Put me on my death bed right now and I would spend most of my time snivelling and trying to get sympathy. In between, if you were silly enough to ask, I would probably recount my life in journeys. Student debt to solvency, single to happily married, starting points, turning points, aspirations. You know, the big stuff. I might not mention which particular diet fads worked or didn't work. I may not remember that mistake I made at work which was not significant but for which I spent nearly an entire week mentally crippling myself. I would definitely not care whether on Tuesday 24 August 2003, someone had remembered to put the bins out.

And yet on a daily basis approximately 90% of my energy is ploughed into just those issues and the bigger picture is....well, a bit over pixelated.

This is fine, I reason. And perfectly rational. What is important however is not to let stuff I won't remember prevent me from finding the time to create the memories I will cherish.

And so....operation no regrets. Beginning with a travelling adventure. Eleven months, eleven counties, two backpacks, myself, my husband and the odd mosquito along for the ride.

Friday, 30 January 2015

Wish You Were Here

We go to the Penang Botanic Gardens for an epic walk around the gardens and then up the mountain to catch the cable car back down again. (Madness? Certainly.)

We stroll around the gardens. Oddly enough, there are a lot of monkeys here. 

"Seriously," we overhear one tourist say to another, "if you want rabies, be my guest."

"I don't want it to bite me," protests the other, "I just want it to sit on my shoulder."

"Fat chance" mutters M in my ear.

"Yes but think about it," replies the first speaker, "do you think we really need any MORE pictures of monkeys?"

We snigger a little. We walk on. Time passes.

"Oh look!" I say excitedly, "that one has a baby! Awww. Can you get a shot of that one grooming its partner?"

Funny you really do NEVER have enough pictures of monkeys.

Which isn't my point. My Mum us my point. If course you can never get enough pictures of her either, but it's more that, once again I found myself pointing wistfully at my surroundings and saying how much she would love it. And if it isn't me that points it out, it's M.

When we see runners (rare in South East Asia except in Vietnam, so notable) I think of my friend Jane. What gossip we could get through on a run through this place, what she would say about the irritatingly sweet free Malaysians striding up the mountain and overtaking us.

My niece on M's side would live snorkelling, as would my (rather ubiquitous in this sort of reverie) mum. M's parents would Luke the cable car, the view, or a certain restaurant. I think of my Dad, who would eat Mee Rebus (noodle dish) with me, both of us purely because it has the same name as a character in the Iain Rankin books we love so much. 

My sister and her husband would love the photography exhibitions in Cambodia and Georgetown, and Tropfest. My two smallest nieces would be wide eyed at the street theatre and (of course) the monkeys. M's sister would have lived Thailand. My girlfriends from uni would have been first on the dancefloor in the club in Langkawi. I think of my old boss (and great friend) whenever I see an elephant (because she once volunteered at an elephant sanctuary - that's not a comment on her appearance!). And when I see a mural of a girl sitting on a bar stool chatting, I think of settling in for a 'sisterly chat' with my sister. (Somewhat obviously)

"Do you miss home?" people ask me.

No. Not really. I look forward to certain things - the first time I see people I love again, getting a cat, not sweating. But I don't wish myself back.

I miss people. But I don't want to go home to see them. I want them to come here. I want to show them this stuff and enjoy it with them.

Literally. Everyone. I wish you were here.
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