Down Under

(The first in a series entitled: Australia mocks me. You will get why soon enough.Written over two years ago.)

I always imagined that if something ever drew me apart from the love of my life it would be another woman. She would be everything I wasn’t. She would offer him things that I couldn’t. She would be beautiful, fun, healthy, articulate and would hate buttons as much as he did.

Sometimes late at night, when I would crawl into bed next to him, I watched him for a wee while. Not in a psycho way, but in the way that I assume a young mother watches her new born baby. Is he breathing? Is he ok? Is he warm enough? Satisfied, my thoughts would wander. What will he achieve in his life?I would wish for only the best and most wonderful things to come his way. Sometimes, this involved hot air ballooning around the Sussex countryside. Other times, I would wish that the whole world could see what I saw–a hugely talented and exceptional writer.

My thoughts would wander again to horrible, gut-wrenching places. Who will be the woman to take him away from me? How will she do it? Will it be her wit? Her charm? Will it be her love for organic smoothies and home births? Yes, I knew that I wasn’t enough for him. I knew that there was someone else out there that would offer him much more than I ever could. I knew that I would hate her, oh so very much. I just didn’t know that her name would be Australia. And that she wouldn’t be a woman.

I would never have guessed, during all those nights, that right at the end there would be no competition. That it had nothing to do with my fears, it had nothing to do with the fact that if I ever had a baby it would be on highly effective drugs. It had nothing to do with the fact that I sat around talking and drinking coffee way too much. In fact, even if I had changed all those things, it wouldn’t have made a difference. I always knew that I wasn’t enough for him. But then I was comparing myself to other women. When you try and compare yourself to an entire continent, albeit a small one, you have no chance of being the victor.

Australia. She is my kryptonite, my Achille’s heel. She who took the love of my life away from me and wrapped him up in all her sun kissed glory. Wrapped him up in the warmth of her beaches, in the sweet scent of her mountains. Australia. She offered him a better life. One that I absolutely could not. All I could offer him was my heart. And that wasn’t wanted. All I can offer him now, a million miles away, is my friendship. And that too, isn’t wanted. And that is the reason it is so difficult to let go. That is why when I hear the Australians below me “g’day”-ing each other I want to scream. That is why, when I walk past a travel agency and I see ridiculously cheap flights to Perth, Sydney or Melbourne in the window, I look the other way. That is why when my crazy friend told me the exciting news that she would be going down under I put my head below my doona and cried myself to sleep.