You know who doesn't love Steve Jobs?

C is very much against my intention to get an iPhone 4, and everything Apple in general. I'm certain he's only a few days away from withholding sex into getting me to buy an Android phone.

C: You know who uses an iPhone? (insert name of obnoxious acquaintance), that's who! Do you want to become like her? Huh?

Jan: Have you sunken to that level already?

C: You know who doesn't use an iPhone? Barack Obama, that's who. And he's a pretty cool guy.

Jan: What if Nelson Mandela uses an iPhone?

C: Well, then he's a dick! I mean, the man wrote a book called Conversations With Myself.

Yeah, he did.

Jan: Well, Gollum doesn't use an iPhone.

C: He's better than Mandela then.

Jan: Are you comparing Gollum to Nelson Mandela?

C: ...

Doppelganger

So yesterday, C and I were watching Happiness, a 1998 black comedy. From the first scene, I could not help but notice the uncanny resemblance between Jane Adams and my boyfriend. The large, sleepy eyes, the thin face and nose...

Here, you judge for yourself.

Good grief, even the positions of the eyes and eyebrows are congruent. Ignore girly pose.

* Credit to C, for being a sport and for composite image. I ♥ you, honey.

The immigrant's Christmas

For whenever a Malaysian politician spouts another embarrassing quotable, I become Chinese. And whenever we come across another FOB (fresh off boat) mainlander doing something mortifying in public (like sucking meat off KFC bones noisily), I am Malaysian. And for the purposes of avoiding yet another drunk come-on, I develop an Australian accent (Aussie women are fierce).

I've never felt like I fit in anywhere. I wasn't Christian enough in church. I wasn't Chinese enough to hang out with the Ah Bengs and Ah Lians. I wasn't good-looking or well to do enough to be part of the cool kids. I wasn't focussed enough to be a nerd. I wasn't conformist enough to blend in with my ex-colleagues. For much of my life, I flitted between social groups, tailoring my mannerisms to suit my companions du jour.

Similarly here, I remain not ________ enough to be with the ___________. Yet now I understand why the Gold Coast feels like home. We're a motley crue of everyone from everywhere, all in search of a more coastal lifestyle. Almost everyone I know here was born somewhere else. C's dad moved from the UK as a six and a half year. C was born 2,300 km away, in Tasmania. RD is Slovakian. SK is from Slovenia. SE grew up in South Africa and Sydney. KG spent the first half his life in Adelaide. X spent his childhood in the States and Sydney. TF and I grew up a suburb apart.

We are not united by culture, nor common language. Not religion, sometimes not even interests. Perhaps all we share, is the very act of upping and moving somewhere else. Of building a life for ourselves, unencumbered (or at least less encumbered) by our pasts. Of the freedom anonymity affords. And in this rootlessness, we are blessed to find love in our chosen families.

This Christmas, I am not attending any obligatory functions, nor buying presents because it is expected of me. Instead, I am carving out my own traditions and choosing to spend time with the few people I care about here.

And this Christmas finally feels like my own.

Sunny Coast

We were invited to spend a few days in Bundaberg where it was apparently turtle-hatching season, but a miscommunication (i.e. they left their phone at home) led to a slight change in plans.

We headed to the Glasshouse Mountains first.

Bluer than blueberries


Weird wormy looking patterns on a tree

My favourite photo of the lot

The weather was ridiculously sticky and hot. We wound up driving around in minimal clothing. We took the advice of a tour guide and headed along the scenic route through to Montville, Mapleton and Maleny. These were very lovely, quaint tourist-friendly towns. Very Dandenong Ranges-ish.

The Mary Cairncross Park was a well worth the drive.

C under a magnificent, centuries-old strangler fig.

Dreamily floaty fungi all along a fallen log

Mushroom clusters tucked into the tree buttress

The roots look very much like a serpentine tongue, no?

Stink bug

More mushies

The rear end of a pademelon, a kind of marsupial. Very adorable. We sighted a family of three and three others separately.

We then drove through Bli Bli (yes, that's the name of a real town. There's even one called Obi Obi, but I couldn't be bothered making such an enormous detour) to get to the coastal towns. We settled at renting a room for AUD56 at Sunshine Beach. Fortunately enough, no one else took the other room so we got the entire house to ourselves. It was no Hyatt but it sure beat sleeping in the car.

Whilst I do live near the Broadwater, there is something so soothing, so comforting about sand between my toes, the waves gently lapping at my ankles and the seemingly infinite vastness of the ocean. It was very nice to wake up to a stroll on the beach.

After a rather uneventful dinner at Pizza Capers (nice meal ruined by a rather lookatmelookatme roach, duly squashed by C's boot), we took the long way to the famed Hastings St (i.e. we got lost). The conversation makes a lot more sense if you remember I was driving in the dark.

Jan: Why is the light flashing?

C: *totally nonchalant* I think because the bridge is up to let the ferries through.

Jan: WHY ARE THERE FERRIES HERE?

