While I originally hoped my weeks prior to skedaddling from Australia would include much seeing of friends and scoping out of hostels, they have instead involved me, a chair, an elevated foot and, more recently, bandages and Panadol to combat toe surgery. As a result, excitement about the future transformed into anxiety that this future would be comprised of cancelled flights rather than a montage of waving hands and trundling suitcases set to my own humming of “Leaving on a Jet Plane”.
Yet there is currently light at the end of the tunnel – and no, it’s not the new line of chocolate bars currently on sale at The Essential Ingredient (although this is, in fact, rather exciting, and the fact that I clapped and squealed “new chocolate!” upon entering the store may have contributed to the lovely man giving me a few dollars’ discount on said chocolate). After listening to several trusted associates, both medical, familial and friendial (if Shakespeare can create words, why can’t a 22-year-old Honours graduate?), I am beginning to believe that I will soon be on my way.
Realising this, however, has led me to think of what I’ll miss about this place in which I live. Hearing conversations of the following ilk whilst walking around town certainly earns a place in such pondering:
Female Teenager, walking in Civic and eating a burger from McDonalds: Would you rather be an apple or a soccer ball?
Male Teenager, answering immediately as if this were the most normal query in the world: A soccer ball.
Personally, I’d rather be an apple. Crunchy, colourful, and capable of being baked into deliciousness with a crunchy sugary nutty crumble on top. Is there honestly anyone out there, apart from this particular fellow, who would rather be an inflated piece of plastic that gets kicked around, without mercy, in all sorts of weather?
I rest my case. Odd teenagers, you made my day.