The Lost Posts

As regular readers will have noticed, A Mummy in a Strange Land has had an overhaul recently. I'm still not 100% content with the new look but, as that seems to be the story of my life, it's somehow appropriate. The overhaul has extended to all the "behind-the-scenes" bits of the blog as well, and I've tidied up my drafts folder a little. I've found a lot of posts that I've started and have never finished, for one reason or another. Some of them needed tweaking a little, some were a bit too short to be a complete post on their own, while others were about a specific moment in time and the moment passed before I had a chance to get them out there. I put a lot of thought and time into everything I write and it seems a waste just to delete the drafts that never made it to the publishing stage, so I'm dedicating this week to the posts that missed their day in the sun. For each one I'm going to include the date that they were originally written and links to the posts around them, so you can put them into context if you have far too much time on your hands this week. First up is this one, from the 18th of December:

The Kindness (or not) of Strangers


Firstly, I have to refer to my last post The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Our missing bag was found, left behind by baggage handlers in Sydney for reasons unknown. I was so relieved to have it all back that I didn't ask questions. I felt guilty for assuming the worst but my husband assures me that bags do get stolen all the time, especially at this time of year, especially in Sydney.

It's also not uncommon for people to assume the worst in big cities. One of the things we both noticed about Sydney was how angry people were. It feels as if the whole city is simmering away quietly and at any moment anyone could snap. People aren't helpful generally and they don't smile at each other in the street. This came as a shock to me when I first moved there as I grew up in a town where everyone smiled at each other or said hello. In the city, if you do show any signs of friendliness it's instantly assumed that you are a loon and to be avoided at all costs. There were quite a few times where I was struggling with the stroller and trying to open a door and no one offered to help. One man went so far as to pretend he was on the phone and shot through the door behind me. Others avoided my eye and chose to linger behind until someone else helped or I managed to get the door open on my own. I wondered if these people were afraid to help in case I took it as a sign that I could engage with them on some level, or if they were worried I'd get upset if they tried to help, perhaps I might snap "I can do it myself!" Whatever the cause, it bothered me and made me realise how helpful and friendly people are here in HK in comparison.

We spent one afternoon at Coogee beach, catching up with friends over fish and chips. It was a gorgeous summer afternoon and we were enjoying ourselves immensely until I was hit across the back of the head by a drunken idiot stumbling around. We were all instantly on the defensive ready for a fight, too quick to adopt the local mentality. We brushed the guy off but noticed several police officers wandering around and the riot squad vehicles parked outside the local pub; all prepared for an evening of violence and people generally making a nuisance of themselves. I don't remember it being that bad when I first moved there 10 years ago and I had to ask myself why people were so aggressive and angry. It is such a beautiful place and Australians are so very lucky, so why isn't anyone happy? Our friends were complaining that many of their friends with kids had moved away, either to the outer suburbs or out of Sydney altogether. They attributed exorbitant property prices and the high cost of living to this exodus, with many others wanting to be closer to family. I wondered if people in the city are so on edge because it's a city of migrants? So many people move to Sydney from overseas or from smaller towns to study, to work or to play, leaving behind loved ones and support networks. I've mentioned in previous posts (Like this one) how difficult it was for me to make friends there and I think this is true for so many others.

I mentioned in my post Now You're One that J and I were sick in Sydney while we were on our own. We had D's parents helping us out but it was still very tough. I can't imagine living there, without the friends or help that I have here, and having to do it all on my own. I'd be pretty angry and on edge too and I think it'd be too easy to take it all for granted and forget how great a country it is. Being ripped off at the supermarket every day and having no one open doors for you would certainly wear anyone down after a while.

