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Public Displays of Affliction

Dear Dean, Ryan, Maya, Yoyo, Cary, Daphne, and Johnny.

Each time I do this you'd think it gets easier, it really doesn't.

Because every time I come back, I'm made more acutely aware of that huge gap that's missing all around me. I'm reminded exactly how much I want you guys all there with me. I might not be one to get homesick, but I am people sick, all the time.

I don't often put on too much of a display of sentimentality, instead I give you scenes of awkward hugs and an even more awkward slow walk away from you. The truth of it is, every time someone has asked me how excited I was to go to New York over the last two years, I've always had to muster up some kind of forced enthusiasm for them just because I hate leaving so damn much.

So tonight is the night I sit here and cry about not wanting to go until I fall asleep. Tomorrow I'm going to wake up and run all those errands I need to run, to fill my head with a to-do list, and the day after that, I'll get on that plane, and you would never know about how terrible that feels. Well, know it.

I went to New York a complete person, whatever discoveries I was making was just pepper, but I knew exactly who I was. You were the ones who built me, limb by limb. That's why I feel fine to collapse around you, because I know you can put me back together. You are the opinions I voice, the swagger in my steps.

So many times last year, I needed to grab on to you, but you were here and I was there and there was this whole ocean between us. There were moments when I was completely shattered, then slowly and begrudgingly, I was forced to stand back up again. With splintered bones and torn flesh, I walked through the last half of 2010 as something much less.

I feel completed, again. But this time, it's going to take all of the 400,000 pounds of airborne steel to pry me away. All the promises to visit, I am holding you to it. Because I just can't deal with this waiting a whole year bullshit.

And now you know it. 

With all of my love, A.




  1. To cover with large amounts of water; to flood.
    The Dutch would sometimes inundate the land to hinder the Spanish army.
  2. To overwhelm.
    The agency was inundated with phone calls.

(Source: Wikitionary.)

It's probably the first time I've heard the word used in its primary context, and repeated so often in such a short space of time. I don't think I like it.

News of the Queensland flooding is coming in as hard and as fast as the water. As the death toll slowly inches up (12 fatalities and many many still unaccounted for at the moment), it's heartening to see the country pulling together. Twitter was all abuzz with love and care and a healthy dose of humour around the subject. So this is how the year starts, well, so be it.

For a light hearted yet touching up to date account of the events, follow Frankie writer @Rowena Grant-Frost


Happy Birthday Guadalupe

2011, I'm so ready for you.

I wrote some vague washes of resolutions on twitter, but I think it's about time I actually made more specific goals for myself so that I actually have something to shoot for. Rather than been a bit too cool for it, I think shying away from making solid resolutions might actually just be my inert laziness playing its part. So here goes.


11 for '11

1. Drink more water. As in, making a conscious effort to drink more water. I go through periods where I do and periods where I don't and I definitely feel better when I do

2. Be on top of interpersonal connections; emails, phone calls, texts. Don't be a shit and let things slide for too long.

3. Reading a book a month. Giving myself a deadline means that I would have to plan and put aside time dedicated to this, each weekend.

4. Watching more solid films and writing about them. Much like my reasons for starting Netflix Sundays, I want to start making a dent in all the films I know I should watch but keep putting off. I would also like to develop a more decisive and eloquent way of talking about films, and refine my palette for cinema so I know exactly what I like and don't like.

5. Writing for a purpose. Outside of this blog, I hardly ever have to string two sentences together, or even speak words that hasn't been highlighted and put in front of me to memorise. It's like a muscle that I fear I've let go and now it's gotten flabby just because I don't need it in my day to day life. Let's change that. Specifically:

6. Screenplay by the end of 2011. Outline by Summer, first draft by the end of Summer.

7. Cook more regularly. Instead of getting bored of food, which is a crying shame. Since I hate my electric stove top so much, learn to do amazing things with the oven.

8. Be more diligent about cleaning. This is more to facilitate the above.

9. Waste less time. Less facebook, less marathons of tv shows I can recite line by line

10. More yoga. Less excuses.

11. Let people in.


Let me be sincere for a second, a lot of shit happened in 2010, it was a hard year to get through for myself, and a lot of people that I know. Let's not let it drag us down in 2011. Letting go doesn't mean forgetting, it's just a way for us to soldier on. If we just wallowed in whatever ditch we fell into, we will never get anywhere. The new year is a good time to shake it all off, and build that bridge.

