Honest Lies – Page 41 – "Okay, so I'm the dragon. Big deal. You still get to be the hero."

Welcome! Honest Lies is the personal site of a 26 year old graduate electrical engineer living in the UK. Covering every day life, books and various other randomness. Read more about me and the site here.

Searching

It’s fairly late and I should be in bed but I feel very awake for some reason. So I’m going to write.

====================

Time is passing fairly quickly, when it feels like its passing fairly slowly. I’m a bit bored, though when I think about it…it is in a good way. It’s nice to have so much time that you’re not really sure what to do with it, that you can afford to take too long doing things, to just lie in bed resting for 10 to 30 minutes every morning, just because I can. It feels indulgently lazy and thus brilliant.

I’ve mostly been in the kitchen still battling with my bread and being more successful at other things. Today for breakfast I had homemade granola with soya yogurt and a slice of homemade bread toasted with marmite. It felt quite awesome to have half of what is on my plate to have been something I’d made myself, from scratch. For lunch I baked some chicken and had homemade oven fries, which also felt awesome. Basically, apart from too much snacking from aforementioned boredom, I’m managing my diet quite well, and this no dairy thing is coming together nicely. It is really just chocolate to cut out now. only that.

(I really do not know how to stop eating chocolate. :/)

Apart from spending time in the kitchen I’ve been lazing around catching up on all the dramas I’ve wanted to watch but hadn’t the time nor bandwidth during term. I watched “Rinjo” which was better than average, with a truly heart breaking last episode, but there were questions I had about the main characters background that bugged me right until the end, and kind of ruined my enjoyment of the series. I’ve also nearly finished “A sleeping forest” which veers off into the unbelievable at times, but is so tightly plotted you cannot help but get sucked into it. I really have no idea who the culprit is and I watch every episode intently, trying to make sense of it but the drama is brilliant at turning things round, making everything a little unreliable, a little creepy, until you’re full of doubt. It’s exciting and exactly what you want from a mystery- this sort of high tension where you’re resisting the urge to just skip to the last minutes of the last episode just so you can know already! Strangely I’ve not been reading much, compared to how much I had been reading. I find myself struggling to really get into anything though. Maybe it’s the books I’ve been reading? The only books I have on hand are very hefty fantasy books and I’m not quite in the mood for it.

====================

I received my results on Monday. I passed everything, even scraping through telecommunications by a mere 3% above the pass mark. I cannot feel relieved though. I think my average is enough for the MEng but until I’m transferred I do not think I’ll be able to stop worrying, to be able to quiet this little voice inside me going “what if?” Like always I tell myself to stop worrying, that everything will be OK. But like always I have a hard time being able to believe that. I really have to see it before I can believe it…

====================

I spoke to my dad tonight about my module choices and finally I feel more certain about those, at least. I’m fairly sure what I’m doing, and that more importantly that they will be relevant for my future career. I’m still not certain about one module but I’ve emailed someone at the university about it and so hopefully they’ll be able to advise me, and then that will all be done. Then its just choosing my group project… I wish I wasn’t thinking about university as much as I currently am.

====================

Although I’ve just moved back from Malaysia, or at least it feels that way, I’m already having to think of moving again. By which I mean: accommodation for university next year. And: flat hunting. I’m going to be living by myself next year. And finding a place for one in a decent area for a decent price is somewhat trying. As a young woman living alone I have to be a little paranoid- I have to be careful about the area, and I cannot have any ground floor flats. This naturally narrows the choices down quite a bit and raises the prices quite a bit, too. Thankfully my father agreed to not just focus on furnished flats, which widened the choices a little, and lowered the prices a little, but only marginally. I did eventually manage to find 6 places I am interested in, for which I nervously enquired about viewings. Thus tomorrow I will be driving down with my father to look at the first two places, and then on Saturday I will see the rest with both my father and sister. I am utterly terrified of this. I’ve never done anything like this and have no idea what to expect, or how I’m supposed to act- what do I look for? What questions do I ask? I’m also shy which makes me fairly scared of appearing rude or pushy in front of the estate agent when I know that I should not be so self conscious, not afraid to look into corners, test things out, ask any questions. I know this but I have a feeling I’ll freeze up tomorrow and it’ll all pass me by in a daze and that’s hardly useful is it? Look at these run on sentences, I’m really kind of panicking. That’s probably why I feel so awake.

