Let’s walk down memory lane – I’m going to find as many “sixths” as I can, starting with my sixth Facebook post.
On 31st August, 2008 I was tagged in photos from Beth’s hen’s day! How lovely:
My sixth post on one of my old livejournal accounts, from February 28th, also in 2008:
Yesterday I noticed that Finn seemed to be able to kick a tennis ball with his foot while sitting down. So I stood him up and rolled the ball around to see if he can kick now while standing. A few seconds elapsed while we chased the ball around the room, booting it and saying KICK! in a high pitched voice, until I realised – he was saying kick too!
I think he may have said no the other day when being fed, but Finn’s first definitely decipherable word is kick
Alas, Finn’s first word didn’t turn out to be the omen of prodigious soccer prowess we suspected at the time. Last time I took him to soccer, he stood, staring into the middle distance during the game, not actually noticing when the ball BOUNCED OFF HIM. Oh well, apples don’t fall far from trees. We have other qualities.
The sixth item in the “nostalgia” file in my filing cabinet (yes, this is a real thing I actually have in a physical filing cabinet) is a sleeve of baby photos my mum passed on to me recently. As a third child, these are probably the only surviving photos from my childhood.
My sixth job, if I am remembering correctly, after junk mail delivery, KFC, Pizza Hut call centre, Data Entry and working for a suburban architecture magazine in a garage was… actually my first real, full-time job. I was a journalist for an industry newsletter all about telecommunications! Exciting! Actually, it was kind of exciting. It was in Balmain, in a pleasant, proper office, I could FINALLY move out of home, into a tiny Balmain flat and start making foolish spending decisions, like cab fares and clothes from that shop that was like an upmarket Tree of Life – what was it, Mary Jane or something?
My sixth home was three rooms of a small house in Leichhardt where I lived by myself for the first time. It turned out that living alone led to even more slovenly housekeeping than I had practiced with my (unfortunate) male housemate in Balmain! Once I was burgled and the police officer asked, “was it like this before they got here?” I still burn with shame at the memory. This was also the home where my cat abandoned me for the attentions of up to four other households. That’s cats for you. I liked living in Leichhardt, eating bread and olive oil with Richard in the park, and making more foolish spending decisions, now on movies and books on Norton Street.
This is my sixth year away from Sydney. In my time in Asia I really do think I’ve grown up. I’ve made two children, stopped making foolish spending decisions (although I think I got the hang of that shortly after the Leichhardt era), and learned to value and get along with different people in a way I never could manage before. I’ve cleaned vomit from a car. I’ve battled through hundreds of tiresome culture-clashes. I’m excited to start a new life in Sydney again, but not with that itchy, “knock it all down and start again” attitude. I do want to put down roots and build something. And I want to check out all those new cafes Lee Tran Lam keeps blogging about.