Singapore On the day I marked the fifth anniversary of this itinerant life, I went out for a long walk late at night and left my keys in the door. This being Singapore, and us living on a floor where no one save the neighbours goes to, nothing untoward happened. Only Mum coming home later and getting a scare – keys dangling, no sign of errant child (who is getting forgetful with age). * The past five years have been ephemeral, and my memories of them, while vibrant with colour and movement, also place-time-event indistinct. Not having anywhere to call “home” is a destabilizing, as much as it is delightful. Geographical and temporal markers completely awry. Physiological and psychological lags of time and space. Too …
El Malpais National Monument is an astounding area of New Mexico covered by the black basalt of ancient lava flows. Brian Miller took us there on a field trip, on one of the last days Flemming and I had in New Mexico. We met another nomad there. At that point in space-time, Kwang (in the picture) had been living out of his car for a number of months, travelling around the USA. It was a fortuitous meeting of wanderers. People often tell me my present itinerant life is an unusual one – some wistfully, others accusingly, most in bewilderment. I am starting to think these comments don’t come from the actual desire to travel, as much as they do from the acknowledgement of how much it takes to free ourselves of all that conspires to hold us down: our individual fears, our understanding …
The other day I discovered that Singapore is the 3rd wealthiest nation in the world.
A week before I returned to Singapore from Australia, Mum had to put the pug down.
30 April 2014, Singapore: I’ve been in Singapore for six months. This is the longest time I’ve been here since I left fifteen years ago.
March 2014, Copenhagen: I’ll always think of Copenhagen as the place where things came together. The crossing of impossible borders by actually getting to Europe (I still cannot believe I got there, and am going back again), artists to collaborate with, a different atmosphere, and overall, a different (better) kind of self to be.
Walking is in my blood. My father was never one for it, but my mother is a walker. It wasn’t unusual for her to walk for hours for the hell of it, with unfailing regularity. Now in her mid 60s, with troublesome knee joints, she still possesses enough enthusiasm to out-walk many people half her age.
2013 has been the best year of my life so far. I say this not only for the great parts of the journey, but the shitty bits too. I say this because through it all, it felt like I’d actually lived for the first time in my life, rather than just existing for no discernible reason.
2013 was year where my desire to go walkabout with possessions in a bundle at the end of a stick – or a couple of bags in my case – came true. I’ve been on it for a year and a week today, but rather than some far flung locale, I’m writing this post from my childhood home. Home is something that seems to punctuate journeys though, so perhaps there is no better place.
My entire understanding of my father’s death at this point, rides on numbers. September 4 – the stage of cancer he was diagnosed with.