Anyway. It was my bad. I had assumed the beachfront area would be called The Esplanade like all the other touristy coastal towns (Cairns, Gold Coast, Caloundra), but the GPS led us to bloody North Shore instead.

After strolling up and down the lovely street, admiring things we couldn't afford, we settled down at Santi's for a drink. His James Squire beer and my hot chocolate in the foreground.

The next day was blessedly enough, a Wednesday. I had wanted to go to the Eumundi Markets for ages, in spite of lacklustre reviews.

It was AWESOME. Loads of interesting, one-off items and food, glorious food.

Freshly fermenting ginger beer, yum.

Ridiculously expensive pancakes (AUD8 for 12). Yum.

Cool stall with interesting plants. They had loads of carnivorous plants too, the sort you read about on the National Geographic - sundews, the Venus Flytrap, pitcher plants, all surprisingly tiny, their legends having morphed into larger than life monsters in my fertile imagination.

Yummy German sausage in background and fried Tibetan momos, another item crossed off my list

How do roses thrive in 28C heat?

We went through Mooloolaba and Caloundra on our way back, even stopping for a quick dip. And then off we were again, to Bribie Island. Which was like a Manly (Sydney, not Brisbane), but much further away. It was quite strange to see land from a western shore - I've never stepped foot on Western Australia.

The Seaside Museum

The trip ended with roast chicken eaten with fingers and strawberry ice cream on cheap cones. C gets extra bonus points for being sweet and patient and not maiming anyone with me (having part of your thumb grated off is surprisingly debilitating).

Ne pas s'oublier sans rien dire

Conversations with my mother

DISCLAIMER: My mother and I ♥ each other very much. We just enjoy the odd nonsensical variation of the lectures/ monologues she gives me (usually pertaining to my declining state of spirituality/ what other people think of me/ how much our or her friend's relatives make).


Ma: For heavens sake, if you intend to do such things, don't broadcast them. Don't forget your father and I are alive and kicking!

Jan: That's very un-... nevermind.

Ma: You were about to say unfortunate weren't you?

Jan: Yes.

Ma: Bad girl! You might as well drown your own parents!

Jan: Don't worry Ma. When you die, I will have you cremated and flush your ashes down the toilet.

Ma: Don't talk nonsense.

Jan: Oh alright. I know you want to your urn to be beside Aunty Kim's. I'll even mix your ashes together and give it a little shake.

Ma: I changed my mind. I'm divorcing Aunty Kim.


Later on,

Ma: Don't be such a donkey.

Jan: But as my mother, if I'm a donkey, what are you?

Ma: ...

Nostalgia

It's strange how with this whirlwind of change around me, how constant my music is. How some selections have remained the same since high school, some perhaps dating back to an mp3-less childhood.

And the power a certain composition of notes have, to overwhelm me with memories. I am fairly selective about the selections (pun totally unintended) on my playlist, so every entry is a quiet little victory, often attached to an emotional event of some sort, sometimes personal, sometimes gleaned from of a soap opera character.

This Conversation by The Submarines, of the sad, tender parting between X and I, of when I quietly brought up the subject we had been avoiding all along.

Soft Rock Star by Metric, of trying times in a large soulless corporation, to whom I was nothing more than a replaceable drone. Telling myself that there was no need to "shine before swine".

Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews Band, of MF dictating my music choices, and correctly so, in between ice cream, waffles and chicken chop at Madam Kwans.

The Hole In Your Roof by Augie March, of standing under a pitch black sky, beholding the full glory of the Milky Way.

Edge of The Ocean by Ivy, of standing on Cape Byron, of being blown away by the blueness, the infinity of it all, of God's glory and the beauty of this world.

Babylon by Angus and Julia Stone, of long Melbourne tram rides, of St Kilda, of moody skies and of long, long conversations with KG, with my heart in Queensland all the while.

Kite by U2, of lying on a golf course under a stormy sky in Pangkor, my friends by my side, my 16 year old heart having been crushed the first time.

Dancing In The Moonlight by Toploader, of that fateful trip to Sydney, of leaping up and down on the hotel bed in sheer exuberance.

Elevator Love Letter by Stars, of all the times I worked late into the night, compensating for someone else's incompetence/ love of coffee or cigarette breaks/ feigned illness. I am very glad to be rid of Malaysian work ethic. Hopefully for good.

There we are

The title of this post bears no significance whatsoever. C just happens to like muttering the phrase to himself while slaying beasts on Darksiders (and whilst baking date, walnut and banana cake), in that funny faux British way he does.

The car survived, happily enough, with minimal lasting damage on both vehicle and pocket. Thought I'd pimp my awesome mechanic out. Ross McNaught is a genius and a kind soul. Instead of charging me AUD500+ for the damage (panel beaters needed to be brought in) or alternatively, giving up on me, he fixed the entire thing himself for less than half that price. I was this close to springing a hug on the man.

C and I went chair hunting and found this little gem for half price at Officeworks.


This is what happens when a very white guy decides to date a sun loving girl, sans sunscreen.


