In the few minutes it took me to drop my grandmother home with her shopping, a majestic Sulfur-crested cockatoo was struck and killed by a passing car. I saw the members of the flock arriving, big white birds swooping in over the road ahead, a lifeless white body lying on the asphalt.
My mother has a rather strange aversion. It’s not a stereotypical one, like fearing rodents, or freaking out over spiders, but one that filled her with dread for more than a decade: She cannot enter the women’s locker room at her old golf club.
Since returning to Australia, I have not ventured too far from my family’s home in southern Sydney. Staying put usually makes me antsy, but I’ve enjoyed adjusting to the the slower pace of life in the suburbs. Overall, the feeling is one of familiarity, like my favourite PJs.
Somewhere in the nexus of the Unites States, Australia and Thailand, my sense of self went AWOL. I have forgotten what it feels like to just be me. So I’m on a mission to return home to Sydney, and reconnect with my loved ones. But I’m also there to work on reconnecting with myself.
Australia Day is the day we give our nation three big cheers in honor of her birthday. She’s looking pretty good for 225, don’t you think?
When an expat friend recently remained stubborn on a point at odds with the reality of life and business in the US, I had to throw up my hands. ‘Haven’t you learned this by now?!?!’ screamed my inner monologue. But maybe he hadn’t.