Change of pace

For a few days, I exchanged my scarves for slippers, and saw a sun which glowed with real brightness and intensity. For once, my thoughts were occupied not just with discharge summaries and the whirlpool of my own feelings, but with the lives of old friends, and medicine that touched poverty, politics, and the wider world. As I weaved up into vast skies and layers of clouds, once again I was struck by the consciousness of my own mortality, despite knowing that statistically, dying from a plane crash is extremely unlikely.

From waking up to noisy neighbours and train hoots, there, I woke up to an unnecessarily loud and horribly evil laugh of a kookaburra, followed by a colourful choir of tweets, which reminded me so much of home. My never changing breakfast of two minute oats, milk, and bananas, was changed to, waking-up-too-late-for-breakfast, which would be promptly followed by scoffing down dry scones at morning tea, binging on tea and milk for lack of good food options, piling massive plates of not so filling vegetarian meals (organisers were going green), and diving for fried finger foods in the evenings. Each night would conclude with a stroll down to the night markets, armed with a delicious roll of Japanese crepe with whipped cream and ice cream.

Instead of (mentally) speaking with myself at my desk, which makes for poor and tiresome company, I sat with old friends on quiet benches outside loud and drunken parties, indulging in long overdue catch up chats. We talked until early hours of the morning, about our careers and futures, above love, about makeup and clothes; laughing at how each of us, from the pink-loving girly girls to the tomboys who never wanted to be girls, were on a journey of transformation, from a girl to a woman. Having often lamented on lost friendships during university years, I delighted in discovering that old high school friendships could mature into something better, where even the craziest girls, or the boys who adored only games and Anime, could develop a thoughtfulness and patience to listen and connect on a meaningful level.

A few days of warmth and a change of scene, away from the unbearably stubborn fog through which everything becomes indistinguishable shades of grey; respite, I think that is what they call it...