My first attempt at carrot cake, one of my all time favourites. Yums.

C took me out for Thai on the Broadwater. Good stuff, though I really need to stop overestimating my tolerance for spice.

Sitting off Seaworld Dr with SK, whiling the day away.

C and I randomly decided to take the turn off to Tambourine, which led to our little excursion to the Skywalk. At AUD18.50 per pax for a glorified 1.5km walk, it's not something I would choose to do again but we did have fun.

Strangler figs: cool.

Mud cake at the Skywalk cafe.

After that, we got a little lost looking for this nice Botanic Garden I had wanted to show C. I usually head north towards Tambourine, so I mucked up the directions (we spent the morning in Logan).

I particularly like this photo.

A wheelbarrow of pretty weeds.

This is the grumpiest gallah ever. Mike, our temporary flatmate who returns to Sydney today (so he can bring all the fish back) rescued this baby bird fom a field. He appeared to have tumbled out of his nest and seemed stunned fo the first couple of days. He now squawks at regular intervals for attention.

Um.

Emperor Moe sinks his claws into my dress, demanding to be petted. I acquiesce, as always.

The central Gold Coast Highway is currently jammed up with bogans and flashers. The Indy races are on for the weekend. This ferris wheel was erected atop a random building in Surfers in conjunction with the event.

Quotables today

DR: Don't contaminate my meat with your vegetables!

* * *

SC: I like tomato juice because it tastes like tomatoes.

* * *

C: I can't wait to marry you and fill you up with babies!

Jan: ...

C: You aren't running away.

Jan: You're holding my hand.

Towards the doughnut hole

A sleepless night led to a 6.30am departure. I yawned most of the way as KG sped along the highway towards the west. We were undecided. Most people only ever see the Australian coastline, both tourists and residents. KG, who had spent a substantial part of his life in mining towns, was determined that I saw more of his country.

Morning fog

Much of the day was cloudy and wet. KG was disappointed at the uncooperative weather, but I delighted in the shroud of mystery the fog gave everything. The gum trees, the dried out shrubs, the roadkill... everything seemed a little more attractive.

A brief glimpse of sun

The Great Dividing Range is the fourth longest mountain range in the world and separates the urban from the remote. We drove through the curly, swirly roads through Cunningham's Gap, stopping briefly at Main Range National Park. The air was brisk and crisp; KG and I sped up to remain warm.

Fungus among us


A view from the National Park

Having had only potato crisps (Red Rock Sweet Chilli and Sour Cream: I say yum; he says smelly) and trail mix, we stopped by Warrick for some proper breakfast.

The charming town hall, which had some young men selling raffle tickets. The prize? Hard wood. Enticing, huh.


I had Eggs Florentine and the creepy pink non-Lamington Lamington in the foreground. He had salty porridge (which we seasoned with pepper and honey to no avail) and carrot cake. We won't be going back to Lorraine's in a hurry.


Grain silos. Yes, that's where your food comes from.

We moved on to the Aboriginal town of Boggabilla. We stopped by the Wobbly Boot Hotel, which is more of a pub really, for a drink. The bartenders were a friendly motley crue of a family, including an unexpected Muslim girl, complete with a headscarf.

Their merchandise included Dickhead Port. Yes, that's a man with a rather... phallic proboscis. Cough.


Even toilet rolls were chained here.


A burnt down house - an unnervingly common sight in the town.


Pies at Goondiwindi for lunch. Pretty standard fare.

After some discussion, we decided not to drive another 500km to Cunnamulla and instead to spend the night at Moree, which is already about 500km inland. The Dragon and Phoenix Inn was (surprise, surprise) run by the Chinese. KG had stayed there some years back and related a funny anecdote. There used to be tour groups of Chinese tourist visitors and the Inn staff were concerned about bedsheets being stolen, hence forcing guests to check out at 7am.

The main reason we chose this place - an inhouse artesian therme. That's the (freezing) cold pool in the background. The brochures at the reception area depicted the pool to have lovely girls in bikinis lounging about. The sad reality proved to be overweight and elderly. KG and I practicised our French whilst paddling about, enjoying the warm, occasionally almost hot artesian water. The sulphuric smell was quite tolerable and actually beneficial. I noticed a marked improvement in the texture of my skin soon after.

That's my name in soy sauce at the Bo-Wa restaurant. Characters not in order.

After a lovely night out with the stars, we began our long journey home, stopping by the town of Warialda. Having no idea where to head for lunch, we bumped into a woman who had just opened a cafe in the town. KG, ever experimental and genial, agreed to two plates of roast and veges there. The food was charmingly homemade, in speed of preparation, looks and taste.

View from a lookout


Along a really isolated stretch


Yes, there's a town called Texas here too, though the population is probably a fraction of the more well known one.


Stanthorpe - the coldest town in Queensland, is amazingly charming and modern. Though not so modern that the shopping centre remained accessible after hours.

I drove the rest of the way home; the following sunset shots are KG's handiwork.