(Photo from the collection of Arsh  Matharu Photography)

Chapter Twenty-Three (2004 ~ 33 years)

Many Blessings and Self-Inflicted Confusion

‘It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.  The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood.’ 

Theodore Roosevelt (1858 - 1919) 

I continued thinking about my non-exist love affair, even though this felt self-indulgent when so much atrocity was happening in the world.  Iraq.  Bali.  Burma.  Sudan.  Russia.  Tibet.  The list went on...  I felt small and insignificant, and rightly so.  My compassion grew when I focused on the wider world… able to put things into perspective.  But it didn’t stop outlandish thoughts of a possible union with Alan running through my mind, creating feelings in my heart that caused it to break again and again. 

Happily, my career really started and my attention was diverted.

My first major event was the motivational talk at Post School Options on January 15.  Mum and Dad accompanied me to Wyong, 30 minutes away by car.  I wasn’t nervous as expected because it was a new experience, and a short meditation the afternoon before helped immensely.  Prior to the meditation, I had begun to feel nervous while I’d been preparing a lesson plan, collecting quotes, and fashioning an excerpt from Alan Clements’ book – Instinct for Freedom, Finding Liberation through Living, to suit the context of the meeting.  Tammie had advised me that she and the Post School Options staff needed motivating out of bouts of complacency… due to the nature of working with intellectually-challenged teenagers and adults.

I practiced the meditation technique I learnt at vipassana because it had become a part of me.   The tools were a part of me all the time: my breath and the ever-changing sensations of my body!  So I meditated to harness my energy that was beginning to vibrate in excited overdrive.  After observing my breath for a time and gaining some control of my sporadic thoughts, I was able to concentrate on my body’s heightened vibrations and merge with them, in a free-flowing, high-vibratory dance.  This act allowed me to gain perspective of the coming appointment, because afterwards I didn’t feel nervous again, feeling grounded instead.  

I expected to experience some anxiety in the morning; however, everything felt like a wonderful process I was blessed to be involved in, particularly because Mum and Dad were also sharing it with me.  As we drove, I clapped my hands three times and clasped them, testing the action, planning to ask the adults to do it in class before we commenced the meditation.  Clapping hands and then rubbing them, is a good way to detect vibrations constantly vibrating on the skin.

We arrived in Wyong and Dad pushed my chair up a hill to the premises, Mum walking to our side.  A welcome breeze fanned our faces before we entered the building which was a great relief to me as the day was overcast and muggy.  Toilet was the first stop, and then we moved to the adjoining building where the talk was being held to meet the Post School Options staff.

Mum saw the room first and said,
‘Oh Suzie, you had better take a deep breath’.
 I didn’t feel the need but understood her concern when Dad guided my chair through a door into a small room full of people.  Approximately 30 were already seated, positioning chairs to establish a clear view.  Mum and Dad sat to each side of me and I shifted my wheelchair towards everyone, put on my brakes, and asked, ‘Are we waiting for Tammie?’  Tammie popped her head from behind a row of people saying, ‘I’m here’ and I realised the talk was to begin without an introduction of any kind. 

This wasn’t a problem.  I introduced Mum, Dad, and myself, and thanked Tammie for inviting me to speak at Post School Options.  I gave a brief description of my life, an account of my first neurological hiccup and the wealth of lessons my disability had brought.  I explained that I saw my problem as a great blessing, one that drove me to slow down, put matters into perspective, and experience qualities of life that mattered most—tolerance, patience, understanding, caring, compassion, love, and insight.   I shared my gratitude for the love of family and friends, and my awe of the love freely given to me by strangers.  ‘It often brings the best out in others,’ I told them, as people are very willing to offer assistance, seeming to be delighted to help…I felt that their willingness showed that we are here for each other as we move through life, and spoke brightly about compassion being a powerful emotion and action the key to our happiness.  ‘We must give to live’. 

After further sharing, I handed out the excerpt from Alan’s book and read aloud as everyone followed along.  The passage focused on how to uplift our existence and help others do the same:  ‘A revolution of the spirit begins by first learning how to liberate our own minds from fear, apathy, and ignorance.’  Every relationship is a vehicle to awaken the love the world desperately needs. 

‘The first, and most difficult, is liberation through world relationships.  By engaging in relationships, we discover ourselves, and by serving the freedom of others, one frees oneself.  This style, the liberating blend of intuitive discernment, creative compassion, and basic goodness – counters the habit of self-centred fixation.  And self-centred fixation is the root cause of greed, fear, anger, and all other forms of suffering.’

The piece held many other pearls of wisdom, and I recommended the entire book to everyone.

Following, I asked everyone to clap their hands three times and join me in meditation.  The majority had never meditated and it was a great privilege to guide the meditation for approximately five minutes.  Many people seemed refreshed on opening their eyes and said they enjoyed the experience.  We briefly discussed the connection between our body and mind, and contemplated our intrinsic position in nature.  I gave a short explanation of what vipassana meditation did for me; particularly the liberation I felt on realising with my entire mind and body that everything was impermanent and so was my dis-ease.  I briefly discussed my autobiography; read Come fly with Me for the anti-bias/anti-discriminatory messages; and answered questions.  The meeting took over an hour and a half, and I was delighted to be a part of it.  I thanked everyone for the fantastic opportunity and received many goodbye hugs. 

Next day, I sent Alan an email about this and in the midst of describing, I said, ‘I would love to be speaking with you in person about all this’.  The next day he wrote, ‘We’ll soon have ample time to speak in person.   I too look forward to it.  You’re an inspiration’.

I looked very forward to that soon and having ample time to speak in person … 

IN MID-FEBRUARY, I returned to Umina Public School to talk with all year 3 to year 6 classes in seven sessions, concluding the final five in April/May.  It was another huge privilege!  Visiting the school with Dad was also an incredible honour.  Mum escorted me on one of the days and I was blessed again to perform such a loving duty with my parents.  They watched in amazement at the wonderful interplay with the children, and I felt their love and joy. 

After reading Come fly with Me during these talks, I would ask the children to find a position on the floor to lay or sit and close their eyes.  When settled, I’d perform a guided meditation exercise, taking them through some of the workings of the body and sensations on the body.  Then I’d ask them to choose a bird, and as a bird, we would fly through the changing seasons.  It was a refreshing activity and a first time meditating for many. 

After meditation, I would read my second story Playing in Space, and several children said it was their favourite, inspiring me to write more.  Without even realising, the children provided brilliant feedback, suggesting destinations for future adventures and presenting good questions about my physical problem.  I explained the circumstance of my wheelchair confinement so positively that one boy said: ‘I wish I had a wheelchair’, referring to the tricks he could perform rather than the prospect of being physically-challenged. 

To conclude the session, I’d read my favourite poem I’m exactly like you (written in 2000) and others if time permitted.  Often, children would surround me when the class ended asking individual questions, expressing their heart or shyness, and most of them gave me big cuddles when I asked.  The cuddles were another blessing because Miss Darmody, the librarian who organised my visits and schedule, sadly told me that school policy no longer allowed children to be touched at all, even when they needed loving contact.

A communication channel was established from these classes.  The children sent me letters suggesting story ideas and expressing their love through colourful poetry or prose and I posted an individual reply to each.  I felt like Santa Claus when I opened the first envelope full of letters and promptly set about answering! 

*  *  *

Alan hired a tour manager for this year’s Australian trip and I wasn’t needed as his Sydney contact person.  I was a little disappointed but also grateful the amount of work was not pinned on me.  Still inclined to assist, I emailed Alan’s schedule and details to my contacts from last year; including radio stations – commercial and community, meditation, and yoga centres, politicians, public figures, healing centres etc.  Approximately seven lists were complied and sent to his tour manager, Chris, and we built a lovely rapport.

Alan stayed in contact with me during the lead up to his visit and I was convinced a strong friendship was growing between us.  Particularly strong, since I was involved in the finer details of coordinating keys to his friend’s flat for his arrival in Sydney.  He was very grateful and told me to feel free to call him anytime at his friend’s apartment. 

Mum called the apartment a few times on the day he arrived to welcome him.  I didn’t want her to disturb him and was embarrassed, but there was no need.  He did not answer, so she left messages.  Assuming he was resting or meditating, I anticipated seeing him that night.  His first talk commenced early evening and I was going along, due to a generous friend’s offer to drive an hour from Sydney to pick me up, drive me to Sydney, attend the talk, drive me home, and then return to Sydney himself. 

The journey down to Sydney in Dave’s v8 motorcar was chatty and fast.  In no time we were looking for a car park.  I smoked a joint before we arrived, to ensure my limbs stayed supple in the chair for the duration of the talk, and to settle my nerves before seeing Alan.  From there, Dave wheeled me along the charming east Sydney streets, until we came to the Yoga Centre, holding his talk. 

We had been waiting out the front for Yolanda only a few minutes before Alan emerged from the building.  He smiled a beautiful smile and said, ‘I knew I came down here for a reason’.  I beamed a smile in return and was greatly surprised to receive a cuddle and a brief kiss on the lips.  Although taken aback, my main concern was the possible taste of marijuana on my lips.  Alan didn’t seem to notice; he was bursting with vibrancy and I didn’t know how to take him.  He was serious and reticent the last time I saw him… such was his heartache over Aung San Suu Kyi and the situation in Burma.

Because of these thoughts whirling in my mind, I wasn’t really a part of Alan and Dave’s conversation, and merely enjoyed the good vibes around me.  I imagined other opportunities to talk with Alan would happen.  Soon, Yolanda walked up the hill to greet us, warmly received by Alan.  ‘It seems like only yesterday’ he said, as she went on his 2001 retreat in Bryon Bay.  The energy was great between the four of us and when Alan’s other friends arrived, Dave, Yolanda, and I made our way into the building.  The talk was upstairs and Dave needed to lift me, and then the wheelchair, to the first floor.  In 1999, Dave had carried me up many steps into the SCG (Sydney Cricket Ground) member’s stand to watch the Sydney Swans with Dad.  Not an easy feat; he considered this short distance incomparable exertion.

Dave placed me on a plastic chair in the room assigned to the talk and I struggled to transfer into my wheelchair so we could move freely about until the talk commenced.  It was hot and stuffy on the top floor, and after many attempts, I accepted David’s offer to lift me in.  Healthy men are miracles workers due to their strength, and we were quickly on the move again …

*  *  *
Throughout the next 29 pages of this chapter: 

Down about my lack of physical independence: unable to get to two-day Dharma retreat and meet up with Alan following.
‘Spiritually Incorrect’ ~ Alan’s last Sydney event. 

Mum and I drive to Byron Bay for four-day Dharma retreat: generous gift from Alan for last year’s work ~ Save Burma Save Aung San Suu Kyi tour! 

Before it commenced: stayed at Sarah’s (restless), and then the Byron Bay Wheels Resort (tumultuous)… 

Truth discussions and self-inflicted confusion at retreat. 

Following, Thea’s ground-level home my sanctuary. 

‘Spiritually Incorrect’ in Byron. 

Cuddles with Ammachi ~ and a family blessing! 

Blessings continue: Medicine Buddha Empowerment event and His Eminence Luding Khenchen Rinpoche. 

Continue wishing for the magnanimous companion I’m meant to meet, hoping he is within physical reach…  

Write letter to Alan regarding situation at home and advice on how to write honestly without hurting people’s feelings… his reply (in part):
“Suzie, if there is pure intention there is no higher good than truth.  If your writing is grounded in it, you provide a gift to others.  Let nothing distract you from truth.  Love, Alan”

MS alternative treatments meeting: learn about Atlas Orthogonal (AO)… Revisit drastic horse fall on my neck when I was 11… commence AO: chiropractic ~ long drives south with Dad for treatment. 

Despite huge physical improvement: commence receiving weekday personal care for an hour. 

Meet Bryce Courtenay at a Children’s Literature Festival at Ourimbah Campus: offers to help me. 

Experience suffering to know compassion more than I ever imagined possible on meeting Rory, David’s workmate.

An unknowable force/attraction pulls us together…. Rory goes DUI with me beside him on New Year’s Eve…

(Beautiful  photo from the collection of Arsh  Matharu Photography)

Chapter Twenty-Two (2003 ~ 32 years)

Love Grows Within and Without

 ‘To be yourself requires extraordinary intelligence.  You are blessed with that intelligence; nobody need give it to you; nobody can take it away from you.  He who lets that express itself in its own way is a 'Natural Man'.’  ~ U. G. Krishnamurti

By 2003 I became serious about improving my health and sought a new course of bio-quantum homeopathy drops made specifically to one’s saliva.  Peter Fraser—the homeopath I heard about at the Ammachi retreat last year—had kindly sent me trial drops on examining my saliva, which made a subtle difference.  My symptoms slowly worsened after using them, but my hands and arms felt remarkably stronger and lighter, so I sent another saliva swab in the mail and Peter sent me a new course of herbal drops.

I took them away with me to Byron Bay on a holiday Sarah gave me as a birthday gift.  Her generous gift reached the skies when we flew in a small plane to Ballina Airport.  Mum trusted me going away with Sarah; her reputation of being physically sturdy convinced everyone she’d manage.  She did more than manage!

Signs that we may have bitten off more than we could manage showed in the car on the way to Sydney.  Sarah and Paul drove up from Sydney to get me, and I chose to sit in the backseat on the return journey wishing to readopt sitting comfortably anywhere in a car.  Nevertheless, without being as firmly supported as one is when sitting in the front seat and without my arm slightly hanging out the window to secure me for a smoother ride around corners, I became carsick half way there and hurriedly vomited into a dog’s dish conveniently kept under the backseat for Sarah’s dogs.  We immediately pulled over and happily there was a man hosing plants on the highway roadside who lent us the hose, and then I transferred into the front seat compliments of Paul’s strong muscles lifting me in.  My habit of travelling in the front seat over the past few years made more sense than ever.

I felt fine for rest of the afternoon and night with Sarah and friends seating comfortably on the couch, but had a cold by morning.  I used many tissues, coughed all day and night, and the next morning we left for the airport.  On the plane, I felt slightly sick again, incubated by cold air-conditioning and air-sockets blowing directly on me, which was nice at the time.

The plane arrived at Ballina airport an hour and a half later, and the dismount was as colourful as boarding had been in Sydney.  Crane, machines, and devices took the place of strong men, concerned about compensation if something went wrong carrying a passenger.  Although they didn’t say this, I understood the reason, and appreciated the fun and friendliness of my helpers!

Outside the airport a friendly taxi-man smiled at me said, ‘It’s going to rain.  The cows are sitting in the centre of the paddock’,  While Sarah went to collect our hire-car, I delighted at the sight of cows sitting in the middle of a paddock next to an airport, and at the warm and open people living up to their laid-back reputation!  Low clouds heightened the muggy climate and the thrill of being somewhere new outweighed my brewing sickness.

We were staying at the Byron Bay Rainforest Resort also known as the wheelchair friendly Byron Bay Wheels Resort, with a pool for wheelchair access.  We didn’t take advantage of the pool when we arrived, but Sarah made the rooms comfortable and we went into Byron for a food shop and drive.  Originally, we were to share a one-room cabin, but Sarah decided to upgrade and now a kitchen and bathroom separated two rooms!  More than a wise move! 

Driving through Byron was as if stepping back in time and the folks hoped to keep it that way by disallowing fast food chains into the area, for example.  A population increase caused some locals to complain, but they still smiled and greeted people in a friendly relaxed, life-is-good fashion!

Bryon Bay, northern New South Wales, is a hip and happening place to celebrate summer!  People from diverse lifestyles, dress colourfully and walk the streets unhurried, happy-go-lucky, in Australia’s carefree capital.  The beaches are gorgeous, the headlands dramatic, and the country side, a glorious green.  I drank in my new surroundings and chatted to people while Sarah purchased food and necessities in the supermarket.  We then drove around the town and back to our resort, in a rainforest area of the bay. 

The resort was a little paradise, trees everywhere, dotted with colourful birds singing their song.  We were upmarket camping amid beautiful nature, sitting in a screened outdoor area adjoining our rooms, playing music video on cable.  I was in heaven, until the plastic outdoor chair I’d been sitting on for hours became uncomfortable, and the only other seat was my bed.  This place was very wheelchair friendly—it was the only secure seat in the hut, unless I was sitting on the bed!  It didn’t matter, I was so grateful to be there and my discomfort eased as I worked on Sarah’s laptop absorbing the tropical atmosphere!  Aromas soon permeated the scene from Sarah’s cooking, following which we drank white wine and stayed amongst the night time air talking of many things.

The next day we went for a roll in my wheelchair.  While we had been eating breakfast in our outdoor screened area, the cute groundsman at the resort stopped to chat with us and encouraged us to walk a ‘short’ distance to the beach to see great views.  But his suggestion quickly lost appeal as Sarah grew hot and tired pushing the chair a very long distance in denim jeans, and the destination brought us no joy, as we couldn’t get near the beach because of sandy access tracks and rubber wheels.  Sarah insisted she could piggyback me, but I couldn’t help her help me if we fell.

We returned to the resort from the now burning sun, and once home, I rested in bed while Sarah swam and sunbaked by the pool, recuperating.  My little sickness was re-emerging, but that wasn’t going to hinder me having the massage and facial Sarah had also bought as a gift for my birthday!  We stayed in that night, and the next morning we received a Bowen Technique treatment, which is holistic system of healing, and another gift from amazing Sarah!

After the Bowen healing, we went into Byron and met with Jaimini—the beautiful man I met at the Ammachi Retreat!  Sitting in the sun at a cool café, smiling into his smiling face and sharing the smiles and loving energy with Sarah was pure joy.  We spoke of the love of women, and how the nurturing mother in all of us has the ability to transform the world!  We spoke of Amma and her astounding transcendent love, and of Jaimini’s recent time at Ammachi’s actual ashram in Kerala, India.  We arranged to meet again at the Byron Bay Beach Hotel on our last night.

One evening stood between now and then, and Sarah wanted to go out to dinner.  A natural wish when on holiday, except what I needed was another night in, but I made the effort for Sarah… so grateful for her birthday gifts to me!  After a visit to the Byron Bay Lighthouse at the eastern most point of Australia, we went home and had another rest before we drove through the Byron Bay countryside, to see its beauty. 

The scenery was stunning; however, I was nauseous driving along the winding hillsides.  I concealed this as best as possible from Sarah as it was her holiday too and I couldn’t ruin it because of a little sickness.  Even so, at the restaurant, I cried in surrender of my sickly state.  After a nourishing, protein-packed bowl of miso soup, I felt better and we called Mum.  By then, my sadness and sickness were imperceptible, and Mum was a comforting angel, unaware of how much I needed her!

Bed that night was a repeat of the previous nights, except worse.  Firstly, I finally had the vomit that had been haunting me for the last 24 hours into a plastic waste bag beside my bed, and later in the night, my body overheated with extreme night-sweats.  I attempted hazardous movements removing my singlet top, pushing it downwards, which was silly because my legs wouldn’t bend, and I couldn’t sit up.  My sudden exasperation and efforts caused me to fall off the bed, landing wedged between the bed and bedside table in a banana spear-like position. 

There was nowhere to go; I tried wiggling out, but to no gain.  All I could do was call, ‘Sarah, Sarah’!

She heard and came quickly from her bedroom.

‘Oh honey.’  She was so sympathetic and could see I was crying, effortlessly lifted me back onto the bed.

‘Is that all from you?’  Sarah questioned, remarking on my wet sheets.

‘Yes, I’m so hot!’  Alas, we didn’t put the fan on for fear of me catching a chill.

I was going through a major purification process, I told myself.  Experiencing a type of karmic cleansing, triggered perhaps by this holiday near the northern NSW Mountains where I might move to one day.  So I hoped I was clearing out for what Shastri said was to come.

I felt better on waking the next morning and took my second swim in the wheelchair friendly pool.  A woman who broke her spine in a motorbike accident years earlier had designed the pool and transformed a sun-bed into a waterproof wheelchair using bicycle wheels.  I took advantage of this having not been in a swimming pool for years. 

