Alan, Baby, and Fat People

Hmm, you don’t sound like Alan. I questioned my driver, who had picked me up from the airport. The bloke I have earlier spoke to on the phone had an unmistakeably south eastern accent.

No, I’m not Alan. Alan sent me to get you. My Indian driver replied.

Really? He should’ve said something. What’s your name then? I squinted my eyes suspiciously at him, as though I was biologically capable of scanning out deceit by doing so.

Doesn’t matter. Your aunt lives at XXX Ramsden Road. Shall we get moving?

What is her last name?

McGuire.

I could feel him getting impatient, especially when my flight delay had him waiting for over an hour. Still, I pressed on, just in case.

What’s her cup size?

Excuse me?

Actually, I’m not sure myself. Never mind. Could you be so kind as to help me with these? I pointed at my areyoubloodymigrating suitcase and a gym bag dedicated to nothing but 2kg of bak kwas, 50 char siew paos, 10 soon kuehs and get this, 2 packets of char kway teows. My aunt knows her family rights and most definitely leverages on them. And no, I wasn’t dumb enough to declare them at customs.

It has been only 2 days since I’ve arrived, and already it feels like eternity. Shoot me here for being one sappy fuck, but I miss my baby. Like the artist missing his pain. It’s incredibly frightening to feel this way, but I won’t exchange my fear for assurance of certainty collected from years of experience.

Thanks to my nomadic ability to fall asleep just about anywhere, I’ve managed to catch some winks on flight in spite of the illegally cramped up space found in the economy class. The airfare was cheap so I shan’t complain. I just feel so sorry for the fat lady who sat next to me (P.S. your wish came true, Midnight). I didn’t mind her bulging lump of fat spilling over my space. I just feel so bad that I ended up using her as a bolster for my legs. Especially when she had bothered to keep my meal for me whilst I was happily snoring away. That’s what I like about fat people – they tend to practice more humanity and graciousness because they don’t want to be like their bullies. Of course, there’s always the alternative demographic of a fat person – insecure, defensive and never fail to seize the opportunity to put another down, with both their weight and their attitude. Personally, I think if one does not provide any visual aesthetic values to the community, he/ she’d better be nice.

I have never been a fan of contact reporting my travel adventures. Makes writing feel like homework and that would defeat my point of blogging. I’ll upload images when I return instead.

I’m off to Brussels in 5 hours. Ta.


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