Bread

This summer I decided that I would learn to make bread. I think I have become enamoured with the idea of being fairly self-sufficient- in the sense of baking my own bread, making my own cereals, whipping up fresh and delicious nutritious meals for myself. I want the health benefits and money saving benefits of it. I want to know that I can take care of myself. Alas, the reality is that I am actually a little hopeless in the kitchen. It’s not something I want to admit, as it clashes so much with my images of what I want to be, but as much as I enjoy pottering around in the kitchen the results don’t always match the pictures, to put it in the kindest way. I have improved over the years. My desire to be a good cook and baker is something I’ve been struggling towards for years and as embarrassing as that is, at least where I am now is much better than when I first started- I can manage a few basic dishes and I am an adequate baker of biscuits and cakes, but I still have many limitations.I think I perhaps became comfortable in those limitations, and it only now I’ve given up dairy that I’ve begun to play around a bit, trying to become even better. (Not being able to rely on cheese kinda forces one into this position…)

It’s really not as easy as it looks, though.

To focus on the bread.

I began yesterday morning with a recipe pulled from the Internet and a lot of optimism. I followed the instructions and formed my dough seemingly as it should be, then set my little ball of dough in a greased bowl, all wrapped up and warmed up by the dishwasher running beneath. Five hours later and my little ball of dough had not risen at all. Worried, I began to frantically google and was forced to accept the truth about my bread- I had killed my yeast. I’d not only put them in too-hot water to begin with, but left them hungry with no sugar to feed on. Reading through forum posts and recipes with their comments I realised that I’d probably not even kneaded it right. Annoyed, fed up, I threw the dough on a greased pan and shoved it in the oven just to see what would happen. The results were a lump of heavy, dense, gooey ‘bread’ that…actually tasted very nice. My optimism was restored- all I needed to do was keep my yeast alive and everything would be OK. With the help of my frantic searches earlier I rewrote the recipe- adding in sugar at the beginning, making careful note of the ideal water temperature , extending times for letting the yeast develop and kneading. Today, I did it all over again. I made the water neither cool nor hot and mixed in a tiny bit of sugar. Then, I added the yeast and let them sit for 5 minutes, watching in fascination as the yeast bloomed before my eyes. They were alive! I added in the olive oil then slowly began to add flour mixed with salt, until the mixture became too stiff to mix and thus I began to knead. I kneaded and kneaded and kneaded- forcing myself to keep going for 10 minutes and only then did I ball the dough up and put it in a greased bowl, covering it this time not only with a damp cloth but a layer of clingfilm. I set it beside the stove as I cooked lunch to keep it warm and in an hour- it had risen! Hopeful now, I formed it into something resembling a loaf and stuck it in the oven. The results were much lighter and just as tasty but alas, it is still a little too dense, and it looks utterly deformed. although the first rise was successful, the second rise in the oven…well it did not seem to rise much in the oven. Neither did I shape it correctly. I still have a long, long way too go with this bread making business. It really seemed so easy, too.

I think its time to phone my grandmother.

RUNAWAY

This entry is so hard to write. I got back to the UK on Friday and I thought I’d write something on Saturday, but I underestimated just how exhausted and jet lagged I was. I feel so tired that my brain feels like its turned to mush. Even this far on from landing in the UK I’m still waking up at 7am every morning and I’m still so very tired.

And it’s difficult to know where to begin- how to put into words everything that has happened since I left Malaysia. I have a handful of half written entries written in Japan but most days are blank, and my memories are too bright and vivid, blurring out the little details.

Japan was amazing though. There were times where I was tired or moody or embarrassed. I tried to climb a mountain in the snow and failed. My dad changed plans last minute without discussing it with me and I got angry. I realized how useless just knowing hiragana was, and cursed myself for struggling with katakana still as knowing that alone would have been far more useful, and I felt frustrated because of this and embarrassed too, as my Father clearly expected more from me. I realized it is best to visit Japan with some grasp of Japanese or none at all- with just this small amount of knowledge, having just these bits and pieces is frustrating, as you can begin to try and comprehend, but lack the knowledge to really understand or communicate. On the other hand, there were so many more moments I felt so happy I was almost overwhelmed with it. After how difficult things have this year, it was a relief to feel free of that heavy weight. I succeeded in climbing another mountain, I was driven through lush forests along twisty mountain roads and through sleepy fishing villages in remote areas. I finally got to see Northern Tohoku and Hokkaido and I felt so blessed and so happy to have been able to have done so. It was all so breathtakingly beautiful and showed a hidden side of Japan, so far removed from the frantic pace and overwhelming crowds of Tokyo.

It was over so, so soon. The journey up to Sapporo was long and lingering- we travelled to Aomori by Shinkansen then stayed there for a few days, before working up to Hakodate, taking a brief stop there, then finally landing in Sapporo. Then we took the flight back to Tokyo and I realized then how little time I had left, and the last two days in Japan were clouded by that anxiety, that soon I would be back in the UK.