The buoyancy of water opposed to gravity was like entering another world, and this world supported unmoving legs and encouraged upper body activity!  We swam the length of the pool and around its edges.  I guided myself along the railings and as my confidence grew, I bounced up and down in the middle of the pool to maintain a standing position, resting at the sitting areas to prolong energy!  All up, I took three swims during the holiday due to the pool’s magnificent accessibility, regardless of my strange sickness.  I thanked the drops for their protective properties against the muggy climate, and blamed the influenza injection I had late last year for causing my first ever flu. 

That night we met Jaimini as planned, and again I delighted at his effervescent presence.  He told us he was the local groover, which became increasingly obvious as the night went by seeing him dancing so upbeat—I wished I could have danced with him…his heightened energy at 62 years was amazing!  Everyone smiled seeing him celebrate life and love!  His face radiated love for all; his ecstasy was infectious!  We were fortunate to know him.

We stayed to the end of Norman Jay—a cool English disk jockey, and dropped Jamini home on our way home.  It didn’t take long for me to go to the bathroom and get out of the wheelchair and into bed.  Midway through the night, my fever increased and for the third night running, I had great difficulty trying to go to the toilet into the saucepan on the floor bedside my bed.  Because of the fever, my legs were so stiff, they wouldn’t bend, and it was a blessing cork tiling was underneath me instead of carpet, as I wee-ed lying on my belly.  The cork tiling was good for such accidents, but not good for pressing my knees down heavily for the necessary push to heave myself back onto the bed.  After four nights, my knees were so sore and sensitive, and the bed was becoming harder for my troubled body to climb up onto. 

After many attempts trying to do the impossible without strength, I called, ‘Sarah, Sarah’, to the rescue again.  She was so strong and managed this task as if it was simple…

‘Sarah I feel so sick and helpless,’ I uttered to her and we knew the fan was necessary, because the heat and the fever were causing me almost complete debilitation. 

The final morning came for us to go home, but getting there was another obstacle.  I sat beside a window on the sunny side of the small plane, cooking my sickly state.  Although the view was superb, I eventually swapped seats with Sarah… The cooler location didn’t bring me much more relief; but, a quick little, no-fuss vomit into an aeroplane bag did the trick.

Sarah continued to be empathetic with me during the long and difficult process home.  At Sydney airstrip, the crane for the special wheelchair was delayed in reaching our plane, and once outside the airport, we had trouble fitting into a taxi with my wheelchair and Sarah’s two-in-one bag!  We were finally successful and found an Indian driver who spoke of colourful India, and at last, we reached Sarah’s house.  Paul greeted us, and gave me a piggyback ride all the way into the house and onto the lounge.  I was deeply grateful for Paul’s strength in carrying me, and the comfort of the lounge!  The situation seemed to be improving.

At bedtime, my illness rose again.  Sarah set up the sofa lounge for me as she did nights before, but this time sleeping in it would have been hazardous.  After getting out off the sofa for my final loo stop in the potty before sleeping, I couldn’t bend my legs again, and couldn’t do a wee.  My fever was too high to release any liquids and I had no strength to pull myself back into bed.  

‘Sarah, can I sleep on the floor?’  I pleaded.

 ‘Of course,’ she said, and set about packing up the sofa lounge, placing lounge pillows on the wooden floorboards. 

‘No Sarah, I need to sleep on the floor.  I don’t want to ruin the cushions from your beautiful lounge!’  Sarah wouldn’t hear of this and proceeded to make life as comfortable as possible for me. 

By now, I was wearing pads.  An accident was waiting to happen, and no amount of pounding on my abdomen would make me wee safely and easily.  Sarah became worried at my frenzied efforts beating my belly and when I was lying down unsuccessful and exhausted, she offered me a Panadol.  

‘I forgot Panadol’s even existed, oh yes please Sarah!’

Sleep started to come soon after I took the substance, as did my need to wee.  I didn’t know what to do.  I had no strength to heave myself off the cushions, onto my knees, and then on the potty.  I called Sarah again.  She was an angel—giving me towels and changing my pads, without the slightest sigh of effort or frustration.  Hours later it happened again, but this time I didn’t need to disturb Sarah; towels are wonderful absorbers. 

Paul came home during the night and with a big, cheery smile he said, ‘Have you been pissing yourself all night, have ya?’  I affirmed ‘yes’ with a giggle, happy as ever Paul had such a wonderfully light-hearted and down-to-earth personality!  No wonder I used to love dancing with him!

Next morning Sarah took me home to the place I needed more than ever!  Mum took one look at me and sensed what I’d endured.  She set me up on the couch and nursed me back to health, which took two days.  In my bed, the fever broke, and I woke with wet sheets two nights running.  I vowed never to let another flu injection come near me.  And, it wasn’t out of my system yet…

*  *  * 

Throughout the next 17.5 pages of this chapter:

Met Nigerian man on the net: living in Kuwait, bombed daily by scud missiles.

MRI scan to participate in national survey.

Sought guidance: met health practitioner, Neil… goodwill, misguidance, and Dad pays a huge fee.

World thought luminary Alan Clements, and Burma’s Nobel Peace Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi.

After becoming an advocate raising awareness for Aung San Suu Kyi and Burma, become Sydney promoter for the Free Aung San Suu Kyi and Burma Tour.

Affection for Alan (living in Canada) grew in the process… could he be the holy man. 

Bizarre bath incident.

Write a no-ending, no-goodbye letter to Jia given only weeks to live!!!

Sydney events for Free Aung San Suu Kyi and Burma Tour a success in attendance spiritually…

First presentation with school children… wrote: Come Fly with Me… leading to other school and Tafe visits!

(Glorious photo from the collection of Arsh  Matharu Photography)

Chapter Twenty (2001 ~ 30 years)
 Revisiting the Past, Spiritual Blasts, and the Magnetic Pull of Opposites 

 ‘The soul rejoices in the comforts experienced by the external self, yet man becomes so engrossed in them that the soul’s true comfort is neglected.  This keeps man dissatisfied through all momentary comforts he may enjoy, but not understanding this he attributes the cause of his dissatisfaction to some unsatisfied desire in his life.  The outlet of all earthly passions gives a momentary satisfaction, yet creates a tendency for more.  In this struggle the satisfaction of the soul is overlooked by man who is constantly busied in the pursuit of his earthly enjoyment and comfort, depriving the soul of its true bliss.  The true delight of the soul lies in love, harmony and beauty, the outcome of which is wisdom, calm and peace; the more constant they are the greater the satisfaction of the soul’ ~ Hazrat.  I. Khan

At this time, my first boyfriend Ben and I were becoming friends again.  Having visited on and off last year, he continued to visit, and as he grew more relaxed and open, unknowingly, my attraction grew for him.  This wasn’t a big surprise; Gretchen gave me a reading before New Year, ‘Suzie, you might find that you might want to be with him again’.  I strongly refuted her suggestion, having already experienced the pitfall of such a reunion, many times.

I went to a ‘doofer’ dance party with Ben, Yolanda, Yolanda’s boyfriend Rick and friends.  An outdoor ‘doof’ party was a one-off event for me.  German translation of ‘doof’ is silly, and silly is what it seemed, because of the music.  I didn’t like the rave atmosphere of trippy music and ravers dancing separately—transported to a world of their own, not shared with eye contact and dancing in rhythm together.  I felt this way when I was a dance party fanatic during those house-music dance party days…  At this outdoor ‘rave’, although the starlit sky was our rooftop, I thought about the wildlife—the noise an intruder to their setting…  The style and tempo of the music disturbed me most, giving me a headache.  Obviously, it’s an acquired taste, just as house music was long ago.  At these moments, I didn’t find it too bad being unable to dance!

It was also a good thing Sarah met us there, having accompanied her Israeli friend Raf - one of the party DJ’s, named Rif Raf to the party.  Ben and Sarah provided me with much needed assistance and support when I needed to go to the toilet.  Thinking of me, Sarah had kindly purchased a little port-a-loo before she came, and assembled it on the side of the mountain, joining sarongs between trees for privacy.  This was so special, as was the way Ben and Sarah teamed up to help me accomplish this act, Ben respectfully parting when I was safely on loo.  While in this quieter position, I reflected on how I couldn’t get by without friends… certainly couldn’t go out without them, particularly to places such these.

These parties, as the ones I attended long ago, were places where substance assimilation was a recreational activity exercised by many partygoers—alcohol, an added extra and rare consumption.  For old time’s sake, I partook in a little substance, minus the burden of guilt, enjoying something different for a difference, but I still conjured up the fear of how would people judge me when they knew.  Quickly discarding the false influence of judgment, from a comfy seat, I enjoyed the wonder of witnessing a girl moving like never before on her prosthetic limb… her mind and body expanded beyond the processes that normally caused her to limp, as well as need a cane…

     It was dark to my left and a voice of laughter and joy sounding very much like Yolanda’s, flew here and there, closely followed by Rick’s voice.  ‘Was that Yolanda,’ I asked, disbelieving my eyes but not my ears, as her figure moved with fluidity and grace!  She was a bubble of beauty as her body moved in harmony…  But the miracle of it was too transient to grasp.  Our minds much more capable than we can imagine…  I was seeing this firsthand! 

Surprised, I answered, ‘Only if you want too!  But, of course, I’d love you to.  It’s so wonderful for everyone!’

In the heightened energy of euphoria and sleepiness, we kissed nestled in embrace… past and present fused, and we shared feelings of love in an unexplainable degree.  Thirteen years had spanned our last kiss; our souls had been through so much since then.  Now we were sharing sacredness in soul reunion.  We had never been closer.

Inevitably, we soon discussed the future, and on the condition he understood all that was probably to come into my life, I agreed not to mention the man predicted, and we’d live day-to-day.  It was a gift to be in relationship with Ben again, as I had often rebuked myself when remembering the immature thoughts, words, and sometimes actions our teenage relationship brought.  Over the years, I wished I had given him good love, and now the universe was giving me an opportunity to offer healing and love to that very person, in the mature kind of way!  No more need to project mental-grief or ignorantly inflict self-torment onto him, as I would have done back then.  This time he’d be getting no mental-grief from me… it would be up to Ben on how he wished to deal with what life presented as we moved along in renewed relationship mode! 

MY 30^TH BIRTHDAY came about soon after, and I invited many friends and family to a party at the Umina Beach Surf Club.  It was the first time in many years the upstairs floor of this club had been hired out for an occasion.  It hadn’t been renovated in years either, but I was thrilled to be holding my party in a space that was nostalgic to me due to its incredible view of the ocean I grew up enjoying.  Umina Beach was the beach I frequented as little girl with Mum and family, and visited for a swim on hot summer afternoons after school with Dad and the dogs and he’d call me his little tadpole as I swam happily in the water.  Mouse and I spent much time with our dogs on the beach during summer holidays and when we were a few years old again, we spent time hanging out with boys!  Then the beach became about parties that carried on well into the night and often led to house parties and barbecues back at friends’ houses…

Yes, it was a surf club of good memories and more were made during the evening with party friends galore from nearby and Sydney, past and present.  Rif Raf was the DJ and he tried his best to play house music more than rave, unsuccessfully at times causing the dance floor to clear because the gathering of old-schoolers wanted familiar tunes to boogie too.  I was picked up and spun around the dance floor by my brother and friends all through the night, and I found great relief sitting on my walker seat for rest intervals.  When the night ended at three am, I was piggybacked down the stairs, and followed by my eternal party friend Paul, and lastly by Dad who was determined to be the last one leaving the building.  My Dad—the adventurer, was soon to go trekking in Nepal, yet still without his long-awaited money!

*  *  *

Excerpt to the Divine Consciousness from my diary: 

Recently home from an Alan Clements’ retreat up north, Yolanda and Rick were free to accompany Ben and me to Ammachi.  This was a new experience for them, and I hoped Yolanda would simply melt into Mother’s arms.  On some level, she did, but the heightened emotions of her mind, inhibited the power of Ammachi’s loving.  Her emotions were high due to difficulties she was having trying to unite home—family—boyfriend, which was a new experience because Rick was her first love/boyfriend.

Everyone’s emotions were particularly high, as Yolanda had said the wrong thing during the drive to Sydney, when she voiced surprise at Ben and me being back together.  She had been away the past weeks and I hadn’t had a chance to update her.  Yolanda is a no fuss, straightforward person, especially in speech, and she stated disbelief on hearing we were ‘together’.  ‘I don’t believe it.  Ben maybe, but Suzie, shit no!’  Her doubt coming from Shastri’s prediction of the man coming into my life, together with my long-held aspirations of this coming true.

The repercussion of Yolanda’s statement brought an instant shadow to Ben’s disposition.  It was as if an energy oppressor had arrived in the car, causing Yolanda to feel wrong, Rick to think wrong, and me to know I did ‘wrong’, having not made sure I’d told Yolanda.  These moments set tune for the rest of the day.  Not even the sight or touch of Ammachi could overcome such energies, which was a huge shame, due to the loving-kindness, beauty, and truth permeating the blessing. 

Mother must have felt the confusion surrounding me, for when I’d finished receiving my second ever Darshan (blessings), a white-worker whispered to me: ‘Mother would like you to sit next to Her’.  Oh, this was a surprise and Ben kindly lifted me to sit on Ammachi’s right.  Sitting in the haven of Mother’s heavenly vibrations, I had a front-row view of Yolanda and Rick’s Darshan.  Tears came to my eyes for my friend who had already been through more than most of us could imagine, and now she was in the arms of sincere compassion.  Ammachi and Yolanda were love in motion, except, one was aware of it, the other wasn’t.  The humility of Rick’s embrace also brought a tear to me, for his intent was to give the Mother a cuddle rather than simply receive one.  ‘I can’t wait to give Her a hug!’ he had said with enthusiasm and unadulterated joy, when I first told him about Amma. 

Ben snuck a tiny portion of video footage as I sat in the privileged position aside Ammachi.  Simply closing my eyes to absorb the loving vibrations for any length was difficult, as Ben, Yolanda, and Rick were waiting.  We were going to Bondi Beach on the other side of the city for lunch, and then coming back later for Ammachi’s evening program.  Not wanting to be too spiritually hungry, I gestured to Ben to collect me from where I sat whenever he was ready.  I wholeheartedly appreciated his part in managing these complex movements smoothly, surely, now so accustomed to carrying me—a very awkward package.  The waiting walker was our destination and once I was sitting safely, he pushed me from there…the capacity of the wheel a most marvellous invention.

Outside, and during the rest of the day, the dynamism between the four of us remained wanting.  That the beautiful day could be tainted so was a real shame.  We had experienced pure positive vibrations with Ammachi.  Now, instead of still feeling these, the vibrations surrounding us were jammed-packed with effort and the need to ease troubled minds.  Things didn’t have to be so hard.  I tried to uplift the atmosphere but because I could only do so much to the affect situation, I resigned to sit back during the long drive home after Ammachi’s evening session to recall last year’s meeting with Her, and anticipate the next.  Audibly ruminating over the day didn’t hold appeal to me, or to anyone, sadly.

A dream nights following:

Last night I had a dream about AMMACHI!  She was sitting in the driver’s seat of a car, and I was beside on Her left.  I said something to Ammachi that made her smile, and nod in agreement, and encouragement!  It was the most beautiful, serene feeling, and I knew that Ammachi was supporting me, and that She was another of my beautiful guides who is a role model to me!  It was such a wholehearted, loving dream… that felt so real!

*  *  *

Continued concerns over Ben.

September 11.

Nanna moves in.

Spiritual gatherings, spiritual laughs, and endings.

Melbourne Cup Day, met Zane.

Bridesmaid at Alicia’s wedding.

Zane and I kiss ~ a relationship springing from nowhere.

Chapter Eighteen: Two Steps Forward, Many-Steps Back

(1999 ~ 28 years)

‘If you stop doing what you want, you can do what you like’

-Anonymous

My mind wondrously expanded during the process of reading Paramahansa Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi, a book I borrowed from the fire farm.  The life experiences of this profound being, together with so many other profound saintly beings, fulfilled a previously unquenchable yearning in my heart. 

From here, I felt vipassana meditation had been for the higher purpose of purifying my mind in preparation to receive such divine truths.  I embraced this book as a gift from God!  For here was a great Hindu yogi’s self-written account about his colourful life and associations with many of India’s God-realised masters.  Always destined to become a yogi, Yogananda shares the miracles he experienced in his life as well as some of the sacred teachings he obtained on his road of awakening.  Reading this was a dream come true for me.  I absorbed Yogananda’s every line of his life story, adoring his writing style, magnificent expression, and grace… the treasure of his heart and soul!  Yogananda was the first yogi ever to share the divinity of his experiences in such a way.  And, through his sharing, my faith in God grew boundlessly stronger and my belief in healing my physical challenge became unquestionable! 

WITH SUCH GODLY WONDER in my life, it was easier to inform Di of my decision to study alternate weeks with Reg.  Blinded by blinkers, Di resolutely disagreed stating it would make ‘continuity of study ineffectual’.  Aware of my promise to remain non-sectarian, she made the decision for me and her mindset affirmed that the Jehovah Witness’ policy was unaccommodating to an unbiased approach to learning.  She was upset to lose a new student, but ultimately the choice was hers, and we warmly said goodbye.

Di returned a few days later bearing a gift: a little red book called Mankind’s Search for GOD published by Watchtower Bible.  Primarily without prejudice, the book provided an overview on the worlds various religions.  It was the perfect gift that focussed on the overall unity among religions, and so union in diversity!  Di wrote a note on the inside cover, ‘Dear Suzie, May this book help you find the ‘Truth’.  You have a good heart and you seem to be searching.  Christian Love, Dianne’ Isa.  55.6 Proverbs 2:1-22.

Because of Yogananda, I felt a sense of God intoxication for the first time.  He presented God as most loving, sacred, and precious.  Fear of God was not exhibited in the old Western way; instead, Hindu’s teach to guide one’s life in awe of our Maker—in love with…  For the first time, my idea of God rocketed.  He even interpreted Christianity beautifully—the Bible is completely different when explained with esoteric yet lucid, supernal wisdom, insight, and light—the reason why I sought to study it here in Oz.

*  *  *

Love all around, my brother David wrote me a note, displaying his heart and mind at that time:

      ‘To my Suzie

      Just a little note to say I am so proud of you.  The way you deal with your little problem is a credit to you and I will always try to help you through this.

      Unfortunately, I am living in a mixed up world at the moment.  I do my best to help you because you are so very special to me.  Please understand that sometimes I go through strange moods but deep down you are my most beautiful person in my life.  Love Dave xxxxx’  

I was encouraged by my family’s love, and was so thankful I never experienced moods because of my ‘problem’.  Ironically, though, I was still hunting for the right type of anti-depressants (as per the phenylamine/vitaminB12 injection/anti-depressant cocktail discovered by Cari Loder—the English girl with MS), and thankfully, no types affected my usual positive temperament.  I felt no mood alteration at all!  After a two-month trial, the third brand of anti-depressants also proved futile.  This would have been disheartening if a new brand of anti-depressants hadn’t joined the market.  Doctor Carmel had mentioned these in my last visit, saying they worked on a new area of neurotransmitters, similar to the ones that had already proved best of the three for me. 

This sounded promising and my confidence grew when I saw the Efexor packet for the first time.  ‘They’re the ones’, I said seeing images of suns and moons on the back of the tablets, indicating morning and evening doses.  To me the symbols exemplified sun and moon energies that give light, movement, and life…  I took this as a sign that those were the ones!  The sacred fires of agnihotra seemed to present this gift to me, in honour of the sun and moon cycle.  

I commenced the final type of anti-depressants available in early February, and took the first dose in the morning while reading in bed.  Not half an hour had passed and I could move my right foot in a quick sideward motion.  This was unbelievable.  I hadn’t been able to do that since MS came on.  Exciting adrenaline surged through my body!  Yet, do you think I got up?  No!  Mum was at work; so to avoid disappointment, I decided not to get up in case symptoms were still present, and read for another hour with the thrilling thought that walking again just might be possible!  But when I rose, my first steps confirmed my former symptoms, although reduced!  I wasn’t too disappointed.  I welcomed the increased balance plus sturdiness when lifting my right leg, pleased with even this improvement!

Five days before the meeting, I went to Ruby’s for the day—a woman who I’d met through Mum and chose her to be my scribe for the Shastri reading.  We’d met only once to do a double agnihotra sunset fire (as Ruby performed agnihotra too), and we wished to get to know each other more before the meeting.  On the Shastri day, I knew it wouldn’t be easy for Mum to take notes, far too mentally and emotionally occupied to convey details to paper.  And, having heard of Shastri, Ruby knew the encounter would be unique for all of us.

