Kangaroo

I knew of you, Kangaroo. That land down under mentioned on the screen and in songs. With your coral reefs and silly accents. Your average bogan and your rich aboriginal culture. It’s seemingly always been okay to stereotype and caricature your unique and sometimes strange culture. The red barren desert outlined by coastal cities. Can’t forget that opera house, or the koala’s. A continent the size of America with a smaller population than California, reduced down to a jar of fermented yeast extract. In my little frozen town, how could I have known different? Do they even have a word for snow?

I heard you, Kangaroo. You certainly sounded like how I imagined. But you didn’t look how I imagined, though I suppose that’s my own bias. It was the first tear. What you were, where you lived, it was a picture in my mind. The picture was peeling, something hidden underneath. Something closer to the truth. It did not upset me, it only made me appreciate it more. There were many like you, Kangaroo. From far off lands, your families born in places I’d never heard of. They came to the Lucky Country and became something new. It made the land special.

I felt you, Kangaroo. The morning sun behind, lighting the way to your shores. Embrace and warmth in the cold and sterile airport.  A pleasant morning drive, never had I studied so much. The signs, the roads, the trees, the people, the buildings. The left side of the road! A delicate morning fog, was I really across the ocean? Exotic meats next to chicken, your household names next to my American brands. The strangest bird calls every afternoon, along with an occasional pigeon. Museums with objects from my home. Food from every shore, to the tip of Africa, across the middle east, over India, through China and onto Japan. I ate it all, I tried so much. My favorite was what you made. Food tastes better with love and adventure.

I left you, Kangaroo. Back to the land of white. Somewhere wholly unfamiliar to you, what I might’ve said once. Though things here had changed too. Time had passed, home doesn’t freeze when you’re away. Back to what had been, what was. The rope had been pulled tight for so long, when it loosened, we couldn’t go back to that tension. I sat down for dinner and didn’t see you across from me. I looked out the window without you to point things out to. I rolled over and saw nothing.

Living is strange, Kangaroo. I came to you for what I couldn’t find at home. Yet, there I made a new home. I am pulled at both ends. Arms outstretched over the sea. My life is here and it pulls me. Yet what is life without the joy of you, Kangaroo? Both roots grow deeper. I can’t have both. There is no common experience to be found with others. No advice to seek. To connect, I had to fly. But to keep, there is nothing to be done. You must understand, though I’d never blame you. It really is just frustrating, Kangaroo.