by shz

We had a good life in UK. I got that and I think everybody did. But frankly, I don’t think I ever had a bad life. Even at my lowest standard or at the worst I could be, life was always good. The saying life is what you make it lives up to its meaning, it cannot be any true than that.

I have left it behind, I moved on and I’m happy here. But it doesn’t help if someone kept bringing up the past and how convenient it was to live in a developed country instead of here. Truly, I am so fed up of people always pointing out what’s wrong with our people, our culture and our ways. I mean, yes in some acceptable cases and experience by all means, do let it out. But don’t mock one of your own. Sure, some Malaysians behave like pigs on the road and they don’t appreciate art, they’re not critical enough and all that. I’m sure the British were once like that. All uncivilized and left wondering in the dark, trying to find their identities. And please don’t even start on why our buildings are so hideous and why can’t we have a proper pedestrian. Do you realize that those countries were built hundreds of years ago on backs of slaves which what made them rich?

I may got a little facts wrong here and there but what was that good life then? My last 2 years there were spent busting my butt off, working like they do, be punctual and critical and all the good ethics, trying to fit in. It was so exhausting at one point that I decided to change work place, only to learn that my new work place was just about the same. Happiness was defined by more income and more affordable things. Success was measured by all that is materialistic, for some reason I cannot understand. Months went off without realizing because I was just so focused with work and once in a while I get to pause and had enough money to travel and see places. It seemed like a good life which at that point and still now I can say, it seemed like a good life. But I never said, I was actually very lonely.

We should meet up sometimes, they said. We met once, twice and if lucky, three times in a year. All the real good friends I made during university times left, eventually. Everybody else that stayed works and chasing stuffs too.. so imagine the unavailability. The laughs and all that were rare, except during the university years. I couldn’t be bothered to make new friends since I’m the kind of person that you either love or hate, which usually people hate, so I didn’t want to add up more haters. I usually came home from work tired and hungry. Some nights I cried with an empty stomach because couldn’t bring myself to kitchen anymore and it was just too expensive to eat out, which even if I did meals with meat were only limited to all those kebabs or briyani. Otherwise I would have to unwillingly turn into a vegetarian. If I didn’t think about work, I thought about housework, which was more works. So, that good life I had in UK was practically in short, just works. Only self-centered, selfish career led women loves works so actually, it was kind of sucks.

I’m surprised that I find happiness here by just getting to eat lasagna for what it is – with beef. I’m surprised that I didn’t need much to find that joy. I didn’t need a plane ticket to some European country to make me all excited. I was excited just picking up the phone telling my friends I’m meeting them for dinner. I get to do so much over here it made me realize how little I did over there back when.

Maybe UK wasn’t a bad life. It was a good life. I just have a better life here. Now I just have to convince someone that.