At exactly this time 24 hours ago, my Ph.D. viva kicked off in #228C of the Skempton Building of Imperial College London. It proved to be quite an ordeal: a 5 hour long grilling session, faced with many questions and queries related to my thesis. By the end of it, I felt physically drained. But the experience proved many things.
Firstly, it is clear that my heart is rock solid, for I faced the stress with no cardiac complications of any sort.
Secondly, truly, where there is a will there is a way. This was no easy task and was a roller coaster of ups and downs, many tears and much fewer laughs, but, at the end, through persistence, everything can be overcome.
Finally, in the words of the Bard, all's well that ends well. Or rather, all's well that ends. Full stop.
Having said that, I have a few corrections to make for the examiners' complete satisfaction, which should not take too long (at least that is what I envisage), but what matters now is that the mission I started back in October 2009 is now complete and that goal has been replaced by an accomplishment: a doctorate. Finally, I am Dr. Karl Micallef, Ph.D.
Friday, 19 April 2013
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Spring...finally
A quick break from reviewing my Ph.D. thesis prior to my viva next Thursday, primarily induced by the 'shouting' outside the window from a handful of children playing in Evelyn Gardens. Children happily running around in the sun.Yes, the sun. Finally, it is warm: 17 degrees by day, 10 degrees at night. The first 2 digit temperatures in the last 3? Maybe 4 months? An unbelievably long winter seems to be coming to an end.
In the same way that this 'mission' I started back in 2009 is (hopefully) coming to an end. But that is another story...
Monday, 8 April 2013
Monday blues...not
The reader might not be familiar with my 'new' daily weekday routine: get up, bus 14/211/414 from round the corner down to Fulham Broadway Station (6 stops), then a District Line train to Wimbledon (another 6 stops) and then a South West train to Guildford (10 stops) and a short walk from the station to the campus. 'New' simply because this has been going on for 2 months now, but in the absence of any previous posts outlining this procedure, it is still new!
In any case, missing any of the first 2 parts of the commute would inevitably lead to delays to the final time of arrival at the office, which is not pleasant, especially when you have a meeting to attend. And the Monday factor does not help. But today, it was a different story.
As soon as I was walking towards the bus stop, a bus drove past me and hey presto I was at Fulham Broadway only 4 minutes later - no lights and almost no stops. Down the stairs at the station, and the dot matrix board turned from "Wimbledon - 1min" to "Stand back, train approaching". I was at Wimbledon 15 minutes later after having skimmed through the "Metro", including seeing a biggish Starbucks ad which entitled the reader to a free latte upon stating a 'magic' word upon order. Superb. The next Guildford train was due in 6 minutes, just enough time to get a return ticket and the free latte from the Starbucks booth on the platform, I thought.
The turnstiles were open, saving a few precious seconds and the ticket machine was free. The weather was 'warm' enough not to need gloves, which meant handling the touch-screen was hassle-free and 2 minutes later I was on the platform. There was a significant queue at the coffee shop and by the time I had placed my order, I could see the train slowly approaching. As soon as the barista put the lid on, the passengers had finished boarding the train and I was the last on before the doors closed! Quite a good start to the day...and week!
9 hours later, I was on my way back home, expecting to read all about Maggie's demise on the front page of the "Evening Standard", only to find that the leading headline was on the death of another woman - an unfortunate cyclist crushed to her death in the morning rush hour. For 2 seconds I was amazed that the ES had failed to mention anything at all about the Iron Lady's passing away, but then I realised that the paper must have long been in press by the time the news was out just before 13:00...
In any case, missing any of the first 2 parts of the commute would inevitably lead to delays to the final time of arrival at the office, which is not pleasant, especially when you have a meeting to attend. And the Monday factor does not help. But today, it was a different story.
As soon as I was walking towards the bus stop, a bus drove past me and hey presto I was at Fulham Broadway only 4 minutes later - no lights and almost no stops. Down the stairs at the station, and the dot matrix board turned from "Wimbledon - 1min" to "Stand back, train approaching". I was at Wimbledon 15 minutes later after having skimmed through the "Metro", including seeing a biggish Starbucks ad which entitled the reader to a free latte upon stating a 'magic' word upon order. Superb. The next Guildford train was due in 6 minutes, just enough time to get a return ticket and the free latte from the Starbucks booth on the platform, I thought.
