Beauty lies in mysterious things
Dimples
Freckles
Fingertips
These will not tarnish like diamond rings
A treasure buried beneath our skin
Peel it back and feel the sting
Truth waits patiently in the dark
The conviction of the human heart
To have clarity from the very start
Not always a walk in the park
Indecision
Convolution
Life in halves is soul pollution
Hesitant to make mistakes
A mistake to hesitate
Handle with caution while the other one breaks
One deafening silence
Another one aches
Mouthfuls of explanation
A tightrope of trepidation
Cracks that form under expectation
Mirrors that are turning in
Look inside and feel the sting
The beep of my mobile phone tells me that he is back. His feet could have hit the ground at any stage during the day, but I knew I would not see him until later on in the afternoon. He always leaves me guessing. I spent the day with my best friend in a new city. We walked as we talked about all the paths we want to play out. We held paper cups full of bitter coffee in our hands. I checked my phone more than I would have liked that day. I have never been so impatient or anxious. I have never been so sure.
Light blue to orange colored the sky. Late afternoon was approaching and a sinking feeling like quicksand sat in the pit of my stomach. I opened my arms to each and every beautiful distraction. Brown eyed boys and lips stained red from squashed grapes. Empty green bottles line the kitchen windows. I straighten out the creases in my white sheets. I lay my body down and stare out at the trees that somehow remain green despite the lack of rain. I still do not feel guilty about the absurd length of my bi-daily showers. I will stand beneath that shower head until every single worry is washed away. And that is what I did. I wash my hair and I hang my head. I do every little thing I can to make myself feel like the person I am. And then I let my wet hair soak into the sheets of my bed.
Words are written in order to settle my mind. I need so badly to get back to that place where I won’t drop to my knees as soon as my eyes see his face. He is just a boy, like any other. I turn up the volume to keep my mind on track. A melodic distraction in the face of perfection. As I pin my hair back I isolate the predominant thoughts in my mind: I am growing increasingly impatient…but I know this is not the right time. The tug-of-war between these two opposing thoughts is a battle I am prepared to raise the white flag for. Self confliction is exhausting. I want to give all my energy to each avenue of thought, but I fall short when it comes to this newly found impatience. Swimming against the current will do that to a girl. And so, with a newly acquired mindset, I decide to be completely present during the experience. I decide not to let my mind wonder off in quiet contemplation.
I see him even before he makes contact with my front door. The sun has painted his skin a darker shade and his hair tells a story of a boy who sat alone in the wilderness for over seven days. I can see his shadow in the corridor as he knocks without end on a good friend’s door.
“Hey hey!” I exclaim as we meet halfway in an embrace.
“So! Tell me everything!” I say as we make our way into the kitchen.
It is his smile that gives him away. I can tell that he has come out of the woods and into the light. We all knew he would. But what we didn’t know is how profoundly he would do so. Just being around him is electric. He is calm but wired; he is relaxed but skittish; he is renewed but exhausted. He raises his arms to the sky as he tries his best translate the awe felt as he surrendered himself to Mother Nature. He shakes his head from side to side as he relays the turbulent times to me. I am doing my best to visualise a landscape as foreign to me as outer space. Stories are swapped over a table full of food and night falls around us and the cityscape. Questions rise and fall. The answers always lead off somewhere else. The point is always forgotten. But we laugh nonetheless as our tummies swell from being overfed.
I have heard many times before that you should consider yourself lucky to count your good friends on one hand. These are the ones that lift you higher, the ones that challenge you to be better and seek out something that is unique and meaningful for you. They love you, eat with you, dance with you, cry with you, laugh with you, dream with you….they are the ones that make you question the things that matter. They are the ones that give meaning to the mundane and connect you to something inconceivably bigger.
As we fell asleep that night, I felt absolute contentment that people like this actually exist. The sound of his breathing made its way up to where I lay and just before I the night stole me away I whispered a prayer to whoever was listening…thank you.
one day i dreamt that
you came running back to me
with skin like the sea
this is a haiku
randomly put together
words that make no sense
to write
to right
tonight
two nights
+ two nights
he is in my sights
and into my arms he sails
Relentless wind and dry heat
trams roll by my aching feet
heavy limbs
an ocean within
A day full of city sounds
nothing like a small town
strangers smile
a friendship begins
caffeine conversations
let the summer in
The last orange beams stretch across the sky
bursting at the horizons seams
a Melbourne summer is all I need
Sundown in the park
swapping stories in the dark
skin that stings
from all the good things
I’m a little girl once again
catching beetles in my hand.
It is in our nature as human beings to forge and seek out connections with others. Whether it is long lasting or fleeting, the desire to form bonds with others is an essential component of our make up. To connect with someone, on any level, allows us to feel real and gives meaning to the hours we keep. Everyone has something to offer. Even if you have to dig a little deeper to discover what that is. To connect with someone enables you to see life through their eyes. You open new windows of perception and for the briefest of moments, you may even get a glimpse of your place within the whole.
I have just recently made a new connection in this city. What could have remained a strictly two-dimensional exchange has now eloped into something of worth. Strangers weave in and out of my day in countless numbers. The guy that operates the tram on my way to work; the lady that makes me a juice in the morning; the couple that live across the hall from me; the young boy who works in the salon across the road from me; the old man that asks for change on Acland Street; the guy that makes me a coffee before each shift... I interact with these people through a mutual exchange of needs and wants, and yet I know nothing about them. I see them more often then I see my family and close friends, but due to some bizarre social construct, remaining anonymous is held in higher regard than making the effort to connect. These people are not cardboard cutouts. They all have a role to play. Behind the perceived two-dimensions is a person with a story to tell. Inside the private life of every stranger are passions, doubts, love, love lost, lust, longing, indecision, discontentment, plans, goals, hopes, ambitions, scars, broken hearts and rusty parts.
The need to connect has never been greater in today’s cyberspace race. Sites such as Facebook and Myspace have opened the floodgates to forming new connections. However, in an online environment such as these two sites, the quality of connection is questionable. Since when does social networking overshadow real friendship? Why do people add me as a ‘friend’ but never choose to connect with me in the real world? These sites nurture quantity over quality. Seeking out new ‘friends’ via this medium is nothing more than a numbers game. You don’t even really know who is dealing the cards.
