moving-parts

[moving-parts]

Even Extroverts Are Over It

I'm tired. Are you?

To the left, having breakfast near the buffet area, sat gorgeous yogis Alex and Becky.  To the right, seated at a long table near the sea-facing windows, were a gaggle of darling old school friends.  Fact: everyone at this wedding was a freakin’ delight, various permutations of charm, intelligence, and beauty.  I was exceedingly lucky to be there.

Walking through the main entranceway, I was headed toward the dining area, thinking I’d sit and check my phone quietly.

And that was when I spotted both lots, the yogis and my school pals.  A deep, true fondness gripped my heart, as it always does.   But they were at opposite ends of the room, and right at that second, I was hit by a tsunami of exhaustion.

My brain checked out.  It decided it was too hard to circulate, to choose who I’d say hello to first, bearing my usual goofy grin and eagerness to chat, laugh and tease.

So I walked onward, across the stone floor and down the wide, dark stairs leading to the tamed by-the-ocean wilderness outside.   I found a lovely log by the campfire site, where cake-cutting occurred the night before.

It was the third and final day, and that was enough.  Even for me.

This entire crazy, beautiful wedding - guests, wedding party, guest’s children -  laid claim to this boho luxe resort perched high in Santa Cruz.  The structure was both astounding and gentle; wood, stone, and metal merging into the dunes and surf of Portugal’s Western coast.  

Three days of making new friends, laughing with old ones, taking endless selfies, having meaningful conversations, sharing glasses of the local red, putting up clips on Instagram, flooding Facebook with endless posts, Facetiming, and WhatsApping our beloveds back home.   It was the most magical of circuses.   And yes, dear reader, I’m aware this sounds almost too fabulous, in a Harper’s Bazaar kind of way.   Which it was! I loved every damn second.  

But I will say this; an extrovert’s magazine-editorial dream can be an introvert’s horror story.

Extroversion may be this generation's most useful trait.  If you're an extrovert, my guess is you're more likely to post regularly on Instagram, bellow on Twitter and have considered running a YouTube channel.  Facebook isn't on the list because, oddly, I've found that people who claim to really hate people are actually on Facebook rather a lot.  Peculiar.

I’m a self-confessed extrovert.  I love people, am curious about them, and will even make friends with inanimate objects (my pot-black chilli plant is the most non-judgemental of confidants).  And yes, I’m thoroughly guilty of social media overshare.  But sometimes, it all gets too much.

It’s not so much that I’m addicted.  It’s more that at times I feel obligated, bound.  I’ve started, so can’t stop.  Even when my beloved aunt passed away, I still, ridiculously, posted to let folks know I wouldn’t be posting, that I needed a few days.

I am in awe of those who engage daily and stunned by entrepreneurs who post multiple times a day.  They weave chapters of life with each new post and picture.  Social media is this brave new world’s way of storytelling, a way of finding meaning and connection.

But sometimes you just want to sit on a log.  Alone. 27th November 2018

#extrovert #introvert #travel writing #portugal #wedding #friends #essay #social media #writing #writers on tumblr

[moving-parts]

As A Cat - II

Hey @neil-gaiman , I wrote a thing because my heart is breaking.  And I can't send it to the boy I wrote it for, but I think it'd be nice if someone got to read it. And that someone may as well be you because I think you'd understand. Sorry if this is weird.     

“I should go home and feed the cat,” says my dear friend Jen, resplendent with her freshly trimmed silver locks and thick, angular black spectacles. She leaves the craft brewery where we’ve gathered for Caitlin’s birthday, to catch a tram home where her beloved Fatpants will be waiting; lazy, yawning and appreciative of company. There is a kind of human that claim to hate cats, who firmly declare they are only ‘dog people’.  However, it is rare of us who love cats (and yes, I say ‘us’ so you, dear reader, are aware of this writer’s allegiance) to have a specific dislike of dogs.   At worst, we will say that dogs are too much to bother with.  That we don't have time, dedication or resources to own a dog, properly.   When we say we “can’t have a dog”, it is an admission of our limits, not a prejudice against the animal. So it’s not that we don’t like dogs - it’s that owning a dog is somewhat beyond us.   The key here is in the word ‘own’.  Own.  Owned.  

Let that roll around your head for a bit.  Dogs are owned.  Cats are not (in fact, cats are often disparaged by the very humans that share their space, albeit in a gentle, loving fashion). 

