I vomited the first night I was here, I think from utter exhaustion and stress and panic, I do find it hard to leave my house. Max put me to bed and tucked me in and my friend Megan took Rocco to the fake beach here in Brisbane and I slept for eleven hours straight. BRISBANE YOU ARE HOTTER THAN AFRICA. I'm staying at an incredibly opulent hotel and I keep wondering how Ryans mum is going and how the foreign aid cuts will affect the worlds poorest people. I feel conflicted, grateful, whelmed, and there is a deep undercurrent happening inside me concerning my brothers death. Something beyond the pain. It's hard, maybe too sacred to even try and explain right now. Something is evolving. It's taken me so much pain and effort to get here.
There seems to be death everywhere at the moment, so we need to live while we're alive. Bukowski says most peoples deaths are a sham because they're already dead. I'm having a big Bukowski year. Are you glad to see the end of this year? Surely the year can't have been bad for everyone. I'll be glad to see it go but it's also the very last few days that I'll be able to say "Cam was alive last year." Like, he was JUST HERE.
I forgot to post the last two letters I wrote to home while I was away with World Vision the other week:
Letters to Home (Written before I left)
DAY FOURTEEN
So I’m back in the country by now and have probably already spoken to you on the phone! I’m having a few nights in a Sydney hotel and then going to a poetry workshop led by an amazing spoken-word artist. I needed to finish off my trip like this, to gather myself and my thoughts before I come home to you. It’s a little bit selfish I know but I have to take care of myself when I can otherwise I can’t take care of you and you guys KNOW how much I love poetry. I want you all to write me a poem right now, and read it out to me when I get back tomorrow. I’m not joking - we are all poets. Nothing has to rhyme or even make sense. Tell me some words. How do you feel? What do you ache for? Who’s being mean? What would you change? Anybody who writes me a poem gets twenty bucks cash.
DAY FIFTEEN
I WILL BE HOME TODAY! Hopefully I made it and the plane didn’t crash and I didn’t get ebola or beheaded or murdered or kidnapped or ANYTHING. Anything could have happened, you guys. My mission is complete. I went, now I’ve come back, and I hope that things turned out ok for all of us. I hope that I did the people I met justice. I strongly believe in justice, HATE seeing things that are unfair. I never went over there to save anybody - I can only ever save myself. I went because I got asked to go. And sometimes in life, we have to do the thing that scares us the most, shake ourselves up a little. I want you guys to always help other people when you can. It’s your duty. CAN’T WAIT TO HOLD YOU WITH MY ACTUAL HANDS. Love mum xxxxxxx
SUCH a bummer I missed that poetry workshop. Can you believe not ONE of the guys wrote me a poem?!! "Oh, we already got christmas money from nana in the mail." TURDS. They will write me poem, oh yes they will.
You can follow World Vision on:
And my favourite is following them on Instagram because you're scrolling along and something entirely different and worthwhile and inspiring comes up. It kind of jolts you.
You can sponsor a child HERE - it's a big commitment but you'd be helping so much. On the Jetstar flight here the other day a stewardess called Danielle announced over the loudspeaker that she was collecting money for World Vision and I got so excited I stopped her to talk. Gave her some money. Watched her walk down the plane, sad that I was the only one who gave her any money. I know it's a tight time of year. I know there's so many charities and compassion fatigue. But knowing what I know about the people I've just been privileged to visit and listen to, I just felt sad, watching Danielle walk the aisle of the plane without stopping.
The only reason I'm on this holiday is because of my brothers death superannuation/insurance. "Hi, your brother killed himself here's a chunk of coin." Doesn't make sense. What the hell does. But thank you, Uncle Cam. My boys are so happy. Happy like you used to be, a long time ago. Right now they're watching Ghostbusters circa 1984. I was proud - until they said it was boring.
So. I hope Christmas doesn't eat you up. I hope you're ok ... and lastly, you need to listen. To your heart, your intuition, your spirit, that truth, the birds, the clouds. Even the rocks they were here way before you.
And also this song, right now. It might make you feel a smidge better and sometimes a smidge is all you need. xx
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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell