Friday 19 September 2003

Down and out (in Perth in the sunshine ... )

I've been back in Perth for seven months now.  It doesn't seem that long, yet at the same time it feels longer.  Its been a tough time, what with the initial geographical separation from Tuxedo, and the physical health shite.  And I still can't say "I'm back home" - its definitely a case of "back in Perth". This isn't home, we're not in our own place, we're in this fucking tedious holding pattern that we just have to suck up and wait out ... and then, maybe then, we can begin actually living again.  Because right now, we're pretty much merely existing. 

The set of circumstances is, without question, crappy and depressing and very very boring. Living with one's parents/inlaws when you've been used to independent living and sharing with your best beloved for years, is very tricky.  Thin ice, knife edges, glass houses, all those metaphors don't even begin to describe how tricky a situation it is.  Tuxedo and I are used to our own routine, and habits, and style of living.  We do well at the living together thing - our home was always cheery and full of laughs, yet very peaceful.  My parents don't do jokes, and peace and tranquillity are definitely not on the menu; my parents are loud and not in a good way.  Also, they're very hands-on, forever telling us what we should be doing and how we should be running our lives (admittedly, they leave Tux alone; its just me that gets it), which does not go down too well with either of us, being independent, protective of our life choices and business, and just plain stubborn (we will happily listen to advice - we mightn't take it though; and we do not appreciate being ordered what to do - not at our age, for fuck's sake)

I know I sound like an ungrateful little bitch but truly I'm not.  I am incredibly grateful to my parents for giving us a place to stay, supporting us, helping out in a million little ways.  We do pay for it though, we're not total bludgers.  We pay both in dollars, and sweat and tears.  My parents are not easy to get along with; as mentioned above they are interfering and loud ("debates" over trivial issues are held at volume #11) and also masters of the destruction of one's self esteem - particularly my mother.  I'd forgotten what it was like, having lived 15,000 kms away for two years, but the constant put-downs, haranguing and verbal abuse - totally without reason or provocation are not much fun.  I've been reduced to tears quite a few times since returning to native soil - not pleasant for me, or for Tuxedo who gets mucus and snot all over his t-shirt and has to pick up the shattered remains of my self-esteem.  Another reason why this doesn't seem like "home", the word home conjuring up images of a secure, comfortable, nurturing place ...

Then there's the other stuff - waiting on bureaucratic process (again - argh!), my struggles to gain back a degree of physical health and corresponding quality of life, being financially strained ... Not to mention the emotional strain we're both under with all this crap and worry.  We do a good job of keeping one another cheered up and not too stressed - which often means keeping a lid on one's own mood slumps and minor panic attacks, and yeah, that does feel kind of deceitful sometimes, even though of course Tux knows how I feel and vice versa.  Its a matter of maintaining emotional equilibrium.

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Mind you, of all places in the world to be stuck in such a set of circumstances, Perth is probably about the best you could select.  There's the weather, for a start.  Whilst what passes for spring in Perth is a trifle inconsistent - sunny days followed by rain and gales - in general the weather is lovely, and as we get into summer will be even lovelier.  Brilliant sunlight, cloudless bright blue skies, warmth, gentle breezes ... a bit of a contrast to Belfast's interminable greyness, horizontal pounding rain, freezing temperatures, howling winds - and that would be a normal summer's day for ye.  I'm susceptible - as are most human beings - to weather, and while I certainly don't fall into the SAD class (Seasonal Affective Disorder) I am always happier and more relaxed when the sun is out. 

Tuxedo is loving the climate.  He's out on his bicycle every day (a very classy road bike), racking up on average 30 kms a day, and has started to get the typical cyclist's tan (brown from mid-thigh to ankle; white torso and shoulders; brown arms from bicep to wrist - the legacy of lycra skinsuits and cycling gloves).  He's getting very fit, and trim and taut and mmm- mmmm-y.  Mmm.  While I definitely benefit from having such eye-candy around the place, its also deeply satisfying to me, and makes me feel good, to know that he is happy, achieving something, enjoying himself, enjoying the new environment. 

In Perth, there are many things to do, places to go, fun to be had, that one can do on the cheap - because of the gorgeous weather, the environment, the city itself.  A day wandering around Fremantle, maybe having a coffee or two at any of the many many cafes, stopping for lunch (what will it be? Thai?  Indian?  Italian?  Fish'n'chips?), browsing through all the bookshelves, a drink at any of the pubs (Little Creatures, Sail &B Anchor, Newport ... ).  Perth City itself is great for a low-key day of shopping, meandering about, eating, sitting in the Merchant Tea & Coffee House, listening to buskers.  Then there's Subiaco; Northbridge; Leederville.  Perth is not so much a single city as a number of loosely connected areas, each with their own feel and socio/cultural ambience.

