“I’m looking forward to reading your 2010 outlook,” expressed by a friend.

After reading the sentence, how is it possible to kid myself thinking it was a flattering concern from a friend whom I reckon to be very hardworking and goal oriented, and not overwhelmed by the inevitable and insurmountable pressure exerted by it?

Following the conversation, I therefore questioned myself: How was your 2009?

In retrospect, it has been a busy year (what a cliché?!) – exams and master thesis, permanent and temporary job applications, the gigantic move to London which included the exhaustive perfect lodge hunting, visa application and work.  

However, comparing the goals which I have set last year with the “results”, the force of juxtaposition was so imaginably great that I felt like I had just been pushed to commit a reluctant suicide by driving in a car with malfunction brakes, along a treacherous hill road on a rainy night.  I asked myself: How could it be so utterly disastrous? The diagnosis returned the following embarrassing results.

Goal #1: To secure a permanent employment and double my savings (Failed)

Not only I have failed to find a proper employment after months of endless trying, with the latest splurge on a shining new camera today (oh it is so pretty!), my saving is officially one-third lesser than the beginning of the year. Any reasons (or excuses)? I was both income- and job-less for two months after graduation. And yes the money splashed out for the hot air balloon treat to celebrate me turning a quarter of a century old (But it was spectacular and memorable experience which deemed to be priceless). And of course, the camera! (Excuse me, a camera when you are broke?!) Oh my god! It is time to spend money home again! Damn Chinese New Year! (!@#$%^&* and an unhappy teary face)

Goal #2: Learn French and sit for DELF A2 exam (Failed)

I really did set out an immaculate learning schedule and I started studying, for, err,  two weeks. You probably are saying: Eh, okay…

Goal #3: To get involve in a relationship (Failed)

Well yea, silly. But under peer pressure I was forced to make this ridiculous goal with my friend. Well, good for her as she did get a French boyfriend for three months. And me? I started the year promiscuously sleeping around, trial-ing potential candidates. But was struck by an ambiguous interaction with a promising someone soon before I realised. Experienced the most amazing period of my life for months, but also communication breakdown for a good few weeks. And now on course to celebrate our one year anniversary of ambiguity. Not too shabby, right? (Oh pathetic!)

Goal #4: Read a book per month (Failed)

Books read include The 7 habits of highly effective people (c0mpleted) and A thousand splendid suns (one-third), The photographer’s eye (completed), Turkey travel guide (completed). Does Ikea catalogue count? I spent a lot of time reading it! (Oh whatever!)

Goal #5: To obtain my post-study work visa (Achieved)

Yay! Finally a fulfilled goal! And it was after months of hard work collecting documents and letters, maintaining cash fund and months of worry. And yes, a £500 fee! Think I should add that to the Goal #1. See, I am not spending lavishly on unnecessary items. (Speaking with head held high, very high.)

In conclusion, 20%! A grade bad enough to be categorised as failure! But the past was the past. Time to move forwards.

So what are there for 2010? Needless to say, no more stupid relationship joke. But of course, resolutions could be fun. And fun means including travels and hobbies.

1. Secure a decent job by September and to achieve savings target as in 2009
2. Two trips: Back home trip and Egypt.
3. Read four books (guess this is more reasonable and achievable for me).
4. Develop photographic skills and post-processing knowledge through weekly photo trip
5. Wanted to run for London Marathon, but they accept no more participant.
6. Revamp Sambal Delivery Post and make it a pure travelogue.

Okay. Now that they have been publicly announced, it is only fair that the visitors (you) be the watchdogs and gauge my progress. So I am going to put them down on the right hand side panel and update the progress. Need to be a bit harsh and strict to myself otherwise nothing will happen, right?

Happy New Year!

 

It took me a very long time to digest “If I Ain’t Got You” from Alicia Keys before it becomes one of my all time favourites and a must played song every time I turned on my media player. Alicia Keys has always been able to impress me with her first, second and sometimes third single, but never the entire album.

