Awana

Well, I finally feel like I am rightways up again. Or on the way there. It has been a bit of Alice falling through big, dense tropical clouds and not knowing what the fuck was going on.

I had three incredibly intense Orientation days in Darwin where they figured it wasn't hard enough to pack up your life and say goodbye to your friends. It had to be followed up by nonstop information (lots useless - as always with Orientations) from 8am to brainfucked O'clock. Run by people who no longer teach - for a reason, they forget all about we poor ADHD visual/kinesthetic learners who are ready to stab ourselves -or the presenters- in the eye with their "gift" of a flouro orange water bottle after being made sit and listen for hours and hours and hours.

A bit of a saving grace was a girl who was supposed to start remote teaching but was gracious enough to cause quite a scandal and bond everyone together very quickly passing on stories of her incredibly bizarre behavior. She was pissed from the moment she got to the Orientation– and perhaps stoned on something potent enough to give her a stare that suggested a family of mice had taken refuge in her brain and chewed though all the wires. When speaking at you she would stare at the empty space next to your ear and lean over as though she was going to kiss you, which she might have if you didn’t back away quick enough – she did ask all the males there if they were single – regardless of whether they were 24 or 64 years old. She was found asleep outside one night, tipped water all over herself while in the morning session of the Orientation (I was sitting next to her and was amazed and impressed, she didn’t even blink as the water missed her mouth and went all over her and her handbag on the ground– although she actually did everything without blinking) and fell over a Tiwi teacher in her effort to put her smoke out. I decided I wanted her to be my new bestie, I figured with her for a BFF no matter what I did I would always look like an angel. And that’s some pretty hard work! Unfortunately it was not to be, we would not be hanging out and I would not be able to use her for a scapegoat..she did not end up staying on past the 3rd day – whisked away into the oblivion…So I was back to trying to behave myself.

Anyway...

I developed a crawling creeping freak out over Thursday and Friday, which culminated in realising this was all a monumental mistake and I was super-retarded to ever want to leave my home and the people who have saved me from insanity and despair. There were again some of those moments that I’ve had over the last few months, where I have to actually tell myself to breathe, breathe, breathe – in and out – when I feel absolutely terrified because I know I can’t just go home, that the life I missed isn’t there anymore. I breathe and breathe because the moment when I feel there’s only an echo in my heart of what was and that I am going to shrivel up from loss and lacking – will go. It will. And it does. With a little help from some fellas o do not keep normal hours and are available for late night chats and texting freak outs. Love them!

And with lots of breathing I made it to the island. I flew through the most beautiful clouds, right through them, we fly so low there is nothing but cyclone clouds floating, spiraling and cushioning all fears. I know being in a tiny plane seeing nothing but clouds front, side and back of us could make some people anxious (one newbie was panting rather than breathing with concern) but they told me I was heading somewhere so new, I felt a little relieved, a little happy. But.
After making it to the island I was faced with the dirtiest ramshackle house on earth - I have seen better kept places in the slums of India. Old and so covered in mould and dust we couldn’t tell what colour anything really was. The furniture was damp and lumpy and ugly and covered in dust building it’s way up from the 70’s. Everything was dirty; the walls, the ceiling, the few bits of crockery, the cutlery, the inside of the cupboards, the bathroom. Dirty shelves and toilets and fridges and mattresses and floors….And in between the dirt were the absences; no drawers or couch or coathangers or bin or plates…it was a pretty nasty shock . But my new house buds - who are fab - and I sucked it up and cleaned and washed and cleaned and swept and cleaned and collapsed Saturday night (not my usual weekend activity, well not collapsing sober anyway). And the best thing: I was so knackered I didn’t care about the lumpy, damp mattress or the mouldy 1970’s Hawaiian curtains or the small bed on wheels that rolled around when I moved too quick on it (lucky I was in it alone I guess!) or the cobwebs or the fact that I had left everyone and thing familiar and loved and was alone so far North of anything. I didn’t think or feel sad or lonely one bit, I slept so hard.

Sunday was more cleaning and unpacking (difficult when there was actually nowhere to unpack my stuff into..) and to top off a crazy, confusing, exhausting, bewildering five days, I had to go to MASS! Fuk! I was seriously concerned that in this tropical wet season I might get struck by lightning if I stepped foot inside and take out all the locals with me. But I rocked up with the other newbies to six o'clock mass and the first lovely surprise was this gorgeous open air circular church full of Tiwis and whities sitting on the ground cross legged, comfy and relaxed. Tiwi art decorating the poles and altar and the Tiwi ladies sang and danced and clapped the hyms in their own language (Who knew "How Great Thou Art" could actually sound good?). Their versions were like islander Jack Johnson cruisey, sunny tunes. And the next unexpected joy; a little mini 5 year old tacker called "Wayne"-a traditional Tiwi name I guess- got up and started bustin' some moves in front of the priest. He wouldn't listen to any of the Tiwi ladies hissing for him to sit down, spinning in front of the altar in his own groovy world. So of course I fell in love with him. He ended up cuddled up on my lap like a little Tiwi hot water bottle and the tension in my gut and heart and brain eased. For the first time in weeks I felt it might be OK.

