Adventure

Freak weather! It had been snowing in London for almost the whole of last week. Not the awful kind of thick snow that turns into slippery slush which makes walking a treacherous activity, but lovely light flurries that dusts the street, cars, rooftops, and bare trees white, like a sprinkle of icing sugar on your birthday cake.

It was my kind of winter wonderland. There's something bright, cheery, and so very story-book-like about the white morning scene I woke up to every morning, that I found myself going to work with a springier step, and a lighter heart.

Not so today. Today was bitterly, cruelly cold. And I had to undertake a night adventure to retrieve my bag from Camberwell Green, SE5, which is, I swear, the Hackey of south east London.

After a week of sleep deprivation, I fell asleep in the bus today, and rushed off the bus at my stop, sans bag.

So I took a bus all the way down to Camberwell Green, a journey which took a good hour and fifteen minutes (again, I slept on the bus). That in itself was quite an adventure. I haven't taken any bus except for my one bus to work for quite a while, and I've been shuttling directly between work and home daily, even on weekends. So I have never taken this bus 35 (the girl on the phone told me which bus to get on), had never been to Camberwell - hell, I had no idea of where SE5 was at all! I hopped onto the bus, and from the sea of African faces with thick jackets and bags of groceries, knew it was probably going to be a rough neighbourhood.

But I was cold, tired, and miserable. Slightly hunched inwards to conserve warmth, held my coat closed with freezing hands. I decided I was enough of a pathetic Oliver Twist portrait to escape harm. Besides, frankly, I was too exhausted to worry about getting hurt. I figured if I smiled a lot, and kept up my little girl demeanor and a little bit of that blinky blink blink (which is how I get anyway, when I'm confused and uncertain), honestly, who would be unkind enough to hurt a sweet, adorable child like me right?

So I bungled along in this weird SE5 place, asking random people how to get to Camberwell New Road and the London Transport Garage, or making random chit-chat comments. Everyone was really helpful actually. And I thought the whole thing was quite an adventure (note how sad, uneventful, and sheltered my life has become!) really.

I know I have a friend who would totally yell at me if he knew I went gadding about a strange, unknown part of town alone at night. He had told me off before for talking with a random middle-aged Middle Eastern man who had struck up a conversation with me (about the weather) one late afternoon as I was walking along Tottenham Court Road.

But I still believe that people are fundamentally good. And if you relate to them genuinely, you would be able to appeal to that basic kindness in them, and they would respond in kind.

Besides, I had been walking out on my own even as a little kid of seven. Since I was seven, my parents used to give me money to buy lunch for myself when they were out at work. Every afternoon, I'd make the 10 minute walk to the same Char Kuay Teow stall to buy my RM1.60 packet of fried kuay teow, zig-zagging across the roads carefully whenever I saw anyone who I thought looked remotely dodgy on my side of the road.

The Family used to criticise my parents for letting me go out on my own. "It's so dangerous! What is she gets kidnapped?" You see, in the early 90s, there used to be many stories of Malaysian children being kidnapped to Thailand for begging and prostitution. My mom used to sit me down and tell me to be wary of strangers, and to yell as loud as I can, and struggle and run away if someone tried to grab me. Despite that, and that I was the only kid, they let me go out on my own. My dad used to say:" No, it's okay. She's learning to be independent." I thought it was no big deal either: "It's okay really. I know how to take care of myself. I'm independent!" As a seven year-old, I was all confident, felt perfectly capable and thought everyone else was crazy to make a fuss when my parents and I were perfectly fine with it.

In truth, I still do think that seven-year olds in general (probably) and the seven-year old that I was (definitely) are sensible enough. We are all equipped with survival instincts. Children are so often under-estimated. But now, when I think about it, I don't know if I would have the courage to let my own seven-year old out to buy herself lunch when I was away at work. It shows I'm getting old, when I start thinking children should be protected. Getting some knocks is good.

Okay, I am Officially annoyed with myself. I get home at TEN pm, which is a Rare opportunity to get some sleep, and what do I do? Fritter it away here. Smart. I'm sooo going to regret this tomorrow.I regret too many things. Headache whole of today. Need sleep.