When I noticed her chart climbing single “Doesn’t Mean Anything” lately on the UK Top 40 Chart, I knew this is going to be another great voyage with Miss Keys. Contradicting to the ballad-R&B style “If I Ain’t Got You”, “Doesn’t Mean Anything” seems more appropriate to be categorised in the Pop-R&B genre.

Yes, it seems like Alicia is ready to broaden her fans base by channelling herself to a more mainstream music orientation. Coincidently, another great artist, Norah Jones, has also stunned many of her loyal fans recently with her pop-oriented jazz album. The good news is, both albums seem to be a tasteful and refreshing delight than a disastrous music make-over.

The lead single from Alicia is indeed very hearing-friendly. The piano coupled with catchy bases as introduction does sound very intriguing. Very simple construction on the lyrics. At the first glance, the story sounds very similar to “If I Ain’t Got You”. But after careful scrutiny, “Doesn’t Mean Anything” reveals the vulnerability and fragility of a woman’s heart, whereas “If I Ain’t Got You” shows more strength and power.

If you are looking for the female domination factor as I did with Alicia’s latest album, you will not be disappointed. “Put It in A Love Song” featuring Beyoncé is the answer for you.

In conclusion, as in my experience with other Alicia’s albums, I am still struggling to love the entire album although a couple of singles manage to dazzle with surprises. I doubt “Doesn’t Mean Anything” will evolve into my all time favourite as with “If I Ain’t Got You” or maybe even “No One”, but at least it is hot in my playlist currently.

The immaculate image where tables of classic English ladies and gentlemen gather in a tea house on a typical morning, sipping their well-travelled English tea, sampling over the crispy almond biscotti, while exchanging words in the perfect manner intended to minimise disturbance to their neighbouring diners has, sadly, been substituted with the following scene:

Queuing beyond the point-of-sale in one of the international coffee chain giants with either a (bunch of) friend(s), or a cell phone, or a newspaper, or a handheld gadget with internet access, a young and trendy 21st century hip Brit is either talking and laughing hysterically to his/her friends with the tone intended to broadcast the entire conversation or to inundate his/her neighbouring conversation, ignoring the waiting from the cashier and the queue behind, or communicating on the mobile with the same condemnable manner, or concentrating on the newspaper or handheld gadget while placing his/her order without even bothered to place a precipitous glance at the cashier.

It is agreeable that life is hard and sometimes harsh in London. However, has the haste and hassle of London resulted in the deterioration of the pristine and complimentary classic English manner which we all have learnt from English literature? Deserving better attention is the question that even if busy life does impose pressure on keeping the plausible manner, is it acceptable at all?

One interesting observation is even when London is a genuine metropolis and a humongous social melting pot of numerous cultures, it still baffles me to learn that this loud conversation is actually a particular attribute of the Y-generation, or the young generation of British. And in the generation where females start to dominate males academically, the females have not failed to overwhelm the crowd in the realm of annoying conversation. Bravo gentlemen! Well, the slightly more gentleman young British boys.

Excuse me for making all the brouhaha about the loud noise surrounding my every presence in London. In my shallow opinion, it may be lovely to watch Alesha Dixon laughing uncontrollably while judging celebrity dancers on Strictly Come Dancing for, let me emphasise, ONCE a week, it is pretty intolerable to be constantly bombarded by the identical English young girls chit-chat sessions gossiping the, guess what, X-factor, girl friends-boy friends and bitchy talks.

It is your freedom to talk whatever you desire. But perhaps it could be carried out in a more respectful manner? And what is with the attitude that you think the people working in a coffee shop is less superior than you so you can ignore an eye contact while placing order?

In conclusion, this entry is not intended to make young British realise how the good manner maintained by their parents has slowly paving to extinction. It is posted as a relaxing humour for non-British. And this is what we are saying:

Let’s face it. The classic English manner has now been transformed to the X(tra loud) Factor!

Again, I lost control of the situation and had put up a hard time for you.

I understood what you meant when you told me this evening that I have to make a decision and quickly. I wanted to rush myself for a decision. But I knew, the decision time is not yet here.