Responsible dog owners believe it is rightful duty to point themselves homewards at the appointed hour, in order to walk, feed and tend.   Whereas responsible cat companions may saunter back home at an indeterminate point, quietly remembering that the water bowl looked a little low that morning.   Cat people have options because that is what cats provide.  Options. Although I understand why cats may be deeply unappealing.   We can be haughty, cold and disobedient.  We appear to serve no purpose except ornamentally.   We cannot be made to hunt, fetch or trained to adore you unconditionally.   We are not good, malleable, protective dogs.  We will not, literally, save you from yourself (see - Saint Bernards, Belgian Malinois’, all the shepherds, etc).    Sometimes we’re disagreeable.  We do not provide one's psyche a subtle lift of ego by howling in despair when you leave.  And whilst we do love you (ardently, yet gently) we also like it when you go away.  It’s terribly non-linear, and something we should probably feel bad for, but don’t.   Cats don’t feel bad for much. So.  Why cats?   Because life is better with us.  And by ‘better’ I do not mean ‘more awesome and cool than having a dog’ (settle down in the back there, dog folks). By ‘better’, I simply, mean, well, better.  Improved.  Nicer. Better than coming home from an Abbotsford brewery to an empty St Kilda flat, with nobody to talk to, or warm, silky fur to ruffle or damp nose to gently boop or silliness to giggle at. And at the very least, you know our stubborn affections are honest.  You know you’re loved because it’s you we’ve chosen to curl up beside.  We also trust you to feed us and sleep next to us and even cuddle us.  And quite honestly, we dislike the vast majority of humans, so when we like you… we actually do kind of love you.   And extracting love and loyalty from a small, prideful, contrarian creature is no small feat.  After all, we are the ones that do the choosing. People think it’s easy, being a cat.  But in truth, it’s not.  We keep our sorrows to ourselves.  It is often lonely (such is the price of pride).  We even choose to die alone - under houses, in scrubland, in empty, overgrown lots; so chained to our dignity that it undoes us, in the end.   Dogs don’t have that problem.  Also, dogs don’t leave - they are abandoned, or run away, shocked, in sudden terror. Cats leave.  They have the independence and audacity to make up their mind and go. But it is deeply, searingly painful, not to mention dangerous and uncertain.   No creature wants to leave, fending for themselves in foreign roof cavities, hoping fickle kindness may grant them a scrap of mince or ham.   No creature wishes to be cold and alone and unloved.   Cats are remarkably capable of making decisions regarding their fate, but the weight of that ability, that independence, carries a steep, heartbreaking price. Which is a shame, considering how delightful we can be, for so little.  A warm place to sleep.  Some food.  An ankle to butt our head up against.   Part of the appeal is that we are quite fine by ourselves.   And in return, humans get to put our silly pictures on the internet.  We purr and chirrup in delight when you get home, pleased to see you.  We curl up on your lap and gaze at you adoringly (though sometimes, critically.  Or sleepily.  It can be hard to tell).   We sit quietly as you look through Reddit or 9Gag or Pinterest or Pornhub or whatever it is you humans are into - we’re fuzzy, portable lap heaters that don’t question your morals.  Or whine until you take us to the park. We are easily delighted and amused, and breathtakingly cheap to entertain.  A feather, a clothespin or bottlecap will do.  And boxes... oh, delightful boxes.  Isn't it lovely that your Amazon order comes with a free cat happiness machine?  Plus it keeps us still enough so you can take photos, racking up those 'Likes' amongst your friends. You can have a cat for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.   Which is convenient for humans, though perilous for us, because we do not call the shots on that one. Technically, the same is true for dogs, but unlike dogs - cats know.   We know we are disposable.  Even if we are completely dedicated and loyal, even if we love you with all our cautious, careful heart. It is better to be a dog.

#writers on tumblr #writing #cat people #dog people #allegory

[moving-parts]

All Places Are Ridiculous

A warm breeze flows through the alley-no-longer, an oddity which now claims itself to be a fully fledged, grown up, council-approved street.  One of the neighbours has a jasmine vine, and the scent of its white flowers trails through an obscenely beautiful day; all blue skies and sunshine and modern, mismatched gentrification. Days like these I find Melbourne’s inner West both dear and comical, and I fall (back) in love a little.  I forgive her cold winters, the poor insulation in houses whose builders should have known better, and months of nasty, biting winds.

Right now she feels like an option - one of a few.  I feel uncommitted and for these moments we can both pretend it’s a temporary flirtation; she is quirky and welcoming, I am newly, exotically charmed, and may even have a few charms of my own.  

The light glints off my violet-hued sunglasses and there is a wide grin on my poppy-red lips.  Yes - this is just lovely.  Perhaps I’ll stay for a while.   Seddon.  Batu Ferringhi.  Bairro Alto.  The infatuation occurs soon after I touch down, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a place I call or have called, home.   

In truth, Seddon, the chi-chi inner Western suburb of Melbourne I mostly call home infuriates me, and I know it’s …projection.   The stern-faced, athleisure-clad mothers, the hugely disproportionate number of cafés, the absence of a butcher or regular chemist (although there is a compounding chemist); it’s all plastic yoga taught by personal trainers and expensive dogs and the tiresome aspirations of folks who aren’t quite moneyed enough to just stop giving a fuck, yet.  