So here’s a new philosophy….When you intersect: connect. Take time to consider that the person you are interacting with is exactly that, a person. Just like you and just like me. Blur the lines of social normality and walk away from that exchange with something real. Add that third or even fourth dimension to a perfect stranger. See the fire in their eyes when they speak of the things they love. Watch for the moment when they realise they have just shared something so intimate with you, a complete stranger. This moment is golden. This is the moment where you see with perfect vision, the thread that connects us all.
Nothing else matters, except for the moments we keep.
One day I will wake with an older face
And my bones will creak like worn floorboards
My hands will one day be creased and dry
With crows feet etched besides my eyes
My hair will change to different shades of grey
And lose the shine it once had
My feet will ache with the weight of the day
And my eyelids will grow heavy at sunset
One day I will wake with an older face
And the fire within may subside
This is when I will place my faith
In the regeneration of new life
I will watch my grandchildren play
And light up with the magic of youth
This is when I will turn to you and say
‘My life has been full’
Knowing all the while it begun with you
One day I will wake with an older face
And pray for the great beyond
Where all the aches and pains of old age
Sink deep like a pebble in a pond
It flows through my veins
Red and thick and full of pain
My heart beats his name
A search for meaning
A fire that burns inside
Taking me higher
Reluctant he stands
Behind a coffee machine
His heart is elsewhere
Like a volcano
His love waits dormant within
Waiting to explode
I can’t believe I agreed to this. There is just something so unbelievably grating about guided tours. The very structure of the idea goes against my very grain as a traveler. I detest the rigid tour guide whose job it is to punctuate the beautiful scenery with useless commentary. His monotone voice is creating an unfavourable soundtrack to my first visit to Cambodia. My experience is being jaded by a complete stranger dressed up as a faux Steve Irwin. His little khaki shorts and matching button up shirt is an ideal ensemble for any Indiana Jones premiere, but serve absolutely no purpose amidst this tropical backdrop. More importantly, what is this Englishman actually doing working as a tour guide in South East Asia? I imagine the answer has something to do with the abundance of opium and the ensuing passage of time lost in smoke filled huts.
“I think I want to abandon ship and swim across the river to safer shores” I say to my partner in crime. I turn my head to see his face and he is sweating profusely. He has wrapped his white singlet around his head and gives me a reassuring smile.
“Jules, relax! It’s only for an hour, and plus it’s free!”
What seemed like a good deal at the time has now eloped into the longest hour of my life. Spend three nights with us and you receive a free guided river tour. What they failed to mention was that your tour guide will forever taint your Cambodian experience and leave you with a long lasting distaste for double khaki.
“Alrighty you lot, here to our left we ave the small village of Khatoa. Made famous by it’s opium fields, this village is home to about three hundred people and we’ll be stopping off ere for a about thirty minutes while you lot have a geeze round alright?” Bingo. Looks like Indiana Irwin is in need of his next hit. We make our way to the front of the decrepit boat and I breathe a sigh of relief when my feet hit the muddy banks.
“Wow that was hectic! Annoying Englishman much?!”
He gives me that look that says “Jules, stop being so intolerant”. I don’t even know how he manages to convey that look of his. I do believe it has something to do with the angle of his blue-green eyes and the ever so suggestive grin that waits at the corners of his mouth. He has the kind of eyes that make me want to confess all my sins before him. It’s like he already knows my most intimate thoughts, but waits to see whether or not I decide to tell him anyway.
“I know, I’m sorry, but I just didn’t visualise this to be my authentic Cambodian experience. I feel like such a heinous tourist on this shot-gun tour”
I can tell that my attitude is starting to frustrate him ever so slightly. Circles of sweat have started to form on his forehead and I realise that the last thing he wants right now is to have to deal with his uber irritated and sarcastic girlfriend. He wipes the sweat away with the back of his hand and places both his hands on his hips.
“Ok, well let’s go exploring then, we have half an hour to kill so let’s wonder around this little village and find us an ‘authentic’ experience. What do ya reckon? Sound like a good plan?” He’s using his ‘sweet Danny’ voice. His non-confrontational Danny tone. It usually works a treat in calming me down but not in this instance. I am adamant that he is to blame for this predicament. Another fine example of why Lastminute.com isn’t always the best option. I can feel my jaw clenching and my patience slipping away with the humidity. I do my best to swallow down the need to verbalise how this entire situation could have been avoided. “Ok Daniel, let’s do it”.
Ahead we see the other tourists making their way along the main track to the heart of the village. They walk in packs and are defined by their fisherman pants, Birkenstock sandals and their multitude of cotton wristbands that broadcast ‘transient pseudo backpacker’. In the distance I can see a Coca-Cola sign, the red and white beacon of the western world. I feel like I am visiting Asia’s version of the Gold Coast. I tell myself that it’s only for half an hour and that I’ll get over it eventually.
“So touristy hey? Don’t ya think? Don’t ya reckon it looks real trashy?”
Finally, he echoes my thoughts.
“Yeah man, it’s like the Goldy Vs Nimbin on an Asian acid trip. It disgusts me.”
“Ha fully, it’s like Cheeky Monkey’s meets Lord of the Rings.”
“Ha! It’s like Cocomanga’s meets Cambodia.”
There’s a pause.
“Yeah…that last one sucked, I got nothing” I say in resignation.
“Well, how about we go down this little track instead, it looks way more interesting and less haggard, and we can meet back up with the pack before we get back on the boat? Don’t ya reckon that’s a good idea?”
“I do Daniel, its brilliant”. I feel my senses come back to life again and that stirring feeling inside me returns. He takes my hand in his and we walk side by side down the track less traveled. Everything is so lush and green around us. There is a constant humming in the air of small insects going about their day. The wind is laced with the sweetness of sugarcane and coconuts, and my legs itch as grass seeds stick my skin.
“Alright Daniel, if you could hear one song right now, what would it be?”
“Ummmm, hmmm, let me think…hmmm, one song…ok, I would hear Incubus ‘Pardon Me’, I love how full that song is”.
He starts humming the melody as we walk in zigzags in and out of the banana trees.
“Ok, next question for you Daniel. If you could only eat one fruit for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
He lets go of my hand and walks behind me as the track narrows. He is silent for a long time. I decide to answer my own question. “I think I would have to choose the mango, as not only is it substantial, but it is so ridiculously delicious and flavorsome. Either that or maybe strawberries, equally as tasty and so cute and bite-sized. Actually, maybe pineapples, because they are so sweet and juicy, kinda like you”. I wait for him to giggle or to at least propose a rebuttal to my suggestions but I hear nothing. I turn around to face him and he has the weirdest look on his face. “What’s up man?” He is looking around him as if he has lost something. “What is it man?” I ask again. I see the beginnings of panic painted across his face.
