This afternoon I ventured outside to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to free myself from the grey hopelessness of exile.
Earlier in the day, I had been to the local shop (in this little country town we have one shop, a butcher’s, a pub, a garage and a post office). For the last few weeks I have been reluctant to go to any of these places for fear that someone will ask me about Ming’s car accident, for fear that I will stumble into defensiveness, for fear that I will cry in public. So far, I have braved the shop twice. Today was my third time and I thought I would be okay, but when the shopkeeper looked at me knowingly and asked how I was, I started to say fine then, without warning, my eyes filled with tears and, when she reached over the counter to hug me, I was undone. Thankfully there were no other customers and I recovered myself quickly, making a quick escape to home – to my hiding place.
Yesterday someone asked me how Ming was coping with the fact that his ute (truck) was wrecked and the question almost felt like an assault. “He doesn’t care in the least about his ute; he only cares about the children injured. The ute doesn’t matter to any of us,” I said, my heartbeat thundering.
This afternoon I ventured outside to catch a glimpse of something, anything, that wasn’t grey. Each photo I took reminded me of how important hope is, and of how important every single member of my family is to me.



































