For some reason, I had always expected that I would head home every year during my undergraduate study. But as things came into play and me, being me, having to sit special examinations to pass my degree, I ended up staying. I became one of the “Asian” students who, instead of heading home, stayed. Worked the summers. Studied in the mean time for those cursed exams. And then restarted the year all over again.
And it was only until I was sitting in the plane alongside my brother who was busy smashing enemy samurai on my iPod touch that the realisation that I was finally going home hit me. I, of all people, was finally heading back home.
There’s something magical about being suspended in the skies, above clouds and their gloomy grey bellies. I leaned my head against the cool plastic material that made up the window and looked out. And in my heart, it thudded quietly, muttering about the satisfaction of heading back to familiar ground.
So here, begins the story of the end of my 5 year self-imposed exile back to Sarawak, Malaysia.
The brother and I at the International Airport on the night before our departure. A Facebook friend commented on how much we look alike and whether we had the same kind of humour. All I can really say is that this man standing next to me (and yes, he’s a man, no matter if he’s still not legal to drink) has made me laugh more in 2 weeks than I have laughed this entire year. Or possibly even the year before that. He’s a blessing, this one.
The queue to the check in counter the next morning was atrocious. At times, it was downright boring. Thank goodness again for the brother.
Standard typical airplane food. This was called, “Szechuan chicken with noodles.” I call this “what I cook when I’m lazy and when I can’t be bothered to put in more effort.” Absolutely delicious, though. Honestly. Have I mentioned that I love airplane food? Airplane food is the bomb, man, even though it comes in a foil tray and everything is single serving.
The brother again, in full concentration, as he sliced and diced enemy samurai on my iPod touch. Oblivious to the point where I took this picture and he didn’t even know it.
First things first…this man needs a working SIM card.
Me and my pretty unshaven legs, resting, looking out over the peaceful, quiet view. A ceiling fan beats silently except for a slight murmur, Grandpa and Dad sitting alongside discussing town happenings and family issues.
First day I was back, Mum and Dad took me out for breakfast and asked me what I wanted to eat. And there was only one thing I wanted to eat.
Kampua mee is a simple dish consisting of boiled noodles, strained, tossed in oil, fried shallots and spring onions, garnished with barbecued pork slices. Accompanying condiments are usually soy sauce or chilli sauce, depending on personal preference. I liked mine spicy.
This dish is simple, no nonsense, straight to the point and each delicious mouthful is to DIE for. The fastest I’ve ever chugged down one of these is 17 seconds, if I’m not mistaken. Most I’ve eaten was 3 plates of this before I squealed uncle and surrendered to my force-fed stomach.
Another dish my potential cardiologist would love to hate.
Char Kway Teow is a dish best cooked in a greasy, not-properly-cleaned wok over a high high heat. Dry flat noodles are thrown into the wok, stirred with an assortment of sauces (I detected soy sauce) and as the noodles cook to perfection in a bit of oil, a handful of bean sprouts gets jumbled into the mix alongside vegetables, eggs, and strips of pork meat. It comes out tumbled onto a plate, hot, spicy, greasy, and a heart surgeon’s nightmare. If I was to die by cardiac arrest, this would be the perfect last meal.
And as usual, who can go on a holiday without coconut juice? Fresh slurped from the coconut itself with a plain straw. Mmm.
And after you’re done sucking out the remaining drop, Dad hacks it open and you scoop out the whitish opaque flesh with a spoon. Heaven.
Met the one and only Dory of Passionate Pursuit and decided that yes, we actually have things that we can talk to each other in person. Funny how we started off going to the same Sunday School but have never talked to each other. I come here and then BOOM! I taught her how to blog and we started chatting on MSN. Granted, it was a tad odd at first and Dory would testify as well that when I jumped into her car and started talking, we both realised that we have never had a face to face conversation before. Interesting…But good all the same. Had a great time talking, catching up, and actually finding it possible to make online friends real friends.
Obligatory photo.
Now this, is Malaysian KFC. Some people would think me dumb for travelling 10,000km just for some KFC but after you’ve tried the absolute soggy horror that is NZ’s KFC, you would actually want a place that knew how to fry chicken properly. So here we are. Nice, juicy, crispy chicken. Yum. The coleslaw was disappointing, though. Nothing like NZ’s coleslaw to make you feel as though you’re eating healthy rather than greasy fried chicken.
Fried fish fritters. Better than any fish you get from the fish and chip shop, and at least 90% fish + mum and dad’s tender loving care.
And because I asked, we had steamboat. The soup was probably the best soup ever.
And only in Malaysia. We still eat humans. Don’t cross us.
Speedboat ride. The last time I rode one of these things was when I was 11, I think. The soothing breeze coming in through the open window, the houses still on stilts that populate the river banks, old rusting metal hunks that serve as the river’s modes of transportation for river folk, the sun as it blistered down onto us unsuspecting folk, the slow rocking of the boat.
And there was you.
Yes. Til there was you.
All. That. Food.
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