situation-

Guy and girl are walking. Neutral state of physical contact, nothing annoyingly touchy feely. You might even feel a surge of affection for these two for allowing you to keep your lunch down and not regurgitated.

and then

Girl spots you. Automatically, by primal instinct, she slips her arm into the crook of her male companion, pulling him so close you wonder he didn't lose his balance and fall flat on his face, taking her with him. She stares meaningfully at him and murmurs something inaudible to him... for all you know, it could be something about how interesting the floor tile pattern is. She will then look up at you to see if you are still looking, and then beam up at her beloved, drop a kiss on him, make him carry her (not really that heavy) shopping bags, encircles her waist with his arm.. anything at all neccesary to get the point across. "this one's mine". She then smiles at you again, cattily, while you smile back rather bewildered and confusedly at her.


i shall retreat back into my safe, pure little haven of a beachtown and gape at them when they (annoying tourists) have the audacity to even try bringing thier PDA into my territory.

may sand get into your shoes and sandflies attack you with a passion.


much love
sher.

displacement.



first you spend the first sixteen years of your life growing up in the same house, never moving. The same little corners and little quirks, the door handle that needs an extra twist, the playground right in front of your house.



And then suddenly life sweeps you off your feet and up and away from the small town you grew up in, puts you down in a little apartment in the suburb of Subang Jaya, with a house full of teenage girl strangers. You pay for your meals and clean up after yourself, and slowly learn that the city isn't the big bad dangerous thing you thought it was. You finally got the foodcourt all figured out and can pick the good stalls and know which ones to avoid from experience. You learn the hard way that there are THREE train systems, LRT, KTM, and monorail, and do not attempt to ever again take the KTM to KLCC. You finally learn to love it.

And then one day as you're walking to the apartment with your friends, you suddenly catch yourself saying- "oh, can we pick up some Coke Light before I get home?" and it hits you. Home.

Home. Because that's what it's somehow become now.



And then suddenly it's packing time and could you please remember to get everything this time because you're not coming back here again? You're uprooted again, too fast, and quite hastily put down again in KL. For three years. And you figure, this will be home for possibly the rest of your life,

and then suddenly you land with a thud in a pretty little house in bangsar with your relatives, who you're staying with for a while. It's the feeling of being in a glided, beautiful birdcage. But you don't grow attached, not even a bit, because you're just waiting to be free, to live on your own again. You beat your wings impatiently, and then, when they unlock your cage and fly straight into the next place, desperate for change.

And it is in the queerest little apartment that you find it. A dingy little place, with occupants that have hysterical fights every night, clutter everywhere and drab, faded curtains holding back the sunshine, casting the room into gloom, a sullenness. Where privacy is a foreign concept and your room looks suspiciously entered every time you're back from school. And so you learn to be suspicious, to lock doors and hide your stuff. To hold your backpack close to you while you walk back to the apartment through brickfields. To ignore the dirt and the drama and turn the lights on in your room, open the windows for maximum sunlight, use good earphones to drown out the screaming matches. But your wings are getting cramped again, and you need to fly. Now.

And you do, to a bright, light filled house with friendly, giving occupants. A family with big hearts and squealing kids and two affectionate, huggable cats. Away from the busy city you love, there's a certain quietness you thrive on, surprisingly. And maybe it's walking though a pasar malam near your house with your boyfriend that seals the deal, maybe it's the cat that jumps right into your lap and starts purring, or the little girl in the house who blows kisses at you before you leave for college every day. You learn to love this, too.


But you're homesick, and you head home this weekend, your whole house has been rennovated, made over. The kitchen is different, you fumble for the light switch and get the wrong one. You reach for a bathroom towel rack that's not there anymore. You adjust. You stand there flicking switches, trying to memorize the new order, functions.

I used to love changes, but there's just too many right now. Give me something familiar, please.