“Fuck Jules, I can’t find my watch, I think I’ve lost it.” He pats down the pockets in his shorts and checks inside his backpack. Nothing.
“Hang on, I’ll check my bag” I say, and rifle through my belongings but find nothing.
“It’s cool man, it’s just a watch, it’s replaceable, just buy a new one, and fuck it, we are on holidays so we don’t need to know what time it is anyway. The universe must want you to be timeless for a while, roll with it baby!”
He is suitably unimpressed with my response.
“Or even, we need a watch to see what time we need to back at the boat so we can get back to our room tonight”. Ok, point taken.
“Well, we can just estimate man. It’s not like they will leave without us. We’ve probably been walking now for about fifteen minutes so yeah, we should maybe start heading back about now”. I walk towards him with my arms outstretched. I give him a hug and tell him to chill the fuck out. I embrace him until I feel his body surrender to me, taking away all of his tension and frustration. We stand entwined as the waxy greenery envelops us.
“Lead the way D-Sal” I say whilst putting my backpack on. I look down at his feet as he walks in front of me. Those feet have served him well. They are the feet that have taken him all over the world and bought him back home again. They are the feet that twitch and itch for new sights and cramp at the thought of being tied down. They are the feet that lay next to mine in the middle of the night.
“Ok, so if we came from that general direction then we need to kinda go this way” he says as fallen branches crunch beneath our feet.
His voice sounds mildly puzzled but I choose not to question it. He stops abruptly and his bag crashes into my chest. “Thanks idiot, I didn’t need those breasts anyway”. I swear he doesn’t even hear me or register that he just body slammed me.
“Fuck Jules! I have no idea where we are, I can’t make out the track anymore, where the fuck are we?”
He is becoming flighty and it’s scaring the hell out of me. I ignore the alarm bell going off in my mind. There is just no fucking way we could possibly be lost. I don’t want to even entertain the thought.
“It’s cool man, we’ll find our way back, let me see, so if we came roughly from that area, then we should just scope around here for the track and follow it all the way back, easy”.
My voice is not my own, I am immediately suspicious and sense myself going into auto-pilot mode. This only happens at crucial times. All my emotions shut down and I am able to function on the most pragmatic level. I have switched into this mode only a few times in my life; two particular car accidents come to mind and one circumstance involving of a badly broken heart. I presume it has something to do with human conditioning and the primordial instincts of flight or fight. Whatever it is though, I am grateful it has its place within me.
“Jules, I’m not trying to psyche you out or anything, but I really do think we are lost babe”.
I can tell he is one step away from full fledged panic.
“Alright, how about you stay here, and I will walk over there and see if I can find the track? Just stay here, I’ll make sure I won’t go out of sight, I just want to get my bearings ok?”
I can tell that he wants me to be the one who stays put, while he goes off to seek out the track.
“We’ll take it in turns ok, I’ll go first, see what I can see, and then if I am unsuccessful, it’s your turn, ok?” There, a happy medium has been reached. He says absolutely nothing and his wordlessness makes me quietly uneasy.
As I walk away from him I make sure I am talking out loud the whole time so he can keep track of where I am. Surfboard shaped palm leaves slap me in the face as I negotiate my way through the tropical foliage. The midday sun is beaming down from above and my entire body is covered in a salty film. Little black bugs stick to my face and I am starting to regret the fact that I wore thongs. I look down at my legs and I am covered in the finest paper cuts from the dense under layer of plant life. The little red lines of broken skin aren’t enough to cause pain, but are deep enough to cause irritation and a general discomfort.
“OK DANNY! I AM JUST CHECKING OUT THIS LITTLE CLEARING, I’LL BE BACK IN A SEC OK?!” I scream out to him. He doesn’t answer but I know he can hear me. He must be morphing into full fledged panic mode by now.
I look around but nothing looks familiar to me. I am stuck in a maze of greenery and insect laden air. I am frustrated and thirsty. I bet this is karma for shooting my dagger eyes at the tour guide. Please get us home safely universe.
When I make my way back to Danny, he is sitting on top of his bag, looking defeated.
“Hey sunshine” I say as I wipe away the sweat from his forehead. He leans his head on my stomach and wraps his arms around my waist. He remains completely silent still. We stay together in this pocket of time, unmoving and mute, and wait for some kind of salvation or clue to fall from the canopy above.
“What happens if we really can’t find our way back Jules?” I feel his arms tighten around my waist.
“Whatever happens will happen man. The director obviously wants us to be lost together for a bit, possibly to add a dramatic twist to the plot of Danny & Jules. It could be worse; at least we have our health and each other. Besides, it’s not like we have anywhere we need to be”. Although that last part is true, it would be reassuring to actually know whether or not we would be spending the night in our two-star hotel.
Again, he says nothing. His silence is beginning to creep under my skin like a shiver.
“Talk to me Danny, don’t go all quiet, it does my head in man”.
“Sorry, I am just trying to work out a plan of what we can do. I think we are best to stay here. I don’t even know what direction we came from anymore. If we stay right where we are, we eliminate the risk of getting more lost, ya know what I mean?”
I don’t even really comprehend what he just said. All I keep thinking is that if there was one person I would prefer to be in this situation with, it would be him. Even in the worst case scenario, if we didn’t get found and we were to meet our tropical death, at least I would go to my grave laughing. At least the progression from being lost to dying would be filled with moments of absolute hilarity, would you rathers, and philosophical interpretations. I’m sure there are worse deaths to be endured.
We decide to stay put and to set up a makeshift camp under a leafy banana tree.
“Um, I don’t think we should sit there, aren’t banana trees a haven for snakes?”
“Jules, the only snake you have to worry about around here is the one in my shorts”.
