September 21, 2005
Where was I again?
And then I blinked, and just like that everything was back in focus. The sky was clear and blue with a ripple of clouds across it. The view from the back door was a sea of tin rooves and chimneys and clothes lines. The streets were clean and orderly. The kids had the latest brands of fashion wrapped tight around them, and then wrapped themselves tight around one another. The curbs and footpaths stretched out for miles ahead of me. Cafes were serving up multi-grain bread sandwiches full of salad on oversized white plates. My eyes watered everytime I opened them and saw the crisp clean fluro world. I was home.
When I shut my eyes again, if I squeeze them real tight, I can almost almost almost remember that other place I used to live where the horns blared, men in sarongs darted between the traffic selling betelnut, I ate spicy curries from the side of the street with my hands and the world was just that little bit less clear - foggy with fumes of a thousand tuk tuks and the unreality of living in another place you start to call home.
And just because I’ve cried every day since I’ve been home, doesn’t mean I don’t like being home. It’s just that this home - in all it’s clear, bright, focused glory - can be blinding sometimes.