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[nostalgiauk]

NOSTALGIA UK

Cèilidh (pronounced KAY-Lee) (Winter 1994)

This is a story I can barely remember, save for a few hazy, noisy images—the first being our arrival at the hall, and the second, my cautious hesitation to step onto the dance floor. To piece it together, I had to reach out to Fudin for some additional details.

Cèilidh (pronounced KAY-lee) is a traditional Scottish social event featuring dancing and Gaelic folk music, with attendees often dressed in kilts and other traditional clothing. Mr. Munn, our Physics teacher, was adamant that we shouldn’t miss the opportunity to experience it.

The gathering was held at the Glasgow City Chambers Hall, and if I’m not mistaken, it took place one winter evening shortly after we’d arrived in Glasgow. What I do recall is the walk up the entrance steps, feeling distinctly out of place in our everyday jeans, sneakers, and thick winter jackets—some of us even wore hats. Once inside, my memory grows fuzzier, but I can still picture the grandeur of the hall. Men wore kilts (we’d been cheekily informed they were traditionally worn without underwear), and women donned other forms of traditional attire.

For me, formal social gatherings were a foreign concept—dancing, even more so, and especially with the opposite sex. I was painfully shy, and I’m not sure how the others felt, but I remember feeling dead nervous. That said, I somehow mustered the courage to join in. I probably looked like a happy fool trying to follow the traditional dance steps, but in hindsight, it was an unforgettable experience, even if the details have mostly faded.

[nostalgiauk]

NOSTALGIA UK

Summer ... the biggest eye opener (1994)

Scotland introduced me to three of the four seasons for the first time.

We arrived in Glasgow during the bone-chilling cold of early January. As I looked out from the coach window on the ride from Glasgow Airport to Langside College, everything seemed cloaked in grey, as if the sun had never dared to shine. Some days were so cold that speaking became a challenge; words containing "s" were almost impossible to pronounce as my lips would turn numb and uncooperative. I’ve previously shared how dry my skin became, particularly around the crotch and inner thigh areas, resulting in painful and itchy rashes that only made the experience harsher.

Spring didn’t stand out much to me at first; it felt barely warmer than winter, making it difficult to distinguish the two seasons. However, the sight of plants and flowers returning to life added a touch of color and vibrancy, as if nature itself was making an effort to brighten up the grey landscape.

I had high hopes for summer, eagerly anticipating relief from the constant rashes and dry skin. I soon discovered, however, that bright, sunny days in the UK were more the exception than the rule. Still, we were lucky enough to experience a handful of gloriously warm days. I remember one such day clearly: Fudin and I decided to go for a jog. The temperature was perfect, the sun lingered high in the sky for hours, and it felt as if the entire city of Glasgow had poured into the parks, basking in the rare sunshine. People looked joyous and carefree, soaking up every moment. I was especially taken aback by the sudden shift in wardrobes, particularly among the women; the clothes were doing more showing of everything than covering anything, a stark contrast to the usual attire of the earlier months.

Between the three seasons, summer was the biggest eye opener.

[nostalgiauk]

NOSTALGIA UK

Hall of passing (1994)

Before I continue on my journey to Surrey, I want to take a quick detour to document a couple of small but cherished memories I almost overlooked.

One such memory is of the hall in Shaikh's shared flat. It wasn't that big but it was a cozy, inviting space where I often found myself hanging out whenever the boys and I dropped by. The hall was modestly furnished, with a couple of well-worn sofas and a tea table that always seemed to carry the latest edition of the UMNO Club Newsletter (though it was more like a magazine) —a periodical publication that Shaikh edited with great dedication.

The newsletter was an intriguing read, filled with articles and news that resonated with Malaysian students in Glasgow. Back then, the UMNO Club was a significant presence among Malaysian students in the UK, especially within the Malay group. Its presence was centered in major cities with large student populations, acting as hubs for student welfare and activities. At the time, I didn’t see it as a political movement; to me, it was simply a club focused on fostering a sense of community and addressing students' needs. Admittedly, my understanding of politics was quite limited then.

