You know how Asians can tell apart other Asians.

Days has gone by, disputes have been put aside.

Daddy was right, Richard Carlson (author of my favourite self-help book) was right: agree with criticism directed toward you, and watch it go away.

Attended a house party hosted by a French friend of mine. As expected, I was the only Asian there, and it was a house full of Europeans: Spanish, Italians, Czech, Polish, French, Finnish, Germans, Swiss. Everyone spoke English, and the best English speakers go to the Polish! Or me, laugh out loud.

You know how Asians can tell apart other Asians, the Europeans can do the same among themselves too. A guy who I thought could totally pass as a normal British gentleman turned out to be Italian, because, quote Polish Agata, he "totally had an Italian look."

What about him, I asked, pointing to a British looking guy. "Finnish."

What about her, I asked, pointing to a Greek looking girl. "Spanish."

What about him, I asked, pointing to a French looking guy. "German, I think." We stopped the guy and asked him. "I was born in Brazil, but I'm German."

So, Europeans can almost accurately identify their people.

Funny, and I've been mistaken to be of many other Asian ethnicity as well: I was Malay, Thai, Filipino, and, just today, Japanese. Like, a Chinese with slightly bigger eyes, with just one with double-eyelid, and a lower protruding jaw must not be Chinese.

One time, I walked into a 7-11 and asked for "Hotlink top-up, tiga puluh." The Malay girl behind the counter looked at me as if I'd just zapped myself into the store. I asked what's wrong, and she said, "Saya ingat kamu Melayu." My Malay can't be carrying a Chinese accent that strong right.

I love talking to students coming from other parts of Europe. They are much friendlier and warmer than some local British people. Maybe because we're all speaking a second language, maybe because we're all in a new environment.

I can foresee trouble eventuating next week because, on a whim, I promised a French friend of mine that I would make her Chinese cuisines, in return for her making me crepe (which was NOT a main course, and, unwarned, I went empty stomached, and came back the same). And the only "cuisines" I know how to make are my simple Lemon Chicken (which is nothing more than marinated chicken), Soy Sauce Fried Rice, Soy Sauce Egg and Soy Sauce Potato Chicken. Cuisine. Hmm. Peking duck? Spring rolls? Dim sum?

Soy sauce is the solution to everything. Egg too boring? Add soy sauce. Fried rice too tasteless? Add soy sauce. Water too plain? ... ...

I have done MANY ridiculous things since I got here last month:

1) Fell on my belly on the street and passed out for a few seconds before I woke up to an aching lower jaw;

2) made a transaction of Blackberry phone purchase in less than 10 minutes, thinking and misrepresented that the tiny window on the front of the phone was another camera (which turned out to be just an L.E.D) and without having made any proper research on the phone before that;

3) got stood up TWICE by a terrible person;

4) joined Mountaineering Club and did rock-climbing, and travelled with them to Swansea (another city in Wales) and back, without realizing it.

5) literally skipped down the stairs of Students' Union after finding out that I'm going on a 3-day trip to Pembrokeshire for the weekend with Rambling and Hiking Club! (OK, this is irrelevant)

Soon, I'm doing this Host thing where I'll have a 2-night stay at a random British family, and eat and sleep and play at their expenses. I'll be requesting a cat-less family, because once bitten by a kitten, twice shy. I thought the kitten had the saliva-disease for chrissake. A family with hot teenage kids. I'm kidding.

I just want a warm and traditional British family who can show me how a typical British family is like, and give me a taste of traditional British food.

Right. 9 am class tomorrow. Gotta go. Tata!

Cardiff BayAutumn is here.

Park Place (wow!)

I want them to have the innocence that they once had, and was lost because they've learned, or so they think they have.

No offense, and I'm a nice person, the definite question I'll ask when invited to a church event is whether they have food or not. The people are so nice, they will just tell me, if food is served, to just come "for the food", and "it will be very fun!"

I know about their intention to share religious views or, more extremely, to evangelize me, but there are times I look back, and think to myself, I should stop being a jerk. I do respect other religions or beliefs, and I do try my best to understand the justifications for some very outrageous practice (for example, feeding a portion of your thigh to a hungry eagle, a myth which, surprisingly, was included in my Grade 2 textbook, despite the multi-religious society in Malaysia) but I feel like these people are being so kind to me and offering me food for no reason other than being kind, and I have a different point of view from them, which I'm not able to change notwithstanding a (half-hearted) attempt in the past.

People are being so kind, and I'm just there to say, in essence, "Hi, you have a wonderful religion." That's the extent of kindness I can go and have ever gone. No food for you in return.

Sorry, half of me understands what I'm saying, half of me doesn't.

I said to a friend just now, "I want my life to be different, but I don't know how." He told me he could imagine me being a defense lawyer. Not my dream, but somehow that gave me confidence to be a better controller of my life. A better sailor of the ship. A better pilot of the plane. =.= Bad metaphors, I know.

