It’s been awhile since I’ve felt depressed. It is Saturday night and I have curled up with a repeat of Sex & the City (with flicks to the tennis), a sleeping dog, chocolate, cheese and a tumblr post. The very picture of the life of a single girl circa 2012.
Now I’m downloading a computer game I used to play as a teenager, called ‘Curse of Monkey Island’. So I can whittle away a few more hours (or hundred) with some mindless activity and avoid actually examining my life. Probably an even more contemporary portrait of singledom.
I’m having a realisation that I think a lot of people who have lived away from their hometowns have. That if there was any Monica-shaped hole left in people’s lives when I left Sydney three years ago, it was filled in a while ago (and fair enough). And there’s a number of my best friends who don’t live here anymore anyway. So this place doesn’t really feel like home. But where does?
Thing is, I’m not even that keen on returning to China. All signs seem to indicate that my present gang of friends there is breaking up, with members returning to home cities or moving onto others. And I’m tired of the pollution and the cold and being away from my Western world things andĀ conveniencesĀ (as spoilt as that sounds, is it not natural that as one ages, one begins to cling tighter to creature comforts?)
Some of my heart strings tug on the idea of coming back to Sydney, getting a well-paid (though probably unrewarding) job, and having a nice little house with a backyard and a dog. Hanging out at the beach on the weekends. Eating good food. Yeah, I’d probably be lonely and bored but heck, maybe that’s what a perpetual bachelorette slipping over the other side of 30 simply has to expect.
I could move to New York - or London where a couple of best friends currently reside. Ugh but the idea makes me feel so damn tired. Starting again! No money, no job, no network … could I really do it again? Is this all my life is about? Rootless wandering? Don’t I have a vision for myself? Am I not building anything?