Despite all that I did have a lovely time, and it was very, very hard for me to leave. We left Sydney after a week and went to see my family in a little town called Cooma. There has been drought-breaking rain this summer and the landscape was green and gorgeous, the rivers were overflowing and the grass was waist high. It reminded me of my childhood when it was always like that. It was one of the best visits home I've had in years. I stayed with my Nanna and she showed me old photos and filled me in on the family tree. My parents spoiled us rotten and loaded us up with so many Christmas presents I had to take an extra bag. The sky was so so blue and the air was fresh, it made me homesick in a way I never thought possible. I miss being able to look out in any direction and see nothing but land and sky, I miss the horizon! I could so easily have rented a house for the summer and stayed put for a few months, but I took the advice of a good friend who grew up in the same town. He always says; it's better to leave when you feel like you could stay, rather than wait until you feel like you've stayed too long.

So we trekked back to Sydney with far too many bags in tow, and I had a minor panic attack at the airport when I realised that arriving in Sydney felt like coming home. Everywhere I went it was easy and familiar. Even negotiating the ridiculous traffic didn't bother me. In the end I found some really helpful and friendly people, all too willing to lend me a hand with my bags or the baby and restore my faith in the kindness of strangers. We spent 24 hours in glorious Bondi and caught up with a few people before I had to accept that it was time to leave. If it wasn't for the texts from my husband pleading with me to get on the plane, and the fact that we were flying back to Hong Kong in business class, I might still be there.

The Grass is Always Greener

I had a bad day in Hong Kong yesterday. The kind of day that makes me want to pack my bags and take my little boy with me somewhere far away. You'll be pleased to know that I have resolved those issues today over tea, an almond croissant and the latest issue of Red magazine. When I'm mad at this crazy city I have to remind myself that although the issues I have here might be unique to Hong Kong, there were days when I hated Sydney and wanted to pack my bags.

While I was at uni, and for two years after, I lived in the city of Canberra. For those of you who don't know it, it's allegedly the capital of Australia, but it's really just a flat, boring, large country town. It did offer me a great deal at the time but once I had graduated I felt elation every time I left, and was literally sick at the thought of going back. Nothing sunk my heart faster than stepping off the plane at Canberra airport. It never felt like home. In fact I think I can say it felt less like home than Hong Kong does sometimes. Sydney was a complete contrast. It was vibrant and exciting and moving there on my own at 22 was just about the bravest thing a girl from the country could do (the only thing scarier was moving to Hong Kong, but I at least had the commonsense not to do that alone). Sydney definitely felt like home, but it was a hard place to live. People who grow up in Sydney aren't that interested in getting to know people who didn't. It was as if they had all the friends they were ever going to need and there were no vacancies. I tried lots of different things to meet people; yoga classes, art classes and extra uni tutorial sessions. None of it made any difference. My first year there was the loneliest year of my life and so many times I wanted to, yep you guessed it, pack my bags, but the city itself fit me like a glove. I couldn't walk away. It wasn't until I met my husband, and he introduced me to his friends, that I felt like I had a group of great people around me. Ironically almost none of them were originally from Sydney, and we had a fabulous time together.

The city did have other downsides. Being from the country I found Sydney chaotic and overwhelming at times, and I needed to go back to my parent's place every few months for some peace and quiet. The first flat D and I lived in together was on the ground floor of an old building in Coogee, a block away from the main road. We had people above us and people beside us, and our bedroom was right next to the building's driveway. Our street was a shortcut for people coming home from the pub at night, and in the summer, every night was pub night. There was never a time of day when it wasn't noisy. In the summer, as well as the late night revellers, there were innumerable tourists clogging the footpaths, littering the street with their takeaway containers and baring all on the beach. It drove me mad! We eventually moved to a quieter neighbourhood, in a suburb without a pub. Naturally there were problems in this area too... We lived on a fairly narrow street, just around the corner from a local primary school. The school was in a cul-de-sac so every day at 8am our street would be packed with mums and kids in SUV's trying to get around each other to get as close to the school as possible. And you could forget trying to get a park out the front anytime between 2-4pm.

