Back in the land of Suburbia. Where the sky is open, walking is impossible, the nature so close that I must take anti-histermines upon arrival. Before I arrived back in good ol’ OZ I was making faces. “Yeah, yeah, I am going to Sydney.. to see my parents.. yeah.. it’s nice.. but they are in the deep deep SUBURBS!” (make face). But now I am here, it’s so NICE. Reminds me why sometimes Hong Kong feels like it’s about to eat me up and spit me out another nervous breakdown. It’s really quiet, no noise, no passing cars, no freeways, there is a patio, a garden, fresh grown herbs and ivy clinging off those knitted wood thing. Mom is making roast beef, and a second floor to walk up to, two tvs, two internet connections, a dinning area, plus the sitting area, and well daddy’s got a wine fridge that actually is the size of a fridge. Lets not forget that the bathroom is about the size of my apartment and the place is so big I have to leave the shower and the bath to go to the toilet which is in the other room. You know, its been a long long while since I feel like I have space. Two cars, two parents, two kids, and a lot of trashy TV. I think I hate all this until I am here. but when I am here in the quiet womb of the suburbs, its like I reverse into something else, something that I love but forget, the boring part of me where I want to pick up a trashy magazine, and go to bed with tea at 10.
So I am back in the land of southern hemisphere, where the water rolls down the drain the other way, and it’s winter and cold, the sun is not protected by the ozone and everything is said like a question. Yeeessss… went and bought a cheese, steak, bacon, pie, slathered with ketchup, a meringe, vine tomatoes, fresh bread, from you know the market, not from some upper overly snobby hell of a basement supermarket underneath a mall that holds prada, and Gucci, and fresh yogurt is seen to be a delicacy, and buying everyday food seems like an expense, a luxury.
I Like actually chatting with the immigration officer, getting so excited with marshmellow cones that a passer by makes a joke, that people will smile at you in the shop. That randomly speaking to someone is not considered an act of insanity, just something that passes time. I like the fact that I can wear my top with my bra strap showing and my tummy peaking out and it’s not some sort of political sexual statement to be stared at, just that my jeans are low and my top is high, that you don’t need make up and to be beautiful, being fat is fine, and no one is going to give you crap, and beauty is not something that you kill yourself over, it’s not something that one needs to put together in perfect, clothes, live and stuff like that is just thrown on and you go. I know no one is going to spend hours talking to me about project deadlines, abotu what they do, it will be about nothing and something, just chatting. Maybe about the new movie star, the nice little walk, and that how great Australia is. Simple, slightly boring. But nice.
Sydney airport has art in the place.
It has art in the place because they commission artists to put thier work there. Wow
Yan Sham-Shackleton Online 