Editors Note: I can just see and feel this place. I think it represents well, what home means to us and how difficult it is when Home is uprooted and moved. Nick Grimshawe.

The Beautiful Summer Morning Diary of Noy: A Petal In My Life

A bloom
© Salvador Garcia - FOTOLIA

From the back of the house, you go out through the double glass door to the back veranda, and you are immediately welcomed by the open space as you are greeted by this vast richness of lush and green. You see the morning dewdrops at its pristine stage. You are like an ethereal body, dancing with bare feet on the ground, hovering over the tip ends of the fresh green grass, smelling the native scent at its bountiful. You become a child - carefree, innocent, and playful. It’s like stepping back into those fragile but immeasurable and precious stages in life - of unassuming youth and pure innocence, having dalliance with the surreal mornings of the country’s wilderness. Just like those old film scenes - such stories where there’s a never ending magical dreams - and if ever it’s put into a halt, it becomes a fairy tale - you become satiated… afloat. It’s a grand feeling - priceless, wholesome, so beautiful.

I marvel each day, either having a morning coffee or afternoon tea, each time is precious and cherished. It feels good just tuning into little details with no qualms, looking at the vast open richness of the surrounds, so quiet and tranquil, occasionally serenaded by the high-pitched calling of the local residents, the bellbirds (yes, it really sounds like a bell). From the back veranda, there’s a little pathway near the side fence - partly covered and screened by carefully selected tea trees - with improvised lines (at hand on rainy days) leading to the main clothes hoist (line). This is well hidden behind an old but sturdy wooden shed, camouflaged by bountiful jasmine climbers (I still remember training each and every young shoots to trail on to the countless branches of an acacia tree). Sure, they did obey! The result was magic! I was never a green thumb but I believe I have some green “persuasive” power. I remember each time I finish putting the clothes up in the lines - I always end up dwelling on my regular rituals. I normally stay for around an hour just sitting still beside the magnolia tree, savouring the tranquil moments of solitude. I’d gaze endlessly at the proud camellias boasting of its individually coloured blooms – white, pink, and red: Almost to the point of prostrating and kneeling down to hug the multi-scented shrubs (some unknown, together with the beautifully displayed hues of those mighty azaleas - its rustic appeal, its petals, its twigs). Those were the timeless momentous rituals and holistic escapes.

It was like going to a shrine or a chapel, praying with the whole of your spirit, commune with the whole of your soul, meditating with the whole of your serene thoughts - being one with the unknown and consuming whatever is offered at the time. Never did I have dull moments pondering on anything and reminiscing everything at hand each time.

Well, just like those good old movies, dreams has its own demise and has to die…but not through a natural death. It’s a well-proven fact - dreaming does sometimes get derailed. At that time, loads of things had to be measured and considered. We had to weigh things by gazing through a crystal ball (not even good, only comparable to say - let’s face the war and shoot the moon!) Then, good opportunities seemed to outweigh the contented life and simple existence…. until the inevitable came along. The entire family had to follow their own invisible and illusive goals: Dreams of making life better at a more viable and temperate place. We were to be part of that dream…we decided to pursue … and we followed. It didn’t hit me hard at first thinking that a plan would just be a plan… and never shall be executed. With all the fervent wishes, that such a plan could be aborted. But all came to one sad conclusion, a certainty of a very sad fact, come rain or high waters, the plan will have to materialize: And, I was left with a bitter realization that the undisturbed rituals and routines had to somehow stop. The sad reality is printed, loud, and clear. We need to act, we had to move, and we had to go.

Tropical Gardne
© Mikhail Zahranichny - FOTOLIA

The shifting was very agonizing. Every single move was done with wry emotions - half and half … of bewilderment, of anxiety… but not an inch of eagerness. It first hit me during the house auction. My head was unclear and virtually spinning. Of course, I’d be delighted to reach a handsome price. However, the other part of the head was wishing and commanding for a negative result. One bid lead to another. Fate beat the odds and the house price (surprisingly!) went far beyond the targeted reserve amount. We won…. but secretly (and in all honesty), I felt defeated. It was bittersweet. I couldn’t fathom the fact - was it triumph or defeat? As the sun rises from the east and sets to the west, it is the clear fact. There is no denying that we had to follow where the sun leads us. It’s irreversible. The move had to be done in 60-day term. Bargaining still, I tried to stretch and play with the remaining time, although we had to do the clearing and packing.

Yard sale had to be attended first. A lot has to go - big and small, some very significant ones, which had a lot of sentiments wrapped on it: The big billiard table, which had been lazing in the recreation room had been a constant companion. As it had been sitting near the family room facing the back of the house, it had served as my non-living clock having had measured the entire activities I religiously underwent on a daily basis. Be it having games with relatives and friends, or use it in going over my incoming and outgoing paperwork (loads of them!), or even in sorting out bits and pieces to prioritize tasks. I made sure it went to a good kindred spirit who would shower it with the same loving touch (exactly, how I affectionately did). Out went the special champagne glasses (with their ornate and intricate Italian design) and other delicate items (making sure they went to good old friends who would look after them with all the love and care as if they’re still in my possession). The huge potted plants in the front patio were given to their surrogate parents who’d shower them (hopefully) with better and much needed attention. I parted with the rest of the cherished odd bits and pieces, truly with heavy heart. It really was such a sweet sorrow.

Tropical Trees
© Cora Reed - FOTOLIA

Keep smiling ….. I am,

NOY :)