While I was at Ruby’s house, one of her friends came to visit, an interesting woman named Irene whose clairvoyant abilities consciously functioned.  Ruby had told Irene of my Shastri appointment, and despite knowing his great source of reference she was confident enough in her own ability to express the following: 

Looking at the shape of my hands, Irene said, ‘You are very artistic’, and ‘should work with children, perhaps doing painting’.  She went on to say I shouldn’t seek work in the missionary field as I have done it many times before, and this life was not for that.  She said, ‘Your faith is very strong!’  Next, she asked me to stand up to have my aura smudged and cleansed.  Before I knew it, Irene held a sage stick above my head, and then began flapping the smoke with an eagle feather birdlike around my body.

Despite the blessing, standing for such a length became more difficult as the minutes went by; however, she was to say another profound thing before I sat.  Holding the bottom of my spine, she said, ‘You have the weight of the world on your shoulders’.  ‘You have felt much burden, and still hold it in your spine.’  ‘Something happened in a past life, where you saw people die… children… in an earthquake or a volcano!  Something devastating like that, to which you felt responsible.  You felt you could have saved them!’

Amazingly, Shastri soon reveals that—‘You and the children die in an avalanche, and you felt responsible!’

Two days before the mystical meeting, Ruby met Shastri when he bought hats from the hat shop she worked at and she phoned me to say he had a happy, vibrant personality.  This eased my mind.  I had been worrying if I was doing the right thing.  Fears had started to rise since I’d been studying the Bible every fortnight with Reg the pastor from the Seventh Adventist Church. 

I wasn’t a yes sir student, often battling with Reg - albeit benignly, on missing foundations struck from the Bible such as karma and reincarnation, in the 4^th Century by Constantine.  As well as about the sad misguidance of gays not being ‘allowed’ into ‘heaven’ due to their so-called sin, and drunk drivers who fatally hit children destined to ‘hell’.  I’d say, ‘If they’re going to hell then I am too.  And I know God wouldn’t want that, if there is such a place’.  Now archaic thinking had me worrying that I just might be breaking Bible commandments by seeing Shastri.  I sent prayers for a sign, and it seemed answers came to me three days before the Shastri date, when David and I went for a swim at Ettalong Beach.

We were lying and swaying in the tranquil waters, sharing quality time under the warm sun.  It was very special, as it had been a long time since Dave had been in the ocean and his face beamed rejuvenation.  The occasion was blissful!  Before leaving, we had brother sisterly moments when he held my hands as I lay on my stomach and pulled me through the water, thrashing me from side to side.  It was fun!  Although I discovered, I had lost both contacts when we were back in the car.  Those things cost a lot as my eyes had stigmatism.  Oh no that’s a bad sign, I thought, but kept the loss from David to avoid dampening the happy mood!

The next morning, sitting for agnihotra sunrise, I prayed for another sign.  Soon after, the fire went out!  Oh my God, I’m not meant to go!  A saddening prospective!  I phoned Grace from the farm later that morning to share my reservations about seeing Shastri.  Grace answered and on realising whom it was she exclaimed, ‘I was just thinking of you!’  I told her of my fears that seeing Shastri could be totally going against the Bible.  With much thought she said, ‘How can I say this without hurting you?  It seems you don’t want to be empowered; you don’t want to empower yourself!’  She went on to suggest my hesitation might because I preferred to remain with my physical challenge, proposing I found comfort through dependence.

I’m unable to recall Grace’s exact words because my thoughts were back on the fire farm, of me having a placid disposition, sitting happily regardless of my situation.  Even before MS, some people assumed me somewhat giddy, too happy, and friendly to be the full quid.  At the farm, my position had been in the student role, so I had no inclination to speak over Grace and Luke to get my experiences and views across.  I was more than happy to listen and receive pearls of wisdom.  Grace’s words implied they had missed my message; however, I received wisdom again, for it was certainly time to become empowered!  On hanging up, my mood had risen: I was off to see Shastri, surrendering the outcome of the meeting to God, finally realising it was God was sending me there anyway!  So, I was calm when the day arrived.

MY GREATEST CONCERN while dressing was the rising temperature.  It was hot!  I wore a light fitting white dress, and the Shiva-Lingam and copper Shri Yantra around my neck.  The only other item I brought along was the Autobiography of a Yogi for support and as mark of acknowledgement for the mystical journey I was about to embark on.

Mum and I headed off on the twenty-minute journey to Anna’s house.  All four windows were down in our non air-conditioned car, and hot wind thrust about us as we zoomed along.  I had expected to feel a pit of bubbly nerves in my stomach on approaching the destination, but I wasn’t anxious, surprisingly, despite the magnitude of the meeting and the knowing that my life would have irrevocably changed by the return route, having bitten the apple and gained the fruit of knowledge…  No longer ignorant to what was really going on...  My recent fears left behind.  There was no turning back; I trusted only good would come out of this meeting!  To Shastri we went!

To meet this mysterious Indian man involved a very long climb!  The afternoon was growing even hotter and Shastri was staying at Anna’s home—the place on top of the very large hill I visited for the meditation evening last year.  This time, on looking up at the eighty-plus flight of steps, I feared how the soaring temperature would affect my ability to battle them (too steep for a car), as my MS symptoms had already worsened.  I knew the exertion would be incredibly worthwhile despite all difficulty… especially on discovering secrets of my soul, karma, and soul plan.  A priceless pot of gold was the awaiting reward for my feat; all efforts were prepaid!

The purpose was to gain insight into my condition, to discover why MS had come about and what was going to happen to me.  If the revelations proved positive, which I intuitively and trustingly believed, I would receive invaluable guidance and information to strengthen healing.  The other major reason was to find if I was to renounce this worldly life...

 *  *  *

Throughout the next 14.5 pages of this chapter: 

Incredibly sacred, liberating, and colourful revelations given at the Shastri reading that changed my life irrevocably.

Enrolled in part-time Child Care studies as per Shastri’s suggestion.

Leon finally released from my heart after Shastri’s holy man predictions.

Letter/poem to my unmet soul mate.

Julie and Glenn’s engagement party ~ attempt at partying like old times.

Mum is relieved of work, becoming my full-time carer.

On Shastri’s counsel, commenced writing my autobiography, ‘Blessed are they who have found their work’.

Met up with Harry… friend from my teenage days: commence short romance.

(Wonderful photo from the collection of Jann Gail-Jones)
Chapter Sixteen: Working Out What’s Important

(1997 ~~ 26 years)

Gotama the Buddha once said:
‘This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds.  To watch the birth & death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance; a lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky rushing by like a torrent down a steep mountain.
We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share.
This is a precious moment, but it is transient, it is a little parenthesis in eternity.  If we share with caring light heartedness & love, we will create abundance & joy for each other.  And, then this moment will have been worthwhile!’

MS is a wet dis-ease according to Chinese philosophy, and as my limbs felt heavier whenever I returned to Sydney after periods away from its humid climate, these theories were on the mark.

Steep stairs at Julie’s house highlighted that ‘my problem’ was worsening.  Each day I felt rigidity creep into my legs and I was periodically fatigued, necessitating a trip to the neurologist to see if he could help. 

At the appointment, after I followed the standard neurological routines of walking on tiptoes, on my heels and one foot in front of the other, Professor Snow diagnosed spasticity in addition to my walking condition, another MS symptom, and prescribed Baclofen medication as treatment to ease this by helping my knees to bend, eliminating all stiffness, which worked for one night only. 

A great night for them to work too, as I had VIP passes to see The Corrs—an Irish music sensation that evening.  I walked up and down steep stairs with ease at the vibrant concert and went back stage after it meeting the beautiful family band members, which continued at the bar of the hotel they were staying at in Rosebay.  I also met John Stevens from Noiseworks that night, so it really was night of meeting stars.  I loved feeling ‘normal’, fun and free, so in hope to repeat the effect Baclofen had on my body I continued taking the drug for far too long to no avail.

Professor Snow also gave me a prescription for the Beta-Interferon medication at the appointment saying I qualified.  This didn’t surprise me; although, I tried to side-step the reality by telling him that the neurologist I saw in Perth before Christmas wasn’t even sure it was MS.  Looking at me solemnly the Professor said, ‘You have MS’.  I felt real pangs of terror for the first time!  I simply did not wish to put my body through chemical warfare!

*  *  *

As things seem to go, Mum was in need of me almost as much as I needed her.  Mum and Ron had finally ended their time together, and we needed to find a home in a location near Mum’s work.  We found an old, cute little house in Pennant Hills that seemed perfect on our first and only day of searching!

Until we woke the first morning after moving in, to the sound of many cars and realised we lived on a by-pass route to the main highway.  That peak hour road was to cause Mum and me much heartache, by the way of our ginger pussycats Precious and Angel!  Precious was named after Julie, Angel after me.  Although a h cumanly impossible title, Mum commenced calling me Angel following a meeting I had with a man in Perth…

One sunny, Perth morning, as I was drinking a freshly-squeezed juice at a table outside a café, a person with one arm missing and the other wired up with metal, walked towards me from across the road.  He had a smile that beamed brightly to anyone looking his way and he stopped to smile broadly at me before passing by my table.  ‘What happened to you,’ I asked in a happy yet sympathetic tone?  ‘What part of me?’ and he went on to tell me of the truck that had veered head-on into his lane and motorbike.  Sparing no details, he explained how he didn’t lose consciousness on impact, and saw his arm land in the truck driver’s lap.  When everything stilled, all he could say was, ‘Give me my arm back’.  He also suffered further wounds by the loss of his upper thigh muscles; feet muscles; use of existing arm; and the loss of most of his large family, unable to cope with an amputee!

I asked what he did for work, but because of medical requirements, he couldn’t manage full-time employment and was very limited on the part-time front.  I asked if he liked computers.  He replied enthusiastically and I enquired if he would be interested in learning the network engineering side of computers to become specialised, which would permit more time away from work while earning good money.  Sure enough, he arranged funding for training through his compensation affairs manager, agreeing to pay for each course on successful completion of the previous.  Happily, he succeeded at 17 days of the 22 day program—the remaining days entailed Service & Support, which required pulling a computer apart, fiddling a lot, and then correctly putting it together again: tricky with two hands!  In a very short time, he had ongoing and personally suited employment supporting a large company’s network system!  When I recounted this to Mum she said, ‘You really are an angel aren’t you!’  Of course, I knew it wasn’t me pulling the strings on our intermingling, pre-destined paths.  

A CAR HIT ANGEL soon after we moved into our new home!  It happened when Mum was getting ready for work and she had the shower or hairdryer running when the men who hit him knocked on our door.  We know this because when Mum arrived home from work nine hours later, our next-door neighbour said he’d heard a loud bang then saw Angel injured and fleeing under our house!  Next, he saw the men who hit him kindly go looking for him, and then knock on our door, where there was no response (to which the neighbour was not aware).  No one was aware, so our darling boy sat under the house unnoticed all day long.

My vivacious friend Julian from Perth visited me that day, and he often danced around the living room—directly above Angel’s unknown recovery position.  Whenever Precious came into the house I’d say, ‘Where’s my Angel?’ wishing Julian meet him.  Julian certainly did meet a battered and sore Angel when we discovered him once Mum arrived home, and he even drove us to the vets, Mum carefully holding Angel.

No need to detail the worry we went through that night before the x-ray the following day.  I left a clear quartz crystal in his cage and we sent him prayers through the night!  The morning’s examination revealed that the only thing we needed to worry about was money for the necessary ‘carpentry’ work running into the thousands, or put him down.  There was no option, although, Mum was fleetingly practical, concerned over using our only financial ‘security’ at the time; her fears heightened because our living together had just begun.  Comments from cynics ran through her mind, ‘All that money on a bloody cat!’  This was a not simply a selfish motive, it would have been selfish to put him down—he gave so much affection to everyone!  Anyway, you do that sort of thing for a family member!

Angels of mercy assisted our situation: Gabby and Dave—on the veterinary front, and Sarah and Clint operated the pickup and delivery side of things!  Gabby and Dave were vets friends doing practical studies at the Sydney University of Veterinary, and specialised treatment was a lot cheaper as a result.  Angel was away two weeks, and the repair work involved a plate in his hip and a pin in his leg.  The surgeon warned that he would probably limp and not jump again, and I surmised that Angel was suffering for me.  Some karmic event had taken place that offered me an opportunity to observe and learn from the bold nature of the cat, from the nature of nature.  Angel was soon walking along our fences in his bandages: abolishing all limping and jumping fears.  We watched his daring displays in wondrous horror initially, and as his agility increased, my mind strengthened to the belief that I too would run and jump again!  Angel effortlessly re-adopted the mode of body following mind, and he inspired me.  This cat had become my teacher!

I FELT SICK at the thought of using Beta-Interferon during this time, injecting myself with chemicals and animal proteins, every second day.  I was staying an evening and day at Stephen’s house when the scheduled call came from a friendly nurse in charge of administrating Beta-Interferon instructions.  Thankfully, Stephen was present; because my world was spinning out of control when I hung up… scared, helpless tears fell from my eyes.  For the first time he saw me cry and he understood, having known me at my finest, fittest self to my now seemingly crumbling self; crumbling well before its time was our opinion!  Like an eternal comforter, Stephen offered me sanguinity and hope that everything would okay.  I hung off his words with every fibre of my being and silently prayed.

I phoned Leon for solace when Stephen went to bed that night, but another call soon came through on his end, so he said he’d ring me in a couple of days.  His caller could only have been Donna, the girl he began seeing during my last month in Perth, and I only discovered this on calling him from my home in Perth one night, during our final stages…

Originally, my idea had been to surprise him by catching a taxi to his place, however thinking better of it, I decided to ring first.  Wise move… it was me who was surprised when Leon spoke in strange stifled tones, explaining he was in the middle of watching a video with a ‘friend’ in need; apparently needing refuge from her boyfriend.  That was the first mention of another woman, and he barely ever mentioned her again… allowing me to jump to any imaginative conclusion! 

Hurt by his lack of concern, I immediately rung Cory, knowing he would genuinely care.  Cory was at a pub and was delighted to hear from me although saddened by my unhappiness.  ‘You need my arms around you don’t you darling!’ were his first words.  ‘Yes!’ love and understanding were all I needed at the time… except for a new brain!  I went to bed feeling more positive after the phone call, and a short time later Leon rang back, having had a humility check on the way he had dealt with me at such a time.  ‘You sound much happier than before.’  ‘Yes’, I agreed but didn’t disclose why.

I decided to defer proceeding with Beta-Interferon for the time being—trusting my condition wouldn’t deteriorate too much.  Being in the second year of MS, I believed progression would be slow, hoping degeneration wouldn’t happen at all! 

*  *  *

Throughout the next 25 pages of this chapter:

Acquire great, high-paying job in the city, which I knock-back due to mobility to and fro.

Acquire great job in a ‘new age’ crystal shop.

Lindy visits in a dream.

Healings continue: kinesiology and shamanic.

Attend the 1997 Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, (my seventh), straight all night, few dances.

Leon allures me with mixed messages from Perth.  I write 35-page love letter expressing my heart.

Leon visits me in Sydney: passionate, rocky, painful, yet hopeful.

I visit Leon in Perth for his birthday.

Still, can’t forgive me for not leaving Cory when we first met.

We last three days.  Very emotional separation.

I go to my cousin’s where I reconnect with Mark - an old friend, Cory, and Liz’s husband, Jia very well. 

My health improves in Perth due to its dry heat.

To make up for yesterday, the universe gave us a reward.  Our initial mission for the day was to go to the Post Office to send Mum’s letter, but it altered at breakfast when Tony—our waiter/friend at Images café, gave us a little micro-dot to try—a small portion of concentrated acid.  For a complete release, we did, and what a day it turned out to be… 

First, we went for drinks at the Dreadlock Coffee Shop with Tony and two other English guys.  Any other day, this café would be a usual Amsterdam café, except today it was very trippy to us the moment we walked in.   Large dreadlock paintings adorned the walls, and intense rave music was playing that impacted quite heavily on the acid brewing in our brains.  After staying there a while, absorbing the psychedelic atmosphere, we decided to head over to the Post Office as planned.  Not such an easy plan by now!  Walking the streets was suddenly hectic with obstacles and ‘funny things’ everywhere.

Funny things were the usual things, such as bikes, riders, colourful trams, musical sweet vans, people calling their unusual dialect to people across the street, etc.  But today, it seemed as if everything had popped out of a comic book.  The narrow character cobbled stone streets were even cuter, the tapered classical white townhouses with dark framework were even more outlandish, and the Dutch were more melodious when they spoke, with animated gestures, and stately when they moved… it was as if we were really in a fantasy world.

The Post Office proved too much for our little brains and we lost it out the front, laughing, laughing, confused, and laughing.  We were laughing at the simple complication of moving through a waiting line, laughing at being in a big building, confused about being around serious faces, laughing as we stood inside the building’s bright interior lights etc.  We decided to quit trying and head back to the safety of our familiar area to have a drink—laughing at everything all the way.  Happy Hour at Rick’s Café was where we headed, via the bank…

Here our day started falling apart.  We thought we had more money in our account, but when we went to draw it out, nothing was allowed.  Our little spirits dropped a touch, but we still had a few fl on us, so we went to Happy Hour, not letting another let down spoil the day.  We laughed our heads off at Rick’s at lots of things.  Mainly about growing up with our beautiful Dad, and how funny and gorgeous he was and is!  We could only just afford one large round, and we made sure we enjoyed every drop as well as the last of our cigarettes—always fair with each other, we shared puffs on our ciggies, accustomed now to sharing everything.

It was pouring rain when we left, but we didn’t care laughing to each other as the rain fell down, ‘Of course it is!’  I could feel Julie and me growing closer throughout our entire holiday ordeal, and today I really enjoyed our strengthening bond.  We headed off to see if we could get any money out of the bank.  But no, of course not!  So I went to call MasterCard, not happy about our money-life, yet again.   

At the ATM, I couldn’t make much sense on what was happening, but quickly understood that money wasn’t in there.  Maybe we had taken out our daily quota, we weren’t sure.  We decided to leave it until midnight to try again.  Completely drenched, we lastly went to try to get a packet of cigarettes without money from our side-street shop man before we could go home to escape it all.  The lovely shop man, who gave us a free banana each one day, happily obliged, accepting payment tomorrow. 

Once home, following a yummy, long hot shower with Cory—highly deserved after being drenched and running in overdrive all day—we realised we needed more marijuana and Cory devised a way to get some on credit.  To the Greenhouse Effect he went, handing over his passport for two grams of Northern Lights—the recent annual World Cup winner.  Cory had handed over his passport and our camera the last time this happened.  Now they trusted us with just his passport—our faces growing familiar to them over the weeks.

Stoked and thankful for the much-needed abundance of smoko, the three of us settled in for euchre and more laughing.  A few hours later, before we tried to go to sleep, Cory visited the bank at 12 am to discover nothing was in it.  We were disappointed having looked forward to a burger at the 24 hour KFC, and I was starving as I’d eaten only fruit and a delicious apple cake all day!  We went downstairs to call Cory’s parents to see if the $200 they were going to deposit before the weekend was in there, and we were thrilled to hear they planned to do it in the morning.  Now, we didn’t need to call Dad for help and went to sleep comforted that money would be in the bank when we woke, plus whatever funds Dad was putting in!

We did interesting things and ate good meals over the next few days, as well as saved money on smoko after Tony from Images introduced us to a guy named Phil, who sold pot from home.  During this time, the Eten n’ Drinken’ manager asked us to move to an improved room in our hotel, as ours had been pre-booked by a couple who came every year.  We were very happy!  Our new room—number 5—was big enough for five people, one level up from our original room, and at the back of the building, not above the noisy street like our old, little rabbit-hole, smoke den.  No more cabin fever for us and no more late night street activity noise!

We treated ourselves to f12.50—full priced movie tickets, to see The Little Buddha, after searching to no avail for the f2.50 movies we’d heard about.  Cory and I especially enjoyed having a Thailand type fix, merging briefly in our imaginations with the preciously happy eastern culture, wishing we hadn’t hurried away from the paradise we’d experienced in Thailand. 