The turnstiles were open, saving a few precious seconds and the ticket machine was free. The weather was 'warm' enough not to need gloves, which meant handling the touch-screen was hassle-free and 2 minutes later I was on the platform. There was a significant queue at the coffee shop and by the time I had placed my order, I could see the train slowly approaching. As soon as the barista put the lid on, the passengers had finished boarding the train and I was the last on before the doors closed! Quite a good start to the day...and week!
9 hours later, I was on my way back home, expecting to read all about Maggie's demise on the front page of the "Evening Standard", only to find that the leading headline was on the death of another woman - an unfortunate cyclist crushed to her death in the morning rush hour. For 2 seconds I was amazed that the ES had failed to mention anything at all about the Iron Lady's passing away, but then I realised that the paper must have long been in press by the time the news was out just before 13:00...
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
1 week, 2 elections, many changes
As I write this, Pope Francis (I) has been officially inaugurated his Papate following Benedict's surprise resignation last month. Among the hundreds of dignitaries present was newly sworn-in Maltese Prime Minister Muscat, following last week's general election in Malta. Whilst the first election was meant to be solely driven by divine forces (though many would argue that Maltese politics are at par with the importance of religion on the tiny island), both new leaders seem to have risen to their new posts with tremendous high levels of expectation from their followers...
The first signs shown by the new Pope seem to mark an ideological shift from the traditional Church image of pomp and ceremoniousness, of which the previous Pope was a champion. I would never expect the Pope to be selling Michelangelo's "Pieta" on e-bay any time soon, but it is obvious that he wants to break away from the Church's 'wrong' association with luxury and grandness. A welcome break, although in reality this would be nothing more than going back to what the Church really should be like: a continuation of Christ's work in the world, stripped of grandeur and appealing mostly to the needy, the poor, the sinner. Not necessarily riding a donkey's back, but definitely not adorning more gold than the infamous Maltese man sporting several kilograms of shiny metal who regularly storms the streets of Valletta.
Which brings me to the next election - the Maltese general election 2013. Following a tiring and sometimes amusing 9 week long electoral campaign, the 09/03/13 election is history: a 37,000 vote majority win (or 12% difference; colossal by Malta's standards) of the Labour party over the Nationalist party. A break from the 'blues' after 15 years in power (some even argue 25 years, ignoring the 1996-1998 Labour spell). A new captain who aims to steer Malta for the next 5 years free from traditional partisan politics but with a progressive attitude typically associated with the 'reds'. After less than two weeks in power, the new premier and his ministers have been quizzed and followed earnestly by the press, almost expectant that the implementation of the electoral manifesto which brought them to power is fulfilled. Apparently, some are unaware that there are yet another 258 weeks for this legislature to end.
Which almost brings me to the end of this post. Whilst the Pope's mandate is somewhat beyond his control given that it is terminated when the Maker calls his earthly representative home (although Benedict proved otherwise), the Maltese government has a clear cut-off point (although, again, rebel MPs in the 1996-1998 and the 2008-2013 terms proved otherwise, albeit with a 9 seat majority this should not be an issue). In both cases, however different in terms of scale and repercussion, the 2 newly elected leaders are expected to bring about significant changes during their respective tenures, ultimately to the benefit of their own followers, us citizens. However, it is really up to the followers themselves to give them sufficient time and not mount them with unnecessary pressures to realise their agendas, earthly or otherwise, and allow them to steer the 'movements' they lead and efficiently reach their goals, whether they are social and economic ones or even metaphysical, eternal ambitions.
The first signs shown by the new Pope seem to mark an ideological shift from the traditional Church image of pomp and ceremoniousness, of which the previous Pope was a champion. I would never expect the Pope to be selling Michelangelo's "Pieta" on e-bay any time soon, but it is obvious that he wants to break away from the Church's 'wrong' association with luxury and grandness. A welcome break, although in reality this would be nothing more than going back to what the Church really should be like: a continuation of Christ's work in the world, stripped of grandeur and appealing mostly to the needy, the poor, the sinner. Not necessarily riding a donkey's back, but definitely not adorning more gold than the infamous Maltese man sporting several kilograms of shiny metal who regularly storms the streets of Valletta.
