Another pre-travel ponder

I always get a little nervous before getting to Malaysia. No matter how much i try to prepare myself, I just am not. The more I think of the notion of "returning", the more I feel isolated from the reality of it.

The first thing to accost me is usually the language - alien yet understandable, brassy yet a comfortable lingua franca.

And then there are the usual mistakes and misunderstandings that constantly underline my existence there - the misconception by everyone, no matter what race or background, that I'm Malay, not Indian - and therefore by default, that I'm Muslim, not Hindu.

Hence, my nose-piercing gets stares, as does my uncovered head, growing sinfully lustrous hair. I'm too fair to be Indian ( as per the horrifically steretyped notion in Malaysia that all Indians are the colour of charcoal ) but too well-spoken to be Melayu-mari. Many taxi drivers jump to the proud conclusion that I must be 'kacukan', or to be less elegant, 'campur' - of mixed parentage. Despite my polite ( and these days plain bored ) efforts to say otherwise. One even went so far as to try and convince me that my parents must be of mixed breed ( operative word being convince ).

And then there's the rabid materialism of Kuala Lumpur - a vision of exciting urbane-ness that always fascinates me. A metropolis of cutting edge technology and infrastructure that can rival any global city, in terms of on-the-face sophistication, streamlined skyline, and never-close-shop malls.

Thing is, I like to leave it at that. Once I stay long enough to scratch the surface, the packed-tight seeds and wounds come crawling out - the race for more money, the judging of character based on the latest designer jeans you have on, the left-behind forefather generation spouting wisened wisdom on ears deafened by the din of construction.

And then I grieve, I mourn, I question, I exasperate, I relinquish, I resign, I return.

A year later, the cycle begins again.