~~~ SNIPPETS ~~~

Love with the Bloated Buddha

Mother loved once.
On a warm summer night she ironed her work shirt in the living room just in her underwear. Richard was slouching on the sofa watching Four Corners, muttering every so often his discontent with the then immigration minister Amanda Vanstone. I observed this domestic scene with a sense of affection and surprise, as anything domestic involving a man was rare in our household, especially when it involved contentedness and calm. Knowing it was a fleeting moment, I ran upstairs and grabbed my Nikon SLR, snapping a few shots before Mother could realise and object. At the bottom of the stairs, both had seen me. Mum gave me an exhausted look while Richie laughed throatily, slapping the side of his belly which was constantly bloated due to Cystic Fibrosis. He lovingly called it his Buddha.
I laughed at Richie and Mum. Mum laughed at Ritchie, and Richie laughed at everything that needn’t be taken seriously.
He passed away almost four years ago.


The Kangaroo Factory

My first night in Australia was for a 11 year old typically spent eating Arnott’s chocolate chip cookies dipped in tea while watching Neighbours and Seinfeld. Moving to Melbourne from London, I was expecting Kangaroos and desert, even though I had familiarised myself with the Melbourne city grid which hung in our toilet. Melbourne was exactly what I thought suburban US would be like, with its wide streets, nature strips, gigantic malls, rubbish-free streets and a constant stream of soaps on TV.
I arrived as the last drabs of winter subsided somewhere into space.
Plants replaced concrete. Cars replaced walking people. Red Rooster replaced the local family-run Pakistani shop. Confusion replaced other confusion.
Summer came swiftly in 1998- so swiftly that on the first 40 degree day I was still wearing my school jumper. I sweated and became lethargic, but still refused to take off the jumper.
I was teased constantly, but kept the jumper on.
When I got home that day I wrenched off the jumper and sat messily on the couch, still panting from the walk and the heat. I didn’t care. At least I didn’t give in, I thought.