And so Wayne has helped me breathe a little easier. And then to work on Monday where I've been working on trying to get my head around what I'm doing this year - in the last two days I have been assigned Re Coordinator (I knocked that on the head so fast), Yr 9 coordinator, "You Can Do It" Coordinator (Seriously! I'm keeping that one..), Special Ed support ( the principal wasn't even sure what that one involved), teaching Drama, ESL, SOSE (Know nothing about it), RE, Sport (Can’t even follow the few rules I do know in games), "health and beauty" (?)..the timetables change quicker than I can keep up with. But the staff are awesome, the Tiwi support teachers are funny and so friendly and proud to show you there place. Although their information is not always reliable; “No! No crocodiles there. Oh, last week there was one but you'll be OK...Oh, I saw one there one time but he’s not there now..” The IT is useless – so that makes me feel right at home-people duck out for 5 minutes and come back an hour later, meetings don’t start or run they through recess or change to other meetings, Tiwi teachers just take off without telling anyone because someone has died and they all go to mourn them, noone knows how many students exactly will turn up or stay, and the keys don’t fit the locks and the school was broken into but all they took was the petty cash and Ben’s mentos lollies and my rice cakes and it is mad busy and confusing and noone really knows what's going on. So it's actually a bit of fun! I can barely remember my name I'm so tired and tomorrow is Australia day and I can't drink and apparently, even if I do find a hot tradey (I have spotted some on the rooves of the many buildings with their shirts off..) I'm not allowed to do anything about it - there's not a lot of privacy on this island – everyone, especially the Tiwis, knows what's going on... Shitballs...

I can't believe I'm here and not "home", I can't believe I don't have that "home" anymore. I can't believe there's only two TV channels. And they don’t work if it’s bad weather (and that’s a lot). And no alcohol. I can't believe someone saw a croc not far from my house two days ago. I can't believe I can't go for a swim. Or that, like uni days I'm using a cardboard box for a bedside table. And there's only the beanbag I brought to sit on. And I might be celibate for a while. I can't believe I accidently brought two hairdryers and I haven't used one once. That I have to meet a barge at 7am on Thursday mornings to pick up the food I've ordered online and there might be crocodiles there. And I have to run or walk with a stick in the mornings in case the local wildish dogs try to attack me. That it might take up to five weeks to get a liquor permit so I can order some wine.

It pisses down rain randomly and the frogs are on steroids and sound like they're in my actual eardrum they're so loud. The aircon is always too cold or not working. I can’t fucking swim anywhere in walking/riding distance and have to cover up in boardies and a rashie if I do manage to get to the waterhole. We have to walk through jungle-like tropical growth and mud to get to work and there's NO VODKA!
And I kinda like it. . Crazy mixed up mother fucking times boys and girls.

A minute please

A minute please.
To pause and think:
So, here is what I have said and will say; that I have made the very real decision to wear a smile. That I have made the choice to be magnanimous, that I will be gracious in defeat. I will forgive and smile and understand and move on. That I will have an amazing adventure, a new life, and I will see you in the near future. That what matters, always, is friends , when you’re old an senile who will remind you of your name and how many cats you have.

But this is what I will not say; I am alone. I have been defeated. I will not grow old surrounded by my family. And I don’t know if I can watch while you are. I smile and say I’ll be back soon but I can’t be. I am dislocated and dissolved.

No one can say this: It’s always hope and optimism and promises. The reality is less. I’ve made promises about what I believe and the future in waiting. I sound “better” and “’in control of my life”. I am “moving on” and “so strong”. I am ‘brave”. But I can’t say;

I don’t know what to hope for.
I can’t remember why to wake up.
It’s all pretend. It’s all what you want to hear.
I will put on my pack and move on but I don’t know what to wish for. I don’t know why I’m moving.
I run to my music for the beat, I don’t listen to the lyrics any more.
I can’t say:
It’s all gone, I’ve lost and lost and lost and I don’t know how to fill that.
I don’t know how to not be a wife and mother.
I don’t know how to not be an us.
I don’t know what’s left.

And I’m sure that will change. I’m sure that time and time and change and change and new and new.

So just another breath, another falsity, another promise that might become real if I repeat it enough.
Breathe and breathe and breathe through the moments.

A minute. A minute. A moment.

A pause.