Karen was drunk off her little butt last night. This doesn't surprise us as this's the girl who gets tipsy just thinking about drinking.
I called home this morning to ask whether Port Stephen was still on considering uncertain weather. My dad had decided that he would rather dedicate the last 48 hours of his holiday burning my childhood videos onto DVDs. I walked into the house looking deprived of a week's worth of showers to find Danny's mother sitting in the dining room. For some reason my parents exposed to her all my embarrassing kiddie quirks.
Danny's mother says exactly the same things in exactly the same order on every visit. She'd gush about my prettiness despite the fact that I looked like arse. Then about how lucky my parents are to have a daughter despite the fact that I came home this morning with the distinct air of excessive bedroom activities. Then a subtle sigh to lament the misfortune of having Danny for a son. Don't tell anyone, but I don't blame her.
Anyway, when my mum was leaving China for Germany, my dad was already working there and I was four-years-old. She wanted to record a video of me to bring to him, but it was 1991 and home-owned camcorders were unheard of. Luckily, my late auntie was a newsreader who provided us with a little recording room at the studio. The result was about half an hour of a little girl in a pink dress prancing around singing Chinese nursery rhymes in front of a rather revolting lime-green backdrop.
They've also archived videos of the numerous piano competitions in which I participated in Brisbane and the Gold Coast. Most of the competitions were the everybody-wins kind, but I did receive third prize in one event in which every participant was 15-20 except the 10-year-old me; and a duet with a tall girl called Rebecca won us second place in Tropicana.
Admittedly I felt twinges of pride looking back at the happy little piano-playing, ice-cream-eating kid. Then I was kind of disappointed. The date at the bottom-right corner of the screen read "24/o8/1997" during the Forte music festival. Somebody should have warned the girl with the large pink ribbon in her hair about what trash she would become in ten years' time.
Because really, even I thought I was likeable. If I could I would go back and try to hold on to some of the attributes that ended up lost.
Jez's aunties left for Taiwan this morning. I don't know why but I was a little sad to see them go. Jez suggested it might be because this would mean the return of his cousin, but that's not it. I enjoyed their visit though I'm not part of the family. I'm not sure whether they liked me, but despite thinking me a hoochie for vulgar displays of my breasts they were extremely nice.
As we helped them with their luggage this morning, Jez's 大姨妈 asked me to visit Taiwan some time. It was probably taraf, but I grinned.
Jez is at Terrigal with his friends for the weekend.
I feel unsettled. It's magnificently stupid and I said I wouldn't worry but this is ridiculous. There's a Chinese saying - and I may be paraphrasing - 做贼心虚. It means thieves are unnaturally paranoid. Which I'm not sure even applies to what I'm about to say. I guess it can be roughly analogous to the way that people who are trustworthy themselves have more faith in others. Which is to say I represent 贼. So am I saying that I can't be trusted? I don't know. It's sort of hard to explain.
I have complete trust in Jez. Yet I'm worried. Does that mean I don't trust him? Would he be worried in my position? If I could reassure him on my nights out that he has nothing to be anxious about then why can't I be reassured myself? Does this even make sense?
I have my insecurities. Though we've overcome a lot, I have some unfortunate memories that on one hand have taught me some rather important lessons in life but on the other hand haunts me to no end. I expect I'll have my 95-year-old arse parked in a wheelchair one day and still ravage a box of tissues when my Alzheimers permits me to reminisce about the 6th of December three quarters of a century ago.
I bet I remember details that Jez has already forgotten.
Like what charity we donated money to ... actually I don't remember that one either.
Like the fact that he was carrying the same blue umbrella that is now hanging in his hallway two hooks from my Oroton one, and wearing the same blue shirt he wore on our first date.
Like when he opened the Georg Jensen case and said "it's a piece of metal".
Most of all I remember his face before I left. Somehow I thought it looked just as sad as I feel when I think about it. He brought me his Fantale the next day. I don't think I remembered to eat it.
Anyway, I feel somewhat pathetic. So I'm going out tonight.
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