A day's life of a traveller

Joke of the country: What is an Australian kiss?

Same as a French kiss, only down under.


Putting one foot in front of the other, I glided along these paths in the city of Sydney, alone, simplemindedly, aimlessly. I turned and looked over the footsteps I've made. Invisible.

I gazed over the harbour, cold breeze flipped through my hair viciously, attempting to make a bird nest out of it. I smoothed my hand over to tame the wild bush floating all over my head, the wind was chilly against my face, but it felt good.

Spring was coming, I could feel it.

In ten days I would be out of here, heading back up to the countries above. Leaving the southern hemisphere behind, going back to where I was familiar with. Dread and eagerness filled me up. I didn't know whether to feel excited or sad about leaving this place, or was it excited or sad about going back?

In the next few months, I could see myself hovering between Japan and Middle East, and probably back to the southern hemisphere to check out the kiwis. Aimlessly, really. What was I looking for again? I lost track in time, in space, in destinations and places of origins. But age reminded me of all those. The dates are passing, years adding a number every year, and I could feel my body aged inside of me, slowing down, warning me to take a step behind.

But I was eager. There was no time to think, pondering was for the aimless, I have a goal, a goal I were to pursue and fulfill. I just kinda forgot what it was.

I got off the bus and headed down the alley, it was broad day light, yet the wind was ever as chilly. Something must be wrong with this weather, sun and cold should never go together. Coming from the tropics, it just didn't feel right.

I turned a corner and walked up the stairs systematically, like how I have been programmed to go and turn and head straight down this lane these past few days. I came to a door with No.1 engraved on it, extended my hand out to turn the knob and pushed it forward. Reflexively I brushed my sneakers against the carpet before walking in.

Once inside, I slipped off my shoes, took off my jacket, my scarf and hanged them on the hook, move swiftly into the room, turned on the heater and climbed into bed under my blanket to keep warm from the brilliant cold that still clasped around me. Picking up my Audrey Howard book lying next to the bed, I flipped to the page where a bookmark was inserted and started reading paragraph number three on page 69. Just when Milly Goodwin was about to suggest the idea of marriage to Hugh Thornley to her mother. An exciting episode.

Nothing beats a good afternoon read in bed on a cold winter day.