The next day we continued seeking more meaning to life and splashed out on things other than simply food, accommodation, and smoko, by visiting one of the most horrendous homes in history: Anne Frank’s.

The nature of Anne’s story warranted bleak weather and treacherous conditions; however, the sun was soothingly warm and the sky bright blue when we walked to her hiding house.  Standing beside the canal in front of her house, we were amazed to see it that looked like any other dwelling and was very close to the heart of Amsterdam, only a couple of blocks from the Post Office …

It felt horribly eerie entering the building and moving up the stairs.  On the first level, we watched a five-minute video, affirming the reality of the holocaust.  Up we went to the next level and sure enough, there was the famous bookcase!  Old folders were still in it from that time!  I felt strange yet privileged stepping through the decoy bookcase and climbing up those steep stairs so typical of Amsterdam, to peek into the terror stricken world Anne had bravely endured.

The first room was the Frank’s small living area/bedroom and all-purpose room (kitchen, dining etc).  Next was Anne and Mr Drussel’s tiny room, in which the walls still displayed Anne’s newspaper and magazine clippings!  It was tragically sad looking through the windows at the scenery they used to see if ever they took the chance to brave a peek through them.  I could only imagine how terrified they would have been of the outside world.  It was too depressing for words.  Up a level, another two families abided in secrecy.  The ‘Secret Annexe’ was surprisingly big overall; however, for three families for 25 months in hiding and unable to leave, nothing was big enough.  The most devastating fact is that they were betrayed very soon before the war ended!  They all died except Anne’s father, Otto Frank!  How dreadful!

We left exhausted and moved.  Anne Frank had touched our hearts…  ‘The little girl whose dream was to be a famous writer.  So if anything, at least her Diary, with her writings, has made her famous worldwide, for what it’s worth now the Poor thing.  Bless Anne, and her poor father—who survived it all!’

In a situation no way comparable to Anne’s, Julie, Cory, and I stayed in our hotel room most of the following day, playing cards, relaxing, leaving it only to wash our clothes at the laundrette across the road and purchase some salami, tomatoes, an avocado and bread rolls at the deli next door for a tasty dinner. 

We had received a call from Dad the day we went to Anne Frank’s, giving us an update:  Monday is the day!  Two days away.  This time Hope had a 7.30 am appointment at the bank, who assured her that she would receive her money, because the ‘numbers have dropped’!  Hope wanted no further cancellations; she was in a desperate situation.  She had no money, (as Dad couldn’t help her anymore), and had now placed a caveat on her money, which ensured that the Bank could not invest it or anyone touch it.  So, we hoped she could touch it on Monday, as promised!  And, before Christmas Please!  Dad planned to call at 11 am Monday morning with the news—‘Please let it happen’, in my diary I wrote!

SUNDAY NIGHT BROKE UP THE BOREDOM of waiting.  We went out for the first time in weeks to a ‘Radical Rehousing’ all-night benefit party at Herengracht 114, for the release of a man who was currently in a Thai Jail for the possession of weed, sentenced unfairly to 25 years.  A monetary value had been already negotiated for his release and a f10 door fee for the party went towards this.  Sadly, we hoped to avoid paying anything towards his freedom because f30 between us meant we wouldn’t be able to afford drinks or anything.  But after a hike, we arrived at the party where our friend Tony had put our names at the door and decided we couldn’t dodge a good cause, willingly paying towards it.

We moved through long, narrow hallways with red and dark materials hanging from the doorways and walls, and sat in the chill-out room for a while.  In this brightly lit room, away from the dance floor, I wasted what little money was left by having a yucky tasting Power-Pact Protein drink—which made me vomit in the ladies room.  They were supposedly smart being called Smart Drinks, but not smart for my tummy. 

After the vomit, we moved into the dancing room where Julie and I danced, sitting down soon after because the music wasn’t the best, no beat, and the smoke machine released smoke by the second.  From there we took in funny sights on the dance floor, making up imaginary names, or pretended they were people we knew.  We were happy to be out except I still couldn’t get into it, even though Julie was having a real good time at one stage, and Cory was cruising!  We left at 2.30 am because the techno music was so heavy, we could take no more—brain-fry material!

The walk home was beautiful and very peaceful in the wee hours of the morning.  We landed home for many smokes and rounds of cards, and thrashed it out until we were tired—which took me forever.  Lying down, the nearby trams clattered noisy reminders of the past unsettlement in Amsterdam and I couldn’t stop thinking about, ‘The poor Jews and the Germans and the cruellest man in the world to live—Hitler!’ (Words I wrote in my diary the next day.)

I finally fell asleep at about 6 am and woke at 10.30 am, to wait for Dad’s phone call downstairs!  Julie stayed upstairs, and Cory and I received an orange juice and coffee ‘on the house’, from the lovely waitress Nancy, while we waited.  Dad called at 11.20, and not with the dreamt of news—the money having been delayed again, and this time, until Thursday week.  Final, final stages with the bank (the shits), who wanted to wait until the end of the year, why, we did not know.   

Incredibly, Dad was still adament about it coming through!  So, that was good enough for me (it had to be).  We contented ourselves to the idea of a little threesome Christmas day with Julie, Cory and me eating a proper Christmas lunch and making the best of it in Amsterdam—hoping it snowed! 

We spent the day in playing cards and catching up on sleep.  In the evening, we had a truly satisfying Italian meal at Marco Polo, and we were happy until we later tried to withdraw tomorrow’s money from an ATM and the bank would not allow it.  As far as we knew, I was apparently, approximately $300 in credit.  I had just told Dad this morning we’d be right until Wednesday, but, of course, suddenly we were in the red again!

Consequently, we rang Mastercard yet again to learn I’d overdrawn my balance somehow, but could withdraw whatever Dad put into it, thankfully!  I now needed to call him again, tonight, and hound him for more money.  Dad was not allowed to be at peace, it was so unfair, we hated our good father being so messed around.  He had never messed us around our whole lives, the last thing he wanted was to start now!  Thankfully, we had just enough dosh at home for some smoke and one pack of Smarties to share.   

WE SPENT THE WEEK freezing our bottoms off and enjoying the lovely cold, wet, horrible, disgusting weather!  We hunted for a location to eat Christmas dinner, and found a bargain price full English Chrissie dinner at The Frisco Inn.  A friendly guy named Steve running the bar, told us about it.  It sounded welcoming, and he mentioned something about ‘seconds’ and happy hour priced beers/or a free bottle of wine.  Hence, it sounded great to us, and as it was the cheapest price around town, we were happy.  That was our exciting week, added to by a visit from Tony from Images—our first guest to our room, breaking up our week a bit.  We also had a postcard fix and sent marijuana Christmas cards home to everyone.  That too made us happy. 

Dad called on Christmas Eve at 9 am to let us know $800 was in our bank for Christmastime.  We were thrilled!  Cory’s parents also put money in, so we were rich suddenly (as far as we were concerned).  Happily, we ate breakfast downstairs, rang MasterCard to check our hefty balance, and walked to the nearest ATM to withdraw money, and buy little Christmas necessities (film, pen, fringe for Julie). 

How dare we be so presumptuous! 

At the flexi-teller, our day went wrong.  The all too familiar, ‘Unable to complete, contact your bank’ beeped its bleak message.  We walked a distance to another ATM, and waited in line again, only to receive the same message.  Disbelieving this could be happening: we telephoned the bank and discovered that electronically MasterCard systems had gone down worldwide.  Can you believe our luck and on Christmas Eve too?  They advised us to go into a bank here and have them use Telex to gain authorisation from Westpac.  We tried this twice, but Amsterdam is one of the very, very few European banks that don’t use the ‘telex’ system!  It really was bad luck for us, even though money was there!   

Generously, on hearing of our dilemma, Don—the manager of our hotel, offered to give us a cash advance saying he would pretend it was a food expense or something…so, ‘Thank The Lord for letting us have money to enjoy Christmas’!  By the time cash was in our hot little hands, the shops had nearly closed.  We rushed to purchase film, pay for our Christmas lunch, and buy fruit for breakfast, (Julie missed her fringe cut).   

We returned to our room in time to have a relaxing smoke, and get our beautiful rained on hair and persons ready for the Christmas Eve Party at The Greenhouse Effect, where it was f10 to get in, free finger food, plus 1 guilder (75 Aussie cents) beers—much to Cory and Julie’s delight.   

It was a jovial gathering with great deals of smoko on offer too, and everyone seemed to have a good time in the very friendly, cosy atmosphere—an atmosphere much more civilised and cultured than drinking spots back home or even in London, as we hadn’t seen one drunken person in Amsterdam so far!  We were now becoming familiar faces in Amsterdam, the locals becoming accustomed to us, which made us feel we were home again (sort of)!  Back in our room, after a the festive get-together, we had another smoke and fell asleep looking forward to Chrissie lunch, and wishing our family a beautiful, loving Christmas! 

We woke to a gloriously bright Christmas day in Amsterdam and called our families, getting quite emotional in the process.  It was wonderful speaking to everyone!  They were in high spirits (some teary) and it made our Christmas.  Speaking to Mum was very hard because we simply wanted to cuddle her, to give her kisses, and wish our Merry Christmas’s person-to-person, hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm!  While speaking, a Dutchman behind us wished Julie and me, ‘Merry Christmas’.  Mum couldn’t hear, so he actually got on the phone and wished her a merry one in his thickly foreign accent, which she loved, imagining she was here with us.  Our family was sitting around the BBQ and pool, lucky things.  It was 7.30 pm in Sydney when we spoke—a beautiful time on a hot day in daylight saving time—and it was 11.30 Christmas morning here, so we were happy to speak to our families actually on Christmas Day, loving and missing them so much. 

After the phone calls, we readied for Christmas lunch.  Our turn to fill our hungry bellies!  After filming a quick Christmas hello video to everyone out the front of The Grasshopper with Centraal Station in the background and a blue sky overhead, we arrived at Frisco Inn, a little disappointed to find nothing special was set-up (actually, nothing at all), and no nibbles.  Anyway, we sat on stools at our wall-table and waited.  Soon afterwards, (not too soon) a guy told us lunch wouldn’t be ready until 3 pm.  Disheartened, we played cards and had a couple of drinks.  When dinner finally came, it was rewardingly better than expected… especially the turkey and cranberry sauce.  Our bellies were well and truly satisfied!  We had chocolate mousse for dessert, which was nice, but we passed on seconds, not wanting to be piggies.  We also enjoyed a free glass of wine while listening to a woman singing Jesus songs. 

Satisfied and smiling we returned home after lunch to drop off the video camera and let our food go down.  An hour later, we were out again, at trendy Café 36, which always played great music and offered uplifting vibes.  Interesting to sit and watch people come and go, as the cafés of Amsterdam filled with Italian and French men coming for the holidays!  Mainly men, of course, were coming for the lifestyle and the red light girls.  Next, we visited the Greenhouse to have a relaxing drink, and then head home early with some treats to save money, because, of course, we had managed to spend too much of our stunted budget!  At home, we played cards, and had a yummy home-delivered pizza after Cory and Julie talked me into it!  We went to bed merry and content following an enjoyable day—our first Christmas away from home and we were brave, with no family to hug, no presents to open… Christmas is definitely more special with family and friends around! 

The lovely Eaten n’ Drinken manager asked us to leave our hotel during the following week because it was full for the New Year, kindly organising for us to move up the road to The Fiddlers, a few hotels away.  We packed and walked up Warmoesstraat, thinking we were moving on that day, only to find it was the next day we were meant to be moving, so it was back to our old, large room up the many flights of narrow stairs for us, looking at the upside of saving thirty guilders extra per night because our new room included a bath and shower!   

We couldn’t move in until midday the next day, so we had a puff at Speak Easy to pass time, and wandered over soon after 12.  It was so pleasant having a bathroom and shower adjoined to our cosy room for three.  And, more gifts were waiting.  While Cory and I were relaxing, we didn’t pay much attention to Julie when she quietly came out of the bathroom, sat on her bed, and bent her head silently intent on unwrapping something in plastic.  Casually, I asked her what she was doing.  She brushed me off with a quick, ‘Nothing’, but fairly soon after said, ‘What would you say if I said I had just found eight happy pills on the bathroom floor?’  ‘Have one’ Cory quickly replied.  

We did!  We had a half each and went downstairs to the Fiddlers Irishbar, playing pool, cards and drinking yummy beverages.  We were beginning to think our luck had changed!   At least—no matter what the money situation—we would have a happy New Year! 

And this we did!  In my diary I wrote:  New Year’s Eve ~ Amsterdam does it with a Big Bang!  Banger City! 

As the three of us were getting ready in our room on New Year’s Eve, night had fallen only a short while, when it suddenly sounded like World War 111 out there!  Bangers—sounding more like bullets, exploded almost continually, people screamed, and sirens rang.  We were almost too scared to leave our hotel, instincts advising us to lock our door and hide, not wilfully walk amongst it!  For a long time, we had drinks in our room, listening to the commotion outside, and I worried about what was really happening.  At one stage, I uttered, bewildered by the racket combined with amphetamines, ‘It is war out there’.  Thankfully, there were periodic blasts of silence to ease our nerves and bring logic back to my mind.  Gunpowder smoke came up the stairs, (seemingly, from attacks below) and we made sure we were in a ‘perfect’ state of mind to brave it outside before leaving!

Merry and numb enough, we intrepidly ventured down the narrow, steep stairs so distinctive to Amsterdam, and opened the door to the street.  It was exactly as we hoped: non-malicious gunpowder smoke everywhere, people running or standing blocking their ears, and hiding.  The street of Warmoesstraat was in chaos!  We braved it to the Fiddlers’ bar entry next-door, only to find it overcrowded.  Directly opposite, the Hill Street Blues café looked appealing with an empty table at the window—safe from all the bungers (firecrackers in boxes), so we quickly claimed the spot! 

Amsterdam made as much noise as possible, for approximately six hours!  It was a high, but very scary!  At one stage, big beautiful firecrackers released into the night sky in the distance, very welcomed after so many RIOTS.  The coffee shops of Amsterdam were competing for the loudest bungers, and our coffee shop/bar happened to manage the hugest cracker just when Julie and I risked a peek outside!  Shrapnel hit Julie in the ear, and we felt deafened from being so close!  The noise sounded as loud as buildings crashing down and grenades going off!  Safely back in the Hill Street Blues, we consumed potent drinks, feeling exhilarated, and a part of the excitement. 

We returned to our room at about 1.30 to 2 am to get our video to video the street.  Everything was still going off, so we captured a small portion of the festivities on Warmoesstraat, and after returning the camera, our next plan of attack was to find a nightclub for a New Year’s dance, as we were in the mood!  However, after three taxi-rides through the city and freezing our bottoms off walking, we discovered that all the venues were packed.  So back to Warmoesstraat we went to settle for the night and we needed to hurry because the cafés and bars had closed their doors—leaving only the people already inside to cater for! 

Hill Street Blues was our welcome retreat again, still offering an upbeat atmosphere and music.  We didn’t dance, but played hilarious games of pool.  We knew the bar staff after all these weeks, and they even gave us free drinks, adding to the happy New Year!  Definitely one of our most memorable nights in Amsterdam, it would have been perfect with a big group of friends.

We bounced home around 5.30 am and sat up for a while playing euchre, which was very, very funny because our minds weren’t on the job and Julie is always so funny after a big night!  In the end, we fell into a lovely sleep, even though the bells of Amsterdam tunelessly chimed continually for an hour!  Luckily, we were so tired sleep came soundly and happily after a huge night, well-deserved!

Chapter Twelve: 1993 ~~ Overseas and Misadventure

‘If you pull the strings too tight they’ll break, and if you don’t pull them tight enough they won’t play’ … The Little Buddha

Early this year, my work offered mass voluntary retrenchment packages to reduce company costs.  I readily raised my hand when the Chief Executive Officer discussed the proposal, asking us to consider it carefully.  The offer was available to a percentage of staff on a first-come-first-served basis and I was determined to be one of the first served, overjoyed at this unexpected release and propulsion into the future.  Stephen and I had privately voiced an increasing desire to leave, but we needed motivating and the ‘early retirement’ offer was our answer!  I received a tidy payout—one that looked overweight beside my formerly financially minuscule name!

Diary, April 20:  I am sitting in the lounge room at our ‘Balgowlah’ home (we moved) with Cory, Luke and their beautiful mum, Sky!  I am now employed at the ‘Levita Group’   (Telemarketing).  I left ‘State Super’ because I was very lucky to receive the voluntary retrenchment package—just the thing Cory and I needed to get our butts into gear.  We are planning to leave in August.  We’re off to Europe/London, where we plan to obtain employment for a time, buy a kombi van, and travel around at our own leisure.  Pretty exciting, we’ll be there before we know it.  Life is just beginning!  And, what a perfect partner I have to share it with!  I’m very lucky and happy!  Everything is going well for my whole family and me.  Thank you God!  Can’t wait to see The World and its People!  The saddest thing about leaving State Super is leaving my Beautiful and favourite friend Stephen!  Sharee will be sadly missed also, a true friend with a loving heart—oh we had fun at those all-night State Super Happy Hours!  Lastly, I will miss Mr Larry Engdahl—my dear work colleague who is the same age as Dad, and who gave me so much time, wisdom, patience, and laughter, not to mention warmth and our unspoken Love during our days at work!  State Super was a great experience and I will always be grateful!

It was on this day, or one near it, that Dad phoned me with exciting financial news.  An investment had proved profitable for him!  I was to keep this a secret until Julie’s birthday, the following week, when he would share it with Louise and Julie as it involved all his children receiving a substantial sum of money.  Size enough to have a holiday of a lifetime, Dad said! 

Louise and Julie were elated when Dad told them the news at lunch, but Dad was not overly happy, as he had planned to buy Julie a car for her birthday.  She had always jokingly asked for one when she was younger, and he wanted to make it true, as well as give each of us a cheque of likewise proportions, with more to follow.  Such a manifestation didn’t transpire, owing to difficulties at the other end.  So, Dad deferred this unbelievable stroke of good fortune until next week.  No problem we can wait, we sincerely stated!

I didn’t need to go back to work after lunch, so I had more drinks and a one-to-one discussion with Dad at the Waratah Hotel where Cory worked.  The previous week, Dad needed a large sum of money for Hope, the woman involved in his investment.  I reminded him of my large payout from State Super, saying he should have asked me for the money, and must if he ever needed it again.  He had forgotten, and was grateful, but dismissed the idea because the ‘Money was coming through’.

The following week, Dad accepted my offer because Hope needed money again.  Dad had known Hope for years, and in that time, had grown to trust her.  I met her when I was about eight and she seemed to be a nice person, so I gave the money without thought. 

During all this, the biggest exhilaration for Cory and me was our approaching overseas adventure.  We were sad to be leaving Luke and Rob.  We’d shared many hours in our large hip house doing what we loved—playing cards, listening to music and sharing good cheer.  The four of us were a little family.  Yet, our dream was overseas, and we were extra excited at the thought of meeting up with Julie and friends in London! 

In anticipation and expectation of recording travelling experiences, I purchased a hard-covered black diary.  On the inside cover, I inserted photographs of my family and friends, for reminiscing when home was missed.

Cory and I had saved enough money for one-way tickets to England via Bangkok where we’d pre-booked two nights in a good hotel.  We had a MasterCard each and a little spending money to tide us over before the money promised to Dad came through.

Julie departed ten days before us.  Following is the first entry of my diary.

       Friday 6^th August—it’s happening!  Cory and I are at Louise and Ian’s ready to see Julie off at the airport!  She is very excited, but would like one more night, it’s happened so quickly!  Cory and I had vaccination shots today and we have sore bottoms.  We’re slowly getting organised, but there’s so much to do and not a lot of time.  Cory and I fly to Perth on Monday 16^th, where we’ll stay with Sky and Paddy until 23^rd August, and then onto Thailand for two weeks!  In London, we will meet up with Julie, Paul, and Stephen too.

Later: –How am I going to say goodbye to my Beautiful family?  It was very sad saying goodbye to Julie!  Even though I’ll meet her again in three-four weeks, seeing her leave was extremely emotional and so you can just imagine how incredibly SAD I’ll feel.  Goodbyes are not my strong point and I’m going away for almost two years!  I can’t think about it, it’s TOO much; anyway, I have a week to prepare for the inevitable!

