As I have officially surpassed the date which marks my
longest (abroad) residency in any one country, I am finding myself in dynamic
reflection.
Even in the months before I arrived here to Australia, it
had been an outstanding calendar year for me. 2014 will forever be my cliché
year of self-discovery (because we all need
at least one of those in our young lifetimes). While I just barely escaped the
close of 2013 (having graduated 5 years of university, been hired for a full
time position abroad in my field, endured 4 months of that miserable full time
position abroad in my field, broke up with my boyfriend of many years, quit my
job, moved back in to my mother’s basement), the new year was a chance for me
to carve a brand new path. And with a lot of hard work, some really tough skin,
my big girl pants and a one-way ticket to Sydney, I undoubtedly made that
happen for myself. This is the year I am absolutely most proud of. It has been
my favourite year to-date.
I have been in Australia now for a wonderful, whopping 157 days.
~~~~~
You learn a lot about yourself in the very first days of a
brand new life. In the first 78 hours after arriving to Australia, three
seemingly regular things happened, which taught me 3 significant lessons: Firstly,
I fell head over heels for my new Aussie roommates. I learned how much I loved taking
risks such as emerging myself as the complete stranger foreigner in a house
full of already tight-knit girlfriends! It can be intimidating, but in my case,
so, so rewarding.
Next, I discovered Wollongong all on my own, spending each
early day walking to and from every corner of these city streets. I learned how
comfortable and confident I am independently exploring and learning and
orienting myself in a foreign place. Lastly, I gave my number to a stranger blonde
Aussie boy during my first ever trip to Woolys. He was carrying a motorcycle
helmet. He was quiet, almost bashful, endearing – but confident enough to
approach and exclaim some seemingly genuine urge to ‘just know my name’.
And with that, I quickly learned my third lesson of that
first week here: that meeting and dating boys is actually a much bigger part of
my life than I thought it was.
Now, this is the time in the article to state one very
important disclaimer: I write quite frankly how I live: out loud and
uncensored, unashamed, matter-of-fact, heart-on-my-sleeve. I am about to
disclose to you the very fine details of my complex, full-bodied (and at times
overwhelming) chronicle of my experiences dating and discovering the young men
of Wollongong (and surrounding area…).
And for those of you who will undoubtedly read between my
lines and recognize familiar tidbits… my apologies in advance, lol, and thank
you for this superb writing material.
I have always been rather well-versed interacting with the
opposite sex. I kid you not (and I will never forget), my first day of
Kindergarten, one of my earliest childhood memories, 5-year-old Robert Jackson
asked me to play tag with him and kissed me right on the lips just as the bell
was ringing to conclude first recess. That boy remained one of my very best
friends for the rest of my school years, and 7 years after that fateful day, he
was also my first ‘real’ kiss.
And so the romantic endeavors of my life unfolded
accordingly. I have always been
expressive of ample gratitude and appreciation for every single guy who took me
on in some significant, long-term way. I have been absolutely blessed and graced with some pretty
outstanding boyfriends. But it is the ones in between that make for some of my
best stories.
Dating an Aussie differs from dating a Canadian in only a very
small handful of ways. For instance, you are much more likely to find yourself
in the after-moon hours laying on a beach sharing the sand in your hair and
salt on your lips, or tucked under a beach towel around a blazing campfire,
swapping cultural slang and sweet nothings. Other than the physical setting of
these magical evenings, boys are boys are boys. It’s all the wonderful same.
As my new Aussie roommates became more and more interested
and invested in my various (and often hysterical) dating experiences, it was
requested that I start recording them. I have been doing just that for the past
4 months.
I wrote these paragraph months ago, after having been in the
country for just 36 days.
Every Friday evening when I
arrive at work, it is always so nice to see the weekend wait staff that I haven't
seen for the past 5 days. We usually get just 5 minutes each to catch up and
say hellos (x 5 or 6 different staff members), and it is always the same
question from my new Mango Tree friends so keen to hear how a Canadian is
enjoying their town: "What did you do all week!?" ... It is
easy to repeat the same line every Friday about my yoga practice, paddle
boarding, surf lessons, tutoring ... But even they know those things only
account for mere hours of the entire past week.
I stop to think for 30 seconds
to myself, what did I DO this week?
Why does it feel like it flew by, like it was action-packed and I can't even
give reasons why? ... And then it hits me: what did I do this week? I
dated. I went on dates. Five of them in fact. Nearly every day of this past
week (and maybe even also the week before...) I went for a meal, or I caught
the sunset, or I had a morning tea or a few too many evening pints, each day
with a different Aussie boy.
This is when I suddenly
realize the hobby I seem to have come to cultivate here. Some people play
instruments, some people surf, most people work full time, others knit! I date.
I meet new people, I experience human interaction, I am well-versed in body
language and successful dinner conversation and spotting red flags from a mile
away. That is what I do, that is what I'm good at. That is what keeps me busy,
Monday - Friday.
That
blurb still makes me laugh. And maybe
you’re thinking, ‘Five dates in one week?? How?!
Physically, logistically… how?!’ Ah, but the answer is too obvious my
fellow 20-somethings, and I have only one source to site for that chaotic but
remarkably entertaining period of my life: the oh so familiar ap we all love to
hate and hate to love. I was the Queen of catalogue-browsing Tinder’s best
over-25-year olds within a 14km radius! (my
Tinder Dos & Don’ts can be found in a post I wrote here June 16th!)