I am disgusted at his response, but for some reason I can’t help but to smile. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the fact that we could actually die out here that made me instantly horny. I walk over to where he is sitting and bend down to kiss him. He gives me a wry look. He feels it too. It makes no sense for us to be keen in a situation like this. He wraps his hand around my neck and pulls me closer to his face. All I can taste is the salty sweat of his skin. He pulls my body on top of his and I wrap my legs around his torso. His hands slip under my dress and grabs at the curve of my back. I can feel the heat grow between my legs as he pushes his hips into me. He lifts my dress over my head and kisses my breasts. One hand moves inside my undies and I moan as he makes contact with me. I take his face in my hands and swallow his mouth as I rock closer and closer to that place I want to get to so badly. He takes off his shorts and pulls me back on top of him. Words spill out from my mouth as he pushes deep inside me. Rivers of sweat run down our chests and my hair sticks to my face. Pins and needles fall from the sky and shower down around us. He pushes into me for the final time and I watch from a greater height as I make my way back down into my body.
From a distance the rickety boat drifts away from the muddy embankment. Cotton clad tourists sit side by side as a man dressed in double khaki lists useless facts about the Cambodian forest.
Meanwhile, beneath the cover of a banana tree, two lovers lay in a tangled heap as fallen leaves stick to their naked skin.
Long distance love affairs aren’t what they used to be. Today’s technology has really paved the way for us lovers who are separated by the seas. Hand written love letters have been replaced with text messaging, facebook and my personal favourite, skype. This doesn’t mean it makes it any easier though. If anything, it makes it all the more frustrating. To know exactly what your beloved is doing, through regular status updates, late night texts and instant messaging, definately makes the miles in between fade away. But in no way does it bring them any closer to you. It’s like being told exactly what you are receiving this year for Christmas, but without being allowed to actually unwrap and enjoy it. You have their love, but you don’t have them next to you. Instead, you rely on a computer screen and temperamental internet connection to keep the thread weaving between you.
The future of the future.
We place so much importance on future prospects. We plan and organise, we re-plan and re-organise, we move on to plan two and then three and then we assess our back-up plans. When does forward thinking morph into wishful thinking? Is our faith so brittle that it threatens to crumble at the first obstacle? To depend on forward planning, in the context of relationships, is to set up boundaries and barriers to what otherwise could have been. We need to remember our young and naïve friend, spontaneity. To be spontaneous in our decision making is to really hone in on our gut feelings. Our instincts need to be on the forefront of the choices we make. If it feels good, then go with it. If something isn’t feeling right, then it probably isn’t.
Life is best lived in moments.
Too much forward thinking can get you into trouble. Too much structure can leave you feeling boxed in without much room for error. What we forget is that we are meant to make mistakes. Just because we don’t poo our pants and eat crayons anymore doesn’t mean we aren’t subject to poor judgment. We are so acutely aware of making mistakes that we don’t put ourselves in situations that warrant on the spot decisions. Alternatively, we use forward planning to foresee any possible crossroads in the future, and we already make our minds up before the coin has even been flipped.
Inside us is a universe.
We are all individuals. Our personalities, our past and present experience, our hopes and our dreams, all converge to make up who we are on this day. What you feel now may not be what you feel in one week, one month, or one year’s time. Nothing is set in stone, nothing is guaranteed. Considering this, nothing should be taken for granted. It is more realistic to believe that anything is possible, rather than crunching the numbers and arriving at a perceived outcome. It’s humbling to think that everything around you is in flux: an ever changing, ever morphing universal continuum.
You got to have Faith.
There is a difference between forward planning and faith. Faith is intangible. It is the unison of truth and hope. It is quiet contentment and gratitude for what has yet to unfold. It doesn’t predict the future, but it connects you to the future in a less structured way. It fills the quiet night and calms the rising tide within your mind. It is the flicker of something stirring inside you, something that doesn’t let you sleep at night, something that craves your unrelenting attention. You use you faith like a drug, and let it run thick through your veins.
In a world that screams out deadlines and action plans, I am grateful to step up and say this: I choose to own each and every thing I feel. I choose to listen to that voice within. I choose to be here, and nowhere else but here, in this moment. And because of this, he is no longer all the way over there.
He sits listlessly inside my chest, and watches me as I undress.
He is waiting for me amongst this crowd
I stand tall waiting to be found
Music blasts into my ears
Setting the scene and drowning out my fears
My eyes dart from face to face
Mapping out an unfamiliar place
Heavy eyes and a nervous sweat
Lovers that have never met
My lips meet his and I can taste his skin
Breathlessness from this point in
Restlessness stirs deep within
He pulls me closer to him
Wrapping me up in his limbs
I take in his perfect pout
Put my lips to his mouth
Swallowing the words that fall out
We lay hip to hip as his eyes sink ships
He waits for me to fall asleep
Two bodies in one tangled heap
Whispers float into my ears
Words he thought I didn’t hear
I know what he says is true
He knows that I feel it too
I don’t want to let that feeling out
So the words never leave my mouth
Instead they float through the air
Lingering in a lovers stare
Draped across our naked legs
Forming crowns above our heads
We stay still and wait for the dreams to come
I am about to embark on a ridiculously random adventure. It’s like a ‘choose your own adventure’ book, except someone else has chosen my path for me. Out of nowhere, a boy whom I have known for years through mutual friends has decided to fly me over for a first date. The thing is, is that he is currently residing in France. We are at polar opposites, and yet he has taken the gamble and is willing to risk a week of potential awkwardness for new love. I find it difficult to comprehend this outlandish decision on his part. Don’t get me wrong, I am a bleeding heart and always will be, but to actually step up to the plate and do something as wonderfully romantic as this for a virtual stranger is, well, rather dreamlike. And I don’t use the term ‘virtual’ lightly. You see, our humble beginnings saw each other emailing back and forth a few times a week. These emails soon gave way to longer and more personal online chats, and by the time I could day ‘Oui oui Paris’…I was already falling love.
When I fall in love, it usually happens quite quickly. I see someone I like, we share a couple of dinners and then bang, I’m smitten. I am a low maintenance modern-day Juliet. Make me a meal and I’m forever yours. However, this time is completely different for me. Is it possible to fall in love with someone’s thoughts before you actually fall in love with them as a whole? Well, that is how it happened for me. You see, my Romeo is a writer. He has a way with storytelling that is not only rich with description, but is also rife with hilarity. The funny guys always get the girls. For all you single men out there, I highly recommend taking a short course in Hilarity: 101 and then sit back as the ladies flock at your feet. Not only did he make me laugh, but he made every single part of me sing. His words are a time machine. He can teleport you to any point in time as if you were actually in amongst it. It takes courage to expose your most intimate thoughts.
Love really is the province of the brave.
