The Outward Voyage

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Well, my first few days in Malaysia have been exhausting, packed, and traumatic. Throughout the plane journey I experienced a feeling more of impending doom than of imminent adventure. I refused to allow myself to sleep, under the misguided belief that this would benefit me upon my arrival on the other side of the world. It made perfect sense - not only would my body’s internal clock be completely stricken by the perplexing reversal of day and night, but it would also be deprived of precious precious sleep! All this at a time when I would be torn cruelly from the caring clutches of my nearest and dearest and thrust cruelly into a world of bad smells, roaring traffic, and stomach-cramp-inducingly over-spiced food.

The three other girls (Cathy, Twyla and Claire) who were accompanying me were already close friends, and required me to vacate my seat so that they could sit together. I assuaged my feeling of isolation by attempting to ignore David, the other member of our party, in favour of the various delights of an Emirates flight. Now I was the one excluding someone else, which felt much better. I had adverts for TV channels and films flickering enticingly across the screen pasted to the back of the seat in front of me, as well as a myriad of reading materials, an ipod, and my most treasured possession, an old GameBoy Colour (complete with Pokemon Gold). Surrounded by such a plethora of stimulants, what need did I have for social interaction? Well, this is not entirely true. I did exchange obligatory pleasantries with the said David, which due to his understandable eagerness to get to know the person he was going to be spending the next year with, were in reality rather protracted. I took care to fill my voice with notes of friendliness and energy, in order to show what a happy and exuberant person I am, despite the gut-wrenching misery I felt at the thought of the increasing distance between me and my loved ones.

The rest of the trip was largely uneventful - I was served mashed potatoes that tasted like blended socks, and spinach that made a slopping sound when I poked it with my spork. On the bus from my connecting flight the tannoy informed me in a nasal buzz not once, not twice, but nine times that if I was making a stopover, I had to get off at the first stop and NOT the second one. I felt that nine times was a bit excessive - three was enough to memorise the announcement in English, and seven sufficient for the Arabic version. The information was apparently so vital that I was surprised that they didn’t test us on it when we got off.

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