Happy new year everyone.


Transit Lounge

3.5 hours into my 6.5 layover in LAX. Laptop battery at 67%. A good time to dump all that is raging in my mind and collect them into strands of coherent thoughts.

The end of the semester was welcomed with a comforting exhale and a whole hearted release. I've been cruising by, hiding behind the veil of competence for some months now. In the last few weeks of turbulence, somehow the veil slipped off without me noticing, and that still tender and pink wound had to throb in the cold harsh air unprotected. It stung a bit, but it was mostly a good thing.

I have 5 weeks to let it stew, in the warmer Australia temperament; where there's space, and I'll have mobility, and the people around me would have seen my entire trajectory and understand exactly how I got here. Or perhaps not, perhaps the moshpit of clashing emotions we have concocted up in the rooms of 27th Street is more likely to draw real blood, mark my presence and stake my claim to a piece of something that can be mine. Regardless, for the next 5 weeks, I'll be comfortable.


Airports bring out the worst of my cynicism. We all know that I enjoy people, I like many and love a few, but people, as in the general population, I have a distinct distain for. People seem to hate airports, I don't quite get it. Beyond the security check points, no one look like they want to be there. They seem to think that because they "have a plane to catch", it gives them the right to push, snap, and a myriad of other repulsive things which normally wouldn't bother me but somehow at such close quartered communal spaces it grinds me the wrong way. I have news for you darling, we're all catching that same plane, calm the fuck down, smile a little, and we'll all be on our merry way.

When you think about it, airports are pretty great. It's climatized, always well lit, and it's kind of timeless in the way casinos are, but also in the way that all the time zones kind of get swallowed up and gets spit back out in brackets; this many hours til you have to be here, this many hours til you will be there. You enter one time frame, and leave at a different segment altogether. If it wasn't for the t-shirts at souvenir stores, you'd have no idea where you are. Maybe it's because I'm always alone at airports, I've always associated it with a place where I can legitimately hide out. The tantalizing temptation of catching any other flight and ending up some other place and no one would ever know. That would be why I'm always eating bad food there as well, and watching terrible movies I'd be too ashamed to admit to ever seeing. It gives you time to catch up on your reading, reevaluate your life, god damn, maybe that's why I've been such a mess, I just needed to travel more.


The search for a new scent continues. I stupidly had a minor freakout at the tiny duty free store at this particular terminal of LAX when I realised I didn't want to buy any of these, and I did not bring a bottle of perfume with me. Then I remembered the 10 or so bottles I left at home when I moved to New York. Although, if they weren't even good enough to move with my life, I can't imagine myself wanting to associate this particular summer with any of them. First world issues.

I bought Nick Hornby's new novel Juliet, Naked at the Hudson News here. He's back to writing about people his age, in and out of love and involving music, all very good signs. I bought that and also caved and got one of those tacky neck pillows. You know what? Scoff all you want, but be forced to sleep on a plane for some 20 hours and then get back to me, mmmk? I'm going to get started on this reading business.



Jesus Christ I sound 16 on this thing. The semester and the weather is taking its toll. 2 more weeks, 8 days of classes, and that's it. Home.

I'm finding my most loose fitting dress, and preparing myself for the gorging that's going to happen over the next 48 hours (Thanksgiving lasts 48 hours, right? I'm not American, I can use it as my excuse for as long as the food lasts, times like this I fully concede to the carnivore in me). This mini break is going to serve as a personal reboot, a last ditch effort to get my shit together before I pack up and escape this winter.

It's not friday, but I haven't been here for almost a month. So...

5 Things I'm Looking Forward To in Melbourne (apart from, you know, the people)


- Seeing all the things the good folks have achieved in my absence, including marriages (what?!)

- Time enough to lie around and slow things down, away from my tv/roku, maybe even finish reading a book.

- My piano, with Miles and Charlie curled up by my feet.

- Various food/beverages; Nikku's lamb roast, dainty nights, yum cha, breakfasts, COFFEE, preshafruit.

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