Outside of Love

It is 6:36am and despite promising myself at 5am that I will sleep right after sahur, I find it impossible to do so and remain wide awake till 8am. That will be when I will collapse and sleep till 11plus am.

I have my usual routine when I get up in the morning. I wake up, go through Facebook, go through Google reader to laugh at Lolcats and then I’d be writing. I’ve been frantically writing for the past month – have finally finished my first draft of my *ahem* novel – but more on that later. So none of the routine has really changed, except I’m blogging since it’s been ages since I’ve blogged.

This morning as I was perusing through my Google reader, I came across this entry from my good friend Krista. It’s hard to describe the ache in my chest when I read that entry – and it’s even harder to explain the regret I feel every day for coming back to Malaysia.

Regret is a funny thing. To say I regret coming home would mean I begrudge some of the wonderful things that have happened to me since I came back. I have met some of the most wonderful friends in the world, had incredible and frankly, at often times, bizarre life experiences. I am going to marry one of the most wonderful men I’ve met and looking forward, it is a bit of an adventure.

And yet….the study of economics suggests that we cannot be satisfied with what we have; we are greedy creatures with insatiable desires. Despite all the good things going on in my life, I long to be out there, beyond these Malaysian borders and just to be slightly closer to the people I call friends. I want to be able to come and go, whenever I please with no concern for financial matters.

What I do know is this ache in my chest has a lot to do with feeling like an outsider in my own country and I long to quell this ache by finding a place where I could sorta fit in. To think that after turning 26, I should at least feel a little settled on this fitting in thing. Like whaddaya know, I’m 26 going on 15.

But anyway, that’s just me being emo. Could be pms and could be the melancholy that I feel towards the end of Ramadhan.

More to come later, I should get around to blogging about my birthday and of course, why I’ve been so quiet lately. There is a reason, it’s not particularly special, but it’s something special to me. For now, it’s bed time or I won’t be able to wake up to pick Eizwan up from servicing his car. That would mean the poor thing would have to take a taxi back, which would not be very nice, would it?


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