Home

     It's weird to say 'I'm home.' It's no surprise that the summer flew by and for the last time (thankfully) that final countdown to school has begun.

     The 50 plus hour trip home was somewhat like a lucid dream; which is funny, because I kept having this re-occuring dream (up until last night). The setting was normally the Balinese 'long-house' I stayed in, except I wasn't in Bali, the setting was Burundi (er...I mean I guess they start with the same letter?). There was a huge table set out and all of my friends were there. When I say all, I mean random selections from groups of friends I've had throughout my life. Random things would happen (like the place got over-run by a herd of mustangs) but for the most part it me being a fly on the wall, listening in on different conversations.

rainstorm

     Visiting my LA house is always a weird experience. I sleep in the guest room, as my room has been deconstructed, packed, and unpacked in other locations. All that remains is a pile of clear storage boxes containing souvenirs from past lives. It sits there in the middle of that room with nothing but brightly painted walls and some photographs falling out of cheap frames. My house in Los Angeles reminds me of a ghost town.

     My dad took me down Ventura Blvd (damn tourist traffic) in order to make my flight on time. Those of you who have not been blessed with the opportunity to drive down the largest eye/commercial-vomit infested street in the nation, it's a bit like this: sign after sign after sign advertising everything from Halal eateries to Kosher meat shops, Sushi to burritos, head shops to bridal accessories...well you get the point. However, it was the first time I've made that drive in at least 3 years. It was a comical trip down memory lane. That 24-hour hookah joint is still there and so is the place where you could convince the clerk to sell you booze without an ID.

Nina Represents

     Reverse culture shock has been quite interesting. Clearly, it isn't like it was when I came back from Denmark.  The oddest (and funniest) thing to get used to is all the white people. I associated white people with touristy things, and touristy things with a greater chance of getting robbed. It's also weird to see most people dressed in clothing that would offend the general population of KL. Granted, most people who aren't Muslim don't care, but having lived in a predominately Muslim part of town, it's something you only do when you are going out, not walking the dog (which is another thing I'm happy to see again). Other than not having to worry about getting killed every time I cross the street, the only other surprising thing to me has been the food. Denver is a food city, this is an unknown thing to most of the world, including the US. I'll save my full belief in why this is for another day, but let's just say medical marijuana plays a large role. Although I never got sick from the food in Malaysia, or any of the other places I've visited (aside from the occasional heart burn), I've actually had trouble adjusting to the food back home. Hopefully this goes away in a few days, as it is totally raining on my food parade.

Until I write again

-M

     It's weird to say 'I'm home.' It's no surprise that the summer flew by and for the last time (thankfully) that final countdown to school has begun.

     The 50 plus hour trip home was somewhat like a lucid dream; which is funny, because I kept having this re-occuring dream (up until last night). The setting was normally the Balinese 'long-house' I stayed in, except I wasn't in Bali, the setting was Burundi (er...I mean I guess they start with the same letter?). There was a huge table set out and all of my friends were there. When I say all, I mean random selections from groups of friends I've had throughout my life. Random things would happen (like the place got over-run by a herd of mustangs) but for the most part it me being a fly on the wall, listening in on different conversations.

rainstorm

     Visiting my LA house is always a weird experience. I sleep in the guest room, as my room has been deconstructed, packed, and unpacked in other locations. All that remains is a pile of clear storage boxes containing souvenirs from past lives. It sits there in the middle of that room with nothing but brightly painted walls and some photographs falling out of cheap frames. My house in Los Angeles reminds me of a ghost town.

     My dad took me down Ventura Blvd (damn tourist traffic) in order to make my flight on time. Those of you who have not been blessed with the opportunity to drive down the largest eye/commercial-vomit infested street in the nation, it's a bit like this: sign after sign after sign advertising everything from Halal eateries to Kosher meat shops, Sushi to burritos, head shops to bridal accessories...well you get the point. However, it was the first time I've made that drive in at least 3 years. It was a comical trip down memory lane. That 24-hour hookah joint is still there and so is the place where you could convince the clerk to sell you booze without an ID.

Nina Represents

     Reverse culture shock has been quite interesting. Clearly, it isn't like it was when I came back from Denmark.  The oddest (and funniest) thing to get used to is all the white people. I associated white people with touristy things, and touristy things with a greater chance of getting robbed. It's also weird to see most people dressed in clothing that would offend the general population of KL. Granted, most people who aren't Muslim don't care, but having lived in a predominately Muslim part of town, it's something you only do when you are going out, not walking the dog (which is another thing I'm happy to see again). Other than not having to worry about getting killed every time I cross the street, the only other surprising thing to me has been the food. Denver is a food city, this is an unknown thing to most of the world, including the US. I'll save my full belief in why this is for another day, but let's just say medical marijuana plays a large role. Although I never got sick from the food in Malaysia, or any of the other places I've visited (aside from the occasional heart burn), I've actually had trouble adjusting to the food back home. Hopefully this goes away in a few days, as it is totally raining on my food parade.

