Cendol & Rojak
I submitted my visa application to U.K today.
It was burning hot in K.L and suddenly later that afternoon the black sky cried hard like crazy. I soaked my Faith pumps. A taxi driver honked me mad because I braked at zebra crossing to give way to somebody who believe me, wouldn’t get to cross a road like that until dawn if I hadn’t stopped. And this was the bloody second time a taxi driver responded to my awareness of zebra crossing. I had to be as uncivilised, honked back and unreasonably thought in my head, "Padan lah kau jadi taxi driver."
I was angry. I had a bad day.
When the rain subsided, I stopped by the street for cendol. I sat in front of the macha and had a little talk. I took some shots of him making my cendol, preparing my rojak. I was happy. I was home. And my soaked pump didn’t matter anymore and so didn’t the taxi driver.
I think this time around being home makes me feel like I don’t want to return to U.K. Although I know the reasons why I kept going back, I cannot help thinking this is so much better than the taste of money and the convenience of travelling of my stay in U.K. For the first time I think I would give that all up just to have this other convenience : stopping by the street for a bowl of cendol with rojak.
I don’t think this next time around will be long. I do pray that the visa will get through, and I will be back in the white land safely. But not for long. Not without that other convenience.