So these emails soon gave way to instant chatting and I found myself going online more than I would like, just to catch a glimpse of his day. I could feel something shifting within me ever so subtly. I found myself smiling more and worrying less. I started thinking about him before I went to sleep. In the world of Jules, this means that he has begun to get beneath my skin.
And so in one week’s time, I will be in France.
Grandkids really do deserve grand stories.
And lovers really do deserve love stories.
This is by far the craziest thing someone has ever done for me. A gesture so powerful and telling, it leaves me weak at the knees. Something tells me that a simple ‘thank you’ just won’t do. Not unless it’s coupled with a bear hug, a tackle to the ground and perhaps that type of kiss that is undeniably addictive.
I’m not sure if this will be the beginning of something significant for me. All I know is that for once in my life, someone is courageous enough to step up to the table and bear it all. And for this alone, I am endlessly grateful.
She is filled with anticipation as she makes her way to the departure lounge. For the fourth time she checks that she has her passport and ticket in her carry on bag. Her hands fidget impatiently as she waits for the young mother in front of her to organise her disgruntled child. The five year old refuses to put his shoes on and his mother is at breaking point.
Gate one is now boarding. Forget the shoes, pick him up and let’s get this show on the road. He’s five years old woman, he’s not going to listen, and he would rather stick crayons up his nose than have to put his shoes on. So let it go, grant him this one small victory and let us all board the plane. Last call for passengers boarding flight FJ116 to Paris, please make your way to gate one as your plane is ready to board. This is not helping my anxiety one bit. Imagine if I’m seated next to this little shit. Impossible, no chance, the universe loves me too much to do that to me. Oh God, where’s my passport, I swear it was just here, please please please don’t tell me I’ve lost it. Side pocket, bingo. Ok, I’m good to go, please hurry up woman, this is getting ridiculous. The people behind me are becoming restless. I can feel them poking their heads out from the side of the line, trying to catch a glimpse of ‘good kids gone bad: season 3’. I don’t recall buying front row tickets for this tantrum of the century. Seriously kid, chill out, save your teary angst for your adolescence. I try to visualise my happy place…it’s late afternoon, the sun is about to set, I can feel the wind in my hair, I’m next to slow moving river when… “Excuse me Ma’am, may I please have your passport and boarding pass”…I open my eyes to see the plastic smile of the air hostess in front of me. The little shit is nowhere in sight and I sigh a breath of relief. “Enjoy your flight Ma’am”. Rock and roll, we have lift off.
Boarding the plane I smell one of my most favourite smells. It’s actually a combination of rather common smells, but when combined, leaves me gagging for more. Powdered coffee, refreshment towels and recycled air. In any other context, these smells would go unnoticed. But when in the context of a Boeing 747, these smells make me feel weightless and worry-free. If wanderlust could have a smell, this would be it. I breathe in deep, taking it all in as I look for the seat that will be mine for the next twenty-three hours. I casually scan my surrounds, checking out my fellow passengers and wondering if I get the aisle or the window seat. At this point, I’m not too fazed about either option. Wow, I’m actually on a plane to Paris. I would happily sit in the toilet the whole way just to prove a point about how excited I am. Or not. All these thoughts stream my mind when disaster strikes. Seat 46C. It’s an aisle seat. That’s fine. What’s not fine is that 46C is seated next to 46A and 46B. Incompetent mother and undiagnosed temper disorder child. The lord giveth and the lord taketh away. Why universe, why?
In an attempt to mask my bitter disappointment about my seating arrangements for the next twenty-three hours, I decide to introduce myself to Satan and his sidekick. “Hey guys! I’m Jules, what’s your name little man?” The kid shoots his dagger eyes at me and then turns to his mum and screams “I WANT MY PILLY!” “Darling, your pilly is in the big bag that we put underneath the plane, we’ll get him when we get to Paris honey, don’t worry”. Looking up at me the mother says “Don’t mind him, he’s just a little tired, he’ll settle down soon”. The idea of sitting out the flight in the toilet is not looking so bad anymore. I fake my best ‘that’s ok’ smile and take my ipod, my new book, and my journal out of my bag and place them in the seat pocket in front of me. I put my bag in the overhead locker and glance at the young guy sitting behind me. He gives me a sympathetic smile. He knows that he just won the seat lottery and no doubt feels my pain. And yet I want to punch him in the baby-maker for being lucky enough not to be seated next to the incarnation of Hitler. I take a deep breath in and sit down. Let it begin.
The emergency exits are located here, here, and here. For the first time I actually take notice of the closest exit to my seat. I figure that if my luck is bad enough to get seated here, then the odds of experiencing mid-air engine failure are quite high. Ensure you secure your oxygen mask first before securing the masks of young children. Amen to that. I clip together my seatbelt and prepare myself for take off. This is my favourite part. I close my eyes and centre myself. I listen to my breathing. I feel my heartbeat speed up. I ask myself ‘could you die happily now?’ The answer is always yes. I could die now with fulfillment and contentment with my life thus far. I take in every movement of the plane and every vibration. All the noises fall away around me and I hold my breath as the pressure builds in my chest. I say a silent prayer. Give me love. Bring me peace. Moments later we are in the air.
Looking down the aisle I see the food cart. I ponder what savoury delights are heading my way. Fingers crossed for some pasta or stir-fry creation. I think I need a wine. I feel particularly rattled and know that alcohol will settle my nerves. Alcohol and airplanes are like camembert and crackers. A match made in heaven. It always amazes me how quickly one can get intoxicated whilst in mid-air. High altitudes, thinning blood and alcoholic beverages: the perfect combination. The air hostess parks the food cart one centimeter away from my head. I can smell something fishy. “Ma’am, would you like tuna pasta or mushroom and pork omelet?” Is she serious? Is that seriously my only two options? Cat food or egg-fungi. I should have pretended I was vegetarian. “I’ll take the omelet thanks, and a large glass of red wine”. At least they had wine. Every dark cloud has a silver lining right? Or not. “Sorry Ma’am we only have white wine, ok?” Well no, not ok. For me, drinking white wine is the equivalent of snorting freshly ground pepper up one’s nose. It’s like instant hay fever in a glass. “Ok, well I’ll just have a beer then”. The little kid on my right is starring at me like I’m a leper. I know that look. It’s that look you give someone when they are being a pain in the arse. I think he may have learnt that look off me. I refrain from mashing his snotty little head into my omelet.
