In fact, I’m definitely looking for a distraction. I’ve checked Facebook probably 50 times today. Yup.

I’m a touch lonely these days. After a fantastic two weeks in New York with some of my best friends, Seattle feels a little less like home. I can’t cut loose the same way I can with my Australian friends. I can’t open up. The one person I did open up to got sick of listening to me whine. The one person I want to open up to now is pretty unreliable. The people that are close to me in Seattle are a little too close for the more sensitive matters I wish I could talk about. Perhaps I’ve fallen into bad habits, throwing up barriers again.

So I turn to you, old blog-o-blog.

New York was amazing. Just everything I needed and not for a second did I feel out of place amongst this group. In Japan, I felt like a bit of a third wheel and frustrations bubbled constantly. New York was like being in a big, loud, stinky resort. I forgot all about Seattle.

Vegas was a rollercoaster. Fun in a lot of ways but also brought out a lot of anxiety in trying to get things organized. There was a lot of time feeling awkward at night clubs¹, leading to a lot of frustration at being single and lonely. There was also a bit of jealousy. Overall, it was insane and a necessary weekend experience but not one I’m keen to repeat.

Now that I’m back in Seattle, I’m running through the list of things I could do to get myself out of this rut. To actually play the field and be single rather than stay up late watching Family Guy. I’m fighting an uphill battle in the self-confidence department. I know I’ve got to fake it until I make it but I’m not internalizing the confidence, it’s a thin mask of bravado that starts to fall apart after wearing it for a few hours.

I’m also stubbornly refusing to blame this on the recent break-up. The break-up was a catalyst but I was already broken and lost before we parted ways. The relationship was a comfortable place to hide from my problems and now they’re all staring me in the face. I’m too damn old to still be blaming my problems on one relationship.

So one thing that the ending of a long-term relationship does bring to mind is the temporary nature of things. I’m only coming to realize that our twenties are supposed to be this time of transition and change. One decade ago, I was dependent on my parents for everything and one decade from now, well, I don’t know. Climb the career ladder? Marriage? Paternity leave? Race a hot air balloon around the world?

My point is, things are all very temporary right now. My living arrangements will change every year. My friends will change. My job continues to change whether I like it or not. I might fall out of love with Seattle. People are all moving in their own direction and it’s only through dumb luck that our paths continue to cross. Everyone’s a nomad and it seems that it’s precisely the wrong time to put down roots. Now’s the time to demand a sample of every flavor of ice cream.

It’s been 3 years in Seattle and I think I’m running out of excuses to remain stationary.

Before you read my comments, know that they are totally anecdotal and I am most likely completely wrong. These are just my personal views and I invite you to come and change my mind.

The guests are partying in a three-bedroom condo… just a couple miles away from Southcenter Mall.

That explains a lot. The people I’ve seen out and about in Seattle are not the same kind I see in the club. I guess I’m so blind that I thought all that existed were eastside and westside, I forgot that a lot of people show up from south of Seattle.

At 29, Pham is older than most of his club-going friends, but he looks younger. He was a homebody in a serious relationship during his early 20s who’s now making up for lost time.

I’ve seen a lot of older Asian guys around in the Seattle clubs. You know why? Because they get to spend their weekends with drunk-ass 21-year-old Asians. 90% of guys anywhere would sign up for that.

The gaggle of girls at his house could easily pass for sisters—sorority sisters, anyway. They’re wearing strikingly similar dresses from Forever 21. Two of them—identical twins—look like they’re in middle school, but are actually 20. They plan to get into Venom by waiting outside the club for a friend who’s already gained entry to return with the IDs of those inside.

The article mentions Forever 21 a lot. Either Erika Hobart is being condescending about the brand or she’s being paid to promote it. There’s little other reason to mention it by name over and over.

“I have some white friends who won’t even go [to Venom],” Mom says, laughing. “It’s too Asian for them. For us, it’s like family. Everybody knows each other there.”

Truth. Seattle clubs are to Asians what Cheers was to Norm Peterson. That’s because they go to the same club every week and see exactly the same people. Frankly, I hate to see the same crowd over and over at a club but I guess to them it’s like Thanksgiving every weekend.

Twenty minutes later, the three cars pull into a pay-to-park lot a block away from Venom. The alcohol has caught up to everybody, and several of the girls relieve themselves behind cars. The guys are less concerned about urinating in public, and simply do it in the center of the lot. The girls throw their purses in the car trunks after emptying their bladders; they don’t spend money at the club.

