My Life, Without Me

On the wall at Foundation, hipster/vegetarian/cliche restaurant on Main.

The strangest sensation - the most bizarre trip I have ever taken - was this past 10 days visiting my home in Vancouver.

A lot of people visit their hometowns - they move away and then come 'home' for Christmas or a birthday, say hello to everyone they love and eat at their favourite breakfast dive and then they are back to their lives in their current city, back to their duvet and their cats and social calendar.

This was not that.

See, as a long term traveler with no actual apartment or job, I don't have a home. Basically I was visiting my current lack of home. It felt weird.

My backpack is kind of my living space, as cliched as it sounds, and then probably you could say my Mum's house because my cats and big huge hobo handbag and some high heels are there (everything else is in a cube.)

Getting rid of my backpacker hair with Ben, one of my BFFs and also an amazing hairdresser/dancer/designer. He wins at Gay.

Because I do not have a new home, and this is the closest thing to it, it was here that I stayed most of the nights, interspersed with a few nights at each of the BFF's houses. There was tragedy to deal with and so so much grief to be felt, but the final week was more dedicated to just hanging out despite it all...(which is a lot more expensive in Vancouver than Indonesia.)

Also at Foundation - BFF 1/2 Heppy and her girlfriend Jesse. That, my friends, is the look of love.

I ate all of the things I meant to eat (except that Vera's veggie burger - next time, dear) I saw all of my friends, strolled Commercial Drive, Main St and Granville. I wore make-up, heels, dresses and sweaters. I attended birthday parties and hangouts and suppers and family BBQs. I felt - normal.

Family BBQ - 4 recipes with freshly caught salmon and mango/caper salsa , 3 salads and wine - a Zin. Swoon.

To a point. A lot of the time I was groggy, hungover (a death in the family means a wake. We had a few....) and confused - and wouldn't you know it that the jetlag ended two days before I left? A lot of tears were shed, a lot of frantic preparations finished in the nick of time, a lot of mess got cleaned.

And it all went so sickeningly fast - I kept trying to slow it down and make it wait for me to be sick of it again. Get tired of the grey skies and constant social obligation - but that didn't happen. It was too quick. I didn't even let my mum walk me to security at the airport, for fear that I wouldn't follow through, wouldn't get back on the plane and come back to this weird version of life that I live.

Now here I am, in Hong Kong just for the day. Tomorrow I head to Bali to meet S and Brandon. I am homesick. It is a palpable knob in the back of my throat, just below (above?) my soft palate.

Because not many travelers get to visit and then leave again. No one pops home in the middle of their year away - and now I know why. It is torturous.

I love backpacking. I love traveling. I love Asia. But I also love lipgloss and wine with Xstina and beers with Jason (even if he always drinks a strongbow...)
I love squat toilets. But I also love soaker tubs.
I love following local customs and being respectful. But I also love the nude beach....
And while I love guesthouses and long bus rides, man I also love a nice apartment.

BFF 2/2 - Non sexual life partner, Xstina on her birthday. (In the link, she is the first one!)

Other than the occasional new restaurant or gallery, so little had changed about East Van and my group of friends that I literally felt like I had been gone for only a week. Combined with the horror and sadness we all felt (feel)- it was almost too much to bear.

I had the rare opportunity to see my life happening without me there to live it.

I don't recommend it.

Oh, my strange city. I miss you.....