They’re all like this.  Case in point - the view over the sea at my cousin’s sleek Batu Ferringhi apartment is pure sunset seduction; tranquil beach and small fishing boats offset by glittering urban lights dancing over the South China Sea. Dusky leaf monkeys haul themselves slowly up the branches of the tall, adjoining tree, carrying unbearably cute offspring on their backs.  The scent of a neighbour’s frying pomfret permeates the languid air, causing me to idly wonder if I should head to the waterfront to get some assam laksa or o-chien for dinner.  Perhaps accompanied by a nice, cold bottle of Tiger. Moments like these, I forget about the signs in Tesco's car park warning shoppers about thieves and bags snatchers. I also forget about the sad scraps of litter encountered during seaside hikes.  It is remarkably disheartening, watching macaques suck spicy gravy out from the plastic bags used to da pao (takeaway) food from the hawker stalls. It's so easy to fall in love.  There is beauty in all places; the profound, gasp-inducing, heart-swelling sort.  Walk along any city street, and look up at the decorated cornices of old buildings just as the sun comes out after rain.  I dare you to feel nothing. Oh, who knew one's relationship to geography could be so contradictory, so traitorous and deeply felt.  Wonderment, then disappointment.  Repeat.  Perhaps it is naive to expect anything else.     

#cross-cultural writing #writers on tumblr

[moving-parts]

No Holding Back Infinity

Originally published by The Third Culture Kid Project, October 2016 He and I used to go to the same karaoke bar.  A guitarist in a band, he had flowing curls and a devil-may-care manner about him.  So I went ahead and did what any woman with rock n' roll dreams would.  I slept with him.  We had a pub dinner together some time afterwards and that's where it died.  We couldn't talk to each other.  I found his dimensions singular, even if he did play a damn fine cover of Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love."   I'm not sure what he thought about me. Pretentious? Annoying? Eventually we fell into mild irritation, then apathy.  C'est la vie.  These things are short lived, thank goodness.

From a TCK perspective relationships can be nebulous, difficult, the very definition of "it's complicated".  Even writing this piece is not easy, as I try hard not to misstep.  It's because we are limitless, so many combinations, an identity composed of many identities, absolutely impossible to generalize.  

As I write I am wondering; how many of you are LGBTQ?  Will your parents be involved in the process of choosing your spouse? Do you go from one thrilling encounter to the next, do you not date at all?  The TCK spectrum of social, cultural, sub-cultural and sexual identities is an extraordinary galaxy.  

From my small corner, I have friends who are in arranged marriages, elaborate tales of parents-meet-parents-meets-boy-meets-girl.  These relationships are kind, loving, respectful and thriving.  I also have same-sex friends who are in a committed relationship with one another, whose big, transcendent love racks up frequent flier miles due to them being continents apart. Their relationship is kind, loving, respectful and thriving. And don't get me started on polygyny, polyamory and other combinations - they work too (although it requires serious time management skills). When talking about love across countries, cultures and identities the only certainty is infinity.  There is no template, no script to follow. So in all this, what can be said about relationships, particularly relationships that TCK's may find themselves in?   Well, from my perspective (and please keep in mind, it's only one way of looking at things) I've found that curiosity is a real asset. Strange, isn't it?  But hear me out. Curiosity is the first step on the path.  You need it to start a conversation, to open a door, to have adventures. Opening doors, crossing boundaries, exploring - it's what we know, right? Curiosity is vital to being a part of the world, and I don't know any TCK who thinks, "I wish my world was smaller. Must remember to build that wall."   You may as well burn your passport.  So don't waste time with anyone who wants to make your world small. Don't spend time with those who are not curious, who aren't interested, who won't see possibilities and be excited by them.

I said that there's no template.  However, there are some attributes and philosophies that can help smooth the way.  Open-mindedness.  The celebration of growth.  A willingness to embrace change.  Largeness of heart.  Having intelligent, informed, passionate conversations.  Being fascinated by the world and wanting to be a part of it. These are all good places to start. On a personal note, I am engaged to a non-TCK, so this is possible even if your significant other grew up completely differently from you.  It's a sturdy and joyful relationship, one which has weathered frustrations, tragedies and setbacks.  We love (and like) one another very much.  It is also big and generous, like a sprawling tree with deep roots and far-reaching branches.  We know that we are home to one another.  We also know that we can journey far away and have our own adventures, be our own selves.   I am fortunate knowing that I can hop on a plane and meet with old friends without fearing the cold tug of possession, without the shadow of someone else's smallness over me.  My world is large, and my relationship celebrates that.   A relationship is not a fortress to protect you from the world.  It is not a shield, or a line in the sand.  A good relationship helps you discover the world and be more alive within it.  I'd like to steal a little from Walt Whitman and say that you are large.  You contain multitudes.    So why be with anyone who would make you less? 

#published work #third culture kid #tck #cross-cultural relationships