Which brings me to the next election - the Maltese general election 2013. Following a tiring and sometimes amusing 9 week long electoral campaign, the 09/03/13 election is history: a 37,000 vote majority win (or 12% difference; colossal by Malta's standards) of the Labour party over the Nationalist party. A break from the 'blues' after 15 years in power (some even argue 25 years, ignoring the 1996-1998 Labour spell). A new captain who aims to steer Malta for the next 5 years free from traditional partisan politics but with a progressive attitude typically associated with the 'reds'. After less than two weeks in power, the new premier and his ministers have been quizzed and followed earnestly by the press, almost expectant that the implementation of the electoral manifesto which brought them to power is fulfilled. Apparently, some are unaware that there are yet another 258 weeks for this legislature to end.
Which almost brings me to the end of this post. Whilst the Pope's mandate is somewhat beyond his control given that it is terminated when the Maker calls his earthly representative home (although Benedict proved otherwise), the Maltese government has a clear cut-off point (although, again, rebel MPs in the 1996-1998 and the 2008-2013 terms proved otherwise, albeit with a 9 seat majority this should not be an issue). In both cases, however different in terms of scale and repercussion, the 2 newly elected leaders are expected to bring about significant changes during their respective tenures, ultimately to the benefit of their own followers, us citizens. However, it is really up to the followers themselves to give them sufficient time and not mount them with unnecessary pressures to realise their agendas, earthly or otherwise, and allow them to steer the 'movements' they lead and efficiently reach their goals, whether they are social and economic ones or even metaphysical, eternal ambitions.
Sunday, 17 March 2013
Like a Phoenix
Although I have never actually died, for a couple of months this blog almost died but today I decided to resuscitate it and bring it back to life. You see, whilst writing a 300+ page Ph.D. thesis, going home and actually sitting in front of a word-processor style application (such as a blogging tool) is almost a masochistic event. But that is now the past, at least for the time being, and so here I am!
It is a quiet Sunday evening, bringing to an end one rather uneventful weekend, except the recollection of last weekend's brief trip to Malta and back. And another 'successful' completion of another one of my Malta series acrylic paintings, which I am posting hereunder, quite literally for the sake of illustration.
Since moving from Ealing back to South Kensington, much has happened in these few months, and I will try to catch up with the backlog, but very briefly, these were the highlights:
July 2012: Trip to Marrakesh, Morocco (follow-up later definitely required)
August 2012: The London 2012 Olympics, 'Taming of the Shrew' at the Globe, summer break at Malta
September 2012: Went up the Centre Point Tower, last Freshers' Week at Imperial
October 2012: Started the last year of my 20s
November 2012: Visited the Eden Project, first experimentation with the aforementioned acrylic painting, started writing-up
December 2012: First draft of thesis completed, lived through 12/12/12, first (and last) attempt at ice-skating, first hand at poker, first decent trip to Malta in ages (3 week long and with plenty of 'intellectually-inspiring' events)
January 2013: Last month at Imperial and enjoying student status, started following a 9 week long electoral campaign, attended a Joseph Calleja concert (in London), completed my thesis
February 2013: Submitted my thesis and started working as a research fellow at the University of Surrey, Pope Benedict XVI resigns
March 2013: Flew to Malta for 65 hours to cast a vote (well, 2), saw a change in government, flew back to London, Pope Francis is elected
Until the next one...
Saturday, 4 August 2012
Goodbye, ol' Broughton Road
Just over a year ago, we decided to leave Kensington and venture off west to Ealing, just a few minutes away from Ealing Broadway station. The plan was simple: I finish off my Ph.D. and, come early 2013, we head back to Malta, while living away from Zone 1 would pay off in terms of rent savings. Fast forward a year on and things had changed drastically: we were both at Imperial again and, what more, we were 'stuck' there for at least another 2 years. Only one option made sense: move back close to Imperial.
Initially, I had thought that living like a true Londoner - commuting daily, reading the paper on the way, working in the city centre but living away from it - would work out handsomely. Alas, I was wrong: being used to living on a rock where anything in excess of 20 minutes' worth of travel time is considered "too far away", the 50 minute door-to-door commute proved to be too much. Ealing had its pluses: lots of very good restaurants - particularly Persian - and a self-contained shopping centre which meant not needing to visit the dreaded Oxford Street at all. But getting the 207/427/83 bus every morning to the station, then the Central Line to Notting Hill and then 52/70/452 to Uni (and all the way back in the evening) meant that I was wasting more than 8 hours a week just travelling. Life is too short for that.
