From Boston to Hyannis and 
Across then across the water 
To the island of Nantucket.
I’ve been here in the summer, late spring, and winter,
I’ve seen soft pink roses climbing up the trellises and walls
I’ve seen icicles dripping off the picket fences
I’ve been here before it’s warm enough to swim
And hot enough to brave the chilly water.
 
I’ve cycled down to the beach
And sat on the warm sand
And fed myself hot chips,
I’ve sat on the deck at the brewery 
When the sky was bright blue
And the sun was warm
And the local wines were flowing.
  
I’ve sat in the Bean when the weather outside was biting cold and played Scrabble and drunk hot chocolate,
I’ve sung in the church choir at Christmas
And stood in my tita’s impossibly tiny kitchen and 
Learnt to bake American style Christmas treats, 
Sugar cookies, lemon love notes and chocolate truffles 
I’ve built gingerbread houses covered in candy 
And danced the chicken dance on New Year’s Eve.
 
I’ve walked down Main Street countless times
To the beautiful home of my Titos de Nantucket.
I’m not just a mainland tourist
I’m family,
And the familiar (haha!) lovely welcoming warmth of it
Is comforting.
 
The island may seem idyllic, 
It is indeed beautiful,
But being here over several visits over the past few years
I know it is a place where people live their lives.
There is joy and heartache and work and life
Just like any other place,
 
But today I sat on the wharf
With my book
And I watched the boat ferrying my prima back to Boston 
Head out of the bay
And I sent her a message to remind her to throw two pennies overboard
To ensure she will return
And the sun was warm
And the water was shimmering
And I smiled my thank you to the beach
That I can be here
And feel like I’m ever welcome 
To share in the magic of the island
 
The end. 

Sometimes no matter how hard you work
And how hard you try
You just seem to fall short
Financially or spiritually or emotionally or physically 
And you need some help 
And sometimes you’re too afraid to ask 
Because asking means conceding defeat
But people, 
Out of kindness or love or simple pure awesome
Just reach out and say
I’m going to help you 
  
Like the time(s) when my mum gave up everything
so I could have what I needed
Like the time I didn’t have enough money to go to drama school and my dear friend said 
Here is what you need 
And the time I was in drama school and wondered how I was going to pay the rest of my fees and live in London and a stranger said 
Let me help you and gave me a scholarship
And the time I was in NYC and my phone didn’t
work and people who I’d met literally the day before gave me their phone 
And the time when my boyfriend was tired and needed him time and still waited in line with me and gave me an extra kiss and held my hand and told me 
It’s all going to be ok
  
And you have to keep going
You have to keep trying
And then you have to let go
And sometimes ask for a hand
And it helps 
When the kindness of strangers of friends of family
Of people whose paths cross over yours
Extends outward and
Takes a weight off your shoulders and helps you along the way
And reminds you that there is love and light and kindness in this world
Even if it sounds cliched 
 
And all you can do is say thank you
And hope it sounds as sincere as you want it to 
And hold in your heart that one day you’ll repay it all back ten thousand fold
 
The end. 

Far out, I love traveling!
I love packing my bags
I love the heartache of saying goodbye to somewhere that’s become familiar
I love getting to the airport and the thrill of all the possibilities
I love checking in
I love watching my bright blue backpack being tagged and sent off to the bowels of the airport where people unseen will make sure it goes to where I’m going
The logistics of it all boggle my mind
I even love going through security
The quiet patience of people waiting in line
To be checked by other people
To make sure that the waiting people
Don’t hurt countless other people
The strange routine of it
Imagine if someone were looking in from outer space
What would they say?! 
I love getting through security and seeing the departures board
And all those destinations
And the way you have to search for the flight that is yours
 
I love living in Europe
I love that last weekend I was in
Geneva
Eating local organic fish
Because the restaurant didn’t have a single vegetarian option
Because in many parts of Europe, being vegetarian just doesn’t exist
You’re vegetarian? Ah! I make you lamb. 
It’s actually true! 
And the thrill of looking out across Lake Leman
(not Lake Geneva, the French get cranky)
And seeing Mont Blanc
Rising impossibly like some kind of cloud
Perpetually white
Perpetually beautiful and tall and majestic and all the cliches a mountain should be
 
And the weekend before that I was in Bath, England!
And walking around the ancient streets with a
man dressed in 18th century garb
Showing us where Captain Philip resided (and fell out of a window and died)
And standing at the said Captain’s front door and thinking
Because this man once sailed far away
Because god and country
Because colonies and history
I am an Australian/Spaniard whose ancestors traveled from Poland and the Philippines and Spain and China standing outside an Englishman’s front door in Bath.
It is ridiculous. It is wonderful. It is life. 
 
