Lost in Transition

Fuck. Another victory to the English hooligans.

Urgh. And I was stuck in a stinking rowdy English pub, getting my toes stepped on and my pants damp from spilled beer.

Idiots.


The meetings are long and dreary.

And the air-conditioning here seems free-of-charge.

I frequent Starbucks so often (I'm not being atas - the local coffee here sold in the 'char can tang' is so undrinkable), I think the barista is already trying to pick me up. Nice - might get me some free skinny lattes, except the chap looks ten years younger than I.

On the one hand, I can't wait to get back home and hang out with all my girls again. Yet on the other, I kinda relish being far away from familiarity and dousing myself in strangeness for the moment.

I think I can easily pass off as a 'Hongkie'.

And while I dread being stuck in a cold room ten hours everyday, I am cherishing every moment spent in there.

I am going to miss this.


"How are you?"

I don't know, really.

Just weird all over inside.