With the Old Breed

When I left Christmas Island, well, it was the hardest thing I ever did. As cliches would have it, it's like being tossed into shark infested waters; I was in their territory now, utterly defenseless. Nothing in my sheltered Island paradise of a life would ever have been able to prepare me for life in the "big smoke".

Though many before me had given up the island life for a city "sea change", I don't think I ever truly grasped the seriousness of the situation, I never realised that everyone else who left felt the same way I did.

But yesterday, I caught up with some very old friends - who had guided me, mentored me, who were always there with me on that island, and it seemed like they had been there forever - who were also giving up their tropical paradise for the mainland. Roger and Jenny are the old breed, and yet they spoke about how hard it was for them to leave Christmas Island, explaining the same feelings of fear and uncertainty and sadness that I felt after I parted.

I think, in a way, that place has implanted this unexplainable connection amongst all Christmas Islanders; a friendliness, an acceptance of all people - it really got to me emotionally how easy it was for me to fit back into the group of islanders, their conversations, their stories. I could feel every last detail of their tales, I could laugh, and joke, like I could never do with other groups of friends whom I haven't spoken to, let alone seen, for five or six years.

Once again I felt an upwelling... how I miss that rock, made, for all intensive purposes, of bird shit. I now have a sense of urgency to go back there. I do so badly want to go back as a scientist, camping out, enjoying the wildlife, and the rain... but I think moreso, I ache to be a part of that community again.