All I could do is to give you a hard time no more, stupid questions no more, and just enjoy the current moment. I am no longer having any expectation, imagination, or dream. I admit I had been away with the fairies. But I believe time will eventually fade the feeling away and we could be normal.

What you may already know is I didn’t text you to come online for a hard time. But what you didn’t know is over those sleepless nights, I kept measuring myself against your love for your ex.

Wanted to be around him a lot; sharing amazing intimacy; always think that he is cute and intelligent; wanted to be him at times.

Amazing bedroom fun, and the cute and smart impression,  I think I have achieved them. But a wall was erected instantaneously when I learnt that I wasn’t a figure you wanted to meet often. I knew the feeling wasn’t reciprocal. But it still had created some uneasy ripples in my heart when I was honestly informed.

And life inspiration? I couldn’t help but kept waking up at those sleepless nights, asking myself what could I offer as a boy making coffees behind the bar? Inferiority inundated my sleepless nights.

I used to think this isn’t one-sided. I used to believe you were trying to avoid what you felt for me. But standing in front of your love for someone else, I couldn’t help but feeling so naive, so immature, and so insignificant. I felt so, small.

You were always so nice to me. But I’d finally realised, I shouldn’t confuse kindness with anything else.

I, as much as I would like to maintain my infamous stubbornness, was really very thin-skinned. I was embarrassed. Embarrassed by my own naiveté.

I am doubtless that you do care for me. But I knew, it wasn’t anything significant. Nothing comparable to what you have shown to others.

I-don’t-love-you, I heard you said. I accept defeat.

It was at the moment when I submitted the application when I knew the power of control has now shifted onto another pair of hands. There is nothing more I could do from this point onwards.

It took me months to carefully maintain the crucial £800 maintenance fund. Not that the amount of money poses any challenge to me since I inherited a handsome savings from my scholarship. But the constant paranoia worrying that I might accidentally over-charge on my bank account and thus breaking the minimum benchmark for maintenance fund was almost unbearable.

My worry was further exacerbated by story told during an open house gathering in London. A girl was rejected visa because the period when she maintained her fund was only 2-month and 29-day instead of the pre-requisite 3-month.

Yes, the Malaysians, the Americans, the Middle Easterners, the Chinese, etc., have all warned me about the same thing – they will dig deep into the ground and use whatever reason they can to reject you.

Maintaining minimum fund was only one of the stringent requirements. The troubles to gather the certificate of award, the university letter, the sponsor letter, the bank statements, and renewed passport, which altogether had taken me almost a month, was tedious. But these were mandatory before the final stage – 49-page paper application.

It was as thick as a book so as my Italian colleague would describe the form. But I knew it was my job to file an impeccable and immaculate application. I had doubt of course as it was another generic form and not individually tailored. But thanks to the consultation service offered by university, my confusion was cleared months ago. So, I was confident.

However, I still found myself couldn’t stop checking. Checked, and checked, and checked. My heart beat rate increased by 10-fold right as I sealed the envelope. Nervous but it seemed inevitable and completely acceptable. I was at the precipice of suffering a fatal heart attack for no exaggeration.

But now I know, for the coming 6 weeks, it will be nothing more than a miserable hell of anxious waiting. I need luck, lots of it!

P.S.: The author is applying for the post-study work visa for the United Kingdom.

I know we’re not friends.

I also accept that we’re definitely not in a relationship.

But I also realise, I am nothing more than just one of those regular characters you already have. The only difference might be the free delivery.

It is part of the deal which we had signed on. And I understand I have since then signed off my right to demand. But the truth is I really am deeply troubled by what happened between you and the other people.

I wondered if I ever mean anything to you.

It was indeed sweet to know you think of me sometimes. But I also have been told (by you) that I am just foolishly getting over-involved.

You might be true in what you said, as friends have agreed. But they also have advised on the best thing to do. And I know it too.

Do I want to keep pouring out and recollecting my emotion in a repetitive cycle?

How many times do I want to remind myself of my own pathetic character?