Monday 16^th:  My Turn!

The day is here—I can’t believe it!  It’s arrived so quickly, I haven’t had a chance to write about our farewells—but as you can imagine they’ve been emotional and memorable.  Now, we’re off, up in the air, heading for Perth where Sky and Paddy will be waiting!’

Diary entry: Dad at the Airport.

‘Suzie, Cory, Enjoy Life to the Full.  You will be in my thoughts all the way.  Love Forever Dad xxxx’

Being in his thoughts was an understatement …

We’re here!!  The plane trip was good, felt a bit sick—but that may have had something to do with the champagne, the bourbon, the plane food, and taking malaria tablets at ten thousand feet!  Add the overload of emotion before the flight, wow, this is going to be one huge trip, and we’re only in Perth!  Sky and Paddy met us, which was lovely.

Perth in a week:  Fremantle Gaol, duty-free shopping, restaurants, farewells to Cory’s beautiful family, and celebrations, etc. 

Last day:  We’re all set to go!  We are now cooking the traditional Aussie farewell BBQ, the next time writing: I’ll be on the plane!

I share our Thailand experiences in diary format, written at a restaurant on Lumai Beach, Koh Samui!

August 23^rd Destination Bangkok

We’re In the Air!  Incredible!  The first leg of our trip is underway and our dream is coming true… When the plane lands, Cory and I are ready for whatever Bangkok has to offer, play with our duty-free goodies, walk the streets, and totally give in to it!

As imagined, I’ve seen nothing like it!  When we stepped off the plane—the humidity and smell hit us.  The air smelt like a strange mixture of butter and coconut.  Customs procedure was quick, and it was raining when we found our lift to the Park Hotel, (which was refreshing!).  The traffic was so heavy the 30 km ride to the City took over two hours.  Everyone was piled in the back of cars like sheep, poor things.  When they spotted us, they waved and said, ‘Welcome’.  Very, very friendly people indeed! 

Our hotel is very nice and the hospitality great.  Our room has all the conveniences, small, but enough for us!  We didn’t unpack, just headed straight downstairs for dinner.

We stayed out until 6.30 am and slept to 2.30 pm, which was good considering it was so stinkin’ hot here.  Unbelievable—bring on the night. 

Tuesday night Cory and I headed for ‘Patpong Road’, the infamous Red-light district of Bangkok.  The first bar to win our presence was called ‘Susie Wong’ and the moment we sat down, three ‘ladies’ were upon us, smiling, and giving us compliments.  They appeared sweet and not at all sleazy, just going through the motions.  Soon, dancers surrounded us—who were very inquisitive and generous giving us four Roses, and a cigarette packet made to resemble a little bouquet.  So sweet!  To top it off they had photographs taken with us!  The sweet extravaganza was amazing, but Cory and I eventually bid warm goodbyes, and departed before being overwhelmed.   

We’d only just stepped out of Susie Wong’s when a Thai man ran to us, and used bizarre hand movements, suggesting we see a ‘show’.  Why not, (we were up for anything), and followed him to a nearby street, up stairs—with walls adorned with pornographic pictures, and into a dark room emitting trendy, loud, music.  Half clad and naked women danced on a stage doing strange, incredible things.  From a safe distance, we saw one lady pop ping pong balls from her private parts, another dart balloons, one honk a horn, and another puff cigarette smoke, all to a loud choruses of cheers from men in the darkened room.  Other entertainers stood, barely dancing, lifeless, and zombie-like.  I missed the cigarette trick because I was arguing with a big, plump woman.  She demanded 2000B (120 Australian dollars) to watch the performance!  (The ‘Whisky’ and cokes were 100B as well.)  Of course, we didn’t pay.  We didn’t know what we were coming to, and left after paying for our drinks.  We’d gained an overall picture (amazing, and sad).  

Situated across the road was a brightly lit bar with women dancing in bikinis, minus the funny business.  Cory bought us a whisky (it’s all they drink here) and we watched the ‘entertainment’.  We admired one of the dancing girls, as she was full of life and fun!  After the show, she came to us pointing upstairs, non-verbally asking if we’d like to go upstairs for a dance.  My initial thought was that she was hoodwinking me to capture Cory.  However, as she seemed GENUINELY friendly I trusted her.  This time, we were rewarded with a cool nightclub, great music, and people dancing having fun!  No funny business anywhere!  It was fantastic, until the music mellowed, signalling the time to leave.  The night was cool, and devoid of traffic, which made for a wonderful journey home in a ‘tuk tuk’ (three-wheel motorbike taxi)! 

Wednesday - we visited the glittering purple and gold ‘Grand Palace’.  It’s over 200 years old, and the brilliant architecture remains in immaculate condition.  A spiritual experience!

Thursday, we caught a 56-seat flight to ‘Koh Samui’, which took an hour.  Although initially bumpy, the ride smoothed out.  The scenery was gorgeous; the food was not.  Koh Samui Airport was charming, being outdoors, and little.  We met a couple on their honeymoon, and hired bungalows on Lumai beach.  The bungalows were small, including a shower and toilet that left a lot to be desired, but we didn’t care (the first night anyway).  In the evening, we ate magic mushroom omelettes at the Magic Restaurant—overlooking the beach, eating, drinking, and enjoying!  Almost immediately, everything seemed more glorious: the sky, stars, the moon, the beach, and the palms … everything!  Following our omelettes, we met Ludoure and Frederick (gloriously gorgeous French brothers) on the beach… and I struggled to remember my French lessons.

We woke Friday morning to waves lapping the beach and nearby Thai voices calling: ‘Would you like a massage, manicure, sarongs, t-shirts, coke, water’ anything! 

Half awake, we moved to the ‘Magic Resort’ bungalow (contained with a normal toilet above the ground and a great shower), and planned to hire mo-peds!  On the way, (a very short walk) I sprained my ankle outside the French guys’ bungalow whilst excitedly calling ‘Salute’ to them!  Naturally, then, a mo-ped (postie motorbike) should have been avoided, but I got one anyway.  We rode east and south along the island roads, finishing at Wakkii Beach, where we had a yummy lunch, a swim, and proceeded home!  Me, with all my confidence, sped beside Cory (80 kilometres an hour–max speed).  We had a ball, BUT, on slowly crossing a wooden bridge, I felt threatened by a big black van coming up behind.  I looked behind me and tried to hurry, but my bike skidded on a crack in the bridge and I fell!  Result:  A badly scraped elbow, leg, awful bruises, and more pain on my swollen ankle—aren’t I clever!  Back in the saddle, despite missing our turn-off, and riding on a damaged bike, I made it home in one piece.  My wonderful doctor (Cory) fixed me up as best he could!  Hours later, the annual Full Moon Festival commenced on Lumai Beach, and Cory helped me hobble to the party, bandaged, and limping!  All we could do was rest on the beach, observing the shows and everyone else dancing.

A second and final annual Full Moon party took place the next night—Saturday night, and I enjoyed this one!  Not Cory though, he became sick after eating magic mushroom soup, and stayed with the honeymooners at a quieter location of the party, while I went exploring  with Ludoure and Frederick in the thick of it further down the beach, while I went exploring with Ludoure and Frederick.  (The three of us had eaten the magic omelettes for dinner.)  We had a great time!  The moon was so full and incredibly large.  So near to us, I thought I could reach out and touch it…  Feeling as if we were in an entirely different world, it was extra fun communicating, especially with Ludoure, as he knew a bit (un peu) of English.  Numerous stalls and areas played loud music; music was everywhere, and it was wonderful translating a few words into French.

Later…Cory wanted to go back to our bungalow, I didn’t, and he didn’t mind me staying out with Ludoure and Frederick—Bless him!  We partied for two hours, and then sat on our end of Lumai Beach listening to Bob Marley on the boys’ tape recorder.  It was wonderful, especially because we could understand each other, to some degree.  Talk and good feeling—I loved it! 

I was put to a universal test concerning the exceedingly good-looking Ludoure.  We had an instant rapport when Cory introduced us on our first night, hoping my verbal French skills would locate marijuana, and an attraction grew between us during our humorous efforts to relate.  However, my commitment to Cory was of greater value than moving closer for a stolen kiss.  I even avoided a goodbye kiss from Ludoure on my cheek.  This was hard.  Deep down, I wanted to kiss him so much, but my sleeping Cory couldn’t be deceived, nor his precious trust trampled on!  I’m glad I passed this test, but come to regret that missed opportunity in the near future.  At that point, Cory was unconsciously teaching me the beauty of trust! 

The next day, we hired proper motorbikes and Cory doubled me, this time!  Reckless and wonderful, we zoomed north to visit the Big Buddha.  The Buddha was grand, but I wasn’t appropriately dressed for Him (ripped shorts, singlet top).  He received me anyway (had no choice).  After the Buddha, we journeyed by motorbike and then on foot to a waterfall (disappointing—no water falling)!  We zoomed around the rest of the island and finally drove our hot machine home.  Dinner was at a lovely Italian/Thai restaurant with the honeymooners, and later we played cards in their bungalow, next to ours.

On Monday, Cory and I lazed on the beach, and dined at an Islamic restaurant with the honeymooners.  Afterwards, we went to the ‘Mixed Bar’.  Ludoure and Frederick turned up—we hung out, and later sat on the beach absorbing the beautiful night and energy.   

On Tuesday, Cory and I hired a motorbike and continued to explore the island!  It was Beautiful because we were on our own and could do whatever we wanted.  I loved it so much.  We enjoyed yummy tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches, hot chips, and lazed under the sun on a beach.  Very sore bums from the bikes, but that didn’t matter!

Wednesday, we stayed on the beach soaking up lovely sunrays, before being covered up in freezing cold London.  In the evening, Cory and I adventured to Koh-Pha-ngan for another Full Moon Party!  We met beautiful Thai gay guys—Dao, Aui, and Odd.  Dao arranged our ride to the nearby island in his friend’s speedboat and made sure we had the Best night possible!  We danced all night and became special friends overnight.  They’re like our Sydney Boys, but slightly shy (especially Aui), which made it even more special when they opened up.  Dancing on the beach was awesome, especially when the sun rose over the ocean!

On our second last night: Dao, Aui, and Odd picked us up to go to the Green Manger and the Reggae Club.  It was fantastic…we spent the night dancing and partying again.  These guys have made our Thailand holiday very special.  Aui gave Cory and me his necklace so he would be with us wherever we went.  He said, ‘My heart is in these stones’—this man is angelic!  After the Reggae Club, we went to the Doors Club, and then to the Country Pub.  We arrived home about 5.30 am after a unique night, and woke to a Beautiful Blue Sunny day.  Not wishing to waste our last full day, we walked to the beach at 11.30 am and rested amongst it.

The last evening we partied more.  We had intended to relax on our final night but ‘the guys talked us into going to the Reggae Club again and ‘Gim’, who I haven’t mentioned, wouldn’t take no and is too Beautiful too resist.  She is such an inspiration, a party-animal, sweet and very genuine’.  (Gim is a Thai girl who we met through Dao, Odd, and Aui.  In order to look after her and family, she provides her body to male services, stating, ‘It doesn’t change who I am or what’s inside of me’.  She touched our hearts, and is the motivating reason I sponsor a Thai girl in the future.)  …  ‘Another great night was had!  The Reggae Club was pumping like our Sydney dance parties when they were cool.  Sadly, Cory and I couldn’t have a late night (scheduled to leave for the airport at 11.30 am!)  But, we had a Good one, which we’ll never forget.  In the Samui van, Dao and Aui kindly drove us to the airport.  It was very sad saying goodbye to the guys, I cried—couldn’t help it, my heart hurt.

Bangkok was as hectic as we left it, but we still loved it (for short periods).  The afternoon encompassed last minute shopping for Mum, Louise, Ian, and the girls, and back to the Park Hotel to organise bags (which we did in the hotel foyer) and meet our taxi.  The airport was astounding—people everywhere, but we managed to do everything and board just on time at 11.45 pm.

The flight has been good, (met an Indian woman from Delhi), and we are about to land in London!  I can see the landscapes—beautiful as imagined!  Seems like I’ve been here before.  We’re descending quickly; I’m off to enjoy the trip while it lasts!  Can’t wait to see Julie, Paul, and Stephen in LONDON! Bye, Bye! 

*  *  *

At the Customs counter, I had trouble trying to get into the country.  The Customs Officer demanded to know how much money I had in my bank account, because I didn’t have a return ticket out.  I had about $500 dollars on MasterCard and told him more would be in it as soon as tomorrow, thousands more even, but he wasn’t satisfied, giving me the stiff upper lip.  Almost in tears, exasperated and worried I wouldn’t be allowed entry, I said, ‘All I want to do is have a holiday in your country like you guys do in ours’.  Statement worked, he let me through, and I walked to Cory who’d been patiently waiting, easily getting through with his EC passport—being born in Ireland. 

We waited fruitlessly for an hour for Julie at the airport and asked for directions to Shepherd’s Bush, the suburb where she was staying at our friend Clinton’s house.  One director didn’t even have Shepherd’s Bush on his map, but another was slightly familiar and indicated which line we needed. 

After a 40-minute tube ride with England’s green landscape and stations fleeting by our window, we began walking along Shepherd’s Bush High Street, on an old tarmac walkway glistening its sparkles as the sun beamed warmly on our backs.  I sensed the chill in the air behind the sunrays, and knew I was in for weather as I’d never felt it before.  Two minutes later, a black woman with a funky hairdo spiking in all directions, stopped Cory in his tracks, telling him to be very careful carrying our video camera over his shoulder.  This is a dangerous area, she said, thieves could be lurking on every corner.  We hadn’t sensed this vibe—people seemed cool and easy, especially the black guys we’d spotted, but we’d been walking in the wrong direction, so she righted us, and we turned and walked towards the sun, stopping at the last pub on the corner opposite a park, green and lush with oak, birch and elm trees.

The classy Moon n’ Six Pence, with planter boxes overflowing with flowers bordering the outside and door tops, was our first haven and taste of England.  The patrons seemed like typical pub goers, until they opened their mouth.  So well spoken and crystal clear.  We said our hellos, ate lunch, and periodically rang Julie until she answered.  She couldn’t believe we were just round the corner, thinking we were still in Thailand.  I’d spoken to Dad from Koh Samui and had asked him to let Julie know when we’d be arriving.  But he obviously had far too much on his mind to remember.  

Before long, we spotted Julie and Justine (a fun-loving dance party friend), coming down the road opposite the park.  The sight of Julie moved me, as did embracing her when she walked through the door.  Here we were, together, in a different country on the other side of the world.  We had a celebration drink and caught up on travel stories—Julie had just returned from Greece.  From there, we trudged with our backpacks up to the Mailcoach Inn, our home for the night.  Clinton (another friend from dance parties), Justine, Julie, Cory, and I, had English baked dinners at the Inn, drank a few beverages, had a few laughs, and accustomed ourselves to being in the Northern Hemisphere before we parted company.  

I had my usual fruit breakfast in the morning, as per the Fit for Life book recommendations—designed for warmer climates, then met up with Stephen, who had returned home to England indefinitely.  It was a dream come true seeing him in his homeland!  He stayed with us as we settled into our new little room with Julie and Juzzi in an old four level manor house.  Our room had two single beds—one against a wall and the other under a large window.  It also contained a kitchen sink, stove, small wardrobe, and enough floor space in the middle to fit Cory and me in our duck down sleeping mattresses.  The large window was the width of the room and the best feature in the place, its view of the back of very old buildings etched London’s sky, sometimes orange at night.  Our abode was on Linden Gardens, a leafy cul-de-sac in Notting Hill Gate in the heart of Notting Hill, moments away from cafes, restaurants, shops, bars, and cinemas.  This place was about money, we didn’t know quite how much at that stage.

Stephen accompanied us to Kensington Palace in the next suburb, which we found after a lengthy walk through Kensington Gardens.  The sun was shining in intervals between greying clouds, whipping up the wind as we walked through formal avenues of magnificent trees, decorative flower beds, and sat beside a pond seeing a peak of at the Palace in the distance!  We lapped up the environment: a perfect setting for Kensington Palace with the peaceful Italian Gardens, the Albert Memorial, Peter Pan statue, and the Serpentine Gallery to name a few historical attractions.

Kensington Palace has been a royal home for over 300 years and parts of the palace remain a private residence for members of the royal family today.  Once a favoured home of some of Britain’s most famous kings and queens, it was the setting for many great events and dramas in royal history.  We felt the history moving through the historic palace with elaborate trompe l’oeil ceilings and staircases, through magnificent State Apartments with amazing depictive paintings plentiful on huge walls, and saw how royalty once lived.  So opulent, and their outlandish clothes we saw in the Royal Ceremonial Dress Collection, including dresses worn by HM Queen Elizabeth 11 that could have warmed a multitude of freezing British bodies, now and in the past. 

We didn’t see Lady Di, who was living there then, and we weren’t invited to lunch or welcome celebrations.  Those things were back at Notting Hill Gate, at the Prince Albert Hotel at higher than expected prices.  Stephen left us there, and the rest of us played rounds of pool, smoked cigarettes, drank beer, as I tried to acquire the taste of apple cider and blackcurrant juice, because I didn’t like beer.  Paul, my beautiful dancing partner, visited our room in the evening after work, his room only a floor up in our new residence.  We still had special energy for each other; Cory loved him too…  It was wonderful meeting up on the other side of the world.

‘THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE.’  Julie and I repeated to each other as we sat transfixed on a classic open-top Big Red Bus touring London’s famous sights.  Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, St Paul’s Cathedral, and The Tower of London are just some of the fabulous sights that blew our mind.  Lucky we were semi-oblivious to the cold.  It was only early September and we were already freezing, but despite some rain, momentary bursts of sunlight made the tour comfortable enough to appreciate the views and listen to the informative, entertaining commentary on London and its tourist attractions. 

After we alighted at Piccadilly Circus, ate lunch in a nearby pub, and walked around taking in more views on foot, we visited Paul at the restaurant where he worked.  Joe’s Restaurant was too pricey for us to dine in and we hoped to treat ourselves next week.  Dad’s money—the money said to allow us a holiday of a lifetime—was finally coming through on Monday, in three days, and it would be the last time he’d be put off.  Last Wednesday was supposed to be the last time.  Monday is a definite, he told us, and he sounded so positive.  I just prayed he’d get what he truly deserved—which is more than any money in the world could match, in my eyes.  Everything depended on it pretty much, all his money was behind it.  He has many plans to share his good fortune with all of us!

Another important matter regarding the money is that we were almost broke!  We needed to make the most of what we could for the weekend and survive to Monday… which wouldn’t be too hard, since we still planned to have a big Saturday night out, having enough money on our credit cards for tickets and some beverages.   

Before our first big night out, (Julie’s second in London), we spent Saturday looking around Portobello Markets, one of the world’s most famous street markets, just down the road from us.  The markets on Portobello Road stretch for around two miles, going straight through the heart of Notting Hill, the trendy area of London made famous by the film: Notting Hill.  Even though we didn’t buy anything, walking amid the diverse and stylish Saturday crowd through the markets overflowing with expensive items and old worldly character, took up plenty of time—filling the day nicely, before our big night out. 

We left for The Fridge nightclub in Brixton at 10.30 pm—Britain’s largest independently owned nightclub—with actual fridges stuck to front of the building, and arrived in the foyer to see video screens of naked men being raunchy.  Love Muscle was the name of the party to celebrate the Fridge’s second year anniversary, and if I hadn’t had years in the proximity of countless cool and gorgeous men, I would have felt out of place.  Females were definitely the minority. 

The cranking music in the large nightclub with a huge dance floor adorned with glittering tinsel and lights, lured us to our dancing spot, and we immediately got into it, dancing, and having fun.  I loved the new London beats, yet to make it to Aussie shores.  Coupled with cute expressions, I loved how the London gay boys moved their rhythmical shoulders so quickly up and down to the tempo, as though they were holding onto a bus wheel.  But my new boots began hurting, especially my right toe.  They were Julie’s new buy, but were too small for her, and although my feet are the same length as Julie’s, they are narrower, so I hoped I’d fit into them.  And, I did until they began hurting, so I ended up dancing with them off and black socks still on, which I hated. 