God in Heaven. There are so many things wrong with this paragraph. I will begrudgingly give you a free pass on the public urination if it’s one of those catastrophic events that embarrass you forever and your friends keep telling the story but this is ridiculous. 1) You just came from some guy’s house, 2) It’s like a 20 minute drive? 3) You are about to step inside a club with bathrooms. Which part of your brain is telling you to pull the desperation move of peeing in a parking lot? How come you’re ok with pulling down your panties and hitching up your long shirt to piss yourself in the dark but you’re too good to buy your own drinks?

Sab, like a majority of the clientele, hits up Venom on weekends because she’s seeking the company of other Asians—not the people who fetishize them. Pham’s circle arrives at and leaves the club together. It’s like the Asian version of No Child Left Behind.

Erg, ok. First of all, the saying is, “No man left behind”. This would only be the Asian version of NCLB if everyone was given a standardized test at the end of the night, funding was allotted based on the scores and everyone’s personal info was sold to US military recruiters.

And yes, we Asians go clubbing as a pack and it’s usually pretty easy to spot the pack leader. I have no idea how anybody scores as a result of this. Sounds like you’d need to get digits and arrange a later meetup or just through caution to the wind and jump into a one-night stand where a large group of your friends and adopted family will see exactly what’s going on. Peeing in a parking lot is still kosher though.

“Let’s go to Purple Dot!” Mom screams. “I want baked spaghetti!”

I love the fact that someone is named “Mom”. It’s adorably fobby but it’s probably not pronounced the way I’m thinking.

This baked spaghetti thing she’s talking about? It’s actually pretty good. I was skeptical the first time I saw Diana ordering it while we were sitting around in Purple Dot at 2am but I’ve since been converted. For one thing, Purple Dot is an absolutely stellar restaurant after midnight. When you’ve been clubbing all night and feel desperately single and your standards and expectations have been drastically lowered by alcohol and rejection, Purple Dot is a shining beacon. And the spaghetti is like a bolognese baked into a casserole dish. It’s meaty and has a pasta-to-sauce ratio of about 1:1 and it’s almost sickly sweet like canned baked beans.

Overall, I think it’s a reasonable article. A bit too one-sided seeing as the author only went out once with a Vietnamese/Cambodian crowd from Tukwila but it captures the essence of it. It was probably dangerous to include so many generalizations in such an anecdotal article and that’s reflected in the comments, I guess.

Jack is a writer that’s lived in Seattle for the past two years. While he has not integrated into the club scene, it is common to find him at the parking lot outside Venom on Saturday nights, taking photos with a telephoto lens to sell to fetish websites.

My soon-to-be landlady gingerly closed to door behind me. As she led me through another door and out into the courtyard, she again turned and carefully closed the door.

“Make sure not to let the doors slam.”

Later in the tour (or perhaps it was on a different day and a different tour?) she said the same thing again, make sure we stick to the quiet times, they don’t like noise here. I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer but even I was starting to pick up a vibe and I asked her as much, “You keep mentioning that. Is there a noise problem here? Are the walls really thin?”

She was quick to dismiss my concerns but the thought lingered in my mind. Other than that, it was a super nice apartment in a super nice part of town so we’d already leaped on it.

Fast forward to moving day this weekend. While trudging back and forth between the cars and the apartment, my girlfriend ran into one of our neighbors. Now, I wasn’t there to witness this but this elderly neighbor essentially gave us the same warning about noise levels and how they can complain directly to your landlord or the management.

I was a little paranoid now and I asked my girlfriend to clarify, “Did she say it like she was warning that others would complain? Or did she say it like she meant she would complain?”

“Both,” she replied.

We’ve lived there two nights and had no complaints… yet. We were shuffling boxes around at 10pm last night and the alarm clock did ring at 3am this morning. To further test this, I was shooting people in Mass Effect at 5 this morning. We’ll see how this goes when we whip out Rock Band and host a housewarming party.

But that’s not really my primary concern. My attentions remain on Seattle because we received a similar amount of snow (and subsequently, ice) and everyone went a little crazy. First there was the elation at all the beautiful fresh powder but now, a few days in, it’s just a pain in the ass. Icy sidewalks, slush everywhere, cars that get trapped on a 15° incline. It’s boring now. Give us back our rain.