And then another blessing crossed our way: my wife was offered a position of subwarden in one of the Imperial halls, literally across the road from the campus meant that we were to start living in very close proximity to Uni...and for free...in exchange for organising activities for hall residents, taking care of students and being on-call once a week or so. Not bad, at all.
Moving is always a bit of a nightmare, especially if you have more than 200kg worth of stuff, but somehow it was all done in 7 trips to and fro from Ealing to Gloucester Road, with relative ease and with no hiccups. Except that that particular Saturday was the first day of London 2012. Ah yes, that event going on in Stratford.
And now? I write this post whilst facing the peaceful Evelyn Gardens from our living room in Fisher Hall, enjoying a sunny afternoon and a nice cup of tea.
Initially, I had thought that living like a true Londoner - commuting daily, reading the paper on the way, working in the city centre but living away from it - would work out handsomely. Alas, I was wrong: being used to living on a rock where anything in excess of 20 minutes' worth of travel time is considered "too far away", the 50 minute door-to-door commute proved to be too much. Ealing had its pluses: lots of very good restaurants - particularly Persian - and a self-contained shopping centre which meant not needing to visit the dreaded Oxford Street at all. But getting the 207/427/83 bus every morning to the station, then the Central Line to Notting Hill and then 52/70/452 to Uni (and all the way back in the evening) meant that I was wasting more than 8 hours a week just travelling. Life is too short for that.
And then another blessing crossed our way: my wife was offered a position of subwarden in one of the Imperial halls, literally across the road from the campus meant that we were to start living in very close proximity to Uni...and for free...in exchange for organising activities for hall residents, taking care of students and being on-call once a week or so. Not bad, at all.
Moving is always a bit of a nightmare, especially if you have more than 200kg worth of stuff, but somehow it was all done in 7 trips to and fro from Ealing to Gloucester Road, with relative ease and with no hiccups. Except that that particular Saturday was the first day of London 2012. Ah yes, that event going on in Stratford.
And now? I write this post whilst facing the peaceful Evelyn Gardens from our living room in Fisher Hall, enjoying a sunny afternoon and a nice cup of tea.
Sunday, 8 July 2012
Venetian clichés and more
I daresay that ECCM15 was the last conference I shall attend during my Ph.D. I am fast approaching the final months of this long journey, with all its ups and downs, but conferences certainly were positive outcomes of it all. This latest one was held in Venice and it was quite a memorable one, for so many reasons.
It was not my first time in Venice; 1990 was my first and 2002 was my second, but whilst I was too young (though fully capable of independent navigation, as my parents well know) and still an architectural student in the latter visit, this time round I was almost a totally different person: a fully-fledged architect/structural engineer in my late 20s, with a keener eye for observation, with a (digital) camera in hand and, of course, with the acquired capability of reflecting on "alien" cultures outside my native Maltese one. And, naturally, I was there primarily for 'business'...
I was lodged on the Lido rather than on Venice proper, which was already a novelty. The commute was by boat (I did not have much of a choice really) and once docked, I headed to the hotel and then for a quick tour of the Lido. It did not feel much like Venice: cars adorned the streets, and there were actually streets rather than canals! But the unmistakable Italian (even Venetian) qualities were so distinctive from what I am accustomed to in London and yet so much closer to what I find in the Maltese homeland. Perhaps the best illustration is that first evening.
The Euro 2012 was at quarter final stage and, that evening, Italy had to face England. I could not miss that game and after a quick (yet tasty) pizza for dinner, I found a bar with a big screen and settled there for the night. Customers downed Spritz (not beer); the barmen did not refrain anyone from smoking but they themselves smoked behind the counter; no drink measures were used but all was simply done "by eye"; euphoric shouts at all the attempts of Pirlo and/or Balotelli and colourful offensive tags to Rooney's and Gerard's counterparts. Strangers engaging in conversation without any prejudice or discomfort. And all with the added pleasure of a sea-induced breeze and live music being played from a nearby open-air concert. The Mediterranean lifestyle. Or rather the Adriatic one in this case...P.S. Italy won 4-2, with penalties after a 0-0 result even after the 120th minute; Italy-Germany was the next match in the semi final.