On Thursday 13th June at 4pm Japan time my Father and I boarded the limousine bus at our hotel and began the journey back. The bus journey was long and boring, with a little kid sat right behind us who was excited and chatty and loud about it. He reminded me of my sister and I when we travelled when we were younger- and I resisted the urge to apologize to my father. He was sleeping, anyway. I have a feeling I exhausted my father with this holiday, maybe was a little hard on him, although he’d never admit to it so I do not think I can be blamed for it.

Once at the airport we went to pick up the extra baggage we had left there then found ourselves a quiet corner by our airline check in counter to sort out our stuff and repack to get our weights in order. In the end my father had my 11kg of stuff that had been left at the airport, plus 17kg of checked in baggage and 7kg hand luggage. I had 29kg of checked in luggage and 7kg of hand luggage. I was amazed that we’d managed to meet the luggage limitations so perfectly and easily- having expected to be tearing through my luggage in frustration for much longer trying to make it all work, having been afraid we would not be able to make it work. We went and joined the queue and got our luggage checked in no problem and one of my major worries was totally erased. My dad and I hunted out a McDonald’s to eat supper then got through customs before rushing to the day rooms on the air side so we could make our 8pm bookings. We’d tried to get a late checkout but the hotel had wanted about £70 for that, so I’d looked into showering facilities at Narita and was surprised to find they had small hotel rooms to rent by the hour which we could use. I booked us two singles just for an hour so we could freely access our stuff and take a shower. I tell you, that hour made all the difference. The rooms were small but clean and simply being able to spread out all my stuff and take a long, hot shower left me feeling refreshed and ready as I would ever be for the flights. The first flight was 10 hours to Dubai. It was dull. I eventually slipped into sleep about four hours in, but it was not the good quality stuff. Then there was a 4 hour layover at Dubai. It was also dull. My dad bought my a load of fruit for breakfast and we walked around in circles round the terminal for a bit, then sat at the gate and willed time to pass. Actually, my dad napped as I willed time to pass. Then there was 7 hours flying to Manchester. That was even worse than dull- time just dragged on and on and on and I felt so ill by that point, and tired but unable to sleep, and itchy from too long in the dry, unforgiving plane air conditioning. I flew on an airbus for the first time but it was nothing different- the seat was a little wider, and the toilets had fancy fake wooden seats is all. I think the air bus is better for the staff- they have more space to rest and also to work without having people queuing for the toilets or wanting to stand up for a while getting in their way. Finally, we arrived at Manchester. Lunchtime, Friday 14th June. We had a long wait to collect our baggage then dragged it all to the train station…onto the train…and then home…

The rest of the day was spent unpacking, giving out gifts, chatting with family before going to bed at 7pm, sleeping straight through to 6am the next morning.

Since then… On Saturday I went grocery shopping with my Father. We’d both woken early and headed out at around 8am or 9am to do so, some crazily early time like that. I came back and freaked my mother out with the relish I ate a ham, pepperoni and salami sandwich. On Sunday we went for a walk through the gardens of a local stately house near where we live. On Tuesday I spent some time with my father dismantling my new computer in order to clean it, and I’m pleased to say that although I’m still clueless about computers, I now at least have some idea of where everything goes in one. Which is a start. Today I spent some time with my mother rooting through her makeup drawers. This is a task I’ve always enjoyed since I was little- my mothers vanity drawers are seemingly endless, packed with all manners of interesting, pretty, expensive looking things. Today I rooted out some eyeliners from kanebo, elizabeth arden and ysl. My timing was good as my mother was feeling generous and let me have them all.

I think that coming back was fairly underwhelming. Nothing has changed. I looked out the train and the car and its all the same. I come back to the house and there’s been some changes around the house and at first I feel uncomfortable, like a stranger in my own home- I couldn’t find a plate in the kitchen, there were no toiletries for me in the bathroom, even my room was strange and unfamiliar, something I’d not seen for so long, and I wondered if it was always like this. Now a few days later and I’m settled and this summer is like any other- days drag on and I’m bored. My mother frustrates me at times but I do my best not to snap. My cat is whiny but cute enough to get away with it. During the day, today, my Father and my Sister are not here and its terribly quiet, not a sound, not even from outside. The UK is grey and I’m sitting here in a hoodie and a scarf, indoors, with the heat on. But even I have not changed all that much. I’m a little tanned, I’m a lot cold, I have stories about foreign places, but I’m still the same person. Everything slides back into place so easily, as if nothing happened at all. As if I’ve never been away.