Until I write again

-M

     It's weird to say 'I'm home.' It's no surprise that the summer flew by and for the last time (thankfully) that final countdown to school has begun.

     The 50 plus hour trip home was somewhat like a lucid dream; which is funny, because I kept having this re-occuring dream (up until last night). The setting was normally the Balinese 'long-house' I stayed in, except I wasn't in Bali, the setting was Burundi (er...I mean I guess they start with the same letter?). There was a huge table set out and all of my friends were there. When I say all, I mean random selections from groups of friends I've had throughout my life. Random things would happen (like the place got over-run by a herd of mustangs) but for the most part it me being a fly on the wall, listening in on different conversations.

rainstorm

     Visiting my LA house is always a weird experience. I sleep in the guest room, as my room has been deconstructed, packed, and unpacked in other locations. All that remains is a pile of clear storage boxes containing souvenirs from past lives. It sits there in the middle of that room with nothing but brightly painted walls and some photographs falling out of cheap frames. My house in Los Angeles reminds me of a ghost town.

     My dad took me down Ventura Blvd (damn tourist traffic) in order to make my flight on time. Those of you who have not been blessed with the opportunity to drive down the largest eye/commercial-vomit infested street in the nation, it's a bit like this: sign after sign after sign advertising everything from Halal eateries to Kosher meat shops, Sushi to burritos, head shops to bridal accessories...well you get the point. However, it was the first time I've made that drive in at least 3 years. It was a comical trip down memory lane. That 24-hour hookah joint is still there and so is the place where you could convince the clerk to sell you booze without an ID.

Nina Represents

     Reverse culture shock has been quite interesting. Clearly, it isn't like it was when I came back from Denmark.  The oddest (and funniest) thing to get used to is all the white people. I associated white people with touristy things, and touristy things with a greater chance of getting robbed. It's also weird to see most people dressed in clothing that would offend the general population of KL. Granted, most people who aren't Muslim don't care, but having lived in a predominately Muslim part of town, it's something you only do when you are going out, not walking the dog (which is another thing I'm happy to see again). Other than not having to worry about getting killed every time I cross the street, the only other surprising thing to me has been the food. Denver is a food city, this is an unknown thing to most of the world, including the US. I'll save my full belief in why this is for another day, but let's just say medical marijuana plays a large role. Although I never got sick from the food in Malaysia, or any of the other places I've visited (aside from the occasional heart burn), I've actually had trouble adjusting to the food back home. Hopefully this goes away in a few days, as it is totally raining on my food parade.

Until I write again

-M

     It's weird to say 'I'm home.' It's no surprise that the summer flew by and for the last time (thankfully) that final countdown to school has begun.

     The 50 plus hour trip home was somewhat like a lucid dream; which is funny, because I kept having this re-occuring dream (up until last night). The setting was normally the Balinese 'long-house' I stayed in, except I wasn't in Bali, the setting was Burundi (er...I mean I guess they start with the same letter?). There was a huge table set out and all of my friends were there. When I say all, I mean random selections from groups of friends I've had throughout my life. Random things would happen (like the place got over-run by a herd of mustangs) but for the most part it me being a fly on the wall, listening in on different conversations.

rainstorm

     Visiting my LA house is always a weird experience. I sleep in the guest room, as my room has been deconstructed, packed, and unpacked in other locations. All that remains is a pile of clear storage boxes containing souvenirs from past lives. It sits there in the middle of that room with nothing but brightly painted walls and some photographs falling out of cheap frames. My house in Los Angeles reminds me of a ghost town.

     My dad took me down Ventura Blvd (damn tourist traffic) in order to make my flight on time. Those of you who have not been blessed with the opportunity to drive down the largest eye/commercial-vomit infested street in the nation, it's a bit like this: sign after sign after sign advertising everything from Halal eateries to Kosher meat shops, Sushi to burritos, head shops to bridal accessories...well you get the point. However, it was the first time I've made that drive in at least 3 years. It was a comical trip down memory lane. That 24-hour hookah joint is still there and so is the place where you could convince the clerk to sell you booze without an ID.

Nina Represents

     Reverse culture shock has been quite interesting. Clearly, it isn't like it was when I came back from Denmark.  The oddest (and funniest) thing to get used to is all the white people. I associated white people with touristy things, and touristy things with a greater chance of getting robbed. It's also weird to see most people dressed in clothing that would offend the general population of KL. Granted, most people who aren't Muslim don't care, but having lived in a predominately Muslim part of town, it's something you only do when you are going out, not walking the dog (which is another thing I'm happy to see again). Other than not having to worry about getting killed every time I cross the street, the only other surprising thing to me has been the food. Denver is a food city, this is an unknown thing to most of the world, including the US. I'll save my full belief in why this is for another day, but let's just say medical marijuana plays a large role. Although I never got sick from the food in Malaysia, or any of the other places I've visited (aside from the occasional heart burn), I've actually had trouble adjusting to the food back home. Hopefully this goes away in a few days, as it is totally raining on my food parade.

Until I write again

-M