Flatmates

People telling me what they think of me, what they admire about me. I was taught, at a certain point in my life, that asking people their opinions of me is an act of self-centeredness. It means I care very much about myself and myself is one of the very few things I care about. I agree with the statement.

But what I want to do now is to know myself better. I just want to know MYSELF, before I start caring about people and helping people realize that others do care about them, or that they are wonderful creation of God and they are loved.

I do that every day, because I want everyone to be loved. I want everyone to know that they are beautiful, and they should never dislike anything about themselves. I want them to live happily and be kids again. I want them to have the innocence that they once had, and was lost because they've learned, or so they think they have. I want everyone to just... be happy.

Chap-ba-lang fried rice

But all this while I have, I just realized, forgotten about myself. I have NOT asked someone what they think of me in years. And whenever I see someone do that, instead of judging them, I admire their courage to be self-centered, and their ability and desire to know themselves better and, hopefully, to become wiser. In controlling their lives, in relationships, at work.

I want to know myself. I want to know what you think of me, so that I can stop doubting myself and judging myself. For being too kind, too forgiving, too un-self-loving, too gullible. Some people who have known me for years do not think that I'm a forgiving person, but what they have failed to see is the internal struggles I've had to judge myself against what's obviously bad, and my constant attempt at forgiving.

Foggy Bute Park

I guess the reason why, after I've decided to forgive, I go back to disliking a person or a certain thing, is that I thought I've found someone to let my guards down and express my dissatisfaction. I have my ignorance or set of strong personal values, and all I ask for, selfishly, is mutual understanding. Just understand why I'm feeling angry and dissatisfied, just tell me I have a right to feel that way, and I'll feel better. I'll know it's normal to feel that way, and my mind will be more peaceful and I'll not feel angry. Just agree with me. I won't be unreasonable.

I know my life has begun long before I knew, but I'm still waiting for something, or someone, to happen. I'm making every effort to make a difference, and I need to try harder. Life won't change if I simply sit here and wait. I can't just snap my fingers, blink, and open my eyes to a whole new world. The world IS new, now that I'm in the UK, and I'd been so excited about coming here, but, still, I want something different.

It still feels the same. The people. The things I do. Me. Nothing's vastly different from my erstwhile life. As I said, I don't know how to make it different. I don't know why I want it to be different. Perhaps because I'm not happy with it. Or perhaps I have, unbeknownst to me, never let my guards down. I'm still the overly defensive me. Shattering every bullet before even knowing whether they will just swerve before they reach my body or, the way it has always been, pierce right through my heart.

I need to make a change. I need to be innocent. I've known and learned and seen too many things to be a kid again. I will be different. I want to be different. Tata.

THE hat

Lo and behold, British people really do eat sandwiches every day.

You know one thing I hate about being here: I can't sing at the top of my lungs.

Seriously, my flatmate complained to me and the next day, to other flatmates behind my back about my music. It wasn't loud, nor was it thumping heavy metal. I was playing Patti Labelle for chrissake, but it was 3 am in the morning, and we both had our windows open, so it was a different story.

There are so many songs that I want to sing in my room, but I can't because of the complaint, and also the fact that I don't want anyone hearing my voice crack when I try to hit a Whitney Houston note.

Despite being a novice at independent life and cooking, I'm quite well-adjusted to the life here and I'm able to make my own everyday meals. Sometimes I have sausages to go with pasta, sometimes fish fingers. But I have to brag, the biggest accomplishments were the infamous lemon chicken and my self-invented curry chicken.

Lemon chicken was "infamous" because not only was all of it excitedly given away to the neighbours nextdoor, upstairs, and downstairs; it also earned me an impression, both positive and negative, that everyone somehow seemed to mutually have of me. I didn't realize that until I talked to them personally at house parties or on the street after I'd failed to recognize them. Ouh well, you can't despise someone who has performed an act of kindness.

Self invented curry chicken was nothing compared to those in Brickfields, but at least it was something with which I could make boring sandwiches Asian-ly amazing. Lo and behold, British people really do eat sandwiches every day, as evidenced by my Welsh flatmates, despite sandwiches being undoubtedly the most boring and tasteless food I've ever eaten. Ouh well, they can say the same thing about rice.

There are two main reasons why I can now fit into the tight jeans that I wasn't able to fit into earlier this year: I'm addicted to walking, and I eat low fat food every day (not that I have a choice: I don't know how to fry, and KFC is expensive). The weather here is so cool, I don't mind taking a longer route to go to a certain place. On what I eat, I have omelets for breakfast, pasta + fish fingers for lunch and grilled turkey breast + salad for dinner. Who gains weight from eating so healthy?

I have yet to take a REAL solitary walk at night. The reason why I have not done so is because there are always drunken students screaming on the streets, and that just makes me feel so pathetic and sad.

Tata. Sorry for not keeping in touch with so many of you. Will read your blogs one by one and leave amazing comments.