Dear universe, please deliver me patience and a good night of sleep. After our dinner has been taken away, I decide that it’s almost music and sleep time. But first it’s bathroom time. I undo my seatbelt and make my way to the back of the plane. There’s no one lining up. This is the highlight of my day. I pick the bathroom with the best feng shui and close the door behind me. It’s immaculately clean inside. It even smells nice. I make a mental note that this will be the bathroom I’ll use every time. I look at myself in the mirror. I am not wearing any make-up and my hair is a scruffy mess, but I look good. I have that glow about me that resonates from my eyes and in my cheeks. I am happy. I am deliriously happy. I lean in closer to my reflection and plant a kiss upon my own lips. This is what it’s all about.
Moments later I am settled back in my seat. To my surprise and delight, the little one is fast asleep. I study his sleeping face and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Maybe he’s not so bad after all. I reach for my ipod and know exactly what song I need to hear. I lean back into my seat and close my eyes. I am on…switched on…a sudden clearness and clarity…I’ve been waiting for you…in the Joiners Arms…you make my tongue loose…I am hopeful and stutter free. I think about the journey ahead. I am beside myself with disbelief. I am really on my way to Paris. Heat rises up in my stomach, a slow recoil and release of adrenalin. I fear that if I let my mind venture past this very moment, I may spontaneously combust with excitement and anticipation. I allow myself one brief thought; imagine when I get to look into his eyes once again. Head on my chest…a silent smile…a private kind of happiness. Everything sounds so far away and finally, I surrender to sleep.
I must be dreaming. I am standing in the middle of a swaying field of wheat. The wind pushes the uniform rows back and forth in a choreographed dance. There is no one else but me. I can hear the sounds of waves breaking in the distance and the smell of salt lingers in the air. I look up to see an upset sky washed in stormy grey. Lightening pulses on and off above. Drops of rain begin to fall and cling to my hair like silver beads. I leave my rain drenched clothes in a pile at my feet and raise my hands to the sky to wash me clean. I weave in and out of the rows of wheat, knowing somewhere close he is watching me. I can feel his eyes tracing my spine; he waits patiently as I take my time. I drop to my knees and my head hangs down, becoming one with the softened ground. Can he not see that I want to be found? He inches closer to me and is now at arms reach. Puddles begin to fill around our feet. We are tangled limbs and body heat. We are reddened chins and naked feet. We fit together now as one heartbeat. Suspended weightlessly in ecstasy. Giant proclamations are all very well…but our love…is louder than words. I fall out of my dream and into a deeper sleep.
I awake to find 46B staring amusedly at me. “What’s so funny kid?” I ask Satan’s little helper. “You talk in your sleep! Even Mummy heard you!” Oh God. I am instantly filled with fear that I yelled something out in my sleep. I can’t even remember what I was dreaming about. I only have an aftertaste of my dream. From what I can remember it was amazing. Thank you kind universe for giving me a dream like that. “You said the ‘F’ word in your sleep!”. Oh lordy. I feel my cheeks burn with red and I try my best to ignore him for fear of more public humiliation. Did I really scream that out?! Please don’t tell me that the entire plane just witnessed me have an orgasm in my sleep. I check the time and work out that we are past the half way mark of the flight. Let’s hope the second half isn’t as action packed as the first half. I stand up to go to the bathroom, but my left leg is still asleep. I try to shake out the pins and needles. “Dead leg! Dead Leg!” I am beginning to hate this kid. Children under ten should not be allowed on long-haul flights, period.
I make my way to my favourite feng shui-friendly bathroom. I try my hardest not punch a hole in the wall when I see the ‘occupied’ sign in red. Whoever is in my bathroom better leave it in pristine condition or I will be making an official complaint. Moments later, the young guy who was sitting behind me exits the cubicle. He has a smug look on his face. I instantly dislike him. “What’s up?” he asks in a playful voice. Is this guy trying to chat me up? In a world without consequence I would have urinated in my pants and drawn his attention to it. Two birds and one stone: his interest would automatically dwindle and my need to use the bathroom would be no more. “Not much man, just hoping to use the bathroom really” I respond through clenched teeth. We shuffle awkwardly around one another as I make my way to the door. “Well looks like you’ve already joined the mile high club, I heard ya back there sweetheart, squirming around in your seat!”. I slide the bathroom door closed and do my best to drown out his repulsive chuckle as he makes his way back down to his seat. This is humiliation at its greatest. I guess it could be worse. At least I still have my youth and my health. I scan the dimensions of the cubicle and wonder if it’s hygienic enough for me to spend the remainder of my flight here. I would do anything to be back in that field of wheat.
Swallowing my pride I make my way back to my seat. I keep my eyes to the ground in order to avoid any prospect of conversation. I hastily shove my headphones into my ears and pick up my book. I look back at all the dog-eared pages I have made. Each folded corner is a reminder for me to go back and re-read the words that necessitate re-reading. Sentences that not only connect with the reader, but hold them hostage. Words that are strung together so perfectly that you want them tattooed to your skin. Sentences that remind you that every object is in flux, the earth, time, concepts, love, life, faith…are all fluid and in transition. Sentences that sink in deeply to your core, and leave you feeling nauseatingly enlightened. With each word I read, I am able to drift away from this time and place. I read until my eyes feel as heavy as lead. You have always been connected to me...concealed, revealed…in the known…a strange passion is moving in my head…every moment is made glorious.
There is no worse way of getting woken up than by a not so subtle blow to the head. “Sorry Ma’am, I didn’t see you there! Would you care for some breakfast?”. I am speechless. My mouth is as desert and I am fairly sure the air hostess just rammed me in the head with the food cart. The pitfalls of the aisle seat. I agree to eat some powdered egg creation as she gleefully pours me a coffee. I swear she hates me. She hates me because I sleep so much when she can’t. She hates me because I’m on a plane to Paris while she heats up hand towels. Her paint-by-numbers smile does not fool me. Or perhaps I’m just reading into it. Since when do airlines serve cake for breakfast? I decide not to question it. I’ll have my cake and eat it too.
Good Morning passengers on flight FJ116 to Paris, this is your captain speaking, we are forty minutes ahead of schedule and will be touching down at approximately eleven-thirty am, the land temperature at the destination is twenty-five degrees and sunny. Since when are planes ever ahead of time? Again, I am not going to question it. In two hours time I will be in Paris. It is beginning to feel all too surreal. This flight has literally flown right by. I am nervous as hell. There is a hummingbird inside my chest. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had that last coffee. I am high off caffeine and new love. Somewhere in Paris he waits for me. I know him deeply but I hardly know what he looks like. I know his most intimate thoughts but I have not known him intimately. I know what makes him laugh but I have never heard his laugh. These are the thoughts that swim in circles around my mind.
