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Strine, and the reunion at hand

Prepare yourselves, my dears, for some really awful pictures. I am so sorry.

A Melburnian summer is all picnics

I'm about to understand why the rest of the world makes fun of Strine (otherwise known as the Australian accent if the words resemble English). Hearing it through ears adjusted to that petite, ah-sah British accent is going to be fascinating and enormously distressing. Oh — dramatics aside, thanks to the magic of scheduling and on-time air travel, I can assume I returned to Australian soil mere moments ago.

Awkward tourist.

What an unusual thought. It's a moment over ten months since I took that plane away from a heat wave and then missed my connection in Abu Dhabi. After a tense hour of trying to help the people on the plane who only spoke obscure languages understand what was going on (those poor Georgians) we ended up on a bus to Dubai and took a flight from there. I had a really tragic blood nose but I did get to see the world's tallest building and have a free sandwich so it was okay.

Taking dux in my high school bible studies class is the strangest fact of my life. I'm not even formally religious, for goodness sake.

Ten months isn't a very long time on paper. Ten months shuttled between London and Edinburgh and a hundred heavenly, bizarre continental cities (oh Prague) is a very very very long time. And I have changed. I used to worry about punctuation but things like that really honestly have just absolutely gone out the window entirely to an incomprehensible extent I assure you completely it's so.

Belgian automatic stamp machine. Best.

I don't know what to expect. Is it alright to have no idea? Maybe my friends have shaved off their hair and changed their names. Maybe my house has been swallowed by rising seas. Maybe we've been colonised by New Zealand. Maybe I'll never want to leave. Maybe I won't stand to stay. Both are equally frightening and equally irrelevant due to my inescapable university duties up north.

That red-is-the-only-colour phase.

It's going to be odd to have this new girl, the one who wears her hair in heidi braids and doesn't chew her nails (as much), dropped upon an unchanged background. Sure, it's Melbourne, so another freeway or two will have been built and a few more sushi shops will have sprung up, but Flinders Str Station, my oldest and best friend, will be the same. I wonder how it'll feel to stand on those same steps again; I wonder who I'll meet there this time.

Unbalanced in the Austrian alps.

The only certainty is that my dog waits for me in Melbourne. Really, in life, dogs are the only true certainty.



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