What do I come back to?

So I've been back for a little over a month now, and my sanity is still in tact. In fact, I'm a lot more mellow than I thought I would be, which is a good thing. I think it's because I have my research to distract me that allows me to keep that balance in my brain, and that when I want to relax, I really can. I've seen a few friends, but I'm not as antsy as last time I was here to see everyone because at this point it's my research that's getting in the way. However those who I have seen have told me the same thing (bar one). When they ask me how I'm doing in England and if I'm enjoying my PhD. When I tell them that I'm really happy there, they all then put a loving hand on my arm or shoulder and say, "stay there." That's not meant as an insult, it's meant as loving advice from one woman to another. They've known freedom, they've tasted independance and then had to come back to a life where everything is boiled down to whether you can get a man to do it for you because you sure as hell can't. To a place where there is no life other than work (if you're lucky enough to even like your job), going out shopping, going out to restaurants or going out to see friends/socialise.

Each friend/cousin/aunt who's seen me asks me what my life is like these days. It's almost as if they're asking me about a true love that I just adore, my face lights up, a smile spreads and I tilt my head to the side. Just by that look people can tell just how happy I am to be in London. I'll tell them that I'm happy and that life there is just how I've always wanted it to be, that although it's expensive, it's sometimes cold and dreary, there's always something to do and something to love. I don't go into too much detail into life in London because I'd hate for them to gossip or think I've gone mad living there away from my dad, but they can see how different things are for me and how content I am with life there.

And each time I'm done, they will always ask me, "Will you come back after you've finished your studies?" And each time I'll shrug and reply, "If there's a job here for me, then we'll see. For now I'll just see who wants me or picks up my CV." But they can see the glint in my eye and the corners of my mouth twitch, and they know that I secretly do not want to come back. They know that I cannot let on that I have no real intention of coming back, but that I'm not going to start rumours by flat out refusing to come back.

And each time I politely answer, they will lovingly warn me not to come back. If I value my sanity and happiness, I should not come back. To come back would turn me into one of them, a drone in a society where everything is superficial and progress is at a snail's pace. An aunt, who I have to admit is one of my favourites, told me not to come back. "What would you come back to? A job you hate? Marriage? Your dad? Trust me, stay in England, be happy, don't come back." It's funny how all the women (again, bar one) feel the same way. It's like getting a verbal, loving hug.

However, like this single woman who does not agree with the other women, the men have a different opinion of what I should do. They, of course, think I should come back once I'm done. I ask them why. They all say, "Because you're one of us and you need to start your life here again. You'll get a great paying job, be pampered at home and then you can settle down at get married." That last line always sticks in my craw. It makes me dig my heels into the ground and scowl at them. My favourite cousin and closest friend actually said that. When he came to see me in England, and he could see just how happy I was, his main concern was "and what happens when you want to get married?" I couldn't believe that was his main concern about my life - my life, as a woman would not be complete or fulfilled if I did not get married. How sexist can you get?

I look at life here and I realise that to come back here, to make my roots again, would be the hardest ever. When I was 12 and moved here, it took me 8 years to settle and become happy. Now that I'm 27, I think I'm too old for that. I'm already settled, I'm already happy with what I have. I'm tired of moving and I don't have the energy - physically and emotionally to do it anymore.

So maybe London is my true love, something that I can't bare the thought of being parted from. It took me 10 years to get back, it was my goal for a whole decade, do they really think I'd want to give that up?

*Song of the moment: "In The Waiting Line" Zero 7

The trick is to keep going...

Resolution recap:

resolution #2: So far I have tickets to 2 shows before I travel for my data collection. I have tickets to see Avenue Q (birthday present for a girlfriend) and tickets to see The Mikado (taking my grandmama). I've seen Avenue Q and always promise myself that I'd go and see it again, but in better seats. When I found that my student discount card could be used for just that with better price tags, I jumped at the opportunity and bought two tickets in the Royal Circle. As for the Mikado? Well, it's one of those ones that you always hear made fun of or talked about, and I wouldn't mind seeing exactly why.