“Did you know that playing music too loud will make you go deaf?”. Is this little kid for real? I want to ask him if he knows what an anti-christ is but I refrain. Instead, I smile gingerly at him whilst casually making a clock-wise semicircle with my right thumb on my ipod. I fear that my speakers will blow out, but I decide that it will only consolidate my point. I see his little oval shaped mouth moving, and yet I hear nothing. Every few seconds I nod politely and feign enthusiasm. This moment is nothing short of hilarious for me. I consider ever so briefly a future in stand up comedy. From this angle, the kid looks like he is belting out a Cure classic. This is faux karaoke at its best. There is definitely something ridiculously funny about a five year old miming the lyrics to ‘Boys Don’t Cry’. I decide that I am getting far too much enjoyment out of this moment and thus decide to turn my attention to my journal. I am in need of an entry.
October 25, 2008: An entry from 15 000 feet above. In less than one hours time I will be in Paris. I am more nervous than I thought. I can’t even let my mind go there. This flight will no doubt leave me looking haggard as hell. Thank god I booked a hotel room. I can’t wait to have a shower and wash my hair. I wonder what he is doing right now. I wonder if he is as nervous as I am. This is possibly the craziest thing I have done. Melbourne one day and then Paris the next. Amen to the credit card. What am I going to wear? Something effortless and sexy. Something effortlessly sexy. I’m thinking jeans and a top. Or maybe a dress and boots. I sound like I am fifteen again. I feel like I am fifteen again. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. One life right? Better make it as random and as memorable as possible. So do I kiss him on the cheek and give him a hug? Or do I just give him a hug? I should I do that thing that guys do, that half hug, half pat on the back thing? I think I’m over-thinking it. I just need to relax, breathe in and out, and go with the flow. I can’t believe we will actually get to share that bottle of red wine together. When something feels this good, it has to be right, right? I wonder if he knows just how much his words set me on fire.
I watch the air hostesses prepare the cabin for landing. They scuttle about like marching ants. They check lockers and collect rubbish. They re-check the same lockers and move their heads from left to right as they patrol the footrest of each passenger. Like dogs, children under five have a refined sixth sense and intuition when it comes to reading adults. They know instinctively when something is wrong. They are the thought police. I can feel his beady little eyes staring directly at me. I am paranoid that he is reading my thoughts. “Why are you going to Paris all by yourself?” he asks inquisitively. I consider the option of completely ignoring him but I am under the impression that this will only make things worse. “Well, I’m actually meeting someone who is living there at the moment”. I see him weigh this up in his mind. “Is it a boy or a girl?”. I feel like I am being interrogated. I decide to answer this as succinctly as possible. “A boy”. I swear my heart just missed a beat. “Is he your boyfriend?”. Another beat is missed. “Well, he is a friend of mine who is a boy, so yes; I guess you could call him my boyfriend”. He looks perplexed by this answer. I feel somewhat victorious. “Do you kiss him?”. And the ball goes back to his court. “No, I have never kissed him”. A smile lingers ever so slightly at the corners of my mouth. “Do you want to kiss him?”. With all my heart. “Sorry kid, question time is up, let’s get ready to land!”.
I have time for one last song. It has to be memorable and mark the occasion. It has to psyche me up without psyching me out. The silence surrounds you and holds you…I think I might have inhaled you…I can feel you behind my eyes….you’ve gotten into my bloodstream…I can feel you flowing in me. No longer will he sit in the shadows of my mind. I can now bring him to the surface and out into the light. I soften my clenched jaw as we make contact with the Parisian tarmac. We are now in the same sphere. The spaces in between two minds and all the places they have been. I know he knows I am here. There is sweetness in the air, as if rose petals have freshly fallen from the sky. My pupils dilate more and more with each inhaled breath. It feels as if I’ve stepped off the plane and into a dream.
When I arrive at the hotel I am weary eyed but still full of life. I drop my bags at the foot of the bed and fall face down on the king sized bed. The quilt smells like vanilla and sandalwood. I inhale this new scent deep into my lungs. I am really here. I am actually here in Paris. I laugh out loud. How ludicrous! Sitting up on the bed I scan my new environment. There really is something about five star hotels. I take in the luxury and decadence of the furnishings. Everything is cast out of black marble or rosewood. There are fresh white lilies on the bedside table. The widows open out on top of a quiet cobbled street. Below my balcony, butchers and fruiters go about their afternoon of trade. Scooters are lined up one by one along the side of the street. I can here the crackly radios of the cafes below. I listen to people chatting to each other in a language I am yet to master, and I smile at the thought of being a fish out of water. I check the bar fridge. Hallelujah, there is a decent selection of wine. Oh how I love the French. I check the time and it’s now past four pm. I chose the deepest and darkest looking red wine and pour myself a long awaited glass. Before I let the burgundy liquid hit my lips, I say a toast: here’s to all that is, and to all that has yet to be.
It is five o’clock by the time I finish my first glass of wine. I feel warm and limber. I unpack my clothing and put on a CD. The sounds of a soulful French woman fill the room. I can’t help but to wonder what she is singing about. Every word sounds painfully beautiful. I turn up the volume as I take a shower. Water spills out like crystal bullets onto the black marble tiles. Goosebumps form on my arms and legs as hot water creates rivers through my hair. I wash away every little thing that crept under my skin on the flight. I allow my worries to flow like bubbles down the drain. One by one, they all float away.
Weeks ago we agreed on a meeting place. It is a place so intrinsically Parisian and as iconic as a croissant or a baguette. We plan to meet beneath the southern face of the Eiffel Tower. I have played out this moment over and over inside my head. Each time I visualise it, it is different. This means that I have not a clue what to expect. For the first time in a long time, it is largely out of my hands. I feel a rising wave within my chest. I pour another glass of wine as I examine my reflection. The hot water has left red blotches all over my skin, like little heart-shaped islands on a map. These blotches run all the way from my shoulders and down along my back. I place my hands on my hips as I ponder what to wear. I wiggle on a pair of black jeans and black silk top. The silk swims across my skin like a fish. This is what I will wear. It was without effort. And I feel comfortably sexy. This is the closest I’ll ever be to being ‘effortlessly sexy’. I take a sip of wine and look at my clothed reflection. This is the Jules he will set his eyes on for the very first time.