Monday to Thursday were the conference days in the fascist-style Casino and equally scary Palazzo del Cinema, though still marked by extra-curricular activities: the daily lunches (a manifestation of organised chaos, with typical southern disorganisation in the handling of the 1500 strong crowd) with generous helpings of tasty pasta, carpaccio, mozzarrella and Italian cold meats; the dinners at a local restaurant (spaghetti with lobster on the first occassion and a feast of seafood on the second, i.e., baby octopus as an antipasto, spaghetti con vongole as a 1st course and mixed grilled fish as a main course, all washed down with wine and topped off with a tiramisu, an espresso lungo and, of course, a limoncello); the conference dinner (yet again a massive logistical miscalculation which prolonged the feasting till almost midnight! And, by the way, my 2 presentations on the Tuesday were all delivered smoothly, to my great relief.
On Thursday afternoon, I headed to Venice proper (I was about to say "the mainland" but there is no mainland in Venice!) and began the cultural activities. Being accustomed to the generally accepted view that London's tube is very expensive (£4 for a single cash fare), I found the traghetto fares appalling: €7 for a single trip! But I had no choice, unless I had decided to swim across the lagoon. Once berthed off San Marco, I started my venture in 30 something degrees, with 2 litre water bottle in one hand and camera in the other. Once the obvious sights were done, I headed off the tourist-beaten track and into the hidden Venice, the unknown maze of calle this and ria that and fondamente so-and-so. The uniqueness of its character and the fascination it entails are too overwhelming and I almost confidently can say that Venice is my favourite place in the world. After an exhaustive tour of the sestieri of San Marco and Dorsoduro, I headed back to the Lido for Italy-Germany, yet another magnificent display of football, which took the Italians to the final against Spain.
Friday morning was an early start: I took the boat to the train station and headed to the real mainland, to the city of Padova. The irony was that a return ticket cost as much as a single ferry fare! Once at the (fascist) station, I met my 'Paduan' colleague from uni and he showed me around a city so familiar to him that for a minute I thought he was not really a biomechanical engineer but rather a tourist guide! Only one problem: it was boiling and we had to catch up on the fluid loss thanks to a Spritz and plenty of water (I ended up drinking some 4 litres that day and only a cupful came out the normal way, just to give an idea of the heat level; sorry for the detail). Padova is much a student city: an endless parade of students, posters glued to facades, concerts, coffee shops for philosophical debates; not sights you would encounter in London, unfortunately. Padova was equally enchanting: the (much-appreciated) shaded arched loggias, the cobbled streets, the ad hoc urban fabric which developed organically rather than strictly planned and laid out, the omnipresent Catholic spirit and the endless references to St. Anthony, whose presence and dominance was escalating as one approached to the basilica.
The basilica: what an eclectic place! A unique superposition of all architectural styles known to me: Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque. Every single corner has its own story, its own conceptual creation, material, colour. It was like visiting a 100 places in 1. And of course the quasi superstitious qualities associated with strong Catholic tradition: petitions, photos, candles, figures, relics and all the rest. I probably found this basilica much more splendid than Venice's own San Marco, but this is subjective.
By mid afternoon, my guide had ventured back to his home town of Este and I wandered again through the now-deserted Piazza delle Erbe and Piazza della Frutta and the precincts of the Palazzo Bo' and the centre. It was then time to return to Venice and conclude my tour there: Cannarreggio awaited me. I lingered there till well after dinner (in the Rialto's shadow) and sunset and then back to the hotel, thoroughly exhausted yet satisfied.
Saturday was my final day there, which meant I was soon to return back to London, from the scorching sun and mid-high 30s to mid 20s and the constant grey (as I write this, it is pouring out there and it almost a re-enactment of the Great Flood). After such a long time in London, I cannot help but note such differences between 'us and them'. I think I am more convinced than ever that I ought to return back to the homeland. But before then, I have got a thesis to finish!
It was not my first time in Venice; 1990 was my first and 2002 was my second, but whilst I was too young (though fully capable of independent navigation, as my parents well know) and still an architectural student in the latter visit, this time round I was almost a totally different person: a fully-fledged architect/structural engineer in my late 20s, with a keener eye for observation, with a (digital) camera in hand and, of course, with the acquired capability of reflecting on "alien" cultures outside my native Maltese one. And, naturally, I was there primarily for 'business'...
