I feel I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer and woken up in Oz. Which is confusing because I’m from Australia. I’m not sure how funny that was – it’s hard to tell in this topsy-turvy land. I know this is my life (it smells right, my toes wriggle in the same way and I can’t get to sleep until I’ve turned myself over at least five times) but all other familiar markers are gone. There are no Heinz baked beans for goodness sake. Maybe I did die on that first flight and this is Purgatory where I’m to undertake a series of quests that will determine my moral standing. Interesting (depending on who you are, I guess) side note: I couldn’t remember the word ‘Purgatory’ so I googled ‘The place between heaven and hell’ and discovered the answer to this question is ‘Earth’ (according to users of Yahoo!).
Before I start prattling about Tofurky and baked beans, I should mention some stuff. I’m in Canada. I know what you’re thinking – she’s MAGIC! – but honestly, I just flew on some airplanes. It was nothing. In fact, all eight of the flights I mentioned in my intro have happened and I won’t touch the sky again for at least four months (not via an airport anyway). I am quite grateful for the holiday from vegan plane food and silent snoring (to be replaced, for awhile at least, with packet noodles and the sound of backpackers having sex in the hallway).
I had wanted to write about the Killing Fields before I left Cambodia. I visited one of the mass graves outside Phnom Penh and it seemed to me that not enough people (outside Cambodia, locals obvs are very up on their massacre knowledge) know what happened here. A huge portion of the population was murdered less than forty years ago. So I started this post about death (featuring Leonard Cohen) and I tried to keep it delicate but forceful. I saw children’s teeth littered like leaves at the base of a tree. I wrote a hundred words and then death came waltzing into my life (in a roundabout way) and knocked me off my high horse. I couldn’t write anything about blood and I could think of nothing else.
So here we are, weeks later, in Canada. Specifically – Victoria, capital of BC, on Vancouver Island. And I’m alone. The plan was to sweep this beautiful girl off her feet and take her to somewhere cold where I would have to keep my hands in her pockets. You know, to stay warm. Sadly, the death I mentioned earlier meant that she had to stay behind for a while and I have to put my hands in my own pockets. The empty seat next to me on the plane was both a blessing and bitter reminder of her absence.
I have no one to talk to except you, Internet. And I’m one of those people that likes to discuss and dissect everything (why do YOU think I can’t find any baked beans? Am I just not looking hard enough? What does that say about my character?). In the five days that I’ve been here, I’ve written down many a witty comment about the queerness (ha-ha!) of Canada. Over the coming months, I will share these thoughts and more with you, dearest Internet. Starting with: what the fuck is up with all the crows?