Daily Prompt: Come Fly with Me

Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.

I’m not entirely sure where it began, but ever since I was a kid, I’ve always been quite independent. I recall that during my childhood,  I was always out doing something. Down the park with some of the other kids in the town that I grew up in, or over a friends place. Curfew was sunset. Unless I was staying over for dinner. Back then we lived in this tiny little town with about 100 people in the town. I only had twenty-something kinds in my primary school which was K-6, so when I say I grew up country, I mean I FUCKING GREW UP COUNTRY, like C O U N T R Y ! ! ! ! 

We’re talking, country as in, everybody else lived out on farms. 70%+ of the families that lived in the town were all related.

…I’ll just leave you to think about that last bit for a little bit. 

I don’t want to say that they were the kissing cousins kind of people… but… oh wait, no, that’s EXACTLY what I’m saying.

Maybe I should start this again??

Hi, when I was a kid, we lived in a tiny country town that was full of inbred rednecks. A town where if you were a boy, you played football, and if you were a girl, you played netball. If you played neither, there was something wrong with you.

Wow. Okay, so this could quite EASILY turn into a major therapy series of blog posts… but we’ll save that for later. Maybe next month I’ll start my own daily post challenge – 30 days explaining why my childhood lead to me being so damaged? *lol*

what the fuck am I meant to be writing about again?? Oh yes, travel. Right, where was I going with this…?? That’s right…

My sense of independence… Yes, so, as a kid I was always out and about. Over at a friends place; down at the dam catching yabbies; riding around the dirt hills at the tip on our BMX’s… then that progressed to going on longer rides… I wonder where that dirt road goes?? I remember one ride I went on led me down all these dirt roads and paddock lanes until I arrived at a sealed road, and for a good 5 minutes, didn’t actually know where I was. Also, this was before we had mobile phones, so I couldn’t exactly call somebody and say ‘Oh hi, mum. Um, listen, I’m somewhere where I don’t know where I am. Can you pick me up?’

Nope. Sorry.

Turns out I was three-quarters of the way to the next town. Sigh. I was tired and exhausted, and now, I had to ride home. 

This was gonna take a while.

In high-school I had a couple of moments where I would think, ‘fuck this. I can’t do this right now’ (meaning school… meaning being bullied) So I’d pack a bag, call a relative in Sydney and tell them I’m catching the midnight train, and I’ll be at their place for breakfast. Then I’d spend my time heading off to do dance classes around the place and forget about all the turmoil awaiting me when I return home.

Up until 2012, I’d never left the country. The most distant place I’d travelled to was Brisbane. Then last year Hulk and I went to New Zealand. He’d never travelled overseas either, so it was a first for us. An exciting adventure, which actually turned out to be somewhat of an anti-climax. Although we travelled to NZ, we only stayed in Auckland and didn’t actually travel.

This year we did the exact same thing. Yes, it was another trip to NZ, but no adventure. Unfortunately it was full of drama, and politics, and it actually kind of ruined the fun of going to NZ for me. It’s just a shame that the people who all-but destroyed my spirit over there were all people that I know.

Thanks guys, you pack of shunts.

And guess what, there’s talk of another trip over there in a couple of months, but ideally, we’d like to head over to Fiji, or the Cook Islands or something like that. Somewhere nice and realxing… white sand, crystal clear ocean… paradise… and then on the way home, go via AKL again. Fingers crossed it’s another soul-destroying experience. *lol* Too many selfish, childish frenemies.





Day 5 – Change Your Name

If you had to switch your first name, what name would you choose and why?

It’s an interesting question to ask. Now that I think about it, I only know a couple of people who have changed their names (and I’m not including those who have gotten married). Everybody else just seems content with the name(s) that their parents have given them.

I remember when I was a little kid and I used to get teased for my name, and for about a week I wanted to change it. I wanted to be called Jacob. I don’t actually remember why I chose Jacob… I guess I just liked it at the time. But the reality was, it was too similar to what my real name is, so that didn’t last very long.

When I got to high-school, I really started to hate my surname. It was something that I got teased for. People made a nickname out of it which I really hated, and it’s the only name they’d call me. Usually, that’s the only word I’d hear before they shoved me into a wall of lockers, or just a wall, or punch me in the arm, or trip me over, or throw my notes across the classroom etc etc… that was almost always followed by “fucking fag!”. 

Clearly, high-school was just peachy!!

I only really started to enjoy my first name after I had a bit of an emotional breakdown when I was 20. Something was revealed to me from a family member that really knocked the wind out of my sails. It literally was heart-breaking and soul-destroying all at once. Combine that with the white-hot murderous rage that immediately followed and I made a decision right then and there that I was done.

I was done with this person. I wanted nothing to do with them ever again. As far as I was concerned, they were now dead to me. 

A week or so later, I went off to the office of Births, Deaths & Marriages and changed my name. I changed my surname and removed my middle name, and then as I walked out of there with my Change of Name Certificate, I remember feeling this weight being lifted off my shoulders (off my soul!), and could sense that this may have been, single-handedly, one of the best things I’ve ever done. I remember sitting on the tram on the way home. It was a beautiful day and the sun was beaming in through the window. It was so warm on my face.

I walked home and sat on my bed just staring at these documents almost with a sense of disbelief over what I’d just done.

There was no going back from this. No changing my mind. I’m a new person now, and I was going to make sure that I enjoyed this new version of me.

10 years later, and I’ve never looked back. I’ve never once felt any regret over my decision. I closed a chapter of my life and cut out a chunk of people from my life, and as harsh or as blunt as that may sound, I’d do it again if given the choice.