I was trying to compose something about my holiday in Indonesia, and I did try hard. But somehow nothing came out right.
It was definitely an exciting holiday. I remember us being so enthusiastic — preparing, packing up, getting my husband proper vaccination and malaria pills. Even with my husband personal feelings towards flying, the flight wasn’t too bad — I admit having Deadpool on the in flight entertainment did help a lot in distracting my husband from thinking about flying.
I remember the train journey and how we ended up exceedingly tired because of the delay — the engine breakdown. I remember the party, and my sisters and my brother. And my parents who were so happy about having the complete set of family members in one room — something that is rarely happen recently due to us being away from home.
But when I tried to compose them to a story. It just don’t come out right.
Once I set my feet at Norwich, the excitement is gone. The holiday feelings. The sense of adventure. They’re just gone and replaced by worries. Lots of them.
Since I have been shouted at on the street few days before I left for Indonesia, I could no longer feel safe. After Brexit, I could no longer feel at home, nor feel welcome as a guest in this country. My husband who is a white British born and bred tried so hard to convince me otherwise, but with so many horrible news lately… it is hard not to think about the worst.
It made me think, is it possible that I could be happier if we move somewhere else?
x ❤ x