And of course, there's the beaches.  Ohhh the beaches.  My first week back in Perth I went down to North Cottesloe Beach and ohhhhh .... heaven.  The white sands, and blue-turquoise-clear green waters are so inviting and luxurious - better than any zillion dollar tropical island resort, just sitting there for everyone.  Then there's the Parks, and the bush, and down south to Margaret River and Pemberton and the wineries ... the south west of Australia is truly a great place to be.

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After Belfast, I've become so sharply aware of the difference in "vibe" between the towns, and the general standard of living and options available.  By "vibe" I guess I mean a mix of ambience, atmosphere, social interactions ... that kind of thing, very difficult (for inarticulate thick me, anyway) to quantify.  People in Belfast did not move outside of their little enclave; staying strictly within the same group of people and the same area they'd grown up in.  Most people barely move beyond their street.  They're incredibly closed up, suspicious, wary.  As for welcoming strangers ... huh.  I'm still in the end throes of pain and betrayal over that; of being an outsider, held in suspicion and not welcomed simply because I wasn't one of "them".   One can understand why, after nearly 700 years of hatred and bigotry, but the reality of it, and the depth of social dysfunction was a shock to me that I'm still getting over.  Anyway, moving right along ... People in Perth, whilst clique-y and class conscious (even though there isn't supposed to be a class divide anymore - just like anywhere, its human nature) are generally speaking more welcoming, laid back, open.

The standard of living is different too.  I don't mean strictly economic; more how people lead their lives, and again that's to do with the weather and the laid back atmosphere (also it must be said, the tendency of Australians to a state of total apathy - better than making bombs though).  Then there's the multiculturalism, and while there is still racism, bigotry, discrimination and stupid ignorant shitheads who encourage and justify such ideas (Pauline Hanson and 75% of taxi drivers, I'm looking at you), most of the population couldn't give a toss what colour, race or creed you were.  And the greatest gift, from my point of view, that multiple cultures and all their wonderful diversity have given to Perth and Australia, is the food.  To be able to choose from Thai, Vietnamese, Cantonese, Malaysian, Indonesian, Japanese, Indian, Italian, French, Lebanese, Turkish, Eastern European, etc etc cuisines and produce is a wonderful and magnificent thing.  Three tiny bunches of baby bok choy cost about £3.00 in Belfast Marks and Spencers, when I could get it. Sucks to that.

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In breaking news, I got my hair cut!  A gargantuan three inches!  See, I'm growing my hair - not because I want those glorious long shiny tresses as seen in Pantene ads (because my hair has zero chance of looking like that) or reaching for any other vision of feminine beauty, but because I'm lazy.  I hate getting my hair cut, I hate having to blow dry, style, use "product" of any kind, and generally muck around with the stuff.  Also, no matter what I try to do with my hair, it will always do the opposite.  If I want curls (I have naturally wavy hair), it will go straight regardless of how much mousse-ing, gel-ing, curling ironing I do.  If I want straight, sleek glossy hair it will frizz, or go into ringlets, or just stick out in every direction.   Then to top it all off I look truly ghastly with short layered hair, which seems to be the only other option.  So a year or so ago I decided to leave it to grown long, get rid of the layers, and tie it back or up to get it out of the way.  The mane is now halfway down my back, and today I got the last of the layers cut out - being the bottom three inches.  It has straightened a lot under sheer weight, but is still pretty wavy and although I have annoying baby fine hair there's masses of it, so it looks thick and heavy and shiny.  I'm happy with it. 

Every now and then, I get an urge - easily repressed - to have it all cut off and have a cute, gamine 'do.  If I did such a thing, (a) I would look really horrible because short hair does not suit me in the slightest and makes me look like a 10 year old boy into the bargain, so I'd end up retiring to my bedroom to sob for days and days, then cover it with a scarf for several months; and (b) such an act would please my mother, so nyah.  This is childish, of course, but there you have it.  Mum is forever bawling me out about my hair, about how long hair is totally unsuitable for a woman "of a certain age" (ie, over 12 years old) and that I should have an "appropriate" above the shoulder length bob (despite the fact, as I said, that I look terrible, really terrible, with such a style, and that her comments are quite simply mind-blowingly ageist and weird). 

Today, no surprises, Mum squawked at me constantly for not getting more cut off.  It is unbelievably aggravating and annoying though, the way she goes on and on and on about it; that's mothers for you I guess.  Does your mother/parent harangue you constantly about some trivial matter and what you should do about it?  And what do you do about both the trivial matter and your parent's behaviour?

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