And there are friends and family 
Scattered all over this globe
And you think no matter how often you travel
How many places you tick off the destination list
You will never quite manage to see them all even just once
 
And the excitement of going someplace new
To see things you’ve never seen before
And try foods you didn’t even know existed
(Until last week I had never heard of raclette, and now it’s a firm favorite! The Swiss and their delicious amazing cheeses!
Until the week before I had never been to Stonehenge or seen the Roman Baths in
Bath! The overwhelming delicious ancient history of it) 
To breathe air that is new and different 
To be a person whose life occupation is discovering the world
To look out at it in wonder
And sometimes be frightened by it
And sometimes be in love with it
And sometimes just be amazed that you’re here
And that you get to see it
The thrill rush joy of it.
  
The end.

Your love sends you a link to a film
Directed by Emilio Estevez
And it's about the Camino
And how a man goes to recover the body of his son
Who dies along the way 
And the father decides to walk it himself
 
And it stirs a memory
Of all the markers along the way
Of people who have died 
Whilst making their pilgrimage
And it makes you wonder
In all your memories of the
Camino
You hadn't thought about those markers
 
But you remember that journey
That walk across the top of Spain 
That you did yourself, four years ago
Walking 780km in 6 weeks
It seems like a life time ago
A whole other self that took that journey
That made you so much of who you are today
 
The night before the Cruz de Ferro
The highest point on the Camino
You tossed and turned and agonized 
About what to leave behind
What to ask the Camino to relieve from your shoulders 
 
Traditionally you bring a stone from home
And leave it at the highest point
And with it you leave all your troubles
 
And you had this realization
That no matter what thing of significance you left behind
There would always be something
In life, there would always be something troubling you
And you would have to make this pilgrimage literally annually to be absolved of pain
  
And in the early hours of the morning
You had an epiphany
You didn’t want to leave pain and suffering
You wanted to leave something positive
Something that you could carry with you forever
And you decided to leave gratitude
 
Dear Universe. For being. My soul. For love.
For energy. For strength. For knowledge. Thank you. 
  
And you posted that message, written on the
back of a peppermint tea bag wrapper
Into a cairn built into the highest point 
Posted a message to the universe
To your higher self
To a future self
 
And from then on, the Camino became more beautiful
The scenery more picturesque 
The grass actually greener
Whether or not you had passed into the lush province of Galicia 
Doesn’t matter
Something was lifted and changed  

And four years later
Sitting in London
You remember that self
That tortured self who wanted to sing and dance and act and be in love and be happy 
And you whisper in her ear
It all comes true.
 
The end.

It’s when you get inside the theatre
And you can smell the hazer
And see the depth of the stage
That you remember what all these hours have been for
 
You walk through the wings
And stand under the glow of the lights
And feel a sense of relief
Feel like you’re home
 
The delicious adrenalin sheer hard gut busting work of it 
Because sometimes you do wonder why you’re here
Standing in line with hundreds of others
Belting as high as they can
Articulating gesticulating and explicating
 
But it’s the relief of being there
On the stage
Working with the director and the lighting designer and the costume designer and the stage manager and the musical director and the musicians and the ensemble and 
All the myriads of people who work unseen to make the magic happen
  
Not really magic
Just sheer hard work and determination
Hour upon hour of rehearsal
Sometimes you wonder where a whole afternoon went
Because when you look at the script, you’ve only covered a page!
But the continual repetition and drilling and finding meaning in the text
Is where you find the magic 
 
Meters of fabric
A team of dedicated souls 
And a room
Become transformed into countless other worlds
Where people sing and dance and act
Often at the same time! 
And it makes you so happy
Makes your blood pulse through your very being 
And reminds you why it is you chose to be here
 
The end. 

Despite my pasaporte de España
I’m not fluent in the language
An 8-week course and a little time in Spain 
Do not a fluent Spanish speaker make
But I can follow a conversation
Catch words I recognize
Get the gist
Churros con chocolate for breakfast
Now there’s a language I understand! 
 
The energy of the island
The blanco of the houses
My titos, relatives who lift my heart and soul and make me laugh
Spoil me rotten
Feed me up with tortilla y papas arugadas con mojo
The onions and garlic and olive oil
National signifiers of Spanishness
The essential ingredients to any good meal
(Remember standing in the markets in Islington
And the three musicians
Who played flamenco music
Were set up next to the olive oil stand
And you thought that was very appropriate
The glorious delicious cliche of it)
 
And from the tiny aeropuerto
You can fly to Nuremburg or Madrid or Varsovia or Gran Canaria or Gatwick or Amsterdam
And you think no matter how long you’ve been away from
Your island home
Far away in another hemisphere
The novelty of being able to travel to such destinations for a weekend
Will never quite wear off
And you’re entirely grateful
That so much of the world is your oyster
And you can understand enough to say
Gracias. 
 
The end.

Imagine realizing that Virigina Woolf
Walked the streets of London
As you are doing
You knew it as a fact in the back of your mind somewhere
Virginia Woolf lived in London
But to suddenly encounter it
To be living it is a whole other matter
To know that she once stood beneath the arches of the British Museum
And looked up at the names inscribed into the walls
And thought,
All this knowledge! How will I ever come to terms with it?
And to sit reading
A Room of One’s Own
Whilst sitting in a room of one’s own!
In London! 
Is entirely novel
And wonderful and funny and joyous.
 