I’m not sure whether to feel relieved about this or disappointed. I thought coming back to the UK would be… something. Something large and difficult that I had to conquer. I thought it would be more difficult than this. Maybe in some strange way I wished it would be. I don’t really know how to explain why I have this feeling. Its just anticlimactic, I guess. That you can go away for so long and when you turn back nothing has changed.

“Sometimes I ask myself, how much farther will I have to go?”

On Saturday I went to check out the Batu Caves. I was interested as I’ve never been to a Hindu site of worship before, and it was free. The journey was long and dull from KL Sentral. Once there I followed the crowds to the main stairwell and the big golden statue, and started up the steps. Typical of stairways in Malaysia the stairs were dirty, narrow, uneven and frankly terrifying. I clung to the chipped, peeling balustrade and clutched at my maxi skirt and stopped at every landing. It was worth it once I got to the top though- the views were brilliant and the caves themselves were huge and fairly impressive. There were two temples, to get the second you have to brave even more narrow, uneven steps that are also wet which is great ‘fun’, and numerous statues tucked away into the cave walls. I was fascinated by the statues and by the formation of the caves themselves. However the visit was over very quickly, and I was very hot the whole time,and I did not enjoy those stairs which makes me wonder how worth it it was to go. Oh but on the way back to the station I bought some sort of traditional sweets they were selling on the roadside and they were delicious. The best was bright pink and tasted like crumbly, cake like coconut ice (and how typical of my sweet toothed self, to be on a mission to try Malaysian snack foods and sweets but remaining ignorant about Malaysian food…) On Sunday I headed out into KL again- to mid valley to pick up last minute packing supplies and get my hair cut. After I got my hair cut I went to the platform and crouched down, typically the train time was changing to an even later time every time I looked, and gazed at my surroundings and it hit me this is the last time. I didn’t feel sad, but I did start to feel anxious and it started to sink in that soon, everything would be shifting, changing, again and am I ready? What comes next, anyway? How will things have changed once I get back to the UK? What comes next? Although I recognise the importance of change, I still cannot help but feel nervous when faced with it.

Since then I’ve been busy trying to sort out the mess that is my room, not leaving campus and these last few days in Malaysia have passed as such, uneventfully like that. I wonder if I’ve made the most of my time here, compare myself to other people, then I think that “experience” is not something that can be quantised. I’m terribly excited to be going to Japan soon. Of course, before I get there I have to finish off my packing. It’s an endless, frustrating task. I’ve been nearly finished since Monday and although in retrospect I was laughably optimistic I was never lying, I really thought I was coming close, but then I’d discover another pile of papers to sort, another bunch of clothes to pack. Currently my suitcase is 5kg overweight and this is awkward, I can barely carry the thing, and maybe a bit embarrassing (again, I wonder about other people. I wonder what my dad is going to make of it.) But I figure its only RM60 to get that kind of excess to Japan and I’d much rather pay than sort out any more bloody paperwork (aka yes, I’m keeping my notes. I do not have the willpower to sort out/discard anymore.) I’ve done enough. I really am nearly finished with it all now (for real!), and then I have to check out of halls and wait for the taxi to come to take me to the airport one last time. I’m nervous, excited, worried, thrilled about Japan. I’m not sad about leaving Malaysia to get there, but I will say it is strange.

My no-poo salon experience

Yesterday I went and had my hair cut. I was terrified- I had read through the posts on the no poo community and the way that some of those women got treated for choosing not to use shampoo is quite something. And, there is my eczema. I had bangs before I came to Malaysia though, which I’d grown out and wanted back. I was planning on going to my usual place in the UK when I got back but researched places in Malaysia on a whim one day, and when I stumbled upon this salon and realized I could a fancy cut at a fancy salon for what it would cost in the UK for a very average haircut at a very average place, well, I was sold. I was nervous but at the same time my curiosity won out and I booked an appointment close to when I was going to Japan- so I could look pretty for my holiday!

The place I went to was number76. They are a Japanese salon, tucked in a very strange, hard to find corner of north point in midvalley (before this, I had no idea there was this place called northpoint, which was probably why it was no hard to find for me) I got there about 5:20pm to find my online booking had not gone though but thankfully the salon was quiet and they could fit me in. They gave me a form to fill out with my details and there it was- a place asking for allergies. I took a deep breath and wrote can’t use shampoo. By this point I was a bundle of nerves and was fighting the urge to flee.

