Dear People To Whom I Am Related
Yes, I am to be knowing the words and where-if to be using same. No, I do NOT want to edit your book/thesis/Craigslist ad for free, or research business contacts for a vague/unspecified possible future hypothetical maybe reward.
No, you may not break an 18-month silence by attempting smarmy buttering up, giving up, admitting you’d like my help & then call it a favour.
I’ve been going back through my diaries, starting age 11. Weeping for that poor child who was already lost, and angry, and under pressure to lose weight, and confused about cultural identity, and socially awkward.
To that child, I want to say:
None of these fellow students’ opinions mean anything, and you’ll never see them again anyway.
You’ll learn down the road that your understanding of what it is to “be Australian” is flawed: you either are or you aren’t, and nobody else’s definition has to apply.
You’ll be ecstatic when you learn of the worldwide TCK networks: these are your people.
Please: be happy in the moment. Stop analysing. Stop wailing about the inherent unfairness of life and learn how to work with it.
Learn to eat within reason. Tell someone how unhappy you are. You’re screaming at innocent parties when you could be using that energy to fight for your future.
Learn how to deal with unrequited “love”, so that when you’re 35 you’re not still trailing after uninterested males trying to get their attention.
I’m tired of being tired.
I’m sick of being sick.
All but my inner circle
Seem to think I’m thick.
I’m tired of futile input.
I’m sick of doctors, all.
Even the inner circle
Seem to think I’m weak.
I’m tired of watching life
go by, of sickness being all.
Who are we, really, when
Hope has left the ball?
I’m tired of being tired;
Sick of being sick.
I thought I used to be someone,
But even I now know I’m not.
We’ve got friends staying with us at the moment, both expats we knew – or knew of – from PNG. He’s been here a few times on his way to other places, and we co-admin a few FB Pages relevant to our international community, but I hadn’t met his wife until their wedding day. It was a bit like a typical high school reunion, in that people you haven’t seen in 15 years wander past you, but ours include people from any and all graduation year/s. Continue reading “… Visit From These Friends”
I’ve never been much of a believer in “Resolutions At The Stroke Of Midnight”, so I have none of those to share.
My worst NYD, however, follows on directly from my best NYE. I’d decided at the last minute that I was NOT going to spend this epic (’99/’00) NYE at home by myself, so I’d made my way into town, through all the hundreds of thousands of revellers, by myself. Continue reading “… New Year’s Day”
I’m not at all fussed about crossing this one off the list – from experience, almost every NYE I’ve lived through has been… well, “meh”, really.
Hands-down, the best 17 minutes of the lot: ’99/’00, watching the Thames light up from end to end, from fireworks barges set between each of the bridges, while standing on Westminster Bridge with 50,000 other people. (The Before and After parts of that night were horrific, but that was good.) Continue reading “… New Year’s Eve”