I was lodged on the Lido rather than on Venice proper, which was already a novelty. The commute was by boat (I did not have much of a choice really) and once docked, I headed to the hotel and then for a quick tour of the Lido. It did not feel much like Venice: cars adorned the streets, and there were actually streets rather than canals! But the unmistakable Italian (even Venetian) qualities were so distinctive from what I am accustomed to in London and yet so much closer to what I find in the Maltese homeland. Perhaps the best illustration is that first evening.
The Euro 2012 was at quarter final stage and, that evening, Italy had to face England. I could not miss that game and after a quick (yet tasty) pizza for dinner, I found a bar with a big screen and settled there for the night. Customers downed Spritz (not beer); the barmen did not refrain anyone from smoking but they themselves smoked behind the counter; no drink measures were used but all was simply done "by eye"; euphoric shouts at all the attempts of Pirlo and/or Balotelli and colourful offensive tags to Rooney's and Gerard's counterparts. Strangers engaging in conversation without any prejudice or discomfort. And all with the added pleasure of a sea-induced breeze and live music being played from a nearby open-air concert. The Mediterranean lifestyle. Or rather the Adriatic one in this case...P.S. Italy won 4-2, with penalties after a 0-0 result even after the 120th minute; Italy-Germany was the next match in the semi final.
Monday to Thursday were the conference days in the fascist-style Casino and equally scary Palazzo del Cinema, though still marked by extra-curricular activities: the daily lunches (a manifestation of organised chaos, with typical southern disorganisation in the handling of the 1500 strong crowd) with generous helpings of tasty pasta, carpaccio, mozzarrella and Italian cold meats; the dinners at a local restaurant (spaghetti with lobster on the first occassion and a feast of seafood on the second, i.e., baby octopus as an antipasto, spaghetti con vongole as a 1st course and mixed grilled fish as a main course, all washed down with wine and topped off with a tiramisu, an espresso lungo and, of course, a limoncello); the conference dinner (yet again a massive logistical miscalculation which prolonged the feasting till almost midnight! And, by the way, my 2 presentations on the Tuesday were all delivered smoothly, to my great relief.
Friday morning was an early start: I took the boat to the train station and headed to the real mainland, to the city of Padova. The irony was that a return ticket cost as much as a single ferry fare! Once at the (fascist) station, I met my 'Paduan' colleague from uni and he showed me around a city so familiar to him that for a minute I thought he was not really a biomechanical engineer but rather a tourist guide! Only one problem: it was boiling and we had to catch up on the fluid loss thanks to a Spritz and plenty of water (I ended up drinking some 4 litres that day and only a cupful came out the normal way, just to give an idea of the heat level; sorry for the detail). Padova is much a student city: an endless parade of students, posters glued to facades, concerts, coffee shops for philosophical debates; not sights you would encounter in London, unfortunately. Padova was equally enchanting: the (much-appreciated) shaded arched loggias, the cobbled streets, the ad hoc urban fabric which developed organically rather than strictly planned and laid out, the omnipresent Catholic spirit and the endless references to St. Anthony, whose presence and dominance was escalating as one approached to the basilica.
The basilica: what an eclectic place! A unique superposition of all architectural styles known to me: Byzantine, Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque. Every single corner has its own story, its own conceptual creation, material, colour. It was like visiting a 100 places in 1. And of course the quasi superstitious qualities associated with strong Catholic tradition: petitions, photos, candles, figures, relics and all the rest. I probably found this basilica much more splendid than Venice's own San Marco, but this is subjective.
By mid afternoon, my guide had ventured back to his home town of Este and I wandered again through the now-deserted Piazza delle Erbe and Piazza della Frutta and the precincts of the Palazzo Bo' and the centre. It was then time to return to Venice and conclude my tour there: Cannarreggio awaited me. I lingered there till well after dinner (in the Rialto's shadow) and sunset and then back to the hotel, thoroughly exhausted yet satisfied.
Saturday was my final day there, which meant I was soon to return back to London, from the scorching sun and mid-high 30s to mid 20s and the constant grey (as I write this, it is pouring out there and it almost a re-enactment of the Great Flood). After such a long time in London, I cannot help but note such differences between 'us and them'. I think I am more convinced than ever that I ought to return back to the homeland. But before then, I have got a thesis to finish!
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