However, on seeing how my plans with my data collection are slowly changing I'm wondering if it's possible to cancel all my plans that week to run around the rest of England to get everything done. We'll see.

resolution #4: An image came to me the other day while I was washing my face. It was the last time I sat on my best friend's couch and I was going to start my PhD. I had spent 3 months back home and although I didn't see her as often as I could (complications with my dad), we were still as close as ever. She was my best friend through uni, one of the teachers in my department and had tried (unsuccessfully) to set me up with her adorable brother. We sat on the couch that night talking about a number of things, everything. Suddenly it hit us that we were going to be apart for a long time, and both of us burst into tears. We'd spent nearly a year apart when I was doing my masters, but this was different. We'd grown so close working together, and this was heartbreaking for both of us. This wonderful, kind, caring, funny person was not going to be around to cheer me up or take care of me when I felt down. I loved her so much, to the point where I felt I could cry freely in her presence. We sat there hugging each other and crying into each other's shoulder.

I hadn't thought of that evening for so long - I hadn't thought of my friend! I sent her a text immediately. I'd felt awful that I hadn't contacted her in over a year (since she started applying to do her masters). I felt like a terrible friend for forgetting one of the most precious people in my life. I sent her a text telling her exactly how I felt and how much I missed her. I immediately got a call back. She sounded sombre and quiet, something I wasn't used to from such a loud, vivacious character and it kind of threw me off. She said she was boarding a plane to Dubai, "I'm doing my masters there." I congratulated her and didn't hide my excitment even though it sounded like she was telling me that she was ordering a pizza. She'd just finished her first term and would be there for another year and a half as they worked according to the American system. Her husband and daughter moved with her and the transition had been easier than they thought. I promised her (and myself) that I'd make sure we'd stay in touch, at least through small emails and texts if nothing else.

When I put the phone down, I was petrified I'd done some irrepairable damage. Hopefully I'll be more careful with my friends.

resolution #7: Although I spent yesterday bowling with the girls, and with the token male friend, I walked home thinking "I should be out stomping down a dance floor." I texted a friend to ask her if she was free next Saturday night. Apparently she was also in the mood for dancing, and much like me found that work was a better excuse to stay in this weekend (no trains are running today and so I've decided to start editing my writing). However, next weekend we have picked a place to go dancing and intend of looking glamourous doing it!

Now to crack on with the others and keep it up!!

A wonderful holiday - shame it had to end

Yesterday I dropped my mother, sister and nephew at the airport. I had had an amazing time with them, and of course I left them feeling that I didn't spend enough time with them. I loved looking after my nephew (although it certainly sobered me up on ANY broody intentions I MAY have had), and I had a great time showing my sister the sights and highlights of London life. And of course I got to spend a (albeit marginally) little quality time with my mum. My sister was here for 3 weeks and my mother was here for 2. It was a wonderful time and it of course ended all too soon.



For some reason though it was extremely painful for my sister to leave. For the first time in our lives, my sister went out as adults and enjoyed a healthy social and night life. We went out to a gig, went out with friends, went dancing, and she enjoyed dinners out with people she hadn't seen in a while. She had had a wonderful holiday, everyone made sure of it. It was wonderful, and at the same time, understandably hard for her.



Let's put it this way, she had had 3 weeks where she could enjoy herself, leave her little boy at home with one of us (and he was very happy to stay with us) and do what she wanted. She met old friends and made new ones. Then she'd have to jump on a plane and go back to being a prim and proper wife and mum back in a country where there's diddle to do. I went ahead with my mum and the luggage in the car and my sister had to take the train with my nephew (there was no room and no baby seat) and as she phoned me to let me know she was on the train I could hear her voice cracking. I could hear her tears as she said, "I don't want to go." I knew that pain. She asked me not to tell our mum, but I knew how much it was hurting her to leave.



It's the same pain that I am absolutely terrified of feeling, tearing yourself away from a life you truly love and enjoy. She now knew what she was missing, and I'd been the one to give her a taste of it. I should have been more sensitive to it all, as I know what it's like when someone lets you know exactly what you're missing. But she had wanted a holiday she wouldn't forget - so I gave it to her.