I still danced with Paul, and we celebrated dancing on the other side of the globe, and dancing amidst beautiful, sexy gay men with the extra allure of growing up on opposite sides of the planet.  The music was as we loved and extra fab and upbeat, blasting from the music capital of the world.

Cory often watched us with loving expressions, never a smidgen of jealousy—I loved him for it.  He and I didn’t really dance up close, we danced more like friends, not being an outwardly affection couple.  Even in my happiest party moments dancing with Paul and everyone, a part of me was sad Cory and I didn’t have fun dancing, letting our hair down together.  Although he never said, Cory didn’t really like dancing, and never let go on the dance floor; cruisy and happy enough to stand back at bit and shuffle his feet, wiggling his cute bottom, with a lover of life look on his face! 

We still had our special times, and we were having a one-to-one when we heard Paul’s voice over the microphone.  He’d jumped on stage to sing along with Sybil, performing her hit songs The Love I Lost and When I’m Good and Ready.  Paul is so irresistible.  His charm takes him anywhere he wants to go.  With his dark hair, big brown smiley eyes, and happy energy, he could get away with anything.  Just smile and you’ll get by, Julie often said to him.  We all stopped dancing when we heard Paul’s voice and watched as he stood beside Sybil edging into the microphone.  She gave him a moment then said, ‘Thanks Paul.  Thank you very much’ gently ushering him off.

Many men strutted their stuff during the night’s main performance until they were wearing nothing but accessories, dancing sexily.  I’d seen nothing like it!  And, all with my boots off.  Still off, we left when the club closed, and out the front negotiated with a black man the price of a trip home in a mini-cab.  Mini-cabs are the cheapest way to get around London, and although illegal, we didn’t question the process.  The one we chose assured he had a stereo, but when we jumped in and saw that he didn’t, he said, ‘Sing, sing, your voices are the stereo’ in his warmly humorous Jamaican accent.  We humoured him by singing for a while as we drove along and I looked out of the back passenger window at dawn lighting up green parks, frosted and misty, highlighting our transition from warm Oz to partying in the UK!  Back at home, we played cards, drank vodka, and laughed our heads off—mainly at Paul, who was at his funny fittest, and waited for Villa, a day party club, to open at 1 pm.

Paul, Julie, Justine, Cory, and I eventually left for Villa Stephanos, near Holborn Tube, at 2.30, which we could afford as Cory managed to get 100 pounds out of the Money Exchange.  Thanks to a small portion of stay-awake stuff, we danced our bottoms off at Villa, and had a fabulous time dancing to the music, dancing with people, dancing in front of the cooling fan!  Hours and hours were lost as we danced, and rested at times at a table chatting, smiling, observing. 

London party life was almost the same as Sydney’s: cool, hip, and trendy… except it was ahead of Sydney in music and fashion variability—more people to display vast expressions.  There was less skin, as Londoners are mainly lily white and Aussies love showing off their brown skin and sculptured bodies.  Cory and I were still brown from Thailand, but we didn’t flaunt it.  We flaunted our love of life and trusted everything was as it was meant to be.  All of us left near the end and caught a tube, then a bus home, laughing at Julie nearly the whole way.  Everything she said was funny, every facial expression, every movement… When she was running for a connecting bus because our tube line was down, she ran up to it, shaking her ticket over her head in such a way we could barely keep standing from laughing.  She’s pure, crack up material when partying!

After such a big weekend, we slept Monday day away, and rose to a massive pizza, deep pan pig out—on MasterCard, of course.  Still penniless.  The money delayed to Friday, now.

In preparation for it coming through, we went looking for campervans at Wembley during the week, to see what we could expect when we had the money.  Julie, Cory, and I planned to travel through Europe, and go to the October Munich Festival in Germany.  Kombi vans seemed to be an extremely cold way to travel when we were sitting inside one, looking at the van’s thin metal encasing as the only insulation between Europe’s incredibly cold weather and us.  But, we had no rush to decide how we’d travel through Europe.  With the said money through, we now hoped to catch the Euro Rail through Europe—a far warmer prospect.

We took a day to visit the majestic St Paul’s Cathedral, with its huge white dome and Corinthian columns on the entrance, and climbed internal stairs round and round to the Whispering Gallery with a concave shape, where we whispered to each other hearing loud and clear.  Then we went to the top of the building to look over London, which was a maze of streets and a bit of a mess from such a height.  To think of the countless number of lives that have passed through and were currently moving through those streets, through the vast expanse of concrete jungle before our eyes, dotted with a few parks, lined with the tireless River Thames, on a grey background on this day.  My mind boggled with incomprehensibility.  Below the Cathedral, in the crypt, we walked around tombstones embedded in the ground, finishing the visit by lighting a candle and a saying a prayer—needing all the prayers we could get.  Where there’s life, there’s hope.  Tombstones are always a great reminder of this.

By Friday, we’d discovered the money wouldn’t be until next Wednesday, so we had to wait for then hoping it truly would.  We filled in the weekend as best we could in our room playing cards, having our own cook ups, and going for strolls around London streets, Kensington Gardens and the adjoining Hyde Park with its cute ducks and squirrels to avoid ‘cabin fever’ as  Julie called it. 

Tuesday, we needed reminding of how lucky we really were by visiting the Tower of London: the oldest palace, fortress, and prison in Europe.  The Tower of London, an imposing fortress with many layers of history, has become a symbol of royalty, and is identified with the White Tower in the centre—the original square fortress built by William the Conqueror in 1078.  The Tower is a complex of several buildings within two rings of defensive walls and a moat.  Julie, Cory, our friend Clinton and I didn’t know any of this as we stood near the haunting Traitor’s Gate, at the front of the castle, listening to its history.  We thought all of it was the Tower of London, soon realising that over the centuries, successive royalty added to its layers. 

We visited the Chapel with age-old caskets bearing the remains of historic figures; we saw the wing-clipped Ravens; the torture chambers and the various torture implements.  We learnt about the executions—hangings for lower class criminals, beheading for the nobles, in private for the luckier ones.  We saw Henry the Eighth’s surprisingly small grave; life size representations of war horses, actual suits of armour and weapons.  And, understood how lucky we were living now with our incomparably minute ‘money’ problems, and how lucky we were to be living freely at all!

Still, we lived freely within the confines of our limited daily expense.  We didn’t need to rob for food, where once we would have received an extremely torturous free ride back to Australia.  Julie had her return flight, so she had an escape route, which would have meant zilch if we’d lived in those hard times when planes didn’t even exist.  Cory and I didn’t want to go home anyway.  We planned to live and work in London for as long as possible, after the holiday we planned with the blessed money.  But was it blessed?  We were growing very anxious about its delay. 

It was delayed again to the following Monday and from the calls we knew Dad was having major difficulty trying to finalise his investment.  He was being mucked around.  Hope was telling him about court proceedings, to lift the bank’s caveat on the money.  Papers were being signed.  Numbers needed to drop.  All sorts on things involved in private dealings with the Zurich Bank.  Mystery stuff, Dad said he’d explain more about one day.  Above board, he fully believed.  But, was he getting the full story? 

It didn’t happen again on Monday or Wednesday.  Poor Dad was going through too much stress and worry over this deal.  I prayed to God to make it come true for him.  He’d given generously to us all his life, and I deeply wished for him to have riches.  He’d always been rich in my eyes, always big-hearted when he gave me money for anything—richly big-hearted about most things.  And in his bedroom, when I was growing up, he had a large crystal bowl full of silver and brown coins, which he let me help myself to.  Never told me not to, and I never took advantage.  Wished we had an overflowing bowl of money here with us today ...

Chapter Ten: 1991 ~ Spreading My Wings

‘It has been shown how every external activity is directed by an inner motion and how, at the source of it, there is a principal cause.  It must be understood that every wave of life which is set in motion by the principal cause, works towards a purpose.  With its every motion, the purpose becomes more definite, and at its every stage of evolution, it adjusts itself, making a perfect harmony – although in a limited space, this same activity may appear inharmonious.  Therefore good and evil, right and wrong, when viewed by the keen sight, correspond with a certain purpose, and thus prove harmonious from the standpoint of the perfect Whole.’  ~ Hazrat Inayat Khan

I partied as normal, over, and beyond the festive, party period, frequenting Hordern dance parties, as well as attending my third fabulous Mardi Gras feeling like a seasoned party goer.  I often enjoyed evenings at the Chinese Laundry nightclub, a trendy venue in the City where Julie was a bar girl, and Daniel a door attendant.  From there, we would move to DCM (Don’t Cry Mumma) a nightclub on Oxford Street where we’d spend the remainder of the night dancing and pounding to music that wouldn’t let us off the dance floor because it was so good.  Feeling wonderfully at one with all, the entire nightclub was a dance floor, so we danced wherever we were, and the hours flew by with smiley, funny, cool people. 

Mum wasn’t having such a fun time back on the home front.  The only good thing was having me there for her peace of mind and distraction.  She devoted years to helping Ron’s boys—Mike and Rich, and now she felt dejected.  She had tried giving them motherly love, but being unaccustomed to those attentions due to a shaky upbringing, they rejected her and created barriers.  Ron influenced the boy’s behaviour by habitually putting them first, inferring Mum’s less important position to all concerned.  This stood in stark contrast to the Woy Woy home, where Dad placed the stepfamily first; believing family would always love you.  Oh, the paradox was ironic! 

Mum and Ron had offered me to move in with them when troubles rose in my Woy Woy home, but I strongly believed this wouldn’t be needed.  Now I actually had left my home in such a way, I couldn’t keep sleeping in Julie’s bed forever, so took up their offer and moved into a spare room, made special by a motherly touch.  Mike and I were two months apart in age and we’d already developed a fine friendship since meeting when we were fourteen.  We had a genuine brotherly, sisterly friendship, which widened when we shared special dances and dance party moments experiencing the wonder of such incredible events, such as walking in the parade at our first Mardi Gras.  Rich, a couple of years younger, was also a sweetheart, his presence made me feel I now had a loving, younger brother in my life.  And, Ron showed he was agreeable to me living there.  He’d provide ample fruits and vegetables from the markets, and would leave a freshly squeezed orange juice for me in the mornings.  Sadly, though, Mum wasn’t having a great relationship with him, and hadn’t been for some time.

She eventually sought alternative living arrangements, and didn’t tell Ron about her plans because he wouldn’t allow her to take any furniture without seeing a solicitor.  When she saw one and explained the strange particulars, he gave her off the record advice:  ‘The only way to escape from this man is to do a ‘fly-by night’.

Mum had no other choice.  We found a two bedroom duplex in Belmore in late February, five minutes up the road from Louise, Ian, and the girls.  And, Matty—my friend from dance parties and exclusive visitor of Alpine—helped us move.  Two trips over a twenty minute distance and our home and circumstance had entirely changed.

*  *  *

The following week, I flew down to Melbourne with Louise, Alana, and Bianca, for a ten day holiday at my uncle and auntie’s house.  I loved being there spending time with my cousins until Julie arrived; her presence made me feel inferior due to her nonchalance with me.  We began bickering almost immediately.  She could easily ruffle my sensitive feathers because I was so much younger and deficient in wordsmith skills.  I’d become irrationally upset to her comments taken as brush-offs and run-downs.  Louise treated me differently too when Julie came, demoting my importance from sister/friend to the role of dispensable aunt, more like an agony aunt.  I felt like a child again, like Cinderella doing all the unwanted work.

A couple of days later we got along better and through Julie, I met Aaron … 

In my diary I wrote:  Thursday 28^th - ‘Met Aaron at Chasers nightclub.  I didn’t meet him until towards the end of the night when dancing with Louise and Julie.  He was sitting on the nearby stage watching, and when Julie went to sit for a rest, they started speaking and he asked about me.  She introduced us as the last dance ended, so we all ventured outside.  Louise attempted to hail down a taxi (out of waiting line) when Aaron offered us a lift home.  His car was just across the road, a flashy number, and the catch came on opening the passenger door.  His car was really a two-seater that provided only a tight and narrow area as the backseat.  This was the first time in my life that I was to come first and be put in front of both Louise and Julie.  They were uncomfortable and expressed it a little; however, the trip was short and appreciated all the same, especially by me.  This guy was so lovely and interesting.  I loved his response when I asked what he did for work.  ‘I’m a ballroom dance instructor.’  

This was exciting!

We went to watch our cousin Chris play in a band the next evening, and later Julie, Aaron, and I went nightclubbing in two of Melbourne’s cool nightclubs.  It wasn’t so fun with just the three of us, but we still had some good dances together.  Aaron talked me into going back to his house when he took us home, and I left a note for Aunty Rosy and Louise informing of my whereabouts, telling them not to worry, because Aaron was a ‘perfect gentlemen’.  When I returned the next morning, Aunty Rosy made a fuss about how thoughtful and lovely the letter was.  I felt grown up and thrilled, receiving praise for being considerate while going about adult things!

A couple of days later, Aaron drove Julie and I to the airport and his route took us through the Yarra ‘Moomba Festival’, causing us to race for the plane!  As we leapt from the car with minutes to spare before lift-off, he gave me his leather jacket as a romantic token, and then we ran to the gate, kissed sweetly, and parted.

We spoke on the phone that night and the next day from work.  I returned home from work to two red roses in a cylinder hanging on the front door with a card To Suzie, All my love Aaron (PS Please say yes).  I guessed his passionate question was about marriage but certainly wasn’t ready to consider such a thing.  He sent me a letter few days later bursting with emotion.  He had chosen a star for us:  ‘Just remember no matter where we are in the world at night we both see the same stars and I’ve picked one for us.  It will always be there looking after you, and if you ever miss me like I miss you, just go and have a look at our star because that’s where I am’.  He also said there was something about his past he wanted to share with me face-to-face, emphasising it wasn’t too bad, and not to panic.  I was curious!

I met him at the airport the following Friday afternoon where we were amorous again.  Back at home, he revealed the secret…  His ballroom dance partner was his former wife, but they separated a year ago.  I knew what she looked like because he posted a video of them winning That’s Dancing—a popular 80s ballroom dancing show, with the letter he recently sent to me.  He needed me to reassure him I was okay with this, and we went on to have a wonderful weekend, meeting family, friends, and dancing at my favourite nightspots.  I loved dancing with him.  He was able to move freely, without ballroom constraints, never having had a substance running through his system to make that exceedingly easier.  Derrick, my original favourite gay guy, in terms of gorgeousness, sexy-cool dancing, dressing, and appeal, even appreciated his beauty from a respectful distance! 

Aaron, four years older than me, was fun-loving and so very romantic and affectionate. When we were around others, he continued to lavish affection onto me, yet still wanted me to be natural and affectionate with Paul as I would when he wasn’t there.  So next minute, I was sitting on Paul’s lap, gigging to the music. 

At home alone, he was so passionate.  We kissed, loved, and held each other as if time would never end.  I adored looking at him: his beautiful face, blue eyes, dark brown hair and complexion, as he lay in my pink sheets on my double bed.  I loved feeling so grown up with him.  He was my coming of age. 

Alas, the long weekend ended too quickly.  I’d arranged a flex-day for Monday so we could spend the precious day together before airport time in the early evening.  The day flew by too quickly, and at the airport, we didn’t want to say goodbye.  Sad, soppy, and romantic, we waved and waved to each other until out of sight!

‘He’s the one for you, you’re both so suited.’  Mum said to me later that night.  Her long-term suggestion shocked and excited me, even though I knew deep down Aaron was already too complicated.  I was far too young for such things, but enjoyed the recognition of being a grown woman—especially by Mum.  I was exhilarated about the unknown future!

A few weeks later, I flew down to Melbourne for the Easter Break to see Aaron, with his compliments.  I watched him teach a ballroom lesson, we had dinners, visited his friends, but stayed at his house most the time loving each other, until he developed tonsillitis on the last night, so we went to the doctors.  Back at home in his room, Aaron cried.  I thought his sadness was because we were parting the next morning, but he was having foresight I realised sometime later, knowing it would be the last time we’d see each other as a couple.  Different from me, too caught up in the thrill of our romance to detect any subtle messages.  We lovingly kissed goodbye at the airport early Tuesday morning, and I caught the plane to Sydney airport, took a taxi to my work, and walked around all day with my heart on my sleeve.

*  *  *

But it’s dangerous bearing our hearts so openly to others, and things were quickly changing.

Julie moved in with us in April.  We had asked Julie if she wanted to move out with us before Mum and I moved, but she had other arrangements.  Things changed and two months later, she did need to live with us indefinitely.  As we had only two bedrooms, she slept with Mum in a queen-sized bed.  I thought this was right.  Their energies were more suited to each other.  She looked like Mum and often made Mum laugh, and I envied their relationship, wishing we had one just as harmonious.

I was becoming too worried about Aaron to concentrate on my relationship with Mum and Julie.  His calls were becoming irregular and I recorded in my work diary when he hadn’t rung, and happily amended when, ‘He Did!’  In fact, he was supposed to return to Sydney April 25, the Anzac Day long weekend.  A dance party was on that weekend too and he asked me to buy him a ticket.  I felt reassured he was coming with the tickets in my hand, but Aaron didn’t come as  feared, and the absence of a phone call to tell me, hurt the most.  So I rang him, and spoke to his sweet Nanna—who he lived with, to find he was definitely not coming.  She didn’t know anything, except he wasn’t coming to Sydney.  I was sad and pensive, yet went to the dance party anyway and still managed a fantastic night!

As a ripple effect perhaps, Julie and I had a serious tiff the following Tuesday morning, over a cup-of-tea.  My work operated on a ‘flex-time’ system, which records hours worked.  The earlier one arrives to work and/or the later stayed, the more hours accrued for leaving early; a fortnightly day off; or making up time.  As partying, sleep, and social times were central to my life, I worked to make up lost hours each week, and was in the habit of rushing.  Cups of tea were luxury I enjoyed at work in work hours, and this morning was no different. 

I intended to shower, dress, apply make-up, and rush out the door, for the long walk to the station with or without Julie.  Julie, with an underlying wish to have company to the station and on the train, said I shouldn’t go before making teas for Mum and herself.  I attempted to re-explain why I had to rush, but over-reacted to her insinuations of me being lazy and uncaring about Mum.  Old anger, brewing from a lifetime of off-handed younger sister treatment, started festering inside me, reigniting when Mum got up from bed and immediately defended Julie without knowing the nature of our upset.  For it wasn’t about a cup of tea, it was about disdain caused from an old pattern of sibling rivalry.  Mum, disgusted at my direct emotion, called me a ‘Drama Queen’, which hurt and I looked at Julie as the blame behind Mum’s yelling.  Charged with duress, I walked over to Julie and punched her on the arm, incensed at her unnecessary treatment that brought back memories of years ago.  With that, I retreated, and on closing the front door, Mum yelled, ‘Just go back to your Father and Fay’s!’ hurting me again considering what occurred on that home front. 

In tears, I made my way to Louise and Ian’s haven, where I continued sobbing uncontrollably.  Little Alana kept saying, ‘What’s wrong with Aunty Suzie, what’s wrong?’  Louise and Ian’s comforting eased my emotions… Louise empathised with me as she felt Mum favoured Julie, and we thought this was because they were the most alike in looks, habits, and mannerisms.  ‘Always the bridesmaids and never the bride’, she said about us.  After that necessary pit stop, I was back on route to work.

I walked through my office door and announced to Stephen my urgent need to go to England.  Stephen understood.  Mum had already rung and left a message for me to phone Julie.  I didn’t call, too hurt to speak amicably to her.  I copied the daily calendar quotation in my diary: ‘As a cure for worrying work is better than whisky’.  The daily stars: ‘AQUARIUS: This is not the time to let other people dominate you.  In many ways it is imperative you use your independence to get ahead.  Assert your will and be a little bit one-eyed where people are trying to make a puppet out of you.’

