b a t t l e c a t . n e t

Audrey’s post reminded me of just how much I love the Unley springtime smell of jasmine.

It reminds me of when I lived in Parkside at The Castle and the walks I’d take to visit a boyfriend who lived down the road from The Dollhouse.

It reminds me of the jasmine tea (yellow tins from Lien Heng, cardboard tubes from a Beijing market) I drink to be reminded of the Unley springtime jasmine smell itself.

It reminds me of riding my beloved Salt through the streets of my lovely little home town to go to work, the market, to a more recent boyfriend’s house.

It reminds me of living in my grandma’s house further south in Unley.

Things stay the same and things change.

Last Sunday, Minnie, my grandma, just turned 99. I was having a couple of drinks after work with the boys (6am Helsinki) and I got a phone call from my family who were at her birthday party (1pm Adelaide).

It was strange, more than any other place in Adelaide, I know that Min’s house will be the same, mainly because no one lives there to move things around. So I was able to visualise the rooms, the positions of the books I left on my bedroom shelf, the hallway, the family and aged friends standing around eating party pies, chocolate dipped strawberries and Toula’s greek biscuits. It brought on a very, very specific feeling of longing and homesickness. As I stood in the Aussie Bar’s bathroom 15000km away from home, talking to my father, mother, brothers I almost travelled, skipped, ran, flew down that hallway in Unley…

out the door

through the damp cold jasmine smelling garden,

across the park

down king william road

somehow flying up higher above my city my places my friends my lovers my memories.

My dad is usually very optimistic about Min’s health, but in that phone call he mentioned that she was now very frail. The fact that she’s frail isn’t surprising, but what was strange was that my father actually admitted it, something in his voice sounded so defeated. Listening to my dad sound that sad was really hard to bear, he’s my father, but he’s Minnie’s child.

Before I left Australia I went to visit Minnie one last time. The lunches I wrote about in Memory Chips had become shorter. Min still ate a lot, but she talked a lot less. She arrived and left in a “princess chair” which is an elaborate portable bed. She had shrunk even more and her legs were so, so thin, her face fallen.

I tried to explain to her that I’d be travelling and living overseas, that I was going away for a long time… But she just kind of mumbled “that’s nice…” and ate some more food. In the end I just told her that I’d be going on holiday to China and that I’d send her a postcard and some chocolate. She perked up and finally looked me in the eye.

“Chocolate. You don’t happen to have any here now do you?”

The week that I left Adelaide was a mess for a million and one reasons, but saying goodbye to Minnie was one of the most difficult, and important things I had to do. You say goodbye to everyone not knowing what will happen, but the responsibility of farewelling those whose destinies are rushing towards them is heartbreaking and so very concrete. It’s easier in its way, the goodbye is on your terms and you can make sure you tell those people the things which need to be said, even if their mind is ravaged and the hearing dulled.

When I finished the phone call and sat down with the boys again I burst into tears from homesickness and sadness. There were group hugs worthy of a long running sitcom about a bar and then inevitably, we got drunk. Which left me, one tired tram ride home and a couple of hours sleep later, with the best hangover I have ever had. I had a headache, but everything felt so clear.

I went for a walk. Picked up a feather. A dog smiled at me, curiously. I said “This is a feather”. The dog seemed to nod, satisfied and continued its walk.

I sat down on a bench in a park in the sun. There were hot air balloons flying above the city.

A dragonfly landed on my shoulder, flew away and came back again to rest on my knee. I noticed the articulation of its tail, the structure and strength in this design, the shadow that traced the line of the wings onto my skin. My skin glowed golden.

I’ve said my goodbye and I’m allowed to be here. Everything will be just fine.