Friday, January 19, 2007
Forever young, forever wrong right
When I stepped into my Melbourne apartment last night, the place was sparkling, the newspapers were stacked neatly, the carpet smelled fresh and clean, the toilet was positively gleaming, and the dining table was spotless.
I'm afraid it didn't last that way for long. As I type, approximately 14 hours since my return, dirty bowls and cups litter the coffee table, the once clear dining table has my highlighters and opened mail scattered all over the place, and my luggage lies open next to the couch, clothes and shoes spilling onto the floor.
Yup, things are back to normal!
My very first solo flight(s) was(were) fine. I've never feared flying, just the immigration and customs parts, where my deepest anxieties centered around some problem with my passport or a pair of soily shoes which would mean getting impounded in Perth with no money and no phone and no one to bail me out. Australian cutoms are damn stict lar, and I was subjected to a full luggage search instead of the standard x-ray machine scan. Why? I don't know, maybe I looked like a terrorist with my enormous luggage, lap top bag and, Mui Kee would vehemently agree, my 'bomb bag' (which by the way, contained fluffy stuff like an eyelash curler, lip gloss, and a copy of Dostoyevsky's Idiot, which the customs lady stared at for a while, as if I had deliberately placed it there to mock her). At least she was kind enough, complimented my boots, laughed at my cow soft toy and apologised for making me wait nearly an hour from arrival at Perth to departure from the international terminal to the domestic terminal. The transfer was simply awful. Even with the free bus transfer, I had to drag my luggage over at least a 100m walk. Which seems like nothing in normal circumstances; but when nearly falling over with trying to keep my 'bomb bag' (Mui's term, not mine) on my ginormous luggage, my lap top on my shoulder, my passport bag on the other, and my boobs from falling out of my shirt, the 100m felt more like a 100km.
Ah well, I survived it, and I no longer fear travelling alone, (as long as I can do a symbolic third finger to the customs people by always placing Idiot face up right on top where it'll be the first thing to see if they decide to invade my privacy). Adjusting to Melbourne again was much easier than the very first time and even the second time.
I'll be meeting Jane, Becky and Leanne for dinner later, but at the moment, I really do miss my Singapore friends! Ah well, I'll put on the biscuit earrings, picture locket (not my secret fantasy, eve) and the clique ring (I really like it, you guys!) and pretend we're still trumping around town, getting obnoxiously drunk at other people's houses, downing peanuts, milo balls (those were not Koko Crunch, Mui!) and Shirley Temples at K-Box; invading our ex-school and 'stealing' food meant for the little girls in blue pinafores.
I'm afraid it didn't last that way for long. As I type, approximately 14 hours since my return, dirty bowls and cups litter the coffee table, the once clear dining table has my highlighters and opened mail scattered all over the place, and my luggage lies open next to the couch, clothes and shoes spilling onto the floor.
Yup, things are back to normal!
My very first solo flight(s) was(were) fine. I've never feared flying, just the immigration and customs parts, where my deepest anxieties centered around some problem with my passport or a pair of soily shoes which would mean getting impounded in Perth with no money and no phone and no one to bail me out. Australian cutoms are damn stict lar, and I was subjected to a full luggage search instead of the standard x-ray machine scan. Why? I don't know, maybe I looked like a terrorist with my enormous luggage, lap top bag and, Mui Kee would vehemently agree, my 'bomb bag' (which by the way, contained fluffy stuff like an eyelash curler, lip gloss, and a copy of Dostoyevsky's Idiot, which the customs lady stared at for a while, as if I had deliberately placed it there to mock her). At least she was kind enough, complimented my boots, laughed at my cow soft toy and apologised for making me wait nearly an hour from arrival at Perth to departure from the international terminal to the domestic terminal. The transfer was simply awful. Even with the free bus transfer, I had to drag my luggage over at least a 100m walk. Which seems like nothing in normal circumstances; but when nearly falling over with trying to keep my 'bomb bag' (Mui's term, not mine) on my ginormous luggage, my lap top on my shoulder, my passport bag on the other, and my boobs from falling out of my shirt, the 100m felt more like a 100km.
Ah well, I survived it, and I no longer fear travelling alone, (as long as I can do a symbolic third finger to the customs people by always placing Idiot face up right on top where it'll be the first thing to see if they decide to invade my privacy). Adjusting to Melbourne again was much easier than the very first time and even the second time.
I'll be meeting Jane, Becky and Leanne for dinner later, but at the moment, I really do miss my Singapore friends! Ah well, I'll put on the biscuit earrings, picture locket (not my secret fantasy, eve) and the clique ring (I really like it, you guys!) and pretend we're still trumping around town, getting obnoxiously drunk at other people's houses, downing peanuts, milo balls (those were not Koko Crunch, Mui!) and Shirley Temples at K-Box; invading our ex-school and 'stealing' food meant for the little girls in blue pinafores.
# posted by me lah @ 2:42 pm 