Finding that balance of knowing how much fun to have is always tricky. It really depends on the person to find that balance, or learn to be able to cut off from it all. Maybe I'm talking nonsense - maybe I'm bullshitting about it all. How is anyone supposed to be able to cut themselves off from a good thing. I could hardly manage that when it came to some of the men in my life (t-shirt man). It's the tired cliche of "that's what makes us human." but really what else can it be? Responsibility is a bitch, and growing up is part of that. It's a painful process that forces us to make choices that we know we don't like or want to make (again another cliche).

I really wonder sometimes if I've done the right thing for myself by allowing myself to live here and lead this wonderful life. I've spoilt myself and can never go back to my old ways or home. I would not be able to fit in and I'd only be further depressed. I knew when I was 12 that I would have a horrible time moving back, I was right. For six years after that I was miserable, depressed and withdrawn from everyone and everything. I wasn't as social or as open as some and I know sometimes I gave my parents hell. Goodness only knows what I'd do this time around if I had to move back. Shave my head? Keep it constantly short and pixie like? Never get married and constantly go out with friends? Wear a dog collar with "Superior bitch" written on it? Get a tattoo - nah, too permanent and I'd change my mind straight after it.

For my sister, she goes back to a hubby (she took her son along for the holiday), for me it would be worse. I'd be moving back in with my parents. It wouldn't be terrible as I'd have my mother, who I love dearly, my problem would be my dad - how I dread that.

Ho hum

Another day, another empty computer lab. My earphones are not working and so I'm sitting here in silence, opening up my documents and writing up my notes saying what I have and haven't done in my research - whoop dee do. I've planned a big night out for my sister and me in London, and at this point I realise just how many times I've told people that "I don't care how many people show up, I just want a fun time." that I realise that the truth is I secretly hope that certain people show up. I look at the number of people I've invited and mentally list the number of people who've said they'd come and think the numbers just don't balance out.



I'm currently semi-seeing someone at the moment. When I told my girlfriend that he wasn't from the team, she cried, "thank f*ck for that!" I'm broadening my horizons I guess. He's 32, 6'2 (my true weakness) and has a great smile. We don't see much of each other because he's constantly traveling for work. He's a lovely guy and is very sweet. I have no problems with him traveling a lot or being extremely busy with work as that allows me my time to do my own work and research without feeling guilty. I just find myself wondering if we are actually a 'good fit'. He's lovely, he's good looking, he's fun (although sometimes I wonder if his idea of fun matches mine) and he's quite the gentleman. I get the little butterflies when I see a message from him and know I'm going to meet him. But at the same time I can't help but wonder just how 'into each other' we really are...



Then something else happens which illustrates just how I really feel about it all, I start thinking about t-shirt man all over again. I've been missing him again and realise that I'm not seeing this new guy to fill in a gap. It's something else. The problem is I'm in a bit of a dilemma. I'm traveling abroad for 3 months as part of my research. This will probably help me to sort my head out as I'll be away from everything and will basically spend my time either relaxing (I haven't visited my family in over a year). I need to distance myself from my London life for a while, take a step back and sort my head out a bit.



This week I thought about it, and finally formed the words to tell someone my idea. When I come back from data collection I'll talk to t-shirt man and see how he feels about giving things another go. He always said to me that when I knew what I wanted to come back to him and we'd see how things would go. Now that I think of it, I wonder if he'd want to. I just don't know if I'd want to go through that humiliation of being turned down and all. But if we do, I also know I run the risk of getting hurt again and even worse. But isn't that the whole point? If you really want that person you'd be willing to risk that?



I guess it all boils down to, do I know what I want and do I want it enough?

Remembering

My sister called me the other day for a quick chat. My 3 year old nephew recently asked my sister (his mum) when he was going to meet his uncle Mo. My sister said that he would one day. She let him busy himself with his new birthday present before going into her bedroom and cry. When she told me what he said, I couldn't help but cry myself. It broke my heart.

My brother passed away 8 years ago, he was 15 and the youngest. He died of pneumonia and heart failure. I don't think any of us have gotten over him, and we keep pictures everywhere and talk about him. It was only natural that my little nephew would ask about this person who exists around him in pictures and stories, he's going to be curious. My sister's friend said she should have explained to him that his uncle Mo was in heaven. But how do you explain that to a 3 year old?