For one thing, my shoes have no tread. None. I could probably use them as bowling shoes. They just glide along. I was tempted to buy these “Yaktrax” things which are like tire chains but for your shoes but I figured I need a good solid pair of hiking boots anyway so I bought those instead for five times more money.

The other thing is that evidently I’m a square because I don’t like to drive in the snow. My girlfriend says we should and I instead recommend we walk for ten blocks in the snow with my slippery-ass shoes. You know how much money it costs to fix a broken ankle? NOT AS MUCH AS IT COSTS TO REPAIR A DENT IN MY EUROPEAN CAR. Just another excuse to throw the word “recession” around. Nevermind that my job is totally secure as long as they don’t catch me stealing more office supplies.

I was telling David, who is living in Toronto, and when I told him we had less than a foot of snow, he just laughed at me. And all the Canadians at work laugh at us. Because they are familiar with all of this and they own winter tires and they probably ate snow as a kid to build an internal resistance to the cold. I can feel them laughing at us whilst they trade their poutine recipes.

This is my second winter in Seattle but last winter did not feel so bad for some reason. I think we only had a handful of snow days and the rest was quite bearable. If I recall correctly, I was still catching the bus on days and walking between the bus stop and my office. I do believe I even walked uphill both ways.

So, internet, what can I do to pass these cold, cold days? My girlfriend is going to be with her parents over Christmas and which leaves me to spend the holiday alone, by myself. I joked that I could pass the time by walking the streets and selling matches to the families doing their Christmas shopping but perhaps I should do that considering we are in a recession and the extra income wouldn’t hurt.

Friday

Dinner at a Chinese place near work; I ordered the regular fried rice and enjoyed the simplicity of it. Oddly enough, this place did everything. They were officially a bakery stuffed with Asian pastries but they had a lunch and dinner menu of the typical Chinese dishes. Also, there was bubble tea. So it’s a one-stop shop to visit if you need to act like you’re from Hong Kong.

It’s been such a long weekend, I actually had trouble remembering what happened next. I looked up my credit card history but that held no clues. Turns out, we were meant to meet some friends who were going to hit a club or a bar somewhere. There was the promise of nightlife and alcohol which is great because I’ve been really sober lately and going to bed at like 10pm. These guys were still at the Mariners game so we had to kill some time at my apartment. Hours passed and it was decided that they were too drunk to check their phone.

I fell asleep watching Ever After, a re-telling of the classic Cinderella story, starring Drew Barrymore. No, I did not pick the movie but it was in fact a lot better than I had expected. As a side note, I don’t know how having Leonardo Da Vinci instead of a fairy godmother is any more “real”.

Saturday

Brunch in Ballard at this Italian restaurant. You should have seen my face. Finally, I have some decent Italian food since arriving in Seattle. Admittedly, I have not tried many other Italian places. If you have recommendations then please leave them here. When I talk about decent Italian food, I mean stuff that hasn’t been changed too much to suit the American palate. I want sensible portions, al dente pasta and sauces that complete the dish rather than completely overwhelming it. Evidently, I am an asshole when it comes to Italian food. That’s not to say I can’t enjoy the Americanized food that are really just dressed up versions of Mac & Cheese. I just have a preference.

Saturday was hotness. Seattle is finally entering its stages of summer and we’re blessed with sun and humidity and people shedding the exoskeleton that they call an SUV. “You don’t realize how many people live in seattle until the sun comes out.”

As if perfect Italian food was not enough, we had a late dinner in Madison Park at this lively Mexican place. The funny thing is that I have no idea what authentic Mexican food is and I’ve been able to embrace this idea of Tex-Mex which is just fantastic. Also, there is nothing more delicious than the flavors of lime juice and coriander on a hot day. Then we finished the night with flan. Flaaaaaaan.

Sunday

Umm, breakfast was KFC. Not only that but leftover KFC. I do not want to dwell too much on this fact. One thing to note though is that Australia’s KFC stocks bread rolls which are about as interesting as a scrunched up ball of paper where as here they serve Southern-style “biscuits” which are flaky and a tiny bit buttery.

