home is a sudden feeling

I walked out of the TCM clinic two-bottles of herbal powder heavier, and £180 lighter. There is nothing seriously wrong with me, other than a horrible sleeping schedule and some vitamin deficiencies. NHS is “free”, but they won’t bother with ailments such as these. They didn’t bother with my friend who had a 150bpm resting heart rate. They didn’t bother with my other friend who vomited in the waiting room for 8 hours. The TCM doctor – a Chinese lady, short bob, red lipstick – asked me where I’m from and complimented my Chinese. These were the exact same questions asked during my first visit, as if it never happened. As if my file wasn’t opened in front of her. She told me to remove my birth control and whipped up a concoction of herbs. 3.5 spoons in hot water, two times a day. It tastes fine. I am haunted by my inability to say no.

Popped into the Asian mart a couple minutes away, craving for bee hoon. I looked at the prices for instant noodles and started crying. The desire to be home, away from the cold and wind and stretches of darkness, swelled up without warning. I don’t usually feel so intensely for home. The way I spent £180 on herbs that I need to believe will help solve my issues weighed so heavily on my mind. £180 is around RM1020 and I feel ill thinking about how that’s almost Malaysia’s minimum wage (RM1500), and I feel even more ill thinking about how this amount means nothing to someone else. I think about the times I have to send money back because there’s always an emergency expense, and how it’s so easy for me do to so on a Pound Sterling paycheck, and I feel ungrateful – disgusted at myself – for wanting to return home. To return to a place where there’s always an underlying prediction of chaos and death.

I am reminded of Crying in H Mart, and think of how funny it is that I’ve found myself in a similar predicament to a book title I’ve never given much thought of. Perhaps one day if I ever feel so inclined, I’ll pick up Michelle’s book.