As a child, I used to be fascinated with the idea of in-flight transit. Depending on which airport my family stopped over in en route to/from a family holiday, it could mean anything from an overnight stay in a closet-sized hotel room (the kind that you need to exit backwards, because there's no room to turn around), to six hours in the transit lounge (which is probably where some of us developed the ability to sleep anywhere, in any position), to 45 minutes spent mostly in a mad sprint for a departure gate that mysteriously turned out to be in another terminal building. Hence the mad sprint.
I haven't made an stopovers in recent years, which is why I am finding my present situation ironic. Not between countries or cities, but between apartments. The old unit has been vacated, cleared of nearly a year's worth of good living. Which, for these two girls from neighbouring Southeast Asian countries, involved many books (mostly mine), many soft toys (both), many DVDs (mostly hers) and many, many food items from far and wide (I'll say both). Owing to the slightly creative timing of my search for a new place to live, there was a three-day gap between leaving the old place and signing over the new one.
And so I am thankful for my cousin, who's kindly putting me up -- and my stuff, which includes the many books, many soft toys (mine and the ones left in my care, to save them from a fate worse than death: Western Australian flea markets!), and other bits and pieces. It's amazing how many boxes you can fill with a small bedroom's worth of stuff. Fortunately, there's room for us all.
With the signing of the six-month lease on the new place, I'm hoping that my life will cease its nomadic pattern of the past 19 months. At the moment I'm looking at change almost in the same way I view the chili lemongrass spare ribs we ended up having for dinner, after dropping the WA-bound former housemate off at the airport. Michelle's intended last good meal in Sydney evolved into... Michelle's imaginary last good meal in Sydney. But we enjoyed it nevertheless, and thought of her fondly while chomping on the juicy spare ribs encased in crumbly savoury lemongrass bits. How is change like pork? Before I tell you, I warn you first: I'm very sleep-deprived and this will almost certainly come out sounding trite or banal or stupid. Maybe even all three.
They're both great, and they both promote growth (spare ribs: protein and fat in a carbohydrate coating. Macronutrients, check!)... but at the moment I'm feeling as if I've had a little too much of both.