In protest of the morning’s episode, I arranged to meet Alicia at the Wynyard Hotel after work.  Earlier that day she sent flowers to my work: ‘My Dearest Suzie, Chin-up babe, if the worse comes to worst, you can share my family!  Take it easy babe.  Love ya heaps Alicia xxxooo’.  We stayed at the hotel with a group of Alicia’s work friends until long after 11 pm and caught taxis home.  Belmore is a 20-minute drive from the city, and by midnight, I quietly entered my house, careful not to disturb Mum and Julie, still uncomfortable at the prospect of seeing them.  Mum had placed little white flowers on my bedside table as an expression of her love, which helped me fall to sleep more peacefully.

I retreated to my bedroom early the following evening.  Mum came in to talk with me; a talk that gave rise to something I had thought before but had never spoken, not having the heart to hurt her.  Now, suffering unfairly when it came to my self-conjured image of Julie, I said, ‘If you wanted me to be more like you then you should never have left me when I was young, as it means I am more like Dad’.  Who is more relaxed, laid-back, and unsystematic—to some aggravatingly so!  I could see she felt pain, but she knew I hadn’t intended to hurt her.  My words were to identify and ideally rectify personality differences, by understanding how they might have developed.  Mum was genuinely sorry and we made up. 

I went to artistic lengths to scribe the word ‘Indifference’ in my diary: drawing little faces in a variety of emotions around it, telling myself that despite the many states of emotions we might have about something or someone, we should be detached to the outcome, to allow a peaceful state of mind.  I was consoling myself over my Aaron disappointment, which Mum and Julie assumed was the reason behind my argument with Julie.  Being extra-sensitive, I confess to, but he wasn’t the trigger to my automatic reaction to Julie. 

Aaron called approximately a hundred days later than he said he would, and at 3.30 am, full of apologies for hurting me, explaining he was confused about his ex.  I don’t know what really happened, but it was important that he was sorry and did care as he had professed, and his contact dispelled further quizzical speculations about not hearing from him.  A few days later, Aaron sent another red rose in a canister with a card in thanks for speaking to him after all he’d done to me.

PERHAPS AS A FORM OF SUBCONSCIOUS PROTECTION from over-emotion, I became a stone heavier at this time, and my small frame became a bloated round one.  It dawned on me that I had gained weight when I had trouble doing up the zipper of a skirt I had worn only two weeks earlier.  My previously little bottom was now a bigger rounded bottom, and my usual rounded belly was an even larger belly.  Shamefully, this horrified me!  Mum and Julie tried to reassure me not to worry.  But do you think that stopped me?  Some time later, I did find solace in Julie’s words of wisdom regarding my body image.  ‘I can’t wait for the day when you see your body as a whole and not just in parts’, she said in response to my complaints about having ‘a fat’ stomach.  Her powerful statement gave me hope that someday I might be satisfied again. 

Alas, I needed a vain experience, suddenly feeling invisible to the majority of the male population.  Gentlemen no longer held doors open for me, trains weren’t waiting, lift doors were closing, and a seeming genuine interest in how my day was, was missing.  Dismayed and even heartbroken, I wondered what was happening to the world.  Where were the gents who seemed so interested in your day and bidding you well?  Almost all of them (at least two-thirds) seemed to have jumped off the planet and been replaced by busy, preoccupied, nonchalant men, hustling and bustling about.

I soon realised my extra weight was making men blind, and it was shocking to realise their interests were mostly visual.  I had assumed and hoped my friendly, smiling face and energy had been the main attraction—the body secondary or at least complimentary.  Men are attracted to womanly figures, we know, and their smiling nods and compliments did make me feel good.  But deep down, I hoped they were mainly interested in my happiness for life!  This was so naïve in the world’s current climate, I sadly realised… realising too that may have always been the case!

Heavily weighed down in mind and body, it was hard for me to feel a real happiness and love of life, which reflected on my everyday experiences.  I hadn’t considered my extra weight as weighing down my happiness and love of life, and blamed outside forces, bringing me a period of being negative towards men.  Of course, not all men.  Stephen, Paul, and a few loyal ones didn’t give me any misgivings for my extra coating, and I appreciated their friendship more than ever!  Naturally, I celebrated the gay man even more.

