When the Facebook* community enticed me with a quiz which would 'analyse' and disclose one's so-called inner nationality, it came as a surprise when my result turned out to be American. I sniggered to myself at this particular irony. While I admire some American clothing brand names, I do not agree with a string of values which serves as the American way of life. As for the quiz's result, I conveniently chalk it up to either my child-like candour or my trademark bluntness. Or both.
Frivolous quiz aside, my first reaction upon seeing this result was : Time to go back to Chicago. Yes, a resounding yes, Chicago.
The crisp, Midwestern air caressing my exposed skin as I strolled the
Navy Pier boardwalk fronting the iridescent waters of Lake Michigan. The breathtaking
Magnificent Mile along which I sauntered during a beautiful Indian Summer day all the way down to the
Water Tower area to slake my sweet tooth at the
Ghirardelli ice-cream parlour. The delicious, piping hot churros sold by a street vendor somewhere on
State Street in the dead of winter was always a welcome distraction from Chicago's notorious wind-chill factor. And the large expanse of an outdoor man-made ice-skating rink across the prestigious departmental store
Marshall Field's (much to my surprise, it has now been renamed
Macy's) has become a seasonal tradition that both cityfolks and out-of-towners immensely enjoy once the Midwest wintry weather turns bearable.
How I would love to go back! Back to revisit the youth of my past. Where self was discovered, principles perfected and feelings blossomed.
So how did an Indiana-based Malaysian student end up traipsing in the Windy City? Easy - when you were the only Malay Malaysian student in college freshman year, you would find ways and means to escape the humdrum and loneliness of campus life. What made it easier was the number of Malaysians living in Chicago at the time, studying or otherwise.
Like the late bloomer that I am, my love affair with Chicago started somewhat in a similar manner. In the beginning, I went to visit my good gal friends from the same batch studying in the University of Chicago and was introduced to a slew of Malaysian students staying in a nice neighbourhood on the South side. I forgot the exact whereabouts of the whitewashed house, but I remember it was a two-storey corner lot and had changed hands many times throughout the four years of college. These students were attending the University of Illinois at Chicago, DePaul University or Loyola University.
Being naturally friendly folks, they made me feel at home. That somehow I felt belonged. Most of them were older than me and it was nice being pampered as the 'adek' or younger sister. Unfortunately, troubles brewed in some hushed corridors that I found myself being sidelined from the mainstream. Perhaps some people found my
adek 'sister act' a bit dragging and immature, but I would rather have dissatisfaction or complaints made about me being said straight to my face as opposed to the roundabout, gossipy way. At one point, I did lose faith in the general Malaysian community and decided to keep things at arm's (and superficial) length.
As dusts had settled above the fray, I was relieved to find out who my real friends were and suffice to say, they have remained my friends till this very day. In retrospect, I admit I do need those experiences in order to grow into a more matured individual and a less naive one at that.
On a non-political and geographical front, I grew more intimate with Chicago through these close friends who showed me good, clean fun whenever I came to town. Being adventurous foodies, we were always in search of great places to eat with the proviso that they were on the
halal side. It was fairly difficult to find such a place back then in downtown Chicago, but we persevered and held on mostly to a seafood (read: tuna sandwich) and vegetable (read: spinach & cheese) diet. Alternatively, we would travel up to one of Chicago's suburbs, an ethnically-diverse neighbourhood called
Devon Street to obtain one's prized halal meat and try the various halal eateries there.
Another reason that saw me frequently in Chicago was to meet with my officer-in-charge at the Malaysian Student Department (MSD) located in Evanston, Illinois. As recipient of the Public Service Department scholarship staying on campus, I was entitled to a measly monthly stipend as opposed to a full allowance given to those living off campus. The amount given was a mere pittance and through discussion with my MSD officer, I procured a monetary assistance by counting the number of days I were to get out of the dormitory during the respective Spring and Winter Breaks. Those days allowed me to gain back some money as provisioned to those students living off campus full time.
In order to get to Evanston, one has to take the
Red Line all the way down to Howard station before changing to the
Purple Line and stopped at Main station. And as fate would have it, my hubby - one of those aforementioned close friends - was attending the illustrious 'Wildcats' university in Evanston. Those Chicago trips therefore gleefully let me kill two birds with one stone.
Or so went the official excuse. We got to meet up for lunch, movie, coffee or a bit of shopping. It was also him who introduced me to the other side of Chicago - The Field Museum, Shedd Aquarium, Adler Planetarium and my personal favourite, The Art Institute of Chicago. I also came to love Evanston - the epitome of a great college town, unlike the one I attended back in the sleepy town of South Bend. Our ritual of ending the tête-à-tête with a cuppa and the signature coffee cake at the quiet cafe in
Borders, located across the Water Tower was something I looked forward to every single time.
The MSD reason, however, faded into obscurity towards the end of my studies as I grew more attached to my hubby cum friend and my MSD officer returned to our homeland and was replaced, much to my chagrin, by someone more detached and business-like.
With the passing years, I had become so accustomed to Chicago that I could walk down the streets alone well-knowing where things and places were. Or so I thought. One unpleasant incident during my junior college year shook my confidence and brought back with it a sense of wariness which taught me to be more diligently on my toes. One gloomy Fall day, I was on the bus en route for a transit to the Red Line, after leaving some Malaysian students' place on the South side. At first, I did not notice anything that would set off any alarm bell as my mind was preoccupied with a personal matter. Later when I entered the train, I saw the same two African-American men - one heavyset and the other
SnoopDog spindly - who were with me from the bus. They looked glum as if something menacing was up in the air. And my gut feeling told me I was going to be their target. I panicked for a while as I was imagining the worst - knife point and all the gruesome details.
When a familiar station was coming up next, I decided to exit the train. On hindsight, I shouldn't have inched closely to the door as they would know where and when I was leaving. But I was visibly terrified for my life! In a matter of seconds when people were lining up to hop off the train, I found myself being sandwiched by the two men at the door - one blocking my way to exit and the other behind me - and quickly tried to pry myself out of a potentially dangerous situation. Luckily, there were other people there as possible witnesses. As soon as I was on the platform, I sprinted out of the subway and hid inside the crowded Marshall Field's, hoping I had lost their trail.
When the coast was clear, I tried to find my wallet as I wanted to get something to eat. Lo and behold, it was gone! I believe in the midst of the train struggle, one of them picked my knapsack and stole my wallet. They had probably checked where I had stashed away the wallet when they did their 'recon'. On the spot, I bawled my eyes out. Alone in a foreign land with no money, I felt hapless and helpless. After regaining my composure, I called from the phone booth the nearest Malaysian working couple who lived in an apartment downtown. Thank God I had some loose change with me and that I remembered their number. Walking quickly in the twilight hours towards their place, they offered some much-needed assistance and sanctuary from the cool, autumnal breeze.
Notwithstanding that black day (no pun intended) in my student life, I was (and am) still enamoured with all things Chicago. Like that haunting Madonna's tune, it used to be my playground. Twelve years on, fun memories in Chicago continue to flash now and then. The time is ripe for us to relive those memories with new members of our small family. Many things are bound to change in that time period, but I am determined not to be disheartened. After all, a new mall is opening at
108 North State Street (also known as the
Block 37 site) with its 400,000 square-feet worth of retail space to explore. Enough said.
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This is where I spend a bulk of my free time, thus explains why I am out of blogosphere for such a long time. The addictive, mindless entertainment of Facebook has really gotten me hook, line and sinker.
Circa 1993-1994: At the Adler Planetarium with the panoramic Chicago skyline in the background.
