I am back in London now. 13 hour flights are no fun, but after the first couple of times, one tends to develop strategies to deal with the interminable passage of time. Most people seem to pick sleeping, but I am utterly incapable of sleeping continuously on anything other than a flat bed. I find the 13 hours ideal for listening to music....most of the time, I have no time to just sit down for an hour or more to listen to a full symphony, so long journeys like that are perfect for that. I spent an hour or two learning Spanish, and finished an entire book: The City and the Stars by Arthur C. Clarke. I haven't actually read any of his books in years, although I have fond memories of reading many of his books in my formative years. It was a fantastic book, and I read it from cover to cover.

Modern travel is supposed to be making the world smaller. I suppose that is true, but when 40,000 feet in the air, with entire cities and mountains on the ground seeming Liliputian, I can't help but feel that the world is still extremely vast, notwithstanding any pretensions we might have otherwise.

747s might be able to bridge the gap between continents, but it doesn't really help with the process of bridging cultures. Despite having been in London for most of the past two years, I still got culture shock and a sudden feeling of isolation. Maybe it's the knowledge that I will be a wayfarer for the next decade at least, with no place that I can confidently call home. I will regularly be going back to Malaysia during holidays etc, but nevertheless it's not going to be a place I can be settled in. I am fairly certain that I will still be in UK for my Master's but beyond that I have no idea where I will be doing my PhD, post-docs and any permanent positions I might hold (incidentally, 'permanent' is relative insomuch as scientific jobs are concerned). And to think as far as where I will settle down for a home....

Ambition is a good thing, but there are always sacrifices to made from things that most people take for granted.