I know I often complain about the lack of fresh produce here in Hong Kong and I pine for a Coles or a farmer's market down the road but if I'm really honest, most days getting to the supermarket in Sydney was a pain in the butt. Here on South Lantau, on a weekday, I can leave here, drive to Mui Wo, do the shopping and drive home again in the space of an hour. In Sydney, with the shopping centre much closer than Mui Wo is to here, it would take at least 2 hours. By the time I battled the traffic, circled the carpark 40 times, made my way around the enormous supermarket, made it to the end of the queue and explained to the 12 year old on the checkout the difference between zucchini and cucumber, found my car in the basement, battled the traffic again to get home, hours had passed. Most days, unless I was desperate, I made do with whatever I had in the house to avoid going through all that. A trip to the supermarket was a surefire way to elevate my blood pressure beyond healthy limits, and a great way to waste 2 hours. My husband and I joked that Bondi Junction Westfield was like a vacuum - you went in to get milk and emerged 4 hours later, with no idea where the time went. I can't imagine what that would be like with a child in tow!

So whenever I'm frustrated by the fact that I can't find hummus anywhere, or someone cuts in front of me in a queue, or when the air quality is so bad you can smell it, and I'm really missing home, these are the things I think about. And I feel a little bit better.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Mother Who Hasn't Slept in Months

Yesterday was a bad day. CLP have decided to yet again dig up the footpath outside our house and for the 2nd time this week their jackhammers woke my son. Sunday night had been a rough night sleep-wise and so I was trying to do as the books say and "sleep while the baby sleeps." Well, 20 minutes into our nap and we were woken by drilling so loud the walls were vibrating. Baby J decided naptime was over and I dragged myself out of bed and vowed to try again in the afternoon. The same thing happened! There was a knock on the bedroom door and my husband whispered "are you about to lose it?" By that stage I was sobbing in the wardrobe and called back "I've already lost it!" I think sleep deprivation could be used as a form of torture. It makes people crazy and emotional and disturbingly irrational, well, that's what it's done to me anyway.

Our son started sleeping through the night at 3 months and we thought we had been blessed with a gifted child. A month later we made the mistake of taking him back to Australia where the slight time zone change and different beds had him waking every hour of the night for 4 weeks. It took 2 weeks to get him back to sleeping through when we returned and another month after that we were called home to Melbourne again. We hired a cot this time and stayed in the same place. Still he woke every hour. We got back to Hong Kong and I hoped that sleep wouldn't be far behind. Then a very bad thing happened to some very good people. Our friends put their son to bed one night and he didn't wake up. For a week or two no one in our neighbourhood slept. Torn between grief and anxiety, those of us with children resorted to sleeping on the floor in our babies' rooms or taking them into our beds. Now when my son makes a noise in the night I leap out of bed and check on him. When he doesn't make a noise for a couple of hours I check on him again. It's physically and mentally exhausting! It's not just my worrying keeping me awake, J still doesn't "sleep through". He's now so mobile he spends the night moving from one end of the cot to the other and we often have to go in and help him when he gets stuck with his legs through the bars or his head up against the end of the cot. I'm not sure if anyone told me about this before he was born but talking to people now it seems no one with kids gets a decent night's sleep.

I had this naive notion that the first couple of months would be sleepless but then we'd start solids and it would all fall into place by some miracle. Now I know better. Yesterday when the workmen outside unknowingly woke us up I was so enraged that I wanted to go down there and start throwing things at them. I knew they were just doing their jobs but I was so desperate for sleep that I would've done anything to stop the noise. Not wanting to read about his wife on the front page of the SCMP ("Crazy Gweilo Woman Halts Vital Electrical Works") my husband gave me a set of ear plugs and promised to keep watch last night, I still woke up every few hours but knowing someone was getting up to J I felt much better. Whatever it is that keeps us up at night, colic, teething, anxiety, bed wetting, there's something reassuring about knowing that we're not alone. And I know there's not a mother out there who would condemn me for teaching the CLP workers the meaning of the term "going postal."