House of Dreams

I have a friend on Facebook who also writes beautiful prose most mornings. Musing at sunrise. She rises before six each morning. My musings are more languid. The afternoon or early evening type. Cups of green tea interspersed with G&Ts. Mostly likely a biscuit or cheese with a cracker. And the sun against my back rather than in front. 

Today is the 3rd of July, 2021. In Amsterdam the weather is a balmy 23 degrees. With long fingers of afternoon humidity that make me feel slow to move, though my dress lifts with the breeze. It is so light. How different the seasons here in Europe. Will I have to train myself to deflect the harsh sun in Sydney when I return in September? Sun cream 50+, hello my old friend. I've come to slather you again. 

I write with a sense of forced positivity. Scomo our erstwhile fool of a Prime Minister in Australia has allowed the senseless states of WA, QLD, and VIC to vote in further halving of our flight caps. This will have a direct impact on so many Australians who have booked months ago and are wanting to fly home. We are now ourselves in this category. I woke to calls and texts from friends in Australia who asked if I had read the news. I hadn't by then, but when I did, I felt a sense of impotent anger. And forlornness. The sense of having so little control over when we might be able to go home gives way to a sense of helplessness. We had previously read so many stories in the news of other Australians desperate to get home, with flight caps limiting their options. 

Perhaps the worse aspect is that there are countless Australians, happy to live their isolationist, petty lives, who feel that those of us overseas should have come home back in March 2020.  I can't even. Begin to consider their small-mindedness, their closed off mentality and their unAustralian sense of helping others. The vaccination program in Australia is an international joke. I have lost words to describe the loathing of Scomo. So I will end the post here.