Sumuštinis

I’m home. And even tho I am convinced that I have trained myself to treat wherever I sleep as home, there is something very special about getting on a plane to my homeland. I couldn’t sleep the night I spent alone in our little room at the base in Dili. I got up and repacked a few times, swept, turned on the air con, turned off the air con. and then woke bluntly to my seldom used alarm. I was driven to the airport at 520 by two of new heroes and then sat in the check-in room by myself. Oh except the guy selling scarves, he was awake too.

I paid the surprise airport tax. then paid the overstayed your visa by 4 days fine, then walked out into the waiting lounge to a most beautiful sunrise behind my tiny plane on the tarmac I had walked in on over a month before. I was heading back to Darwin.

On my flight were army men, golfers, guitarists, teachers, a couple who had moved over because they didn't want to waste their retirement in caravans and some Brazilians.

We landed in Darwin at 9 am, to await the next flight at 3 pm. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn't use the internet, I had no books, I got bored of writing, so I decided to figure out sudoku. it was not all that entertaining, whilst a german man laughed at a sitcom next to me. I slept on the plane a little bit, and as we descended, we flew right through rain clouds, and then suddenly Sydney came into stark focus.

I love flying into Sydney at night, which doesn't happen often. but it means you get to see the street lines, the sports fields (of which we have many) and the blackened sea, starkly contrasted to the lights and then that moment of “WOAH, how is this plane not going to slam into the ground at this speed” and then you are on known ground. From then on, I could almost walk to the train blindfolded. Bag pick up included. The familiar train ride. The familiar language. The familiar smells. The familiar timing and outside environments.

The other thing I love about home is the community I live in. The closer I got to home the more people messaged to see when I was in, who was picking me up, how they were happy I was returning. My brother tried calling, my dad even messaged a bit worried that he hadn't heard anything in weeks.

Three of my favourite people in the world picked me up from the train station in the rain and it was so good.

This morning I hugged almost everyone I live with because I love them all deeply and for reasons deeper than I live with them. But I love alongside them, I create amongst them and I laugh a lot.

Adventure is installed into us before we are born.

When humanity gets bored, we do stupid things. When we are not entertained, or engaged in a journey, or given ownership over something, our inbuilt creativity kicks in and finds adrenalin or reason meaning in ANYTHING at all. We like belonging. We like movements, we like clubs. Men especially. As children, we love being heroes, fighting the bad guys and rescuing the maidens.

I used to live next door to a guy called Sam. He had one of the greatest imaginations I’ve ever experienced. We created ninja worlds in which we would run and fight large groups of evil ninjas. We would play computer games of a similar story line, and then, when I went home, I would wrestle pillows on our trampoline. I would make up year long story lines of rivalries and competitions. In hindsight, it's kind of fascinating. But as we grow up, we are told to settle down, get secure jobs and stop going on adventures.

Personally in the midst of that ideal, I would find a way to use my creativity to quietly rebel against that system. Ultimately it wasn’t all that creative or new, but, rebellion turned to not sleeping, going out as much as possible, playing first person adventure games on my computer and watching other people’s lives on the television.

The stretching of my heart has always been deep and wide.

It must be 90% elastic because this babies been stretched twice around the world and still hasn’t snapped.

The crowds its woo’d, the deep adventures it’s been on with complete strangers.

The faces it has kissed but never actually kissed.

The hands it has shaken, the lives entangled, and yet it stretches on.

Tonight it didn’t snap, but it almost could’ve.

A scene I have bled for, a woman I stared at, and think I could stare for a long time. An empty room. A week of grey skies in the most depressing month of the year.

Trash filled with beer cans. A language filling an exercise book that I ‘nesuprantu’.

I miss sitting in a room silently with hearts I could die for. I miss sleeping on wooden floors with no complaints but a lot of giggling. I miss sweating with no clothes on. I miss teen angst and breakdowns and photographing performances. 

I’m tired of sleeping long and speaking little. 

BUT, I’m loving bus rides and long walks through a quiet city I love. I like what the future will bring. I like the lessening of anxiety attacks and the skype dates with my parents that make my heart feel nice. I like cooking and doing all the adulting that I have to relearn. I like having curtains and candles and meeting strangers. I just need to do it more often.

So I suppose what I’m trying to say is..... can all my friends move here and learn this language with me and start a community here? that would be wonderfully nice. Otherwise, the next two years is going to be occasionally depressing. Like, deeply sad. and then after that it will be wonderful.

We collected rocks and busted them into smaller ones.

We helped carry cement. Chatted to the locals, laughed, drank good tea, carried more rocks, and watched as a whole community of dudes helped each other build a bridge enabling them to drive, to get the rubbish collected improving trade and to look awesome.

They built a tent for it when it started raining. The men who knew what they were doing took charge at some points but at other points everyone just did bits and pieces.

We met a man from Uganda – a black malae (word of outsider), who has moved here, and his smile reminded me of some good times in a great country.

We played soccer and saw one of the greatest sunsets I have ever seen, as the rain began bucketing down minutes after we finished covering the road. 

This morning we had the honour of walking over it, and as we did, the sweetest thing floated to my ears, in almost perfect English one of the dudes we spent yesterday with said “seven dollars??… why??” (referring to my tattoo)

I cracked up laughing.

As more rain fell I was presented with a cape in honour because some of us were going home. I am lucky to be amongst such powerful, loving people, in a strange group of strange people slowly changing the world.

I also giggled a lot last night because Alex Boyer is the best.