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It’s quite a confusing feeling – this yearning to be back in Warwick, treading pavements to the Hearsall Common bus stop juxtaposed with my acceptance of the fact that life has moved on, ahead of my heart, and it’s not all bad.
I am eager to grow, yet I am desperate to go back.
I miss Warwick.
I miss having Matt Willis pace back and forth between my and Nat’s door, plucking Kungfu Panda on the guitar. I miss fish fingers at Jon’s. I miss running to the TES in the skimpiest dress imaginable in the dead of winter, flushed with alcohol and high on life.
I miss zigzagging between rehearsals, teaching people to sing, teaching myself to sing, savouring the sweet sweet sense of accomplishment knowing that I am immersing myself in all that I love – despite the sacrifice of relationships. I miss cooking tomyam fried rice, and chopping garlic and spring onions and carrots and breaking eggs in our oblong spacious kitchen, with Jo pacing in and out, Frankie washing something, and Arthur leaping into the kitchen in his leather coat, all glistening and shining from the deliriousness of dance.
I miss library times. I miss staring at Finance in frustration. I miss crying over having to juggle too many things at once, and then coming to terms with it and realising that I have grown stronger. I miss snow, and the whiteness of Hearsall Common, and knowing that when life gets a bit tough, sights like that will touch your heart just that little bit, and you suddenly feel a lot better.
I miss the feeling at the end of third year. At graduation. Walking onstage, triumphant and aglow from the fact that I’ve just sung with the Chamber Choir at my own graduation, knowing that university couldn’t have ended any better than it did.
That I know the best 3 years of my life was spent singing and dancing to life, sometimes intoxicated, and doing things and meeting people I will treasure forever.
I guess it’s time to move on. If only I knew how to get over that little bit of lingering sadness.
Ta-da!
Beautiful Mess (Not the best lighting but sorry I don't own a flashy camera...HAHA GET THE PUN?)
So today I embarked on one of my last baking experiments before the employment bell goes ring-a-ding-ding, which is when I’m supposed to be too stingy to splurge on baking utensils and ingredients. Yeah, over here it’s not like the freaking UK where Tesco is your second home and you get most things that come in tiny little packets/boxes (as do most baking materials) at 99p or less. Things are actually REALLY EXPENSIVE in KL. Which is surprising to most of you I bet, but whaddya know eh.
Recipe here, except that I added about two heaps of oat flakes, used 1/2 cup and 1/2 cup sugar for the topping and cake respectively and used Lindt orange-chocolate chunks (posh, I know…but only because I didn’t have choc chips) instead of chocolate chips.
P.s. I have come to terms with the fact that I suck at cakes because they never ever rise as much as I expect them to…but this is, at long last, a cake that didn’t let me down (HAHA) and rose to the occasion (HAHA AGAIN).
Growing up comes in a package of big things and little things.
Big things such as househunting, for example. Signing tenancy agreements. Writing cheques. Using big, grown-up words like ‘deposits’.
Little things like- actually flossing your teeth everyday (go on, judge me…). Actually giving thought to the amount of cholesterol you consume after 3 days of eating lots of prawns. Eating oats, instead of a Snickers bar, for breakfast.
It’s a strange new world.
On another note, this is a very sweet little post.
Someday I would also like to be the idea of beautiful to someone who is my whole life. Getting there, however, is the hard part.