Raya dinner with Malaysian Society. Someone's doing yoga behind me.

Can you believe I got the shirt and tie for just 2 pounds?

My supper. I know, looks like dinner.

THIS is dinner.

Feryal and me eating Chinese food.

Sometimes, when things are too cheap, you tend not to care what you're buying.

I just organised all my things last night, and updated my calendar, which is a good sign.

Classes are starting next week. I guess things are going back to normal soon.

Going to town today to get a new number.

Sometimes, when things are too cheap, you tend not to care what you're buying. That's why I bought a bath gel for showering, and a mouthwash for smokers. My flatmate also thought that I should exchange my girly shampoo for a Head and Shoulder.

Kisses!

I'm just under an illusion that I always have something to do the next minute.

I know I haven't written anything about my life in Cardiff. I have been insanely busy here (either that, or I'm just under an illusion that I always have something to do the next minute, which, worryingly, is a sign of anxiety.)

I have laundry to do, social meetings and house parties to attend, and most importantly, everyday meals to make. It is really straining my mind and body.

I'm going to try and get away on the weekends. Maybe do some research here and there and go to some mountain.

I hardly even have time to sit down and ponder what is really going on. I got my debit card this afternoon, but I abandoned it in an envelope and still haven't taken a proper look at it. Don't even ask if I know whether my name on the card is Lik Lee or Lee Lik or just Lik (which people here love to call me by).

Lik, do you want to go, Lik?

By the way, there is this guy, Robert, staying across the hall from my flat with a beautiful, unique English accent which I sometimes find a hard time understanding. One time, he was talking about poker (his favourite pastime) and was really dramatic and enthusiastic about the topic. I was striving my best to listen to him and to catch as many words as possible, so that I could understand and take in what he was saying. But at some point, he stopped talking, looked at me for a few seconds, and asked, "You really have no idea what I've been talking about, do you?"

I guess I'd been staring too hard at him, and my brain had still been processing some information, and all these were simply obvious on my expression. Don't ask how I responded, but I honestly felt sorry that I could not have a good conversation with him.

Me and Lei in front of Cardiff Law School.

BBQ with Cardiff U Law Society.

Me on Queen Street.

Ewwy raspberries. Seriously ewwy.

I... just love this pic.

A pretty boring story.

Greetings from Dubai!!!! Wish I'd brought my camera cable, so I could post up some random pictures from the airport.

I was thirsty just now, so I went to the currency converter counter and asked the guy if there was a minimum amount of money I'd have to buy.

The guy said no, so I gave him £10, and asked to buy 10AED. He hesitated upon hearing that, and asked, "Only ten AED?"

"Yeah, because I only want to buy mineral water and stuff."

He then gave me me a change of £8. I could buy 11 AED for £2. I bought:

1) a bottle of water for 1 AED
2) five pieces of fish fingers from Burger King for 9AED
3) since I had 1 AED left, and the cheapest gums cost 1.50 AED each, I bought another bottle of water.

A pretty boring story, but it took place in Dubai =.=

By the way, a surgeon from Kosovo, Europe borrowed my laptop to check emails and chat with his wife (I had NOT agreed on the latter, but I didn't know how to say no). You have no idea how alarmed and petrified I was when he was using my laptop. I kept having the feeling that he would at some point take out a knife and stab my waist.

He didn't, and I finally stopped him by telling him I had to get something to eat. He quickly wrapped it up, squeezed my thigh and left.

I doubt if I would choose a different answer if I were asked the same question again.

I'm leaving Malaysia in one day... I don't know how to feel. What to feel.

I just feel... I feel like I haven't done much around the house. I feel like I've not been a very good son to my parents. I feel like I should clean my room before I leave, so that my brother can sleep in a clean room for the next few months. I feel like I should try and help out my parents, in any way I can.

I feel like I just want a few more days, I also feel like flying away, no matter what you say.

=.=

When I was in kindergarten, I scored 100% in every test. No one had invented tuition classes for 5 year olds yet, and I did NOT go to the children's library. But I do remember, specifically, looking at a picture book at home one day, and reading aloud, "Watering plants."

One time, I saw a 98% on my test paper. I asked my mum, who on earth washes their face with soaps? My reasoning was soaps sting the eyes. My mum told me that my uncle did that, but I refused to agree with her.

Maybe later I was too insistent on my reasoning, or 98% was simply unacceptable to me, my mum went with me to see the teacher. The teacher, sharing my mum's wisdom, started a conversation with my mum in adult language. I wasn't listening; I was looking around for colourful things.

I got a 100% eventually. People call it cheating. I don't deny it, although I doubt if I would choose a different answer if I were asked the same question again.

Everyone turned up at my send off party. After that, we even went to Look Out Point Restaurant, my favourite spot.

Me and the dazzling view of KL at night. I can stare at the view for hours without saying a word.

Cousin Paul and me.