Home sweet bitter home

20 hours ago, I stepped onto a plane in LA. I've now been standing here for close to an hour and the conveyor belt has yet to convey my luggage.

I now write this from 4 Jalan 7/16. Everything looks a little different from when I left some three years ago. Even the color of the light.

Earlier, after I finally got my luggage at the airport, I darted for the shortest line at the customs. There were 4 malay girls and two Malay guys ahead of me. The customs guy was really friendly and all 6 eased through. And then it was my turn.

"Dari mana?"

"Los Angeles."

"Buka."

And so I opened my bag. In my hurried rush to make it to the airport on time, I just mashed my clothes, both dirty and clean into a fabric mosh pit. The two men in blue went at my unappetizing pile of crap like wolves to raw meat, combing every cranny of my bag like a chimps "de-lice-ing" their young. I obediently swallowed my dose of racist reality and at that point knew for sure that I was indeed back home in Malaysia.