So, I have been home 3 days yet it feels like 3 months. Coming home was not as bad as I thought it would be; I neither forgot how to behave acceptably in public nor my Malay when questioned. The food is as good as always and am trying to fit in as many home town dishes into my belly before I fly to KL, but things have changed, especially apparent in the fact that I shared my bowl of char siu mee pok with Sarah at supper on Saturday. Results of my restraint were not unpleasant though as both A and I commented that I looked like I had lost weight - yesssss!!!!!!!! - it was probably the clothes I was wearing rather than actually having lost weight though but it was nice to think others thought so ;p
I was actually really stressed last night at the thought of going to KL so soon. I would have liked to rest and put my feet up a couple more weeks but that just will not do as I seriously need to get cranking on my course. It was not merely the thought of going to KL that bothered me; usually I am quite happy going anywhere and turning it into home. I think my stress is that I think I need to do certain things. It was fine when I wanted to move, wanted to look for housing, wanted to find a job, wanted a phone, wanted a housemate but now the mode had shifted to need. I think the panic and worry had mounted for some time, which led to a full-out, SOS signal to God; having to look for accomodation with my dad (part of me feels I will be less stressed if he did not come along but part of me is glad for the company), buying a new phone tomorrow, memorising a new number, getting to grips with the whats, wheres, whys, hows and whos and a host of other previous issues I had to settle before leaving London wormed their way through my 'Everything's OK' road block between my brain... and my brain.
I wish I did not have to go back to study. I wish I could just spend a few more days at home with my brother and dogs (Troy and Deuce have grown so much and Sally has been an awesome mum to them - I'm so proud!), playing marbles and sleeping and letting my dogs chew my feet. But you know what? Life will not wait for me to be ready. Life will go on and I have to be ready. I wish I were 15 again when the biggest worry was whether I could slip through without being caught by the prefects on duty for having long fingernails during the daily assembly inspections or whether the Maths teacher would catch me eating in class. When we were 15, growing up was all we ever wanted to do. 7 years down the line and we find growing up is about responsibility, burdens and a jarred history. We find that at 25, what we wanted for ourselves at 25 when we were 15, was what we kind of already had at 15. I can't roll my eyes at the adults anymore, I am one. I don't wonder why they worry and seem to not enjoy life, I feel the same way. I don't question them for slowing down when the world seems to be speeding up, I like music from the 80s - how old is that??!!?? - and that's what I call music. Soon my slimline phone will be too bulky because they'll all have microcells implanted and nanopods will be replaced by gigapods. "Nanopods?" we will be asked, "...that's some box my grandmother used to fiddle around with."
I guess I'm still healing. Time heals. God heals. But to heal, I need rest and I guess my wounds are just being tried a little more than I would like them to be because I'm not getting enough rest. So, here's to rest.