I enjoyed flipping through the publication, marveling at Shaikh’s talent for writing and his unwavering commitment to his role. If memory serves me right, I even contributed some content—likely something creative or artsy. It felt good to be part of it.

Now, back to the hall itself. While the kitchen might have been the heart of the flat, the hall stands out in my memory as a lively space. I often watched the flatmates (all attended the University of Glasgow) in particular Maz, the late Meor, and Dani bustling in and out, busy with their studies or heading off to campus. They rarely seemed to linger, always on the move, embodying the energy of university life. I remember thinking how cool it was to be a university student, imagining what lay ahead for me as I prepared to follow a similar path.

[nostalgiauk]

NOSTALGIA UK

The last dinner (1994)

After much deliberation, I finally made up my mind: Surrey would be the next stop in my academic journey. It felt like the right choice, though part of me couldn’t help but wonder how different life might be if I stay put. Alongside me, Fudin set his sights on Nottingham, Ela headed to Warwick, and Shah chose UMIST in Manchester. Meanwhile, the rest of the group—Amir, Azizi, Nazrul, and Nasrul—opted to stay in Glasgow, all enrolling at the University of Strathclyde. Interestingly, none of us chose the University of Glasgow.

The details of those final days are hazy now. I can’t quite recall when we officially moved out of our shared flat or whether we all left at the same time. Still, a vivid fragment lingers in my mind: I spent my last couple of days at the Malaysian Students Centre, near Pollokshields. Maybe Shaikh or Fudin would remember it differently, but that’s how I recall it.

One thing I do remember clearly is wanting to mark the occasion—a little farewell dinner to close this memorable chapter of our lives. I visited a nearby Pakistani shop, picking up meat, curry powder, onions, and all the essentials to make one last curry in Glasgow. It was a bittersweet moment, cooking that meal, knowing it would be our final one together as a group.

The next day, the departures began. Either Ela left first, or I did—time has blurred the exact sequence. What I do know is that with each goodbye, it felt like the end of an era. We were all setting off in different directions, chasing dreams, carrying memories, and starting anew.

[nostalgiauk]

NOSTALGIA UK

The head of the house (Summer 1994)

Our summer holiday was unusually short, thanks to the tightly packed programme that left us constantly scrambling to keep up with the syllabus. The house we moved into near the University of Glasgow was I believe one of the university’s student residences, usually buzzing with activity. But during the summer break, with most students away, it was lent to us—a temporary haven amidst our chaotic schedule.

Sharing the house with us was a Greek bloke whose name I can’t recall. Let’s just call him Costas. He was, if I remember right, a postgraduate student at the university. Costas had stayed behind during the break, likely to work on his research, and somehow ended up being the unofficial head of the house. This was no self-assigned role; I sensed our programme director, Mr. Munn, had appointed him to “look after us” during our stay.

Our first encounter with Costas was a meeting he called on our first evening. Standing before us in the kitchen with an air of authority, he laid out the house rules. Chief among them was the cleanliness of the kitchen, which he stressed with a level of seriousness that made it clear he wasn’t joking. “Clean up after yourselves,” he warned, his gaze sweeping over us like a headmaster addressing a group of unruly students.

Beyond that meeting, though, we hardly ever saw him. Costas was usually locked away in his room, presumably immersed in his studies, or out somewhere doing whatever postgraduates do in their spare time. His absence suited us fine—we didn’t need a babysitter, or so we thought.

Of course, rules are made to be bent, and there were times we strayed from his directives. Costas rarely commented, but when he did, his words were curt and to the point. The tension was always minor, though. Costas wasn’t overbearing, just firm, and his detached demeanour made it easy for us to go about our days with minimal interference. Looking back, he was a decent caretaker—strict where it counted, but not overly involved. Our interactions were few, our infractions occasional, but we managed to coexist in that quiet, peculiar house.

