United Kingdom

Like many Malaysians, I have a curious psychological relationship with the United Kingdom, and specifically, England.

In part this may be because of the trailing influence of being in the British Commonwealth (before the UK decided to hook up with the EU and ghost the Commonwealth). So I grew up with English literature equally with our own. The Enid Blytons and the nursery rhymes, the Brontë and Austen and Dickens. The Malaysian boomer generation especially, almost seem to consider London as a pilgrimage destination!

For my own part, I have always preferred the parts of the UK which are outside of its cities. I did my Masters’ degree in Bangor, Wales. I eventually married a Geordie man (the marriage did not last).

And all my life I have enjoyed a most curious phenomenon: English people, especially in diaspora, seem to ‘adopt’ me and treat me almost like their own. (If you know anything about the British islanders, you will understand how unnatural this is).

Consequently, similar to my own country Malaysia, the bulk of my experience of the UK was in my pre-blogging years. It is embedded in a more instinctive knowledge, and I cannot now retrieve as distinct stories. Perhaps if I return to the United Kingdom in future, I would come with the ability to tell new stories about an old place.

My last visit there was to accompany a less well-traveled friend. But it was a time of major transition in my personal life as well. In hindsight, it seemed as though that visit was a bookend, an opportunity to say goodbye to my past life. So that I could move on to my next one as the world itself changes.

I don’t know if I will return to the United Kingdom. Or if I will recognise it anymore when I do. Perhaps, it would have forgotten that once, someone like me wasn’t really so foreign, and in fact had once been family.