Lunch was a BBQ at the south end of Lake Sammamish. I don’t want to diss the food too much but it was generic hot dogs and some chicken fillets. Pretty ordinary but who the hell cares because it was a birthday party and there was an astounding amount of people and sunshine and I engaged in sports for the first time in a long time. I threw around a football and a frisbie and I played several games of volleyball. Go me.

Now it’s Monday and I have muscle aches all over because I am old and cynical. My body is far more tolerant of grease and alcohol than it is of really tough physical activity like throwing a ball.

When I did get home, I allowed myself two big glasses of wine. I feel a little guilty toasting to my problems but you’ll be glad to know that it did little for me. The Bad Day had replaced the usual buzz with a vino-induced headache and so I went on with my nightly routine, sober and headachey.

This morning, I felt my spirits lift as I gulped down yogurt whilst watching re-runs of Dharma and Greg. The lifting faded as I hiked out to the bus stop in the brisk cold. I stared out at the grey-covered downtown and I said, Seattle, today I don’t love you. I don’t hate Seattle; the city is what it is and there’s so much to love on the good days and bad. Today, I’m just simply not in love with the “Seattle” chapter of my life.

It’s funny how Seattle is a chapter all on its own. I’ve only been here a year and while lots of things has happened, there is no overreaching theme to it besides the unexpected location. Perhaps as my life plays out further, the chapter will be renamed. Perhaps it will instead be named, “Growing Up” or “How My Garage Band Started.”

I stood at this bus stop, staring at the lifeless Union Station clock tower, and I looked at my sadness from further away. I saw it in the context of my twenty-something years and I realised that it’s the first time I’ve been depressed in Seattle. When I first left home, I was depressed about Seattle but finally I have something to be depressed about that’s not related to leaving Melbourne and I couldn’t help but grin. Because it finally means that something is happening.

See, the mail is jammed between the door and the door frame. It’s been that way for weeks now.

Everytime I walk past their door, I sniff a little. Maybe listen out for the sounds of a distressed pet. Nothing. No smell, no noise. I tell myself they’re probably on a nice long sunny holiday in South America or something.

Compare the pair. Left: Pacific Ocean near Australia and right: Seattle-Tacoma Airport

Hey, let’s go to another country! Let’s fly across the a gigantic ocean in a big noisy can of sardines for umpteen hours.

At any other time in the past, this idea would be insane to me. Friends always suggested vacations to far away places and I’d hesitate because flying sounds so expensive and kind of scary because I’ve never flown before. Yeah, if you didn’t already know, my first time flying ever was Melbourne to Sydney for Lachlan’s birthday weekend. Then I flew to Sydney a few more times for job interviews. Then finally, I got my passport and left Australia for the first time ever to live in Seattle.

It’s weird how things work out.

Flying to Melbourne for one week is incomprehensible to a lot of people. People are more understanding when they find out Melbourne is home for me. Well, nowadays? It is and it isn’t. Melbourne is something else, really.

Oh, United States Customs Service, you want to know what I have brought back to America?

• one Kangaroo plush toy (with joey and Australian flag)
• one Koala plush toy (sings Waltzing Matilda when you squeeze him)
• a renewed sense of identity
• an understanding of how rose-colored nostalgia really is
• a begrudging acceptance of Seattle as my home
• a crush on Geraldine

Moments after surprising everyone at Lachlan’s birthday lunch

Being back in Melbourne, I learned that my insanity had gotten the better of me and convinced me that my friends had all moved away from me. No one feels any further; absolutely no one. They’re just there. Rain or shine. Being surrounded by all these loved ones who are genuinely and wholeheartedly supportive of my move reminded me that it was me that started all of this and I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing.

Through talking and talking about Seattle with my friends, I finally figured out where I stand. I mean, I was drunk and people were asking me about Seattle and my new job and you know what I said? I said nice things. I praised the city and I spoke highly of my job and fondly of the people I’ve met so far. When normal people get drunk, they usually start bitching about their job or their girlfriend. Since I have dressed myself in all these layers of cynicism and sarcasm, I can only express positive feelings of contentment and joy when I am intoxicated. What a dysfunctional adult I have become.

So, it is with a deep breath that I say Seattle is home now. And Melbourne? Melbourne is a beautiful city with amazing friends, fashionable streets and a toxic river that still creates million-dollar waterfront properties. Melbourne is a place I am permanently attached to and a place that I will perpetually speak highly of.

Melbourne is really something else.