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.
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’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”
While a certain portion of the world is trampling people in the annual Sales, I sit in our kitchen, watching my parents and brother watching the cricket. Continue reading “… Boxing Day”