and quite frankly there is, and we did not share anything much in terms of conversation or material gifts, but the one thing we did share was that apartment, and our time living together.
In the thirteen weeks I was having my summer break, I had not wept at all. But it was in that moment when my grandmother looked at me with teary eyes, telling me to study hard, make sure to eat healthy, and most important of all, be good, I finally found what what would strike my heart. My grandfather, at the door, told me to put in my best effort at university, and also, to be good.
The simplest lessons you learn in life are the least eloquently expressed, but are said by the wisest people. The words they share are like dying words to me, and it's so sad to think of it like that, but that's the truth. Both are over seventy years old, both have medical issues of their own.
And to hear them say things like that really touches my heart in a uniquely confusing way.
I took the elevator down from the 7th floor.
I put my luggage in the boot of the car and then got in.
I opened the window, and stuck my head out the window to get my last look at them. I waved goodbye until the car went round the bend and a building blocked them from view.
Today, I just received a box with Christmas presents from my 1st aunt, 4th aunt, 8th aunt, and my mother. I was grateful for the gifts, and I loved seeing my mother's handwriting on the cards explaining what everything was and who it was from.
At the bottom of the box, I found a jumper and a card next to it, and it turns out it was from my grandmother. She wrote 'Merry Christmas' in Chinese, and her traditional style of calligraphy was always so distinctive, and it made me picture her writing the card. That's what triggered the idea to talk about this here... I miss my home, so much. I miss my grandparents so much. I can talk to my parents and my friends whenever I want, but I can't talk to them because they don't know how, and it drives me crazy...
Ohh... let me get myself together...
Ahem. Well, my aunts are going to set up a webcam chat thing with them on Christmas Day, so I'll see my beloved grandparents then. It's just been a very hectic final week of university, and I reckon I'm a little stressed out. Good thing I get to sleep tonight without worrying about handing in any assignments.
Crying's good for the soul, it really is. When was the last time you cried?
The UK is not as glamorous as I hoped it would be. It's hoped for, but also expected. And it's just as well. There is no need for me to get caught up in my foolish fantasies of a brand new sparkling study environment in England. At the moment, I can't say that I miss home terribly, but then again, I am unable to say that I am happy to be here either.
The trip was long, but not that I'm complaining. New Zealander air service is pretty good, very hospitable. Their meals weren't stellar or very filling, but at least it was tasty enough, and at least it was food.
I was admittedly too mindful of everything important to do with my time and my money and my traveling that I did not fully appreciate Heathrow Airport or the London underground. I wish we had the time for me to walk a bit slower, and to speculate on Britishness at my own pace, but the friend who welcomed me at the airport, and myself, were too time-pressed, and it was impossible for me to mentally gather my comments on every little thing. I wish we had the time to maybe surface to the streets of London and have a look around. I guess I'll have to find the time alone one weekend to explore London town.
But I really think I should start memorizing the Canterbury region first as best I can, like the badass motherfucker-rememberer I was back in Hong Kong.
The first thing I noticed as I stepped out of the Arrivals gate is that everybody is very English. I guess that's a stupid thing to say, as England is obviously going to seem very English, but it's a fact nonetheless that I took note of in my head as I was making my way to Canterbury. I wish I could put my finger on why that was so noticeable to me initially, but I think summarizing the entire British population's behavior in one specific description is too tricky a task.
Anyway, the dormitory room that I am staying in is really standard. There is nothing special about it, and it will need a lot of touching up in order to make it feel like home. At least I've got beer coasters from my first job, and photos of my family and friends, to pin to my cork noticeboard and remind me of where I came from. I miss my old bartending job. I suppose I will feel differently and a bit better once lectures begin and I can then focus my mind on a routinely focusable process once more.
This room needs books most of all. I can already feel my IQ dropping as I lie in this bare room with empty excuses for bookshelves.
I wish I had someone I knew with me to experience this with. I guess loneliness and acceptance of always being on my own will be something I'll learn really quickly, lest I might enter a state of depression.
Ultimately, though, I like the internal struggle I have going on inside me. It is difficult to be here, to have traveled here all by myself, to study and to live here, and to make a helluvan effort to meet new people and socialize, but it's all towards this bigger, more important goal.
I am not living in reality anymore.
I am living my dream.
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