About
a week after writing that blurb, I revisited this budding compilation of Dating
in Australia thoughts and detailed a pretty shocking encounter from that
particular evening…
…He seemed perfectly viable. Plenty of
tick-box yes’s during our initial texting banter: thirty years old, born in New
York City, working as a top Chef at a pretty snazzy Sydney restaurant (I
googled him, don’t worry), etc. etc. He’s tall, he’s quick enough to maintain
my conversational attention, he’s willing to drive all the way from the city
for drinks. However, date day has arrived and I am already struck with my first
red flag: he’s asking to meet according to his train schedule time...
Not a huge deal, in fact maybe
it’s nothing at all; maybe Aussies just prefer to travel via rail even when (I
know for a fact) they have their own vehicles? I guess any first date could
hold potential for a couple of drinks… so perhaps he is just playing it better
safe than sorry in that sense. For that, I’d praise him! …Unfortunately, this
was not the case.
We met at Dagwood (I think the
bartender there is starting to seriously judge my frequency / diversity of
company at this easy first date spot). I let him arrive a few minutes before me
– I’d always rather get my own drink & do the room-scan vs. sit
uncomfortably and impatiently alone in a booth just hoping to be recognized by
the 5 posted photos on my profile.
Conversation begins naturally
enough, though his instant responses are not nearly as clever or interesting as
those time-delayed behind our mini screens. About an hour in I have just about
lost all will to continue small-talking, and this is when he presents me with a
bag of cookies, homemade! He goes on to tell me about this side company (baking
& distributing). He’s chatting away about something salted caramel and I am
smiling and nodding and I can’t stop thinking about where he pulled that
daintily decorated cellophane of pastries from…
It’s a backpack. Modest,
regular, non-suspicious, but a backpack nonetheless. Who the heck brings a
backpack on an 8pm first date? Or on any date that isn’t located in the
cafeteria of my high school 7 years ago? I make a witty comment about his
travel carry-on and sure enough, after whatever sentence comes rambling out of
his mouth in response, I realize: this is an overnight bag. He has packed an
actual suggestive satchel full of God knows what (though I’ll take a safe bet
there were no P.J.s in there…), because, according to Pillsbury Doughboy, he
is staying the night with me here in Wollongong tonight. …!!?
Pardon? I am racking my mind
trying to think of some possible false impression I could have
accidentally given this guy, I am mentally revisiting our entire previous
Tinder conversation (as it is fresh in my mind, since it has become routine for
me and my roommates to quiz each other on the facts previously discussed with
each particular date for each particular night, in order to help keep them all
straight. … Lol), but NO way! Nothing at all on my end implied that I was keen
to have this stranger American/Aussie man spend a night with me now or ever
(never ever ever).
I kick into insta-escape mode.
I’m texting my roommate every time this guy gets up to buy another drink, which
BY THE WAY, we are on round six. SIX. 6 beers have been consumed now in the
past maybe hour and 10 minutes. I’m sitting pretty still on my 3rd
(which is a lot for me, but it was just the kind of date you needed to be half
drunk for). And he’s now returned with another round, one beer for him, one for
me, and before I have even finished the one already in my hand? He has finished
his new pint, as well as the one he just bought for me. By now, my roommate is
on her way to rescue me from this disastrous, slurring, profane, mess of a
first date. I call him a cab, I direct it to North Gong Station. I dodge what
would have been the most horrendous first date kiss to-date. I give myself an A
for effort! Oye…
I
could go on. I could detail a whole handful of almost equally shocking
experiences. And honestly, I loved every single one of them because that’s just
what they were: experiences. Experiencing human interaction, gathering every
single different kind of relationship, learning about brand new human beings, starting
exciting new mini adventures of the heart, no matter how short-lived they may
result, sharing newly invented pieces of myself, or just finding another
individual to fake love for a couple of hours… that is what keeps me inspired.
I love it.
I
love it because for every 30-something year old getting bomb wasted at the
dinner table, attempting to pay for your tab with an expired credit card (…),
there is that gorgeous, goofy Aussie boy with his old-fashioned values, his
sneaky side grin, his bottle of tequila as our home-cooked dinner beverages.
There is the young gun with his midnight picnic blanket, swapping secrets with
the sand in our shoes and the stars in our eyes and the late-night tide
creeping right up to our toes entangled. There is that one tall blonde, breezy
as, who simply takes me home for a few vinyl records, pouring something sweet
on ice, making me giggle in all of his own foreigner ways until a harmless 2
o’clock in the morning.
I
came to this conclusion a whole 3 months ago, still early on in this romantic
Aussie adventure,
…I think no matter where you
are in the world, you just win some and you lose some. It is universal. And in
the end, you are better off because of both of those things. Boys,
relationships, love; the games, the butterflies, the drama, it isn’t dependent
on any particular culture; it follows you to each corner of this world. Better
to just feel lucky for every new experience, all beautiful opportunities to
learn more about yourself through each brave new encounter. You absolutely
never know what might be on the other end of that next right-swiped Tinder
match. Just appreciate it. Remain grateful for it.
And
so even if I’ve moved on from my weekend shifts at the Indian restaurant, and even
if that Dutch boy is long, long gone, I am still here in my little Aussie life
and I am smiling every single day. For that, and for all of those great guys
still out there, I know am so grateful. J