My misguided body image, boy problems, and infrequent disharmonies with my sister Julie hadn’t become all-consuming because I knew there had to be so much more to life!

~~~ Cory ~~~

‘There are three ways of seeking God in the human heart.  The first way is to recognise God the divine in every person, and to care for every person with whom we come in contact, in our thought, speech, and action.  Human personality is very delicate.  The more living the heart the more sensitive it is; that which causes sensitivity is the love element in the heart, and love is God.  The person whose heart is not sensitive is without feeling; his heart is not living, but dead.  In that case the divine spirit is buried in his heart.’ 

Hazrat Inayat Khan

Meeting Cory on October 24 1991 was like re-meeting a special old friend.  At 20 years and 8 months, I met him when he was serving at the 747 bar where I went to for lunch, and his Errol Flynn looks and easygoing charm struck me.  We got on so well I overstayed my lunch hour chatting with him, and saw him again after work because I took an Irish guy from Belfast there, who I met the weekend earlier at an Irish pub in the Rocks called The Mercantile.  The 747 Bar was one of eight or nine pubs within Wynyard's Hunter Arcade—one of Sydney’s busiest arcades that was packed full of drinking spots in the 90s.  Designed like the inside of an aeroplane, I thought the 747 was the perfect place to take a jet-setting Irishmen.  When we there though, my Irish friend drank too much and was talking to everyone, so I continued talking with Cory most of the time.   

In the morning, Mum asked about my date.  I said he was nice, but I liked the Irish barman more!  Mum roared with laughter.  I visited the 747 bar again at lunch that day and there was something between Cory and me, but my fears were a block.  How could such an incredibly good-looking guy be attracted to me?  Me, a ‘fatty-boom-stick’, focused far too aesthetically on her looks!  

Things were simpler for Cory, who was two months older, half Irish, half English, growing up in Western Australia from age four.  Cory wanted to be accepted and welcomed into a down-to-earth, fun-loving atmosphere that offered partying, as well as warm, family company.  His wishes came true: friends, strangers, and family alike happily accepted him.  He was such a wonderful person!

I was distracted from the party ‘scene’ on meeting this beautiful beau, though I stayed extremely hopeful that Cory would also enjoy dance parties, and accept the vast array of peoples in this world!  We couldn’t have a relationship if he didn’t.  When I saw him welcoming and embracing the diversity of life, loving my friends, unthreatened by admiring glances and stares from men appreciating his beauty, I was more than delighted.  Cory didn’t disappoint me: his smiling heart beamed on the world!  Destiny had brought me this beautiful soulful mirror, and he lifted me up!

Two months later, Cory returned to Perth, Western Australia, and our new relationship had a breather.  He had travelled around Australia during the last two years, lived in Sydney, and planned to return home before we met.  I encouraged him to keep with his plans, and allow whatever to happen, happen.  I promised to visit him in Perth and he was adamant about coming back to live in Sydney.  It was up in the air, but we believed we’d see each other again.

Chapter Eleven: 1992 ~~ Independence and Love

‘Conflict is corruption, is a waste of energy, it is the battle of our life; from the moment we are born until we die.  Is it possible to live without a single moment of conflict?’ 

Jiddu Krishnamurti

Louise and Ian held a party in their home for my 21^st birth year.  Special friends came, as well as Aunty Rosy and Uncle Jeff from Melbourne, and Cousin Vicky flew down from Cairns.  Dad delivered a beautiful and amusing speech because of his enormous lovability and gift of expression.  I beamed with delight beside him, jigging up and down, interjecting, and adding my two bobs worth here and there.  ‘Hey this is my speech’, he said, ‘You’re a real ham!’  Being 21 now, I needed to say to him, ‘I’m off your hands, you don’t need to worry about me anymore’, which had him bursting with laughter, asking me to promise.  We ventured to Oxford Street after the party and danced the night away in nightclubs.  The metaphoric key to my future was now in hand!

I flew to Perth two days later, on Monday February 3.  ‘Cory was waiting at the airport!’  I recorded in my diary.  ‘It was great seeing him in the flesh again!  He looked so beautiful, brown, and yummy and was totally gorgeous.  We were really happy to see each other and as before, very comfortable together’.  We visited the Brass Monkey hotel for a couple of merry drinks with Sky and Paddy—Cory’s friendly parents.   

Rob, Cory’s good friend, joined us later and we had a night out in Northbridge, Perth’s party district dancing together freely as we did in Sydney.  Sydney’s gay party dynamics had yet to influence Perth’s nightclubs, so people watched us curiously, as we danced or darted between people having fun chasing each other, hopefully not looking too ‘uncool’.  Cory and I didn’t dance together as well as I danced with other guys.  Most of them were gay or straight-gay-guys and their dancing abilities were usually amazing.  I had the best fun dancing with gay guys whose energies were thrilling to me, pure, as it was funky! 

My actual birthday fell during a holiday with Cory and Rob on Rottnest Island—a holiday island off the coastline.  We bumped into friends of Cory and family, and they went to great lengths to make this birthday day extra special.  ‘There were about 12 people and they all wrote on a card and bought a cake with candle: so beautiful.  This was now my 3^rd birthday cake and celebration.  Work, party, and now birthday BBQ Party!  We even danced in their lounge room, as you’ll see in the photos (whoever you are—I’m talking to my diary as if it were real).  After the night was over Cory and I rode (on bikes) to one of the beaches (The Basin) and sat for ages on the sand and talked and talked – it was beautiful – I can talk to him for hours about almost anything.  God I love him, his heart, his mind, his soul!  That was deep and true – I can remember how I felt sitting there under the sky, so far away, so free!’

I was supposed to return to Sydney on Valentine’s Day.  This was bad timing and very unromantic, so I called Glenda, my work supervisor, requesting an extension.  She was sympathetic and allowed the extra day, which was a Friday.  So, I shared another weekend with Cory, and needed these extra days as I was beginning to have silent reservations about whether Cory would actually be returning to Sydney. 

Uncertainty mounted on the third day of my arrival and precisely on my birthday when I felt rejected from Cory’s careless comments about girls, and in particular, a girl passing by!  ‘I’d be locked up if the police knew what I’d like to do to her.’  Cory remarked this way because we were with Rob, otherwise, he wouldn’t have shared his brazen thoughts, the likes only for heterosexual males, with strange fantasies.  Even Rob wasn’t impressed.

I went quiet and Cory soon understood that I wouldn’t tolerate such talk, and his willingness to look at himself, pushed aside my sudden fears.  Deep down, I worried he wasn’t ready or wishing for a deep soulful connection!  My fears magnified when he spoke about coming back to Sydney.  ‘Perth’s not for me, Sydney’s for me’, he said so strongly and often, as if he was trying to convince only himself!

BACK IN SYDNEY, two weeks later, I unconsciously found myself preparing a cushion for another fall when I visited the 747 bar where Cory had worked, to say hello to the woman manager.  While I stood in the spot nearest to the bar staff, something unexpected happened.  University students on a bender suddenly bombarded the bar, filling all corners of the room.

Soon and sure enough, I began chatting with the people nearest, and one in particular was very lovely—Christian from New York, in Australia doing a year at university.  I have always loved foreigners and their accents; the diversity excited me, reminding me of the world’s immensity, inspiring me to travel!  Something was between us from the moment we met.  He was a tall gentle yet strong looking man, couple of years older, with curly dark brown hair crowning a good looking good face, and we got along as if we’d known each other for ages.  On saying goodbye, we kissed and exchanged numbers, and I didn’t feel very guilty, justifying to myself that I was putting a protection mechanism into place, in case Cory just didn’t return.  I thought Chris might have come as a gift and comforter to keep me strong, and from hurting, when Cory falls off the face of the earth, as Aaron seemed to do.

Chris came to a family dinner at Louise's and Ian’s; we went on a couple of dinners; and he stayed over a couple of times; but luckily, we didn’t become too close during the month, because all of a sudden Cory rang confirming he had a plane ticket booked for April Fool’s Day!  With those words, I knew my heart belonged to Cory.  Now that he was actually coming, I needed to take back the part given to Chris, no longer able to fragment my feelings.  I affirmed to myself not to kiss Chris again, as I needed to generate complete honesty to Cory… but I’d never forget those moments Chris and I shared!  Chris and I met for dinner a couple of times during the following months, and I kept that kissing promise.

 *  *  *

Cory settled into sharing a home with three women very well.  Cory was a great cook, so Julie and/or Cory created our nightly meals with good spirits.  Mum and I preferred to wash up than cook!  Julie, Cory, and I shared most the weekends partying in some fashion—dance parties, nightclubbing, or house-parties.  After nearly two months, when his brother Luke also moved over from Perth and lived on the couch at our house for two weeks, the three of us moved to Manly with a guy named Gary, and eventually Rob.  It was the end and beginning of another era.  Mum and Ron had reunited, and Julie moved back to Sydney with Paul and Daniel.  It made sense for me to share a home with Cory! 

We moved into the top level of an old character home with distant views of Manly Beach and a sunroom to sit and appreciate this outlook while eating, chatting, and socialising.  Cory and I shared the front main room at the other end of the house, and its old style, built-in fireplace and lattice walls made me feel as if I’d stepped back in time.  I couldn’t believe I was old enough to live with my boyfriend in a house full of boys.  And, it didn’t cross my mind that I’d be doing more of the cleaning because I was female.  Cleaning was an all in duty or it wasn’t done at all.  Maybe I did a bit more washing up, and cooked uninventive meals such as packet pasta with extra vegies for Rod and me when Cory was at work in the evenings, but other than that, we had a great non-gender specific ambience in the house.  It made sense the guys cleaned the toilet and scrubbed the bathroom when needed, having the extra muscle power to do those heavy jobs.

I was more career minded and party-focused than domesticated in any way.  Therefore, getting to the city for work was very important to me and living in Manly required catching the ferry or hydrofoil (Jetcat) to and from work.  I considered myself one of the luckiest girls in the world journeying to work this way, on beautiful Sydney Harbour: rain, hail, or shine, except when riding the waves on stormy days!  I often took a Jetcat in the mornings, as it completed the trip in half the time and I was usually running late!  No matter how late I was, on arrival at my building, I’d always bound up the stairs to the 13^th floor with a freshly squeezed juice in hand, and I’d often clock in at 9.35am, five minutes later than expected…

AFTER A MONTH OF LIVING TOGETHER, Cory and I started talking about travelling overseas: ‘June Planner:  Savings for Overseas!’  But, we had a few hic-ups to test us before that time …

I went to bed one evening, read, then fell to sleep, waking a few hours later in a flood of fright finding Cory hadn’t come home from work.  I fetched the phone from the other end of the house to plug into the connection in our room and called the local twenty-four hour hotel to look for him, growing further distressed when he wasn’t there.  I woke Rob for reassurance, and to share in a much-needed cigarette, even though I was trying to kick the habit, and we had a couple, while he listened with an open ear, as a good friend.

Back in bed, I couldn’t fall to sleep, my mind raced and reared to the tune of where could he be, and who with?  A type of slumber did finally come, but soon a taxi sounded out the front.  When Cory’s figure appeared at the bedroom door, I questioned, ‘Where have you been, and who with?’  He went to a workmate’s house for drinks after work, and had a few too many.  He was quite smashed but still very sorry for causing concern, and would have rung, but had assumed I was sleeping, and didn’t want to wake me.  Now it was 5.30 am, and I needed to be up at 7.30 am at the latest, to go to work.

Dragging myself up again two hours later, I managed enough time to shower, dress, and be out the door to run the long run to the ferries.  Sometimes, and on this day, a passing car would stop and give me a lift, if going in the direction of the ferries.  I would indicate for the drivers to stop with a happy wave gesture, and never the hitchhiking one, knowing this was a maximum risk, but I held a strong trust in human encounters.

I was exhausted at work, but Stephen gave me gentle understanding.  11 am arrived—the usual time for my morning call with Cory, but the phone went unanswered when I called, and I began to panic again, worried Cory wasn’t answering on purpose.  I feared he might have woken to a memory of what he did wrong the night before, and might be doing ‘the bolt’ there and then.  After ringing a few more times, I wondered why Rob wasn’t answering either. 

My work phone rang sometime later, and I answered in a slightly weary voice, ‘Good morning Marketing’, to Cory’s happy voice: ‘Hello, hello, hello!’ 

‘Where have you been this time’, I asked, querying why he wasn’t answering the phone.  He hadn’t heard it ring; the phone was still in our room at the other end of the house—a distance from the sunroom where he and Rob sat.  He was sincerely sorry for worrying me again, and told me about the lecture Rob gave him on the probability of our relationship ending if he continued like last night.  Cory touchingly said he didn’t want us to end.  He also shared a conversation he had with his Mum that morning.  ‘Cory, you have someone else to think about now, and last night was not fair on Suzie’.

ANOTHER TEST CAME at the end of November when a girl from Perth stayed with us.  A pretty girl named Kim, friend of Cory, Luke, and family—a girl who had a romantic time with Cory, as I did with Chris.  (Cory and I must have sensed each other’s vibrations.)  I didn’t know their history when Kim arrived, but soon did.  The revelation—I discovered through Rob—didn’t make me angry towards Kim, or Cory, as I had been with Chris during the time we were apart.  Still, as my fears and own actions assured, seeds of mistrust existed in our relationship from the very beginning, amid the good.

Mistrust continued to grow one evening after we’d had an out-of-ordinary day.  Cory, Kim, and I went on a trip to Sydney on a glorious sunny blue-sky day, and Cory and I decided to indulge in a little portion of a mind-altering substance, of which Kim sensibly declined.  This was out of the ordinary; we never took drugs fresh in the day, and rarely took any at all now we lived together.  So we proposed a special day, and special it was, until there was trouble… 

Following an interesting perusal at the Museum looking at dinosaur fossils and giant bugs etc, we walked along Oxford Street and decided to have afternoon drinks at Gilligan’s, a trendy cocktail bar above The Oxford, overlooking Taylor Square.  As usual, the place overflowed with gay guys, dynamic, colourful, and often gorgeous.  We enjoyed very potent cocktails, and after a time, a friendly couple sat beside us.  Cory sparked it off with them, while Kim and I continued a lively conversation. Cory hit it off particularly well with the girl, but I’d assumed the guy with her was her boyfriend so I wasn’t concerned.  Until they went missing! 

Suddenly worried, aware of the possibilities, I jumped up and headed for the toilets, arriving as the girl—wearing freshly applied lipstick, came out saying Cory was sick.  Racing into the male toilets, I found Cory confused in a cubicle, professing illness from the liquor.  I questioned and interrogated him, which brought no clarification, although I hoped his words of innocence were true.  He was convincing to a degree, and we left with Kim to hail a taxi out the front. 

Assuming the situation safe, I responded to hunger pangs and walked to the take-away shop next-door with Kim.  A moment later, we discovered Cory wasn’t with us, so I returned to the front of The Oxford, to find the girl giving him a passionate kiss.  Even though he wasn’t reciprocating, he wasn’t refusing either.  In hurt astonishment, I pulled Cory a way from her and slapped him across the face.  He already looked dumbfounded, and became even more so from the slap.  He was out of his senses, puppet-like.

In foolish spontaneity and anticipation of Cory following me, I dashed across the wide road and up a block in the direction of Julie’s house.  I thought Cory’s footsteps were running behind me, but I turned to see a worried Kim in toe and was suddenly further anxious realising he was still alone with that girl!  I ran back to find the girl had Cory backed up against a wall, this time trying verbally to coax him to her.  That prospect was definitely over on my re-arrival, and she went.  I then found a little secluded spot to sit and cry, devastated by this simple act of deception.  He hadn’t mindfully meant to hurt me, which was somehow worse.  I couldn’t trust him out drinking alone and already had fears in this regard.

This was the first real splinter in our relationship…

Chapter Nine:  1990 ~~ Making My Own Way

‘It is the opening of the communication with the external life that makes man wider.  Then he does not say of his friend: ‘This is my friend, I love him, but he says: ‘This is myself, I love him.’  That is the time when he can say that he has arrived at the realisation of love.  As long as he says:  ‘I feel sympathy with him because he is my friend’, his sympathy is not yet fully awakened.  The real awakening of his sympathy is on that day when he sees his friend and says, ‘this is myself’.  Then the sympathy is awakened, then there is communication with oneself.’  Hazrat Inayat Khan

Early 1990, I gained temporary employment within the Marketing Department of State Super where I had taken work experience.  I turned nineteen around this time, and loved the freedom from studies, assignments, and examinations, but this year soon became my most tumultuous and unsettled one yet…

Perfect timing for me to meet two lifetime friends…

Enriching my life from the moment he stepped into in it in April, was Stephen who I met soon after starting at State Super.   Stephen was on a working holiday and because he was from England and wearing Doc Martins boots, I automatically assumed he’d go to parties—basing my assumption on the dance party influence of seeing Doc Martins everywhere, hearing cool English music, and a few English voices too.  On meeting Stephen, and seeing he fit the bill, I asked, ‘Do you go to dance parties?’  ‘No’ he curiously replied not yet familiar with Sydney dance parties. 

Stephen was the newly assigned Public Relations Assistant and I was the Marketing Assistant.  With our desks within close proximity, our relationship blossomed working alongside each other.  We’d look forward to each day where we’d work and mostly play, singing songs—especially KISS songs, both of us loving the band.  He’d proudly tell me about England, which he’d call The Old Dart and I’d dream about visiting my mother’s birthplace when he was there to show me the sights.  Our working highlights were organising marketing functions where we’d hire plates of gourmet food for conference attendees, pinching our favourite sandwiches to devour before the conference concluded.  We both dreamed about food and another huge highlight for us were the many lunches held at Sydney CBD restaurants for birthday lunches, farewells, and events for employees of the marketing department.  Such colourful everyday contact helped us develop a bond that has unconditionally bound us to this day. 

Our friendship became so close I told him about my pregnancy, and about my secret wish to see a plastic surgeon.  In my mind, I became fixated on regaining the original elasticity and ‘natural’ firmness of my breasts I had before the sad ordeal.  I developed a sense of urgency to intervene in attempt to ‘fix’ matters before the natural course of time.  I was confused and knew there was nothing natural about plastic surgery, but hoped to do something that would erase the incident.  I knew this wasn’t possible, and beat myself up realising I should have been sadder about the baby.  But, I believed I had had no hope of keeping my baby, and definitely no control of being able to give it a good life and I didn’t even consider adoption.

So, now I concentrated on something I hoped to have control of and found myself shocked by my rising body disillusion, insecurity, and physical attachment that developed from the admiration I’d received.  On some level, I’d associated my identity to my physical appearance and berated myself, thinking I was no longer a carefree happy girl with the future at my feet.  As I spoke, Stephen cried and cried, saddened by my experience, offering to assist by paying half if I decided to go through with it.

Ben had also agreed to help for my peace of mind.  He came with me to the appointment and waited during my first and only consultation.  The female plastic surgeon drew on my chest to gauge any disproportion, and confirmed that my breast tissue had undergone adjustments due to weight gain and loss.  Then she affirmed that I didn’t need any work, though she may have proceeded if I’d been adamant, but that wasn’t necessary.  I didn’t go back.  She confirmed what I needed to hear; giving me peace of mind, and explaining that sometimes it takes a year for breasts to readjust from the unnatural process I’d put my body through.  Of course, my punishment continued and my heart continued to break, seemingly beyond repair.  I kept this secret.

Brightening my inner turmoil was a girl named Sharee, who soon began working at State Super.  We fell in love the moment we met.  Our friendship ignited so joyfully and playfully, with a natural spontaneous ease that helped sooth my heart from inner miseries.  We held an endearing respect for each other in the workplace, at lunches, and we really knew how to let our hair down when we went for monthly State Super happy hours that went for many hours!

Sharee was a six-foot blonde beauty, and when we danced after having a few drinks, I would forget I wasn’t at a dance party and dance with her like Paul and I would.  A movement where I held onto Paul’s sides and zigzagged down his body and up again in time to the music.  Again, I must empathise that a girl dancing with a gay guy is a sensual event rather than sexual.  Onlookers in the drinking work world viewed this with sexual eyes and so much interest came our way.  Feeling cheeky and very alive sometimes we’d play up to it, becoming amorous, but not sexual.

Sharee and I didn’t work in the same department; but, we had lunch together everyday and went to nearby bars after work.  We shared a loving, caring conversation that saw us through our highs and lows making us feel like soul-sisters.  We knew our love would be ongoing and sublime no matter what!  It was so good to have some certainties, especially when my home-life was being uprooted and my psychological heart was still in a mess… 

*  *  *

As we know, when one is at a low ebb, external things come about to reflect inner miseries.  At home, Fay represented this for me, as she had totally moved in by this stage.

The rift I didn’t even realise existed between Fay and me, re-sparked when David broke up with Kaz, and came back home for a while.  I threw a spanner in the works when I went to visit Kaz as she’d called asking me to.  I felt sad for her, knowing how much she loved my brother from all the times I’d shared with them in the past, and we’d built our own friendship by then.  Of course, when I was there she told me how much she wanted to speak with Dave, and I reassured her it would be okay to call him. 

Mistake!  I told Dave on returning home, so he was ready when she phoned at dinnertime; but regrettably, I didn’t tell Dad and Fay.  I told them about my visit when Dave was already speaking to Kaz on the phone and tensions rose, as they believed Dave and Kaz were no good for each other and saw no sense in contact.  I understood, but didn’t understand Fay’s ferocity, as she dramatically left the kitchen and headed out the back.  I instinctively followed her, without looking at Dad, who detested conflict of any kind.

Outside Fay wasn’t interested in peace-making.  She seemed to want to strike me, so I told her to hit me if she needed to.  Instead, she said, ‘Go, and ring your Mother’.

‘Your mother…really loves you—leaving you when you were seven’. 

Knowing Fay had a problem with Mum, I chose to ignore her words, which was easy as they weren’t true.  Mum may have left, but she never stopped loving me and nobody could tell me differently, so I didn’t react, and tried to raise the energy by bringing up the coming arrival of her youngest daughter moving into the house (a year my senior).  ‘I’m so happy Di is moving in.  It means that Dad has a child here and you have a child of your own here too’.  Adding that I hoped this was ‘a positive thing for all of us!’ 

It was positive for a short time, but that was it.

Di and I had no problems getting along when she arrived, and just as expected trouble eased with Fay and me.  Di’s presence brought happiness to Fay, and nicer vibrations were in the house for a while.  Even still, a situation soon arose that was waiting to happen, due to the lengths some people go to for privacy.

*  *  *

We had an open door policy in my house when I was growing up, so when Fay had a double-lock secured to the main bedroom door, issues were bound to arise!  (Dad and Fay slept in separate bedrooms as she suffered insomnia.)  As I didn’t need to enter Fay’s room, the locked door wouldn’t have made a difference.  As soon as I noticed, it made one.

Dad and Fay had driven to Brisbane for a marathon Dad was running in.  This meant our four-bedroom house had two rooms vacant that I assumed were free when Julie and Louise wanted to visit the following weekend.  Louise needed the main bedroom for herself, her husband Ian, and newly-born Bianca.  My other niece Alana would bunk with me, and Julie sleep in Dad’s room—David’s old one.  When discussing the set-up with Louise on the phone, I was inspired to go turn the doorknob on the main bedroom door that stood ominously closed.  And for some reason, I just knew it was going to be locked snap shut.

I called Dad to ask if a spare key was in the house because Louise, Ian, the girls, and Julie were coming up, and all the rooms were needed.  A family visit hadn’t happened for a long time, due to lack of room, so if Fay had the key with her then I asked him to have one cut and posted ASAP—dearly hoping she would agree.  Dad said he wasn’t happy about the locked door and had felt uneasy driving away.  We ended the call hoping for the best.

I dismissed the potential gravity of the situation in innocent hope Fay would be reasonable.  Silly me!  My call and request was enough to have Fay leave Dad in Brisbane and fly home!  Worried she’d take such measures to assert herself, I rang home from work the next day to ensure she was still with Dad and couldn’t believe it was her voice on the line.  Once recovered, I collected myself and stated, ‘Dad is the most important person in the world to both of us.  You should not have left before he runs the race because he needs your support.  If anything happens to him I’ll never forgive you,’  I threatened.  Then as an afterthought before hanging up, ‘Don’t worry Fay, you’ve got what you wanted, I’m moving out!’  Realising it was the only solution.

I immediately called her daughter Di at work to speak about the situation and earnestly asked her to encourage her mum’s fast return to Dad, for his own peace of mind and health.  Then very gratefully I said, ‘It’s wonderful we can still be friends regardless of what happens with our parents, unlike many other families’, adding that I didn’t want it to change!  She seemed friendly and agreeable.  I spent that night at Julie, Paul, and Daniel’s to give Di time alone with Fay.

Next day Di told me Fay was flying back to Dad.  I felt better, but there was still no progress with the locked bedroom, as Fay hadn’t left the key.  Because of this, Louise, Ian, and the girls went to Ian’s family house in Gosford to spend the weekend, and Julie came by herself.  As Saturday night passed by, Julie and I were surprised to find our house did have an extra unlocked room free by way of Di’s, who didn’t come home all weekend!

I confronted Di on Monday evening, about why she hadn’t told us of her plans to spend the weekend away, knowing we needed the extra room.  She promptly affirmed that people weren’t welcome in her room…

Sensations of injustice took over me!  I stated that they were actually family, not strangers, and I had used her bedroom from ages three to 15.  I affirmed that Louise and Ian would not have touched anything, and they would have changed the sheets.  She said she didn’t care and belonged in the house more than I belonged, as she paid rent.  Previously unaware of her situation and not expecting a monetary confrontation of any type, I took the bait, for it was true—I hadn’t started paying board yet.  In childish retaliation, I said she was lucky to own her mum’s brand new car, since her mum now used Dad’s.  It went back and forth like this in the kitchen.  A couple of friends were in the lounge room playing music so they didn’t know what was happening, but were aware of my unhappiness.

Di walked out the back to Nanna’s unit after this, ignoring my sudden attempts to make up.  Such animosity felt awful.  Conversely, a moment later, I said the worse thing thinking her insolent to ignore me—something I erased from my memory until sometime later.  ‘Go running into my Nanna’s then.’  After no response, I muttered a name in exasperation, which I assumed she didn’t hear.  I called her a s### and such a term was alien and shocked me, having never used it before or since that night.  But, that was it, and I returned to my friends.  We shared a smoke of ‘happy tobacco’, which would have been just what the happiness doctor ordered at the time or the quick-fix doctor anyway!

The events of the night weren’t over.  Di, now back in the house, made a phone call and her tone of voice implied that the issue continued.  She went to her room when it ended.  One of her sisters arrived soon after, and swung open the front doors without a knock.  This seemed humorously rude and I said, ‘Come right on in,’ causing my friends to laugh.  She then proceeded into Di’s room, and after awhile came out, ‘Suzie, can I see you in the kitchen’. 

Once there she accusingly questioned, ‘What’s going on?’  My genuine reply brought fast understanding to her mind, ‘Absolutely nothing, I am not fighting with her!  But I’m upset because she wouldn’t allow my family to sleep in her room one night, and we needed it, as there is no access to the main bedroom as your mother bolted the door’.  Lea, seeing and feeling my honesty, softened and consoled me.  ‘Mum and Di are very alike and very private people, and have always been like that.  I’m more relaxed and laid back like your family.’  Then we spoke about David, as she had a soft spot for him—a conversation we’d had before.

The commotion of the Di quandary evaporated in our friendliness, and I offered to go make amends.  Lea advised me it would be better leaving Di alone and thought she would be okay by the morning. 

Ben stayed the night and I woke very early to the bedroom door opening and closing before Di left for work.  She was being a sticky beak with a purpose, telling Nanna, and then Dad on his return, that Ben had stayed and we had smoked marijuana, also giving her version of our argument.  I had no idea she would talk to Nanna, obliviously thinking the incident would remain between us, and not involve our elders.

Problems re-ignited at the front door that evening.  Normally only the security fly-wire door was locked, to which I had a key, but on this evening, the main door was locked also.  I knocked several times, sensing Di was home.  Receiving no response, I gained entry by walking round the back.  Seeing Di propped up against the lounge, in pyjamas, eating her dinner with a smug expression, stirred my feelings.  ‘Thank you for not opening the door,’ I said tongue-in-cheek while heading up to my bedroom.  In my safe haven, I dispelled festering sensations of disdain with loud sighs!

Once out of my work clothes, and feeling somewhat lighter, I told Di I had friends visiting again, but she was welcome to be here, as we would work around her.  Although I meant this, my tone implied differently because she had locked the front door and ignored my knocks.  Di responded with warning of Dad and Fay’s imminent return, and the coming trouble.  I immediately went to the phone to dissuade their return, but realised another call might backfire, like my first that caused Fay to fly home.  Hoping this would not happen and that Di was fibbing, I retreated into Nanna’s unit.

Now that the ordeal was turning nasty, I relayed the encounter to Nanna.  She looked serious and concerned, but didn’t say anything.  In silent confusion, she tried merging my account with Di’s altered version.  Then, suddenly, Di was at the sliding door.  ‘Suzie you are very rude!’ and wailed accusations in front of Nanna, which was rude.  I was standing behind Nanna and made jester-like motions, moving my hands about, making facial expressions, mocking her dramatic demeanour.  Nan didn’t see this and was surprised Di grew even more upset, storming back in the house, then roaring off in her car soon after.

Di wasn’t to return that evening, but she left evidence of her wrath by taking the needle from the stereo player.  Fay’s later model replaced our old family stereo, and Di asserted ownership by taking the needle.  This was only the beginning!  Alicia and I ventured into her room to see if we could find it, but no luck.  The only evidence of our entry was the door ajar, which I left to annoy her.  Not nice doing something for that purpose, but I was sick of being nice and misunderstood.  Back in the lounge room, the tape player was undisturbed, so we listened to melodic tunes through cassettes.

I entered my home with trepidation the next evening and this time found the entire stereo missing!  As well as, the electric heater, which was the only one useable because our oil heater wasn’t working, and since it was winter, I was certain to miss it.  Other necessity items of her mother’s were missing.  Any photos reflecting the Palmer family were backwards on the cabinet.  A beautiful big photo of our Old English Sheep dogs was gone.  It was so strange being in my home in a family warfare.  The house was so odd, with important pieces of furniture missing, someone else’s family looking at me from the cabinet, and an air of resentment never so hostile even when David and Julie were at their wildest.  I almost wished for those days again, because everything was familiar, even their arguments involved some type of family feeling. 

As Di was a body builder/fitness fanatic like Fay, it wasn’t a surprise she moved the stereo and other items on her own.  Except to where?  Until I noticed, she too had a double security lock fitted on her door.  With that, I gave my old bedroom door a swift kick with my Doc Martin shoes, leaving a small imprint of my anger.  Although Dad’s response was a concern, I felt a sense of satisfaction leaving a mark in defiance of those locks and bolts!  I readjusted and reversed the photos so her family portraits now faced the wrong way, and although I left them that way, I didn’t feel any better.  Our Old English Sheep dogs’ portrait remained missing…

Di called me at work the next day.  She was home, having stayed away two nights.  ‘Suzie you’re in big trouble…you’re going to be kicked out!  How dare you kick my bedroom door’!  With that, she put the receiver on the bench, and raced around the kitchen banging pots and pans, making a mighty racket.  Hearing enough I put the phone down, and cried from my mounting upset and weariness of it all.  Stephen comforted me, as well as Mum, Louise, and Julie when I rang and later saw them.  They all had a running commentary of the situation because there was no reason not to, and now the absurd had occurred, I breached Dad’s request for the silence he had asked me to maintain since the fight with Fay a year and a half earlier, telling Mum, Louise, and later Julie of the difficulties back then.  They couldn’t believe I had kept this from them for so long, but understood my respect for Dad’s wishes.

I decided not to go to work the following day, and instead, guard the home front from what I saw as lunacy in every way.  Fortunately, Ben also had a day off, because Di arrived mid-morning with a different sister from the other night.  I called hello to them as if nothing had happened, but when Di stood on a chair and had difficulty unbolting her bedroom door, I couldn’t resist saying, ‘having a bit of trouble there Di?’  I should have resisted, my amusement and mere voice would have escalated her aversion…  I couldn’t understand why she was feeling so much loathing, and believed her mum was a big influence.  It felt eerie having such hatred thrust towards me!

Ben and I retreated to my room to give them privacy.  What we did there was very naughty under the circumstance.  We had a cone of marijuana, inspiring me to be frivolous and cheeky.  For I decided, we should be downstairs in my own house.

Di had gained entry by this time, and as she was leaving the house, I refrained from asking about the missing items, even the heater that remained locked away in her room unused.  As she walked out, she told me to get my things and go, because Dad and Fay would be home any minute.  She then called me an ‘f-ing c’, which shocked me.  Because I knew Dad would never kick me out, I said, ‘The ring isn’t on your mum’s finger yet’, suggesting Fay’s entire hold wasn’t over Dad yet.  It’s a shame we spoke at all, for her sister Noreen then said her bit, which had Ben saying his bit—who was outraged over the treatment I was receiving and told them they had no right to talk to me like that.  I appreciated someone standing up for me.

In the midst of this, and to end it, I played music through my little tape recorder, loudly.  I was elated for Di to hear music playing despite the missing stereo, and happier still at drowning out useless dialect.  My instinct was to dance in a careless, carefree way.  This had the desired effect; they departed the house quick smart.  At the window to see them off, my smiling, and dancing continued in seeming victory of such silliness.  I was being silly, because the whole ordeal was just that!  But I wasn’t happy, knowing my place was no longer in this home, being no match against Fay and Di…  An all-in dispute was on the horizon and it wasn’t in Dad’s nature to stand up for me in the way I needed.  I was also yet to know he would direct his rage towards me!

My main mission that day was to tell David and Kaz I was leaving, which needed to be done in person, as they had no phone.  Yes, Dave and Kaz did get back together because of that phone call just as Dad feared, but that would have happened regardless of my input since they obviously had unfinished business.  Alas, they weren’t home when Ben and I arrived and still weren’t when it turned dark. 

We were waiting in the corner coffee shop when their car finally turned into the street.  I was growing distressed with intense stomach pains, and the coffee shop didn’t have a toilet!  We ran, as fast as possible, but on reaching their veranda, my body could wait no more.  I raced around the side of the house utterly embarrassed in the throws of poohing my pants.  ‘They don’t call me Pooey for nothing’, I declared, making humour of a bad and unusual situation.  Once sorted and clean, I told David about the disturbing events and my intention to move into Julie’s for awhile, as Julie had lovingly offered her side of the bed.  Dave had some insight into Fay’s nature because she often put Dad down in front of him.  So, he had never really liked her, and was outraged about my ordeal but that was that.

We had a customary smoke and then returned home where the saga continued!  This time Di locked me out of the house—lock, stock, and barrel.  Front doors, windows, heavy sliding door (which was never locked), and each back door, locked!  Nanna wasn’t home out the back, and my house stood in foreboding darkness, inaccessible and horribly bleak.  Before Ben found access through David’s old bedroom window that was far too high for me, I finally broke down and cried.  This cruel game had gone excessively far.  The situation was foreign, and I couldn’t continue playing along with such craziness.

I went to the next-door neighbour’s house to ring Dad about the nightmare ordeal and current lock-out circumstance but again the memory of my last call stopped me in my tracks before reaching their door.  I truly didn’t want to bring Dad more disturbance regarding these foreign affairs inside and now outside the home.  Dad’s philosophy of not being disturbed on holidays—and holidays were rare—made me decide not to call him.  So I did the right thing, I thought, by abandoning the idea of calling to complain.  Later, in the wonderful light of hindsight, I realised I should have been true to myself, and reached for his support.

Ben let me in on return, and once inside the feelings of rage and despair continued to rise as I sat on the toilet with another bout of the runs, my stomach expressing the bombarding nauseous emotions I’d been feeling.  Emotions that increased even more when we discovered the clothes dryer in operation, tumbling round and round without articles inside, making the laundry sauna-like.

It was ALL too much…and now my need to leave home was without doubt.  Next morning, I composed notes to stick on Di’s bedroom door and the laundry (back) door.  The first started with: ‘You Bitch, how dare you lock me outside my own house!’ written with angry strokes in thick black marker!  Unlike my opponent, I left the backdoors open so she could gain sensible entry into a formerly sensible house, acting from lifelong commonsense, but still feeling like the victim of vengeful acts and words, and justified to express my torment by the sword of truth…that is the pen!