Childhood Revisted

 

In case you are new here, I was raised in Perth, Western Australia. You wouldn't be faulted for not knowing this fact as I have lived in many cities around the world, in fact if you wanted to get technical I claim two very different hometowns, one the aforementioned city by the Indian Ocean and the other snowy little village in rural New England. I spent my formative years in both, but alas this post is about Perth.

I haven't been back to this street I grew up on in 16 years...over half my life I have been away. My first thought when I went back was how small it felt. What a cliche, I know, but in my memories these streets were vast and wide. These streets held pretty much my entire early childhood. I used to ride my bike around them day dreaming, I delivered newspapers every single Tuesday and Thursday to each letterbox, my childhood soulmate of a friend and next-door neighbor since the age of 3 and I would annually wander around and sell chocolates to fundraise for our brothers football teams (our favourite house of course being the elderly lady who lived behind me and who, although she couldn't eat chocolate, would purchase a box for us to have instead. We would start there and then happily snack on Maltesers as we went door to door for the entire afternoon.)

From the age of 6 or so, my older brother would walk me to school and we would have arguments about this spare piece of land down the laneway from our house. It was by far the quickest way to the school but was for sure home to some snakes I didn't want to encounter, yet he would often insist I suck it up and we gross the spare land to school Somedays I would protest and insist on walking through the long way instead. I have vivid memories of sprinting up the hill to cut through the alley way, my backpack slapping against my body to ensure I beat him there insisting it didn't take that much longer, arriving to the meeting spot out of breath, to an unbothered Sam, never conceding to my route requests.

I dragged Dan from pillar to post, or laneway to laneway, in each direction, rattling off stories about how many hours I spent in them because they were the spots where my friends and I would split off on our walks home from school so evidently we would linger there finishing up our chats before going our separate ways.

I stood in the middle of the street outside my home in the rain, and instantly remembered the time my childhood best friend and I on a 9 year old hyperactive high both ran around in the rain playing some hybrid duck duck goose game we affectionally labelled plum pudding. It basically involved us running around the cul-de-sac in the downpour saying duck, duck, duck.... before yelling plum pudding and running in circles cracking up at god knows what and ended rather abruptly with my Mum yelling at us to get inside. We then changed out of our drenched school uniforms into my brothers old oversized hoodies before laying around watching Lizzie McGuire in the lounge.

It was lovely to see it's only sole remaining resident from my time there, Marilyn. Marilyn lived next door to me and in the only house on the street that wasn't occupied by children (Although she did have a granddaughter, Amy, who would visit sometimes and play with me in the front yard. I even passed along all my Barbies to her one day in a moment of selflessness that I regretted almost instantly.) Marilyn would spend many an afternoons chatting to me as I hung out in the front yard, encouraged me to play on her lawn as my front yard was all brick and she had the perfect "What's the time Mr. Wolf?" tree, she knitted everyone in the street scarves, gave us gifts when we drew her pictures and once invited us around to swim in her pool as it was warmer than ours leaving my Mum very confused as she looked into our garden to the sounds of us yelling and splashing away but didn't see us in the pool as expected, popping her head over the fence in confusion to us hangin' with Marilyn instead.

This street means a lot to me...or I guess, it did. Going back felt like closing a chapter I didn't even realize was still open. As we drove away from it, to the hugely different Perth surrounds I turned to Dan to declare I don't think I need to come back. Is it cheesy to say I felt like I had said goodbye? I think in the original moment when you move away from somewhere so important it's hard to view the move as permanent. I remember when I had driven away from it previously as a child, I couldn't get over the fact that I would never shower in that home again. Oddly that was what I couldn't get over. Suuuuurely I would be back soon, I decided, somehow mentally ignoring the "Sold" sign wedged into the dirt. On that original departure, I scanned the surrounds as we drove out, the cars of longtime neighbors, the signs of familiarity of homes filled with people I knew and had such strong memories with. Now though, those homes are just houses. All the people, besides Marilyn, had left. The children are grown and some had children of their own in their own cul-de-sacs.  As I left now, I felt oddly content that this place lived in the past and although happy to see it, a sense of attachment had since detached.