I think it broke everyone's heart because I got an email from my mum. A friend of ours recently lost a sister, and her mother was still in a bad way about it. The mother apparently talks about the sister all the time, and really it's the best thing. People always seem to not talk about these things in case it offends the person, they don't ask questions. But what people don't understand is that you never want to forget. Yes, the memory of losing someone you love is painful. Yes, it is tough to relive those moments and those feelings, but you just don't want to let go of even those memories.

I remember sitting on the couch with my sister one afternoon, talking about my brother. It hit us that we were both scared we'd forget him. "It's like we imagined the last 15 years." we both said. It scares the hell out of you. You cling onto every memory and hope that you don't just depend on photos to remind you of who they were and what they were like. I still remember wonderful, sad and silly things about him. I remember how he used to make me laugh, annoy me and make me smile. I also remember seeing him walking around the house, bent over in pain and looking tired. I remember seeing him in that hospital bed, looking so thin and fragile, turning away from him to look out the window and cry, hoping he wouldn't see me.

I remember that wonderful last summer we were in England. How I warned him about the girls who hung around here. How we'd all walk about the neighbourhood. How we had a big party in our house back home, opening the back garden and setting it up so his friends could have fun playing video games and stuff. Him knocking on my door at night to see if I was sleeping, and not to go to bed until he slept first because he'd watched a creepy movie or played a spooky game. How he threatened a friend of ours that if she didn't stop annoying him he'd marry her, and then going on bended knee and proposing to her. Watching him laugh afterwards when she screamed and ran away crying. His naturally skinny frame. His deep voice at 15 - a smooth transition into it. His phase of having extremely long hair. His annoyed look when he saw my billboard of pictures and asking why he wasn't on it. How I made him pose against my wall in my room so I could take it (everyone had a copy of that picture now).

This wonderful person who people will no longer be able to meet. My nephew will never know just how cool and funny his uncle was. My new friends will not laugh at how much my brother will tease and annoy me. My new boyfriend/fiance/husband will not get to know how charming and friendly my brother was, or how protective he was. My children will not laugh as hard at the stories I tell of him because they were not touched by his humour like the people closest to him.

Before my brother died, he wrote a letter to his loved ones. We didn't find it until we mourned in his room. He knew he was dying and never told anyone. In it he wrote, "Live your life. Live and enjoy your life. Be good to those around you and remember God is there." Such beautiful words. to this day I always think, 15 years was not long enough. But no matter how long it is, it is never enough. I don't regret anything though. My brother knew we loved him. You just can't help but wish.

(God bless and rest his soul)

The friends that you have and keep

It's 9:30am, I'm ready to have a shower (to start my day), I should do my bed and wash my breakfast dishes. My family have gone to take my great aunt to the airport, she was visiting us for a few days. I'm supposed to be at a football game, cheering on my team at a friendly, but I stayed at home because 1) I thought it was going to rain and I'm not going to support them in the rain like I did last year, 2) I needed to wake up at 6am to get ready and go, 3) I REALLY need to do some work for my research otherwise I'll be just incredibly lazy and a pointless student.

1) Turns out, it didn't rain, 2) I woke up at 6am to have my elderly aunt shouting down the stairs but was really woken up by my grandmother shushing her loudly, 3) I've been awake for 3 and a half hours and still haven't gotten any work done. Oh well!

I should have started working yesterday, but I felt like leaving the house and doing other things that didn't entail work, like meeting friends, taking pictures, having a relaxing day in the sun, walking from Wardour Street to Liverpool Street Station. I'd spent three weeks inside my house working my ass off. Everyone I knew or would talk to on a regular basis was not in the country or was busy with their own projects. Those three weeks were quite lonely. It's not because I split from BD. But it was because while everyone was away I took stock of the friends that I have here in London. The cold hard fact was, still is, I have more male friends than I do girlfriends. There is only one person who I keep up with religiously and that's it. All my girlfriends are in other places in the world, and it occured to me that my studies are also isolating me.