I make my way down to the street below. The suited doorman gives me a friendly wink as I leave the hotel. This wordless gesture is an offering of good luck. I accept it from him and wear it like a charm around my neck. I get into the nearest available taxi and do my best to piece together my broken French for the driver. I sit back and take in all the history around me. Buildings are cracked like old bones and vines weave their way between the gaps like leafy veins. The sun is beginning to set and the sky looks like a fire. All shades of red, yellow, orange and grey light up the cityscape. I absorb all this beauty through some divine osmosis. My mind is as still as a lake. I don’t want to be anywhere else but here.
I fumble with all my Euro change and pay the driver. It’s not until he has driven off that I realise I thanked him in Italian. I’m sure he appreciated the ‘grazie’ in my Australian accent. I let it go as I am now here. I can see the lit up tower in all her glory. Tourists swarm around her four legs. The crowd is punctuated with bright flashes and mixed languages. My palms begin to sweat and the hummingbird is back inside my chest. I can feel him amongst this crowd. I stick my hands in the back pockets of my jeans as I make my way to the southern face. I am knocked from left to right as eager tourists snap the last of their shots before the sun completely sets. I remind myself that this moment will undoubtedly last a lifetime. I do my best to relax and enjoy each and every second in waiting. I look up at her southern face as she lights up a thousand bright lights in my name. I step backwards into a space amongst the crowd and wait patiently to be found. The wind is laced with the scent of red roses and whips my hair across my face.
Waves ascend within my core. The hummingbird slows down. I take one look into his eyes and know that I have been found. Stars fall from the night sky. He brings his lips to mine. I kiss his mouth as lovers words fall out.
I am nowhere else but here.
I recently had a revelation.
It came to me one evening whilst I was leaning on the bar at the northern. Clarity can really strike in the oddest of places. It was close to 3am and the alcoholic haze was beginning to wear off. I heard an echo of a voice inside asking me, 'What have you done today to make this particular day memorable and worthy?'. Aside from initiating a drunken handstand competition inside a friend's living room and pretending to molest a horse figurine, I realised that this particular day had not equated to much.
It was then, as I stared down at my vodka and lime soda, that I made the decision to make these early hours count. You see, I live in fear of looking back on my life in years to come with regret for not seizing the moment or at least making something of it.
Even if it blows up in your face, at least it will be memorable.
A deep breath in and a deep breath out. Make this count.
I watched the pieces of my mind fall out of my mouth and onto the ears of another. Each spoken word was a weight off my mind.
Were my feet still touching to the ground?
There are two things in life which are certain. You were born and you will die. But so often we forget that the spaces in between those moments are for you to do as you please. You own each and every moment. You string them all together and make them your own, and one day you will look back at all those little pieces of time and with a bit of luck, your heart will fill with pride.
Who would have thought that an awakening of this kind could be found in the seedy shadows of the northern?
Oh, and don't get me wrong, I still hold much value in partaking in handstand competitions. I will take each and every one of you on. Really.
A wise man once told me that life is all about peaks and troughs.
You rise and rise.
You ride the highest peaks and you look down at your old self below and wonder how you ever got down there in the first place. The view is good from up high. Everything is washed in insignificance and you get the strange feeling that this is what its all about.
From this height, the search stops here.
And then the troughs.
You never see them coming. They creep up on you like a shiver running down your spine. You wonder how it felt to be up so high without sparing a thought for what lies down below. You cling to that feeling of yesterday and hope that it is able to light up the darkest days.
You feel nostalgic and nauseous.
You feel human.
You choose to follow your gut and to leave nothing undone. You know that you will look back at the troughs at some stage and be as attached to those times as you were to the peaks. You come to understand that there is always worse.
There are no bad choices when you follow your heart.
A million mistakes are worth much more than a stone unturned.
Here's to the peaks, the troughs, the brightest and the darkest days, the shared moments and the quiet ones...here's to making it count regardless of the cost.
How do you go about telling your good mate that you are attracted to him? It’s a scenario I’m sure everyone has been in, where the lines that define your friendship get blurred. There is obviously a natural degree of attraction between good friends of the opposite sex. He’s your close friend for good reasons. He’s funny and intelligent. He’s individual and creative. You can tell him virtually anything and you know he’s not going to place judgment on you. You are completely yourself around him and you know he truly knows you. He’s got the bluest eyes that shipwreck you each and every time you look into them.
Solution? Don’t look into his eyes any longer than you have to. Keep yourself as far away as you can from this flame.
The thing about forbidden attraction is that it’s so fucking attractive. Knowing that you shouldn’t want it makes it even more desirable. So what are the options? Do I spill my guts and hope for the best? Or do I bite it down and wish it was his lips that I was kissing instead of someone else’s?
Those lips of his have never looked so good.
A few kisses between good friends shouldn’t sway the ship too much should it?
And what of him? I wonder if he feels anything when he looks into my eyes. Does anything stir behind his cool façade? There is only one way to find out. It involves copious amounts of alcohol and a night made from magic. Precision timing is required. It has to be wordless and relies solely on the perfect moment. It’s that moment where it’s just you and him. It’s that moment in between the next round of laughter, where both of you are right there in that pocket of time and no where else. You take the plunge and tap dance on the line of friendship. You do away with the line completely. You are without speech and your mind is as still as a lake. You lean in closer than comfort permits, and you wait. You wait for him to make contact. Everything else slows down and falls away around you. You feel the blood heat up inside your veins. You wait for him in this pocket of time and hope that he feels it too.
There are two possible outcomes here. A uniquely win-win situation. Option one: Your knees turn to jelly as he kisses you back. His lips taste better than you imagined and the heavens open above. Option two: You’re left dangling in that moment that he is not going to seize and you are frozen. You step back, observe the line, piss yourself with laughter as you die a slow death inside. You comment on how drunk you are and how random that was. Mission aborted. You carry on with a weightless conversation as you secretly pick up the shards of glass that was once your beating heart.
You tell yourself that it’s better to know than it is to wonder.
I would rather leave no stone unturned.
I would rather be fearless and courageous and know that life is meant to be lived.
Sink slowly into the depths of his blue eyes and let it all go.
