Oh oh. Its nearly time. These are my last few moments in the cabin complex that has been my home longer than I can effectively remember. Probably longer.
When I say complex, thats probably a bit misleading. Its not a complex dwelling. (Note how I use many different terms for my domicile except house. There is a reason for this.)
My habitation has two rooms. But, and heres where the complex bit comes in, each room is its own building. Wow. Thats sort of complex. Especially seeing as I built it myself and my building praises arent exactly sung around campfires throughout this wide, Bunnings-ridden land.
My last few moments
No, I havent got some incurable disease brought about by excessive drinking followed by guilty obsessive non-drinking that will result in my dying in some under-funded hospital hallway.
No, Im not fleeing from a failed love affair. (My car is broken down.)
No, I didnt get a job.
Im going overseas. OS. Abroad. Across the great puddle.
Oh yes, its back to Asia for this intrepid traveller.
Ive got my tickets, my visa is valid, and despite the photograph, my passport is in working order. (Why did I have to get my passport photo taken on a day when I just happened to look like a Colombian drug lord with a stomach full of condoms? I should have twigged all was not right when the post office woman who took the photograph cacked herself when she saw the results of her handiwork.)
Ah, Southeast Asia. A refreshing dip into the cultural depths. Awash in a wave of western-styled capitalism, these lucky people have a heritage that gives their life a meaning more than richest dude wins. (Except for that dodgy woman tailor in Hoi An. I actually believed that it was organic wrinkle-free hemp suit. Wrong. 100 per cent synthetic. Dropped one little cigarette spark and)
Their culture, born from times more developed than the present, buoys them in the tidal economic surge that sweeps all before it.
Teenagers here dont want to kill themselves.
Building is not that hard. Ive met builders. Champion people with a penchant for swearing and cold beer, but you dont have to be Einstein. (Einstein never built his own house. In fact he struggled with the logistics of clothing himself every day. Had seven sets of identical clothes so he didnt have to make sartorial choices.)
Isnt it funny how you love things more when you know youre leaving?
I realise, now that Im nearly gone, how much I love my shack duplex.
Its too late but now I want to do something good for this love. The wallabies stop chewing in amazement as I pull out some farmers friends from the aloe vera patch that was last weeded when Lismore had a daily rail service to Byron and Peter Garrett had cred.
Its called weeding, I sneer to them. Wallabies have such an attitude sometimes.
I pull weeds for a moment, wish Id done more earlier, grab my bag, drop the curtain door and leave.
See ya later. House.
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