I know for a fact that's not the real excuse *ehem* I mean reason! I just can't always keep up with people. I'm lazy, I'm not one to be popular. Back home I had two main girlfriends who I would keep up with, and one of the reasons is because I worked with them. But I loved them, and still do. We didn't need to go out and party all the time, we'd go out for dinner, go to each other's houses, go for a coffee and bitch about work. I loved them. They were laid back and sorted. I knew that if I didn't talk to them for a few weeks, that I could pick up where I left off when I came back. I could trust them implicitly about everything in my life. I knew no matter what I did or said they would never judge me. Actually I know 5 people like that, and really those are the kind of people I like. That's the type of person I am. I don't phone people all the time. People don't know what's going on in my life at every second unless they live in my house, or in my pocket (on speed dial)!

When I first came to England, I have to admit. I had a large group of friends. But they weren't really mine, and you can't always have loyalties with friends that come as a package. I realised that they were not the kind of people who I was and that their demeanor was making me slightly paranoid. It wasn't until something terrible happened that I decided to change things. My phone contract had ended and I decided to start afresh. I changed my number and changed my friends. I ended up having three true friends by the time that I finished my MA, but when I handed it my dissertation and celebrated with my class I also realised I was saying goodbye to some really great people who I wanted to keep as friends.

Maybe that's it. I keep up with people who are within reach and those people who I can trust. Those people who I feel comfortable with. I have few friends because it's less people to keep track of and less people to worry about gossiping about you. It's not that I'm unfriendly, I just know who I like to be friends with, I know who I like and enjoy hanging out with, I know who I can trust and I know who I could turn to when I need help or someone to talk to. So what if I'm not popular? I know who my real friends are!

Food...

One of my favourite blogs is Kyoto Daily Photo, I love looking at the various pictures Macky has up on different parts of Kyoto, there is always something new and there is always something beautiful. Today as I scrolling through I found this KyotoDailyPhoto: Mixed food and it just made me crave food from back home. Now it's not because I'm hungry, because I had a gorgeous breakfast of a bagel with brie oozing out of it, and a rather large cup of tea, but because I miss what home cooking is all about. I get home cooked meals living with my grandmother which I truly appreciate. But nothing quite compares to the love and comfort that comes from a home cooked meal from your mother. Which is why I'm putting a picture of one of my favourite dishes my mother makes:

Steamed meet dumplings. They're gorgeous and they're a typical Bukhari dish (my mother is Italian) and I love them. What we usually do is steam them, and when you serve them you pour vinegar over them. Yes, it pickles them a bit, but you do the same to pie and mash anyway! They are delicious and when they're served straight from the stove they're just amazing. I know when I'm home when my mother cooks these because only she knows how to make them just the way I like them.

(Someone tucking into it - I'm sure it was me because my father was getting annoyed that I was taking pictures and not 'respecting the food' and just eating it. If I said "because I miss it when I'm in London" he'd have turned and said to me, "Learn how to make it to do it while you're there or just come back and settle here")

Going through some home movies, really cracking up on some of them because my sister is just hilarious and feeling just a little homesick. But must put that aside to finish this one last chapter (don't say it like that or you'll have to really push yourself and there's still so much to write about!!).

What if I packed it all in?

"What's the alternative?" he asked me.
"That I pack up and go home." I said.
"That's right. You just do what you've got to do." he said.

I've been rolling it around in my head, am I doing this for all the right reasons? Am I really happy? There's just no clear cut definition to it. I'm counting more low days than high ones. If I do pack up and go home, what would happen?

