The second part of that previous post

Well I’m slightly more together now. My attention was everywhere in that last post.

Anyway, I ended the night in Adelaide feeling really uncomfortable. It was a dark room, with the faint sound of the rain. It was quite a cold night. I spent the first 20 minutes rolling in cold until I realize I was lying down on the blanket.

Just earlier, during the barbecue, we exchanged stories – travel stories, life stories, relationship stories. There were people from London, Burma who left home to find a life for themselves. And this got me to thinking about where I was in life then.

It was a hard night, and there were moments where I truly wished I could go back to Sydney right away. The fact that I had to spend the next 2 days planning for myself in a foreign land was quite unbearable, and I was adequately unprepared. I only had 2 apples in my bag left and Weet-bix that really just tastes like horse food. (I realize later you had to eat it with milk) Singapore was so convenient. And we have it really, really good. Too good that it stops you from growing after a while.

So anyway, I thought about the value of that experience then. The last time I ever felt that uncomfortable would be the first few days of National Service. You’d think that you’d be used to a new experience when you’ve experienced it, and that was the case. You grow through experiences, and while situations might be similar, you’re never the same.

That experience then was brand new to me. I’d imagine that it was far more uncomfortable than having to be alone. To live solely on your own. I thought that being financially independent was sufficient. I thought that being positive and open to new experience was fertile ground to experience new, fleeting moments of such nature with comfort. But shit, I was wrong. The importance of having shelter and food, really, just the basic needs of survival. And everywhere, people have endured living in the streets, with no food and hardly any pride left, I’d imagine, from having to beg. Shit.

Well I fell asleep eventually.

I was surprisingly up early the following day. Got dressed, stole a loaf of bread from the fridge and a glass of orange juice, [I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t mind. I would ask but they were asleep?] and headed towards the bus station. It rained again.

It was actually a convenient distance away from the inn. I later realize that my ticket was an OPEN ticket, which meant that I could travel on any date, which meant that if the 7:15 bus was full, I’d be screwed. And there was a seat left.

Boarded the bus, met a few people. Sat next to an indian lady, whom I began to converse very comfortably for the next 30 minutes. She eventually offered me a place to stay at Melbourne, but I refused even though every fibre in my body said yes.

[She used to teach in Monash University. Her husband was a psychologist. She had no kids. She was a healthy healthy person. Ate only organic food, offered me sunflower seeds and plenty of nuts for breakfast and lunch.]

[Going to stop here. Trying to recall checkpoints and town names].


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