“One never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect the whole world looks like home for a time.” (H. Hesse)
It’s one of my favorite quotes of all time, and very suitable for a gypsy girl like me. Somehow this year I’ve been a restless little sausage, unable to find my niche in a city I’ve called home since I was 18. After all the excitement, challenges, angst, white sand beaches, tattoos and copious amounts of cheap rum of the Philippines, this year has seemed a touch ‘meh’.
Not to mention the cosmos has farted on my crumpets a couple of times this year, in a professional and romantic capacity – I mean things have gone slightly awry, not that the universe has actually started to flatulate on my work desktop or romantic dinners for two, that’s just silly.
On Saturday night I was having an in-depth analysis of my existence and my place in said space of burning balls of hydrogen and helium (yes, my farts analogy is based on pseudo scientific fact). Ok, I was drunk and having a bit of a whinge to a friend who made a very good point, geography is immaterial, it’s the community in that geography that counts. I’ve been reluctant to invest in the here and now, always poised to jettison it all like a little squidlette *pfftt* one squirt of ink and I’m outta here.
Despite my love of romantic poetry I have issues with the ephemeral nature of life, I blame my folks – one should always blame their neuroses on their parents, it pleases Freud. Happily married and in the home I grew up in, always there for me when it all goes pear-shaped. No wonder I’m screwed up.
This year hasn’t been without its moments of elation and achievement, Masters done, conquered the art of making smutney (spicy mango chutney, it is life changing), fabulous stomps in the forest and good times with great friends. So where to in 2011? The geography is immaterial, it’s the friendly paths that count. And I need to learn French and how to play the ukulele (my flying v sanchez, the most rad-arse uke the world has ever seen).