Being young and callous can only last so long before it catches up to us. For some of us, it\’s our disappearing/dwindling youth that wakes us up first. For others, it\’s the hard-heartedness that knocks the wind out of us when we realize that we no longer care about even what used to matter most: ourselves. Some of us just stay stuck in the middle, aware that we\’re burning out and becoming irrelevant, but too old and too self-ingrained to change our ways.
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Logorrhea of the neologism knows no bounds.
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This is not doing my homework.
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Who are the great American prophets/Voices of our Generation today? We\’re all so busy speaking for ourselves, that we don\’t speak for anyone else anymore. Is this an improvement, or a sign that the Lorax could never have been created in our generation\’s time?
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A month ago, I was snorkeling in the waters where Steve Irwin died yesterday. Now I\’m sitting in my underwear, unbathed for too long, in the gloomy Northeast of North America. Listening to the rain fall, huddled under layers of blankets trying to sweat out my fever, honeyed lemon tea to soothe my sore throat. Only too aware that this, here, is not living.
A month ago, I pulled the below from my inflight magazine, because it said everything I wanted to tell my friends about why I was not coming back. It seems all the more fitting today.
\”Northern Exposure\” by Di Clarke (p. 98 jetstar August/September 2006)
My self-restraint is gone. \”I…\” BANG!
\”…hate…\” CRASH! \”…this…\” WALLOP! \”…boat!\”
\”Ouch!\” my husband Dave cries.
A sudden wave has sent the hot pan of mushrooms flying across the
galley, grazing Dave\’s knee before landing in a steaming soggy pile on
our bunk.
\”Did you throw that at me?\” he gasps.
\”Of course not,\” I yell. \”We live in 28ft of fibreglass. how bad of a
shot do you think I am?\”
I storm up the ladder onto the deck. If, like normal couples, we
lived in a house I would at least have a door to slam. No such
luxury. Being anchored in a mosquito-ridden creek I can\’t evengo for
a walk to cool my temper. I make do with stomping on the spot and
using the more colourful section of my vocabulary.
\”Sea change,\” I mutter. \”You can stuff your sea change.\”
Dave and I had gotten together in one of those Hollywood-style
whirlwind romances. Lured by the romantic idyll of sailing off into
the sunset with the man of my dreams, I skipped happily away from my
successful life in Sydney. Armed with just a sarong, a pair of rubber
thongs and a set of French lingerie (for birthdays and special
occasions), I raced into the open arms of my new life in the tropical
north. Sleeping under the stars, bathing on the back of the boat and
learning to splice ropes was an amazing adventure; sharing it with
Dave was more than I\’d ever dared to dream. Not that what I was doing
was unusual. There was an exodus of city folk downing tools and
heading for the hills and beaches to \’downsize\’. There was nothing
special about me.
And that was my problem as I became mutinous over a capsized feed of
mushrooms. Six months down the track, away from the trappings of city
success, I wasn\’t special. I didn\’t go to parties or premieres and I
was usually in bed with a book by half past seven.
\”I\’m 35!\” I shout down the companionway to Dave. \”I\’ve forgotten how
to apply lipstick!\”
\”What do you want me to do?\” Dave asks, flicking a shiitake mushroom
off his crotch.
\”Nothing!\” I rant.
I slump in a chair and finally cut the string that has been keeping my
sadness furled. It springs out and fills every part of me.
I love Dave, but I don\’t know who I\’m supposed to be in this new world.
Just then I realise I\’m being watched. Peering into the dusky evening
light I see a pair of eyes — old eyes that have seen it all before.
Just 10 metres away in the now still water is a crocodile, a real-life
— not in a zoo or on the telly — living, breathing croc. My own
breath catches in my throat as we stare at each other in silence.
Then, with a flick of his powerful tail, he is gone.
\”What are you doing?\” Dave asks, coming on to the deck and wrapping
his arms around me.
\”Just meeting the neighbours,\” I say, adrenaline surging through my body.
All at once I no longer want my old life, the one with the champagne,
the facials, the coffees and catch-ups. I wanted this. This life of
rain that never stopped, butterflies the size of dinner plates and
creatures so special I couldn\’t possibly compete.