1) I'd be saying goodbye to the life I now know. No male friends, no boyfriends, no dates, no parties where you'd be dancing and feeling gorgeous. No going out when I feel like it, or just to get a cup of coffee because I just need to stretch my legs. No going out unless I've let my father know I'm going out and asked him. Can't see my friends unless my father knows about it. CON

2) I'd be in a job for life at a university working as a lecturer. I wouldn't pay tax on my pay. I'd be able to save because I'm living with my parents (which isn't a bad thing as I love that house). I'd be working minimal hours and not be hounded to do research all the time. Come and go as I please at my job. PRO

3) Friends - I'd be with all my old girlfriends and not worry about who knows me or who I'm socialising with if I went back because they're most people who I trust implicitly anyway and they're the people who were there for me at my lowest times, they sat around me as my heart broke and I cried. They were there when I laughed and smiled. They're the people who know how my life is and what could happen to me. PRO. I'd lose a lot of friends in London. I wouldn't be able to see half or over half of them again. I'd be forced to cut out a lot of people, which is something I've never done (only willingly or necessity). I'd lose a of people who've seen me in my good times and those who have made me laugh, shown me what life is like when you're an adult. The cheeky people who I'll cradle and hold close to my heart. CON.

4) I'd be a lot more relaxed and mellow. I'd be incredibly laid back and slowly become lazy again. My mind will wander more and I'll be less inclined to read again. My head will be empty of all stresses and good times will flow through it. My work will only occupy my mind during the working hours and never on the weekend. CON.

5) My parents will arrange my marriage. CON - but I trust them and know that they would only want the best for me.

6) It will be until the summer until I come back to London, and even then my dad will only let me go out if he's with me and I'd have to be back at a certain time. I would never be able to roam the street of London, or Soho on my own. CON.

7) Every time I listen to certain bits of music, my heart will break for what I've given up. CON.

8) I would never forgive myself for being so weak... CON.

I need a hug.

A 'missing' feeling...

I just don't know what it is, I'm sitting at my desk as I have been all day, it was a truly beautiful day that I spent inside, at my desk. I was brainstorming and managed to get a few thoughts down, doubt my own study and the participants I was including. I managed to pour my thoughts out to a friend who I sometimes wonder if he just says that I sound weird so that he can be the person to make me feel better? I wrote two long emails to my mum about my work and thoughts, then got chatting to both my parents online at the end of the day. I've had all three meals and contemplating on whether to make myself a cup of tea and see how long I can stay up to work on my chapter.

Then a song comes on, "Melt" by Leftfield. I only heard it once in my 'other home' and straight away it makes me homesick. This feeling of me missing something. I.just.don't.know.what.it.is. This feeling takes over me and for a second I don't know where I am. It didn't last as long as it does sometimes. A couple of seconds and I reminded myself I was in England. But there are times when it lasts for minutes, I sit there in a slight panic, confused as to where I am and what I'm doing.

It's worse when I'm sleeping and I dream that I'm back there, in my big bed, large room and glorious balcony windows. My cat sleeps at the end of my bed and things are how they were. As I slowly wake up, I start to panic as to where I am and it takes me a while to realise that I'm in my much smaller bed, my cat has passed away and things are how they are.

I just feel so lost and I don't know what to do. I thought this was what I wanted. I've never felt so disoriented in my life. During the masters I had even more bouts like these, and a friend said that I didn't feel settled, but that if I were to do my PhD I'd feel more settled and make my roots. It's been two years now... and I still feel as though I'm missing something. I miss my mum, I miss my old life, I miss my cat and I miss my job. I miss my friends, I miss being able to afford things, I miss going out and enjoying my independance. I miss my best friend, I miss my sister, I miss those nights where I'd get calls from friends at 1 or 2am because they just felt the need to talk. I miss how my cousin and I used to talk, before he got married, before we fell out with each other, when we used to be truly close. I miss how I used to go to Jiji's house and just help myself to her fridge. I miss how I'd pick my mum up from work and we'd go shopping, or out for a meal and just talk. I miss how at the end of each working day, while my dad was napping and my mum was at work, I'd boil the kettle, make a pot of tea and wait for my mum to come home and my dad to wake up. We'd drink tea together and just sit and talk, or watch tv. I miss how my cat used to wait for me when I'd come home from work, sitting outside my bedroom, and meow loudly when she'd see me come up the stairs, running to me to give me a cuddle.

I am truly blessed for the experience I'm getting now. But I can't help but wonder, will I ever get over this feeling of being disoriented? Will I ever get my bearings? I'm sitting at my desk, and I feel dizzy. I think I need to finish my PhD, and then we'll see where I land.