Can I keep maintaining my sweetness and pretend that I do not want to demand anything at all?

I have no answer. At least not yet. I don’t know what (I want) to do.

I understand about your worry. But rest assured my humility and rationality will guarantee you a psycho- and drama-free solution.

“But you only make coffee.”

It is the identical stereotype saying IT workers only do typing and bankers only count banknotes that I detest profoundly. Is it because the statement undermines the importance of my job? Or is it because of the blatant reality that I have refused to accept?

Undeniably, I do make coffee. But while waiting for your decaf triple grande three-pump sugar free vanilla skinny extra dry warm cappucino, haven’t you observed that my job also involve one of the most strenuous tasks in any job called the customer service?

I make coffee, it is true. But I am also paid for to make sure you have received the greatest Starbucks experience, or an experience that makes you feel like your lavish £3 spending over a 12oz fluid is rebranded as style. It is our principle to make you think that holding the green logo cup walking on the high street is something glamorous. And guess what? You buy it!

It is indeed to my knowledge that even in the United Kingdom, in London, that people think drinking Starbucks coffee is something that makes them stick out like a sore thumb. What makes the global coffee chain garners such a fame? I have no idea. But what I know is even when you are working with a distinguished coffee company, what people think of you really is the person who stands behind the bar (only) making coffee.

Instead of being the one creating the special experience and repeating the hundreds complicated and highly customised beverages,  why couldn’t I be the one queuing at the receiver’s end, even when I am neither a coffee nor tea drinker.

Worse, it seems like living in London fosters the spending culture. You have to buy something nice (and ridiculously expensive) to reward your hard work after a week is what I have been brainwashed with. Hard work? What have you really done in the office? Typing? Counting banknotes? Or pure chit-chatting?

No, it wasn’t my intention to undermine the importance of your job because you get paid more than me. Stop raising the placard and claim that you work for personal satisfaction instead of the money that pays your frequent overseas travels, your branded shopping spree, your so called stylish dining which in my world really is an unnecessary binge eating and drinking session you happily indulge yourself in.

Yes, you smell it right. I am jealous and not contented. Having the same earning and subsequently the spending power as you do, why am I stuck in Starbucks harvesting physical crops instead of mental intelligence fruits? In a world that values more brain than hand works, I’ve learnt that the only means for me to satisfy my materialistic attribute is to join your camp, even though I highly doubt I will evolve to one of those sun-glasses wearing bonkers who walk with their noses higher than their foreheads.

Yes, I desire to possess the power to give out £10 tip just because someone has spent time talking to me while he is mopping the floor and while I am having my panini sandwich at a secluded corner in Starbucks. I never thought that what I normally perceived as a polite insult or friendly reward could be such a refreshing inspiration.

It is a big tip. It is an even bigger reminder of my objective. I must abandon complacency and strive forward. I want to be one having the power to give out a £10 tip, or spending £300 on a sling bag. Skin deep I know. But one shouldn’t really stop before he could be skin deep.

Moving to London is an exhilarating experience. However, similarly to everyone living in a megacity from New York to Tokyo, finding the perfect lodging, well almost perfect after weighing in the many different factors that normally pile up to become a gold pot, has proven to be a hand in hand relationship with the word daunting.

Owing to the recession and the subsequent slump in mortgage demand, choices of property, or a comfy double bedroom connected with an über-speedy broadband in my case has become conveniently available at this time of the year. Nonetheless, it doesn’t mean hassle in flat hunting has reduced to a push of a button before the room number thirteenth.

In addition to the two aforementioned requirements – snugly double bed and the connection to the real world wide web – location, transport link and proximity to workplace are as exigent as the price tag. Unfortunately, head-to-head contest between ideal and capital is often inevitable.

Thankful to the advancement of information technology, the strenuous burden to browse through the numerous advertisement squares in local newspapers was significantly improved to breezy clicks on the internet. However, the inundation of properties websites shouting for your subscription before granting you with the key – contact information of landlords – could result in a task equally tedious as flat hunting.

