Pre-emptive nostalgia

In my last month in Dili, I’ve come down with something. It kind of snuck up on me and the symptoms, which were subtle at first, have now become debilitating. This is a classic case of pre-emptive nostalgia.

 

It rears its head in the most unlikely of places – I’ll be in the local warung, ordering cassava leaf and banana flower and wondering when I became such a plant eater. Or I'll be stuck in traffic and taking the opportunity to admire the politically-inspired street style – a CNRT hat paired with a Frenti-Mudança t-shirt, for example.

 

The nostalgia is stopping me from thinking clearly. I can’t even muster up any frustration at the puppy next door. We started to feed him occasionally and now he expresses his love for us by stealing shoes. So far I have lost one sandal and a shoelace. The only problem is, I don't really care.

 

The shoe fetishist

 

It takes such a long time to put down roots in a place and develop the kind of knowledge that makes you feel at home. Like knowing the coolest time of day to sit on the verandah, the length of time clothes take to dry on a sunny day (less than 30 minutes) and the exact sound the gate makes when friends are coming in to visit.

To pull up those roots takes almost as much effort again. But I know it’s worth it and there is a long list of reasons why. The latest three reasons I am getting on that plane:

1. I have started wearing pants to work that resemble pyjamas.

2. I fear I am developing an emotional bond with the tiny mouse who has taken up residence next to the kitchen. His panicked scrambles back to safety whenever we surprise him in the midst of fossicking through bin scraps (he never can get a good grip on the floor tiles) provide me with much delight.

3. There is a 4-year-old boy in Sydney who has started making a welcome home sign.

It must be time to get out - even Comoro Road has started to look beautiful