After my little nostalgia tour, we began our actual holiday. Hopping a ferry to Rottnest Island, also a place of my childhood, but so far back the memories are nonexistent so instead I was free to create new ones.  

Which I swiftly did, like using my E-bike wrong even after I insisted on the tutorial or it's chain completely falling off as I flew down a hill or swiftly getting my linen pants caught on the handlebars as I swung my leg over so I faceplanted into the concrete as Dan absolutely pissed himself. 

Peep the bruises, and ask yourself did she go on vacation or to battle?

We spent three days cycling around the bays, as I waffled on about my deep love for the Indian Ocean. 

Dan insisted on doing the entire island loop. I insisted on not doing that and instead rode for a few hours before parking my ass in the sand to read my book and eat fresh fruit and chips and guac.

We got up early to ride around whilst the island slept and before ferry's full of day visitors arrived.

I failed at taking a Quokka selfie, in fact I failed at taking any good picture of them at all. Quokkas famously smile....but not for me! Every single one I tried to snap looked like it was plotting my imminent death.

Like...are you all talking poorly about me? Why do you all hate me so much?

The quokkas have no enemies on the island (except now me....and every single shop keeper apparently!)

So they roam everywhere like little celebrities always surrounded by tourists flopped down on their bellies like a hoard of eager paparazzo's. It's a tough life being adored I guess!

All in all, a fab little trip west. As our ferry bobbed away I insisted we return soon, scrolling through my calendar for dates.

Side Note: We stayed at the Samphire and it was fab. My parents are big fans of self contained accommodation and I personally think that shit is a living nightmare. If I wanted to contain my own space I would have stayed at home, When I travel I want a pillow menu, an overpriced mini bar I will raid at midnight and copious amounts of room, thank you so kindly.  

Bloom where you're planted.

Recently I found myself reading one of those overly cliche articles about New York...a battle of new and old, the age long debate about being a "true New Yorker". Now to preface this a little, I am Australian and was raised for the majority in Western Australia.

(Yes we are wearing beanies and coats....it was probably like 21 degrees/70 degrees Fahrenheit....Western Australian winters are hard)

I am very proud of where I come from and even though I am not an American citizen, New York is my current home and after many years of hearing constant rumblings of the essence of a New Yorker, I became curious as to what people consider the qualities of a "true New Yorker." I know for myself if you didn't grow up watching Round the Twist on a rainy day in primary school or burning the shit out of your feet on a hot January day running into the shops barefoot (No shirt, no shoes...no problem!)  are you really Australian?

But what did these all-knowing New Yorkers deem the qualities it takes to be considered one of their own? Well lucky for us Time Out New York complied a handy dandy bucket list to try and help us foreign schleps out!

According to Time Out, to be a true New York one must....

Buy a Dollar Slice at 4am
Great start! I do this often although I don't buy it because I want to be a New Yorker...I buy it because cheap, drunk and pizza.

Cry in the Street
Another +1! This is going great. Also, 2011 was a rough time in my life.

Steak out at Peter Luger
By this point I am throwing intense side eye at what kind of New Yorker wrote this list...I feel like New Yorkers shit on Peter Luger as being too mainstream and rave about some bullshit hole in the wall nobody has every heard of but alas, I have been to Peter Luger so I am currently crushing this assessment. 

Walk the Brooklyn Bridge at Sunrise
I'm counting this because I've walked both the Triboro and Roosevelt Island Bridge at sunrise and that's far more hipster and therefore more New York.

Smell Garbage and think summer
I smell garbage and think, wow I wish someone would move that garbage...is that close enough?

Nab Rolls from a Bakery before it opens
I'm now convinced the writer of this article is not only not from New York, but could also potentially be an alley cat...

Make out in a cab
Of course I've done this but I think it is less about the true New Yorker in me and more about being in your 20's and a perpetual mess. 