Considering my desperation to sign on a room as soon as possible and the range of rooms advertised, I signed up for the purportedly UK’s number one flat and house share website Spareroom. After flooded by instant and daily summary emails notifying matching properties, and the later numerous phone call or voicemail to be precise, thirteen rooms were marked and viewings were arranged.

It was at this time that the biggest trick of the whole room hunt experience was unveiled – the disparity between cyber illustration and reality. Not only did the website fail to convey a more realistic representation of the advertised properties, mainly caused by the exaggerated description and misleading photos, it had also disastrously eliminated the crucial surrounding factor which could be a determining factor in the ultimate decision making process.

Having exercising the half an hour golden rule – short exploration around the area of a prospective lodging, I concluded that there are only two ways to rescue yourself from the unnecessary foot work and cost of course to area you will not even consider in the first place: recommendations from friends or simply fork out bigger chunk of cash for your rent.

Actually, there is one other alternative – Wikipedia. But believe me, it takes a concrete journey to really appreciate what it means by predominantly British African-Caribbean community occupancy in Brixton, Camberwell or Peckham, Arabian Islamic region at Whitechapel, or council flats alike Borough and Elephant and Castle. Alright, not all properties are as described in respective areas, but those are the majority and are unanimously eye-hurting.

So after ten disappointments, Canada Water has become my ultimate selection. Not exactly conveniently located at transport hub, but the serene and peaceful environment, and the reputable safety record had won my heart, despite the hefty monthly rent at £530.

The problem now is, which is the best method to travel to work place five miles away?

Nevertheless, the excitement of finally living in London continues to thrill me.

British Airways (BA), the so-called “World’s favourite airline” has clearly dropped the crown in recent years when passenger volumes plummeted down the valley and dragged the airline to a record lost of £401m last year, plunging from £800m profit the year before. Sensing the urgency to rescue the airline out of financial turmoil, the chief executive of BA, Willie Wash, had desperately introduced a series of radical measures to save the airline, including his infamous salary waive for July at a whopping £61,250.

For a man whose monthly salary is the total annual income of four cabin crews, it’s quite impossible that his grand gesture does not generate profound irritation from within and outside the BA. But of course, Willie’s hidden agenda behind the move couldn’t be more evident. A company-wide pay cut or to make compulsory redundancy is inevitable for the struggling airline. Last week, BA pilots had overwhelmingly accepted on a 2.6pc pay cut and a 20pc reduction in some allowances, saving the airline £26m. The move generated a ripple effect on the cabin crews who also offered to accept a similar deal where pay is cut by 2.6pc and in addition to two years pay freeze.

However, I am wary and oppress by the possible deterioration of the customer service quality offered by BA staff after their wages are reduced. Already I had witnessed BA cabin crew made clamorous complaint on customer behaviour, an exacerbated scenario is likely inevitable.

I reckon the supportive atmosphere found amongst BA staff wasn’t driven entirely by the sympathy or loyalty shared towards the airline, but is driven by the realisation that in the currently dire economic climate, it is more sensible to keep a lower paid job than joining the dole queue.  Moreover, it is reported that BA is paying twice as much for its staff than its rival airlines Ryanair and Easyjet. A measly 2.6pc pay cut is therefore still looking pretty optimistic in the industry. Besides, sharing the pain by accepting lower pay to save some jobs is after all a principle worth embraced.

Reduced wage bill will undoubtedly save the airline considerable amount of operational cost. But BA needs to dig in deeper and find its ways to stretch even further and achieve leaner operation besides generating more revenue. But of course, this doesn’t encompass the ludicrous suggestion made by a shareholder in the recent AGM that BA should stop painting its planes to reduce the weight of aircrafts, and hence saving on fuel cost.

I wonder if the following measures will help alleviating the financial strain and save BA a penny of two.

