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Having gotten tuned to the world of masala chai, clattering honks, gold-trimmed petite-square-sprinkled love-red saris, trains going nowhere, flower earrings, the times of india, pumpkin-orange turbans, twinkling eyes, curly moustaches, lizardy rooms, cold water, rickety buses, grime, rupee laundry, bumblebee-yellow-and-black taxis, dreams, jeera rice, adventure, danger and not missing home, it is now unspeakably odd to start life anew with mrts, clean hawker center seats, my palace-home, the instancy of email, bank accounts, the straits times. Maybe I was in a dream as I thought I'd be, but it felt more real than anything. And isn't real just in the mind? What's real is this: "After spending one million dollars on research, we have found that the number one cause of divorce is marriage" and my very real double-chin-a-shakin' grandmother griping about the neatness of my room with very furrowed tattooed brow, so off I scoot.
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