Adjustment
An important week has come and gone, beginning with the timeless blur of fatigue and modular meals that define long-haul flights, and ending on the cusp of an appointment with my oncologist in Australia. Looking back, I’m astonished that it has only been seven days. We have managed so much in such little time, and the dramatic shift in our daily life has us scrambling to keep up. This entry is an account of a bittersweet return home; all the joys of reunion and familiar pleasures, dulled somewhat by the prematurity with which they are enjoyed.
The week began with our final day in Germany, and our farewell to Ziggy. We cleaned him up and made him presentable before driving over to the storage warehouse where we had arranged to have him parked for the foreseeable future. A cheerful man met us at the gate, leading us to our bay by pedalling his bicycle through row after row of campers and boats, all huddled together in hibernation for the winter. He was very helpful and kind, assuring us that Ziggy would be in good hands and even allowing him to stay rent-free until the first of February. We said goodbye to our trusty van and walked to the train station, soon regretting having left our winter wardrobes behind as we stood on the icy platform, waiting for our train to come. That night, Alessandra cooked up teriyaki salmon at Gritt’s, and we gathered round for one last family dinner before the long journey home.
Into the den
…
The next two days meld seamlessly into one; a confusing blob of time that doesn’t quite straighten out into something that can be parsed into days and nights. Gritt drove us to the airport first thing in the morning, our luggage piled high on the back seat and in the boot of her car, and we said farewell at the terminal drop-off. Wheeling our suitcases through the cavernous confection of tile and glass, we whipped through check-in and security without a hitch, and quickly found ourselves comfortably seated on a plane bound for Hong Kong, where we would transfer for the last leg home. With the final announcements and the whirring of the plane engines, Alessandra and I exchanged broad grins — we had been blessed with an empty seat beside us.
Ready to leave
The next eleven hours were a blur of stories, as I watched movies back-to-back from take-off to landing. I began my insane marathon with the newest Matrix movie, which proved to be an over-produced disappointment. There are some movies you watch in which you can feel the soul of a single mind and vision, working away in the core of the story — it sits underneath everything; an individuality that you naturally gravitate to, like a small campfire on a cold night, beckoning you over to warm your hands. Others, you watch through and can almost taste the tang of decisions made based on ‘consumer sentiment’ data — stories constructed with a template by a long table of career writers. My favourite artist, Iain McCaig, calls them “theme park rides;” every emotion being artificially induced and lacking in substance. The new Matrix movie was one of those. From there, I selected A Haunting in Venice and, when that didn’t cut the mustard either, reverted to classics I’d always meant to watch, but never had. Groundhog Day was surprisingly deep and moving, and I thoroughly enjoyed watching Bill Murray slowly master his small slice of time and space as he grew to care for more than just himself. I then moved on to The Godfather I and II, and experienced the strange, slow-burn story of a stoic man who cared deeply about family, followed by that of his youngest son, and his gradual transformation from an upstanding young man who shunned the family business into a cold-hearted mobster. The character development absolutely blew me away, and I was hooked right to the end. I had begun part three of the trilogy when we came into landing, and promised myself to pick it up again after Hong Kong.
Hong Kong…that was rough. We had an eight hour layover in the transfer section of the airport, which offered only two or three shops and a scattered mess of seating areas. Worse still, these eight hours were just when our bodies began insisting that it was the dead of night, and therefore time to sleep and recharge. We did our best to freshen up, making full use of the complimentary shower facilities, but our feet dragged as we staggered around the transfer area, trying to remain lucid. Finally, with nothing left in the tank and 7.5 hours to go, we settled on a couch that was part seating, part abstract art, and I hunkered down into a foetal crouch to attempt sleep as Alessandra scanned her phone and played lookout for our bags. I was only vaguely successful, shifting about in the dim void of disturbed rest, huge halogen lights glaring down mercilessly overhead.
Absolutely knackered
Eventually, somehow, the time had passed, and we queued up for our second flight. I’d had just enough semi-sleep to be awake and (relatively) clear-headed, so I continued with my movie marathon right up to the moment we were clear to disembark in Perth. It was 11:00pm local time, and my eyes were deeply bloodshot as we stumbled through the final few security checkpoints. Luckily, this didn’t take long — our suitcases greeted us the moment we reached the baggage claim; and we inexplicably skipped a massive queue to the exit when a police officer waiting near a side-door halfway through the line beckoned to me, asked if I was travelling alone, and then let Alessandra and I out the side-door, shutting and locking it behind us. No-one else was let out this way, and we still have absolutely no idea how or why it happened. Sometimes, it’s better not to ask questions. The exit ushered us out into the mild summer night, where mum waited at the pick-up point with a welcome hug and a hundred questions. Another blur of time and we were home, setting down our luggage before a brief catch-up in the living room and, at last, slipping into a deep sleep before our heads even hit the pillow.
…
The next four days were a muddled attempt to grapple with the physical and mental disorientation of jetlag. We have unpacked, set ourselves up, and generally done our best to get back into the swing of things in the oppressive heat of an Australian summer. We attended an Australia Day barbeque with Alessandra’s second family (she was an au pair for several years to the two little girls, Taylor and Amelia, and has been an important part of their lives ever since) and have begun to catch up with other friends and family. It is beautiful here, and there is much to be grateful for; yet my upcoming appointments loom ahead, mired in uncertainty. Rather than focus on the uncertainty of the road ahead, we have chosen to take each day as it comes, embracing what we value most as fully as we can.
I did miss the bush trails
…
The days get stranger and stranger as we settle in for whatever might come, but there is plenty to learn in the meantime. Here are just a few things that have come to our attention:
When times are hard, the kindness of strangers and the support of loved ones prove to be the most valuable assets there are.
Mind-blowing actions scenes and special effects don’t make a good movie. A good movie, like any good story, tells us a truth about human beings, how they go wrong, and how they might change for the better.
You’d be surprised how quickly you can get yourself organised when you have to.
It’s amazing how much gratitude you begin to feel for the little things in life when you realise just how quickly they can change.
