In Malaysia there are only two seasons.
Wet.
And not so wet.
If you spend your entire life in Malaysia, you may never feel a breeze let alone smell spring or see snow.
The other day I was on a bus travelling from the Kowloon peninsula, known locally as 'the dark side', back to my beloved island, when I looked out to discover a small park hidden amongst the Forrest of buildings and highways.
Of all things,the park had a short winding path with yellow falling leaves scattered on the ground.
It was like bathing my eyes in cool water.
My brain was transfixed and I couldn't turn away from its beauty.
I looked around the bus to see if anyone else had noticed, but how could they?
Not when there are candies to crush and pigs to kill.
The song 'Big yellow taxi' kept playing in my head.
Whether it's a paved paradise or a gangsters paradise it matters not.
I have never really been an active greenie.
I love the outdoors. I love the ocean. I love mountains too, but I never really go to battle for them.
I have a friend, Ben, for whom I suffered a futile crush in high school, who has gone on to dedicate his life to saving the planet in an active and useful way.
He and I once went fishing off a pier in Sydney Harbour.
I used to do that a lot in my teens.
Home wasn't easy.
Hoping to hook more than the usual fare of leather jackets - the fish not the garment- I invited Ben out for a days sitting and waiting.
I remember someone playing the new Phil Collins CD on repeat in a house nearby that travelled across the water making the day complete.
The song "Sussudio" still takes me back there.
It's funny what nostalgia can do.
Now in my fourties, I try to look back to examine the paths that have lead me to the place I currently inhabit.
We are all born at the beginning of a journey, are we not ?
And every movement, forward, backwards or sideways means we forge through previously unmarked clay until we arrive at the place we were always destined to attend.
No two people every experience the exact same path in the exact same way.
The hackneyed 'walk a mile in my shoes' phrase is only hackneyed because of how true it is.
And the older I get, the more the pain of every miss step, every fork in the road, every dark alley, every circular motion seems to fade into insignificance.
I am here, because this is where I am.
Don't get me wrong, I am not a fatalist.
I believe that the choices we make shape our lives, but sometimes we don't always have choices, and sometimes the choices of others are so powerful and all consuming that we are knocked sideways by their impact.
But as I have oft quoted to those laboured with listening to me, it's not how we fall, but how we get up that counts.
A Stage Director told me that once. I was 8 or 9.
It's never left me.
Lately I have been working with a man-child who is part bully/part unwashed intelligentsia.
Like all child prodigies he appears to have been over mothered and under parented.
Demanding and pouting seems to have worked for him in the past, he still uses it to get what he thinks he wants.
It is a learned behaviour.
It doesn't get far with me, I tend to ignore bluster and get on with what needs to be done.
I went to the academically significant Sydney Girls High School.
If you are going to get all " I'm a genius" on me, you'd better bring your A game.
Plus, I have learned the secret of life, and that is that we are all dying.
Each and every one of us, so bluster away until your blusterer's sore.
The light we see from the stars happened hundreds of years ago, in space our understanding of time is immaterial, and in effect, you are already dead.
Some find this a disturbing thought.
Not me.
I see my life as a theme park anyway, with all the clowns, roller coasters, wild lions, dancing monkeys, performing seals, arcade games, hot air balloons, popcorn and fairy floss a girl can handle.
What ever happens, I'm ready.
Got my fast pass, my camera, and a pair of comfy shoes.
Race you to the next attraction ;)
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