我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家

我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家

我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家 我要回家

My mom was right, I wouldn’t be happy here. The random taxi driver was right, going to the country where I wanted to go so badly will not make me happy.

Instead it made me feel like an alien, an outsider, a foreigner. And that is already them being on their best. Mostly I am just invisible.

At least once everyday I question myself the reason I am here. Why? Why did I want to come here so badly? I can’t remember the reason why I want to be here any more. My friend asked me why did I want to come here, now I really cannot say. I don’t even have a reason to stay.

Every day I wake up to put on a smile and thick skin. The thick skin is needed to keep smiling and pretend that I don’t mind being a piece of furniture. My vice is that I am too shy, I am too shy to step up and start talking. I don’t have a presence that demands attention, hence I shall be relegated to furniture.

Then I remind myself how lucky I am, that I have a comfortable office with a monthly stipend. A roof over my head. Living with a nice guy. Warm clothes in the winter, warm food, warm bed, warm shower.

What I am experiencing is 100000 times better than the immigrants or the foreign workers I used to see every day in the streets of Malaysia. But maybe I am starting to understand what it feels like to be invisible, to be part of the streets the background, to feel awkwardly sticking-out, to never be able to integrate into the local scene.

I wouldn’t say I am homesick. It is true that I miss my family, my hometown, the local food scene. I want to go home because it feels like a place I can hide. Then I remembered how my sister feels out-of-place all the time even in Malaysia. Then I remembered how they made her feel like an outsider even though she looks like them speaks like them, only because she doesn’t think like them.

It is true that no one owes it to us to feel accepted or comfortable or at home. Everyone is busy with their own lives, with work, with achieving their own dreams. Who has time to stop and look at you and mollycoddle you? Why should they? Isn’t it enough that they speak to you once in a while, and smile to you every morning?

But perhaps it is a reminder for me, that I shall be kinder towards the Bangladeshi workers, the Filipino maids, the Vietnamese dishwashers back home. They who came to a different country of a different religion and culture with a different language, they who came to Malaysia for a dream and fervent hope for a better life, only to be met by disdain and disrespect.

Sense of belonging is an illusion. Happiness is an illusion.

Merry Christmas everybody.

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