Complain about how everyone flakes here, then become a flaker.
I am THE flaker...is that a New York thing? Do I have another excuse to blame this horrible quality on? Success. 

Walk by a celeb without doing a double take
I walked by Sienna Miller yesterday and didn't do a double take...ok that is also because I didn't recognize her until 4 blocks too late but hey....check me out I hang out near Sienna Miller, I'm cool.

Attend an art opening and guzzle free booze
By this point I'm almost certain the writer got confused and started writing a list of how to be 18 year old Jordyn.

Be inconvenienced by a film or TV shoot
Correction: Walk nonchalantly in the background trying to get discovered and made into a movie star....It's called making moves people! 

Head to Staten Island
I got drunk there once

Swim in the Ocean?!?!

Ok that's it, as an Australian this offends me. I can't go any further with this bologna list. Yes, New York you know how to hot dog and your stench game is top notch but I refuse to associate you with any sort of ocean activities.

What I learned from this list is that....well....if eating bread in the wee hours of the morning before casually strolling across famous infastructure is more important than my hectic sleep schedule I guess I will remain #proudlyfromanywhereelse.

The past is alright.

A few weeks ago I decided I would start posting throwback pictures on here...and then I forgot all about it obviously. Tonight I'm bringing that back...and before you say it, yes! I am very aware it isn't Thursday yet...but I really can't think of anything to write about tonight as my life has literally been a big jumbled blur of nothing and everything all at once for the last few days. Roll on.

I remember this month of my life so perfectly (Late January-Early February of 2005). I was 11 and this was the month my whole entire world changed. I had just moved to the United States, I remember everything. I remember my first day here, driving from Boston airport to our new home in a stretch limo, surrounded by oversized luggage. I remember going to Dunkin Donuts on the drive and ordering boiling hot chocolates for our frozen bodies that before this date had never seen snow (which my brother decided to touch whilst waiting for our limo and regretted instantly...turns out snow is cold). I remember our driver comparing Steve Urwin putting his baby in the crocodile pit to Michael Jackson dangling his baby over the balcony. I remember a conversation I had with my brother about an icicle whilst sitting outside Sugar River as my Mum set up bank accounts the next day.I remember eating so much meatball pizza in that first month. I remember the smell of our new jeep. I remember everybody following me around school on the first day bombarding me with questions about whether I ate crocodile. I remember literally everything. 

Oh and that is (was...presumed dead due to bobcat slaughter in 2011) my cat Phantom. He was given to me when I first arrived at my new home. I remember spending an hour trying to coax him out from under my mums bed before debating about whether he was a Phantom or a Zorro for the remainder of the night.....Phantom won obviously.

This was my class trip in 2011. This is just one of about 344 pictures snapped of my entire class whilst we sat huddled together freezing on the beach that day. Whenever people see those pictures they are always confused as to where everybody else is...but alas that is all of us. Just 28 kids...now adults...but always kids in my mind, initially bonded together by nothing more than age and location, but now, even as we live separate lives, bonded still. 

This was my first day of year 10 in Brisbane, Australia. As you can tell I had reached that angsty teenage phase where I wasn't overly excited about having my picture snapped in my awfully attractive uniform at 8am. This is when we lived in a rental house*** that was almost completely void of furniture as ours was all in storage after moving over from the west coast. We slept on air beds that slowly deflated through the night, our TV rested on a box in the living room and I spent most of my nights on the phone to my best friend back in Perth...much to the annoyance of my father who's dreams became overrun with my booming conversations from the room across landing. Sorry Pops.

***Said rental house. Our first Queensland home. 

This is a picture of my youngest brother that I found and couldn't not include because it melted my cold dead heart. I find it especially precious because this little munchk is now boardering on teenager and will never again be this precious little Buzz Lightyear wearing peach. 

And lastly a selfie I took when I was 15 and thought I was exceptionally cool obviously. Because at the end of the day, no matter how hard things may seem you can always be reassured that you will never again have to be a 15 year old...and if that doesn't make you feel good I'm not sure what will!