Because six years ago
You read Mrs Dalloway
And looked at women and fiction
And you never even imagined 
Even for a moment
That one day
You would have a room of one’s own.
And the best bit? 
The glorious romance novel cliche of it?
Reading the writings of Viriginia Woolf
In your very own window seat
Overlooking the garden
Overlooking the rooftops of London
And you are independent 
And you are free to speak your mind
And perform upon the stage 
And write
And do exactly as you please.

And you thank all the people who have bought you here. 
And you thank Virginia Woolf for paving the way for women writers (even if her end was tragic). 
And you think of all the women that didn’t, and still don’t, have this privilege. 
And you resolve to keep writing. And keep singing. And keep acting. And hope that you too can make a difference.

The end. 

Many philosophers have agreed 
That in order to be happy
People need to be gainfully employed
And now that I’ve been unemployed
For the past six months
I understand this more than ever
I’ve never had trouble getting work until now
Being a student
Living in London during a recession
Times are tough
It’s the best of times 
It’s the worst of times 
And is it a portal into my future?
Choosing a career where I am likely to be
unemployed for long spells of time
Every actor goes through it
I remember reading Michael Caine’s autobiography
And his depression at watching his friends get jobs around him
His friends not get jobs around him
The despair
And the heartache
And coming to London and giving up everything
I’ve ever known
To be living in the hope of the next job
And when I finally get even a tiny bit of work
The relief, the satisfaction
Spending an evening with lovely people
Well-heeled folk with a passion for supporting the arts
The student-actors gathered around the left-overs
Living the bohemian dream
The reality is so much tougher 
Much scarier when you’re not sure how you’ll meet the next rent
Pay for next week’s groceries or travel pass
Because you’re living on sheer determination and hope 
And praying praying praying that all this 
Despair and heartache will be totally completely worth it 
When one day you can say you’re earning your living as a performer
I am an actor
I am living the dream
And it’s even better than I could have imagined
The end. 

Once upon a time I lived in Sydney
And I knew many people there
And I studied in many places
And worked in many places
And played, and sang, and danced, and
Lived a life
That now seems far away and distant

And in this present day life
I am a person I always dreamed of being
Living in the lands of overseas
And traveling
And performing
And meditating
And eating delicious food
And being a grown up
Who makes her own decisions
About how her life is going to be

And today I met up with a friend
Who I hadn't seen in quite a while
And he was still the same lovely person
He was a few years ago
Softly spoken but with a glint in his eye
And he made me remember
All those friends
From that Other Life that once I led

And it's funny how people
Float in and out of our lives
And Amy K.R. once wrote about how
Maybe the word "end" is in the word
Friendships
Because sometimes friendships
Just end in the middle

And I just wanted to say,
To all those people
From a distant time, a distant life,

Whether we're actually still in contact or not
To all those people I've sat under bright blue skies with
And drunk beverages with
And shared meals with
And sat beside ponds and stared at geese with
And laughed in offices with
And trained with
And studied with
And sang with
And danced with
And gardened with
And traversed a bit of time
On this globe
Together with

I'm thinking of you
And wondering how you are
And hoping you're happy and well
Really and truly
Happy. And well.
And sending you love from across the universe.

The end.

You walk from Westminster to Embankment
Along the Thames River Path
And all the snow has melted
And there are tourists taking photos
And the Eye is spinning.

And you're an hour early for a meeting
So you decide to wander for a bit
And you come across one of those maps that dot central London
And tell you what sites of significance
Are within 5 minutes walking distance
And you see that St. Martin in the Field is nearby
That place you've heard of so often on classical music stations.

And you walk in through a side door
And it's not as big or ornate as you were expecting
But it is lovely.
And down the far end of the church is a striking window
With a curved cross
Designed by an Iranian-born woman
Shirazeh Houshiary.

You sit halfway down the church
And there are people dotted around
A few homeless people sleeping
Sitting upright
Their hoods pulled over their faces
Sitting where it is warm
Curious tourists looking for a quiet refuge
From the busy-ness of London
And you.

And there is a man at a grand piano
He has dark hair, and is balding slightly
He has dark rimmed glasses and a black sweater.
He is playing Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. 
The acoustics are amazing.
He is rather good
And he is enjoying the acoustic too.
Letting the sound
Really reverberate through the space.

The man sitting three rows in front of you leaves
And you suddenly have a clear view to the pianist
And you feel a bit exposed.
Because until that moment you had almost imagined you were no more than a
Passive spirit observing this place.

And then it is time to go
To your meeting
And you meet a lovely soul
Who inspires you
And lifts your spirits
And an hour flies by
In conversation.
And you walk back along the Thames
And the sun has come out for a moment
And you think

Thank you for bringing me here.

The end.