Good goodbyes.

If you look at my facebook or instagram, it's all pretty good stuff. Mostly happy moments. Happy people. I love curating these platforms, mainly for my benefit. But like everyone else, it's not always pretty for me. We all have our demons. I remember the days when I'd wake up each morning wondering if it was going to be a good day. I felt like I was on survival mode. It got a bit scary after a while when I realised I wasn't doing okay and something had to be done. Anyway, I wanted to dedicate this post to my dark days. Hopefully it gives me catharsis and closure.

I really wonder if being stuck in WA during the pandemic, and not being allowed the option to see my loved ones for 2.5 years has traumatised me. I wonder if being here on our own, without the physical presence of the most important people in our lives during a most challenging time has somehow developed this new fear in me: this fear of isolation, of abandonment: of being alone in times of sickness or trouble or heartbreak. I somehow allowed that to almost consume me this last summer. Anyway, let's go back to last year first.

When the borders opened, we flew home for the first time in April 2022 . After that, loved ones started coming to Perth. But I noticed that every time we had to say goodbye again, I felt a homesickness like never before. I would attempt to watch shows I knew they were watching just so I could feel them near me. I would copy the dishes they cooked for me. I would take sad, sad walks at the park listening to sad, sad songs and I would cry. I cried a lot. I felt left behind. Like I was abandoned. Funny, I know. Most folks would think WE left them behind. It would take me a couple of weeks to stabilise each time it happened. So I learnt I was quite terrified of goodbyes.

In May last year, we moved to a most quaint little cottage. I was beyond excited at the prospect. When else does one get the opportunity to live in a 1930s wooden cottage fronted by a glorious native garden and with a backyard so big one didn't know what to do with it. The entire land area was 800sqm. I was in love with the house. Even the bitter cold and 700AUD power bill of winter in that house couldn't detract me from my love. I wouldn't stop fawning over it. But as with most whirlwind romances, it was sort of short-lived.

Summer came. The house turned into a furnace. The house heated up very quickly and the heat got stuck in it and I felt like I was living in an oven. Air-conditioning didn't help very much. And it was during this time when I would often stand in the oh-so-pretty kitchen, stare out into the backyard and feel absolutely trapped. I couldn't simply walk out and do any gardening because hey, it's summer in WA. I could drive out, but to where? I couldn't go to the park, it's too hot. I didn't want to go to the mall on my own, I hate crowds. So I sat in my oven, miserable. Alone. Trapped. Isolated. No one to save me. I started getting anxiety attacks.

I would get restless and walk around the house (btw, the house itself is only about 90sqm) and feel unsteady on my feet. I would feel woozy and get vertigo all the time. That only made the anxiety attacks worse. I was on the brink of believing I was going bonkers when we realised it was the flooring that was making me cry so much. The jarrahwood planks bend during summer. They bend a lot. So wherever we walked in the house, it felt like we were losing our balance a little. To make sure we weren't both going nuts, I got a couple of friends to test it out. That, plus many other issues like our tiny bathroom flooding because roots had grown into the water pipes and us getting a warning for not keeping the lawns green in summer (God knows we tried) - I told Shai we needed to get out of that place. And so we did. Because some goodbyes are good for you. Goodbye, 8 Northampton Street.

It was also at the start of summer last year that I decided I wanted to embark on a new adventure as an early school educator. And boy was it an adventure. I definitely got more than I bargained for. Straightaway, they put me in the nursery room. Mind you, I'd never handled a baby before, let alone 10 crying, hungry babies that also needed their nappies changed immediately. I was overwhelmed. Overstimulated. So many times I couldn't even take in instructions from my leader in the room because I couldn't get above the screaming and wailing. I would come home at the end of my 8-hour shifts trembling. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. After 2 months, I asked to be put on a shorter shift. They agreed. I was relieved. First day of my 5-hour shift, the manager told me, "You'll be in the kitchen this week. The cook left." Imagine my horror. I had to follow a specific menu for morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea. I had 1-2 hours to prepare for each meal. I had to consider all allergies and dietary restrictions for 50 children. I cannot be late in serving them. Because, well, unlike adults, kids throw a fit when they're hungry. I also had to wash all the dishes for all the meals. I remember questioning my life choices as I stood there washing the dirty bowls and glasses, trying not to cry from the sheer pain I was feeling in my back and my knees. I quit at the end of that week. So this, plus the debacle at the Australian Islamic College the year before has made me a little more careful about what I choose to do with myself. Goodbye, weird career choices. That was another good goodbye.

Through my struggles this last year, no one in my life has said an unkind word to me. Everyone has been supportive and people have only said to me how brave I was to even want to try these things out. My husband does give me some tough love from time to time. But I guess I need that too. He did say to me once, "It's funny how you're going for all these things that are not in your element. First the Islamic school. Then the babies." My reply, "Maybe I'll join the military next."

It's already spring now. It's been a year of emotional turmoil and upheaval. I feel I'm still healing from it all. It's taken me months to slowly get back to normalcy. I'm learning how to be alone again. I'm also trying to see the whole thing from a new perspective. I've actually learnt a lot from this last year. It's true, the toughest experiences allow the biggest opportunities to learn. I am learning to show more gratitude for what I have. And I notice when I have gratitude for even the simplest things, the worries and fears have no space to grow bigger. That, and taking probiotics and Vitamin B complex.

We've moved into a brick house in a friendly neighbourhood with stable flooring and 2 working bathrooms. It's got a good-sized backyard with a beautiful lemon tree. I feel safe and comfortable in this house and I thank it every day. I still have my online tutoring that I've been doing casually since 2020. I also do casual work for a publishing company. I am thankful for that. I have a kind, loving and funny husband who works hard to ensure no one in this house goes hungry. In fact, we're all getting quite fat. I have loved ones back in SG who constantly keep me grounded and connected. I am thankful for friends here who make time for me. For the ones who disappoint me, I thank them too. I have my stinky moggies. I have all this nature, all this space, all this time.

When i went home last month for a big reunion with my husband's sister and her family (they live in San Diego) that was 5 years in the making, I felt very little of the discomfort or fear that I had once felt at goodbyes. I was calm enough at the airport when my mama, my aunts and my uncle sent us off. When we landed in Perth, I felt not homesickness but a wave of calm. Because this is home too. This home gives me love and protection too. And maybe I know my place here a little better now. I belong here. When I feel that familiar pang of loneliness approaching, I distract myself with music, movie, or a message to a loved one. Not too much crying. No wallowing. Perhaps I am getting better at this. Goodbye, scary goodbyes. Hello, good goodbyes.

Just me on my verandah on a good day when the house wasn't trying to kill me. I had many happy days there and I loved that house so much. Glad I got to meet it and know it. Thank you, 8 Northampton Street.