[nostalgiauk]

NOSTALGIA UK

Time to move out (Summer 1994)

Our time at Mrs. Wallace’s house had come to an end. Calling it a “foster family” was generous—we had practically lived alone. Nevertheless, saying goodbye carried a bittersweet weight. Nasrul and I packed up, ready to move on, while Kenneth—if I’m remembering right—stayed behind. As for Mrs. Wallace, I imagined she’d soon welcome new students replacing us, continuing the cycle.

The next chapter of our journey brought us to the University of Glasgow for the final stretch of the program. It was clear this move was part of a strategy to showcase the university, enticing us to consider it for our undergraduate studies. Glasgow had led the program with contributions from other Scottish universities, and now we were being immersed in its academic environment.

They gave us a spacious flat not far from the main campus, and I can still picture the short walk to the university bookstore. Life felt like a blur. Nine months was all we had, and the clock was ticking faster than ever.

The upcoming months promised to be the busiest yet. There was still so much of the syllabus to cover, and looming above it all was the exam. That exam wasn’t just a test of knowledge—it felt like a test of destiny. I spent countless nights worrying. What if I didn’t make the grade? Would I have to return to Malaysia,? How would my father repay the money Petronas had invested in me? These questions gnawed at me, a steady undercurrent of anxiety I couldn’t shake.

Despite the weight of it all, there was something electric about this phase of life. Every day brought new challenges, pushing us further, faster. It wasn’t just about academics anymore; it was about proving to ourselves that we could rise to the occasion, no matter how steep the climb.

Looking back, those final months at Glasgow were a whirlwind of pressure, growth, and quiet moments of reflection. They taught me that uncertainty doesn’t just test your limits—it defines them.

[nostalgiauk]

NOSTALGIA UK

Till next time, London (Summer 1994)

On our final night in London, we ventured into Soho, driven by curiosity about its notorious red-light district. One of us—whose identity escapes me now—had done extensive research on the area, making the rest of us eager to see it for ourselves. Excited and a little unsure of what we were getting ourselves into, we made our way into the heart of London’s infamous neighborhood.

The streets of Soho were teeming with life—a chaotic blend of tourists, locals, and neon lights that bathed the narrow alleys in a surreal glow. The air was filled with a mix of laughter, music spilling from nearby bars, and occasional shouts from men and women who had clearly had too much to drink. It was a sensory overload, but as we wandered through the district, we quickly realized it wasn’t as culturally shocking as we had anticipated.

What did catch our attention, though, were some of the dodgy shops—places none of us had ever set foot in before. Inside, they featured an assortment of outlandish items: whips, cuffs, and leather outfits that looked more like costumes for a bizarre masquerade than actual clothing. The absurdity of some of the products left us stifling laughter, sneaking sideways glances at each other and suppressing the kind of giggles that bubble up when you’re trying to act mature. It was awkward, hilarious, and strangely fascinating all at once.

Soho, for all its reputation, turned out to be less about shock value and more about spectacle—a theatrical kind of oddity that was more amusing than intimidating. By the time we left, weaving through the dense crowds and passing neon-lit bars, we felt like we’d caught a glimpse of a world far removed from our everyday lives. It was an experience that would stick with us, if only for the laughs and awkward moments it had brought.

Reflecting on the trip as a whole, London had been everything I’d hoped for and more. Though technically my second visit—the first being a quick layover from Malaysia to Scotland—it was the first time I truly got to know the city. For most of us, this trip felt like a proper introduction, a chance to explore its iconic landmarks, winding streets, and vibrant atmosphere. In some neighbourhoods, the sight of fellow Malaysians reminded me how small the world was slowly becoming.

As we packed up to return to Glasgow the next day, a sense of nostalgia was already creeping in. There were only a couple of months left in our program, and the weight of completing it with good grades loomed ahead. But for now, London remained a bright, sprawling memory—a mix of awkward encounters, awe-inspiring sights, and moments of connection in the heart of a city that seemed to contain everything.