Reduced carried load is the crux to save on volatile fuel cost. But of course, it will disastrously reduce the already declining passenger numbers if BA reverts its traditional carrier offer for passenger to check in luggage up to 23kgs. Fortunately, it’s possible for BA to introduce a rebate system for passengers who do not or check in baggage no heavier than 10kgs to enjoy, say a 5pc fare reduction the next time the they fly with BA. Not only this approach will lead to lower operational cost by reducing weight, but will also encourage return business opportunities. Of course, BA could stretch an arm further by introducing a list of tick-off items including flight meals and on-board entertainment that could all fall under the umbrella of rebate system.

If weight is the real culprit that contributes to soaring operational cost, I suggest BA to introduce similar system for male and female passengers weight less than 60kgs and 45kgs respectively to enjoy the same 5pc fare reduction, again, the next time they fly with BA. I am certain that the weight watch group in Britain will back this measure up as commendable since it indirectly promotes a healthy diet amongst the increasingly obese British population. The government will also surely raising both hands in support to the campaign as it will spare the NHS from wasting millions of pound a year just to treat obese patients.

Although imitation is the best form of compliment and BA certainly has no the slightest intention to be a copy cat, and it is synonymous to accepting defeat if BA follows its rival, Ryanair’s suit in introducing on-board lavatory charges, I reckon, however that it is desperate time for desperate measure. But of course, charging for loos is condemnable. But suppose BA can raise the environment placards advocating the decreasing use of paper to help saving the planet, and then install a vending machine outside the toilets and charge for toilet papers! Or perhaps Ryanair’s brilliant idea to make passengers stand is also plausible?

Nonetheless, if BA determines to eliminate its seemingly protracted struggle to pull its balance sheet out of the red territory, I reckon the only sensible measure is to focus on its core premium class business and get the white collars fly with the so-called ‘World’s favourite airline’ again. Maybe also to improve on its notorious luggage handling system and reduce the ‘reputable’ nine lost luggage per jumbo jet record to effectively zero?

If there is one thing the British has learnt, it is the ‘kiasu’ spirit of Singaporean. Casting covetous eyes on the triumph of Germany for having successfully aided 400,000 homes to install solar panels in a bid to harness renewable energy, the Energy and Climate Change Secretary, Ed Miliband, was last week announced that the United Kingdom will jump on the clean energy bandwagon and pledged an identical ‘cashback’ strategy – feed-in tariffs in the country.

How does it work? Facile. Start installing solar panels on your rooftop, the more the merrier of course, and let the magic works to generate energy for your personal dwelling. And if you happen to have your brain switched on and thus remembering to switch off your laptop or heater when you are not needing them, you may have an energy surplus which the grid is willing to purchase at an agreed price. If not, you are at least having the privilege to escape from the ever escalating home energy bills, or simply the nightmare to relentlessly scouting around for better energy deal that saves you only a few pence. Whoopee!

Sounds brilliant, no? All one has to do is just to install solar panels. If Germans can excel it, if Bangladeshis have no sweat following, certainly the British is capable of a sheer replication. But how viable is this so-called microgeneration renewable energy going to succeed in the United Kingdom remains dubious.

First and foremost, the sun, where the dominant source of energy is converted by solar panel into usable electricity is undeniably on luxurious demand at the British Isle. Comparatively lower than Germany and doubtless for Bangladesh, Britain is only enjoying a derisory 1500 hours (approximately 62 days) of average annual sunshine. Missing sunshine in a solar panel is synonymous with driving an eco-friendly electric car without the battery. Disastrous failure is its destiny. Just how economically attractive it is to invest in solar panels when they are only functional at 17pc of the time in a year?

Installing solar panels isn’t something for nothing. The success in Germany isn’t purely driven by advocacy to clean energy but also government’s incentive. Similarly, it took the provision of microcredit loans to the people before the villages in Bangladesh were illuminated. However, a recent report prepared by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) specifically pinpointed that the United Kingdom simply having no more fund for more fiscal injection into the economy is certainly raising an alarming alert to the proposed solar scheme. Exacerbated by acrimonious debates in the parliament on spending cut after the next general election, the microgeneration of clean energy scheme has officially mired into premature death trap.

