A page from a journal, torn

a journal entry, a love letter, a testament to beautiful friendships and perfectly cooked rice

I have had some very good days recently & today is also a good day. 

It was raining in the morning and when I opened the blinds I was upset about another city disappointing me with weather that makes me feel like I am in a simulation. Now, sitting in the laundromat watching the people pass and listening to clothes whirring around I don’t mind the grey skies, because the last days were good and so will be the ones soon.

The good days, the ones before today, stretched across Hobart (in Tasmania) and Apollo Bay (mainland Australia, down Great Ocean Road).

I stayed in Hobart from the 12th to the 14th of July (Friday to Sunday) and I traveled there with Emi. Hobart is a quiet city. A small kid with an old soul that asks questions like Do trees talk to each other when we turn our backs on them? leaving the parents questioning themselves. Hobart goes to sleep early and does not get fussy about putting their pajamas on. It sleeps on its back and tosses in the sheets just the right amount.

There was a lot of sun and I will remember Tasmania by the blue of the water and the green of all the greens. And the roadkill.

Tasmania is the roadkill capital of the world. On a yearly average, 32 animals are killed there per hour.

To Apollo Bay, I drove with Jack. There was no roadkill, but my eyes were not on the road. Piercing dark blue. Double stitching. Easy for beginners. I was crocheting a scarf. A new hobby I picked up, a longing to see the effects of my actions. The least I could do to make something. Recently I have been yearning for proofs of living. 

We drove for 3 hours and only at the end did my stomach start to get anxious from the serpentine roads. I stopped looking at the blue yarn and focused on the ocean.

It was Charlie’s house, or his parents’ house we came to, and it was big like everything else in Australia. Everyone had their own bed and there were enough plates and chairs when we ate dinners in the evening.

The first night we had Dahl with rice (very good) and the second night we had burritos with rice and potatoes and guacamole (very good but better). I am now thinking of getting a rice cooker for the next place where I am going to live.

So the water and rice should be in the middle of your nail. Explained Charlie when I asked him how to use the rice cooker. Mum had always made the rice dry, and grandma’s was creamy and fat.

We played board games and I stole cards from the deck and let Jack in on my secret (we were together in a team), (I am pretty sure we lost), (even with the stealing). We played Wii sports and I found out I am excellent at tennis (when I can remember which player I am), (we lost because of me), (I think Charlie was disappointed).

I had 5 beers (small cans, standard drink) on average each night and they left me feeling just the right amount of hazy. We all went to sleep in the small hours and the house would start to move again around 10. Morris, Pat, Jack, Murph (dog) & I talking about books in the morning (Murph not talking naturally). It felt like a dream I had as a bookish child - reading with friends in front of a big window that led your eyes straight to the ocean. During the 3 days spent in the house, I frequently put my head outside windows and doors to listen to the waves crash.

It was Jack, Morris, and Tommy who jumped with me into the ocean and I remember it was cold. So very cold it made me laugh and left my skin pinching in all the crevasses of my body. The view from the water was better than the view from the beach. The land kept getting into and out of the water. The green of the grass and black-brown of the cliffs was covered with a mist. It looked the just right amount of cinematic.

In moments like that, when life feels like a movie in which you were not supposed to star, an extra made the love interest, it’s easy to become nostalgic. And nostalgic is just a few steps away from sad. And so I was. A movie could end just right there on the beach. And that would be a beautiful ending.

Wet from the ocean, 4 friends throwing a frisbee around on a wintery day, legs naked. This ending would satisfy the fans and there would be no ask for the sequel.

Life is more like a series. Australia season is coming to an end with the visa office reminding me that my time here is running out:

Izabela Ewa,

Your Australian visa granted on the 14th of November 2023 will cease soon. Check your status.

Department of Home Affairs

Do not reply.

And as much as I hate the analogy (just a bit too on the nose) the season is coming to an end. And there’s no way of connecting all the stories in some singular smart quote or summary.

I drove back to Melbourne with Morris and we talked for the whole 3 hours (too dark to crochet, ran out of yarn). It was a good drive.