The stylist greeted me and asked me how I’d found the place to which I gave an utterly random answer, that did not answer the question in the slightest. At that point I knew that this was going to be very embarrassing. Once I start saying weird things, I cannot stop, only get worse. I stumbled through my explanation for what I wanted- just bangs straight-across and a trim, and some layers. I had toyed with the idea of cutting my hair off in a drastic change, but at the end of the day as much as I think about a mature, easy to manage bob, I long for waist length hair still. He asked about the not using shampoo thing, too and I nervously admitted I had eczema. OK, was what he basically said. Nothing else- just calm acceptance and they readily agreed to just rinse my hair in water. Another girl came and took me to the rows of basins they had. Let me confess- I’ve never had my hair washed at a salon. Seriously. This was the first time going to the hair dresser in about 4 years, and the first time ever going to a place this nice. I sat down where I was told and awkwardly arranged myself with lots of guidance, nervous as hell and feeling completely like a fish out of water. The girl followed through- rinsing my hair with hot water and massaging my scalp. Just that. it was…nice. I took note of what she was doing, as I’ve often wondered what the best technique is for no poo water only- I think after this that I may be too rough with my fingers when I scritch or whatever you call washing your hair with no shampoo. After that my hair was gently wrapped in a towel and I was led back to the chair, still in a nervous daze, with no real clue of what was coming next.

Next was, of course the cut. The stylist started, then announced he was going to give me a fancy scalp treatment for free- and this was the only time I felt a bit embarrassed about the no poo thing, as I think he did this as he did not think my hair was clean. Nonetheless, I got a RM50 treatment for free, so I cannot really complain. It was a pretty cool treatment- no chemicals, just using carbonated water to clean my hair in the same fashion as when they were rinsing it before. Midway he showed me some of the water with all the gunk floating on top- gross, but fascinating. Then it was back to the chair where he rubbed some product in my scalp, with my permission, to replace whatever was lost in the treatment (I think). Before blow drying my hair.

He asked me if I blow dried my hair and I had to admit, never. This was the only point he gave me any advice or pushed for anything and it was not a product or anything, just the friendly comment that I should consider blow drying my hair more. And I contemplated it, too. As it felt really nice. Again, I noted what they were doing, filing it away if I ever do get a blow dryer. I was really finding it all quite fascinating. Then he started to cut again. I could not help but stare at my hair and remark “it looks like its been shampooed” Absolutely amazed. Because my hair was squeaky clean, glossy and smooth but without using chemicals, and well, my scalp felt great too. He told me that you can actually do this at home using pure carbonated water, and mimed something to do with using a basin too. As I live alone next year I think I can play around with trying to do just that. I also need to look into the product he used to and see if it salon only, or if I can pick it up in Japan. Sometime during the past however long I had been there my scalp, which had been freaking out for some reason (mostly stress) had actually stopped itching, with only a little tingling here and there. I hadn’t felt itch free for so long in years. It will be a little annoying if after various medicines, shampoos, herbs, teas, essential oils and what not its freaking carbonated water that works with my eczema but hey, as long as it works. I hope I can make it work at home.

Anyway,soon he was finished and then this was where it got weird- he wanted photos. I was already in a state of heightened anxiety and I’m fairly sure none of them are good pictures- but he spent some time arranging my hair so it was just so, and that’s all that matters.

Overall it was a very awkward experience, I felt slightly embarrassed and very self conscious throughout, but the results are amazing. I came back and popped by my friend and she was so amazed at the results, that she is thinking of going herself! The cut is not drastic, I think even the stylist was surprised at my simple request, but I was not going for a drastic cut, I was going for the experience. Because I was curious, really. And the results are more than I was expecting. (To be honest, all I was expecting they would refuse to cut it or force me to shampoo…) my hair looks beautiful now- it has such a different, interesting texture to it and I love having bangs again. And I loved the whole professional salon experience. Yes, I felt awkward but I also felt really pampered and grown up. I mostly really appreciated how, faced with a shy, awkward girl who does not use shampoo and has eczema even, the stylist remained friendly and professional. It helped me to relax, if only just a little. (The awkward small talk kept me from relaxing fully, as indeed, I kept saying strange things and coming across as a wierdo. Yes, my embarrassment came more from knowing I was making a terrible impression when the stylist was being so nice more than anything else)

Today my hair still looks amazing, and I still love having bangs. And my scalp still feels amazing- it’s an incredible feeling not to be itchy. Well, not as itchy. (Yes, there is a difference between itchy and itchy) I’m so glad I gathered courage and went for it. It’s a pity I’ll probably never be able to go there again.

(I hope it is obvious that this is not paid/sponsered…)

Tags

Categories

Archives

Blogroll