The naive government can of course faithfully hoping people to make irrational and random decisions to fork out money and support the green scheme. But of course, this is inconceivable, especially under the current economic climate. Perhaps it is again time for the British to trawl for knowledge and expertise from the outside, for example, the Turks on how they make solar panel installation feasible in literally every household whilst keeping the cost to effectively affordable.

Indeed it is complimentary to actively promote the microgeneration renewable energy campaign since it engages individuals and communities and make them aware of their responsibility and the roles they could play in contributing to a greener planet. Undeniably this will shed the burden off the government’s shoulders for hefty investment in macro-scale scheme such as onshore and offshore windmill farms and wave energy converter. 

However, if the government is ruminating to meet the ever more stringent environmental target for power generation, where Britain is set to increase the proportion of renewable energy from 2pc to 15pc in 2015, enormous investment and proper management are inevitable. Again, I reckon there are learning examples which the government can deploy. Danish is consistently leading in the realm of renewable energy through continuous improvement on existing technologies for a more effective harvest of natural resources. Certainly there is a thing or two for the British? And let’s remind the British government with the Danish example again. Instead of solar, the attention of large scale renewable energy schemes shall be fixed at wind and wave where these are abundant in the region.

Perhaps if the government is contemplating to put the responsibility of clean energy on the shoulders of its people, then I would definitely suggest micro wind energy converter which could be installed on rooftop. This certainly will prevent complaints on severe gust that risk blowing off the roof tiles or breaking an umbrella for the thousandth time. Or maybe even a state-of-the-art device that could convert the inexorable noise from ambulance sirens and traffics to usable energy at home. At least it will render the annoying disturbance of these sources slightly more tolerable.

Why not? Again, the message is about micro. Everything could be done in small scale and from home. So much about Britain, hello Malaysia, have you learnt anything?

Who would have predicted that the touchdown of my virgin long-haul flight on London Heathrow two years ago will transpire my London fixation today? Trapped at the window seat with British Airways for as long as the engine still propelled, I was at the brink of experiencing a thrombosis attack before I saw the resplendent jewel, splendid and shiny, indistinguishable between the adrenaline rush of a woman who steps into a Chanel store and fall in love instantaneously with the genuine leather boots posing elegantly on the squeaky-clean glass table, it dazzled deep into my core. London, I was finally arrived.

Unfortunately, London Heathrow remained as the only ‘tourist destination’ for me during that journey before I dashed quickly for my next flight to Oslo, Norway. Patiently waited for longer than a year, the name London was again surged in my mind. This time, instead of blanketing the City with contrail left by a speed of sound jet engine, I was amongst the millions cells that enjoyed unrestrained streaming in the veins of London.

It was challenging to illustrate the lifestyle of Londoners and the haste of the City through the ardent following of Choi Tuck Wo’s column back home. His London Log was undoubtedly an incontrovertible source of London feed for most Malaysians. But I truly reckon a £600 transcontinental return airfare is inevitable if one ruminates to cure his/her ridiculous obsession about London. It simply is utterly disparate reading it on paper and seeing it with your own eyes.

The initial intention to stay in the United Kingdom was to assess the compatibility of the Kingdom with my post-colonisation survival spirit from the far East. I wasn’t certain about my decision. However, several trips in the past year to the City, meeting with transformed Londoner – Fiona for a few occasions, and a couple of affairs with native Londoners later, I finally find no excuse for denying my addiction to London. This is where I desire to spend the major part of my remaining life. Settlement, an idea I detested profoundly in the past intriguing creeps into my soul.

It isn’t without challenge, and the challenge isn’t minor. Survival precedes settlement, and survival is the corollary of legality, reasons, and an exigent issue tightly linked to resources. The current economic climate surely is blowing disastrous headwind that tramples on my motivation to propel forward.

But I have decided, not without doubt, that despite the discouraging atmosphere, I am to gamble on my bottoming resources, betting on perhaps the most important game in my life, for the betterment of both material and emotional desires. London, I look forward to becoming one of your esteemed members.