breakfast!
my eggs are never intentional
if i had it my way, all my eggs would be soft boiled
fluffy, yolky, inchoate beauties
this egg-pancake had no instruction
it became whatever it wanted to become
it was here, at the kitchen counter, that my plan for the day changed from Chocolate Festival at The Rocks, to Festival of the Wind at Bondi Beach
C, in a burst of goodwill, asked me what my plans today were
i think, at this point in time, i still hadn’t enacted the self-protective policy of being deliberately vague
so i told her about the Chocolate Festival, and she promptly informed me of the massive kite-flying festival that she was going to check out, being someone who used to enjoy/make kites in her past life in Hong Kong
i’m glad i decided to forgo chocolate for the beach
above: EVERYBODY AND THEIR MUM was going to Bondi Beach
(this syntax, “everyone and their mum” is something i picked from J — J, C, and myself shared an apartment on ‘Rose Street’ in Istanbul; the first night i arrived, when the taxi driver and myself asked people on the perpendicular street where exactly Rose Street was, we were met with good-meaning shrugs)
i waited nearly 50min before being able to board a packed bus
i was in a good spirit, with my data on* and my New Yorker in hand
even a lady, who lied about being in the queue so that she could go home without waiting behind all these damn beachgoers, couldn’t compromise the cheer
when the beach was in sight, the busload of passengers sighed a collective “yay”
*i’m using a prepaid where $30 lasts about 200 days, or until you use it up; at time of writing, i have spent $13.50 on my phone bill, which comes up to $4.50 a month;
this is my second time at Bondi, the first time being when b was here
the atmosphere, packed with sunshine and children, was so uplifted, i was surprised to see kites fall from the sky
i took so many film photos, leaping and running (not exaggerating; i was running) from spot to spot, like a little scout
there were many families and many dogs
there were many tourists too, but i didn’t know who they were
(there are many tourists because there are lots of hostels in the area, ostensibly for surfer-tourists or young travelers from landlocked countries who want to live by the beach during their backpacking trip)
(i don’t know the tourists from the non-tourists because: the families speaking Asian languages to each other—Japanese, Chinese—might have properties and roots in Hurstville, Chatswood, Artarmon, etc.; the Caucasian boardwalkers, who might look like European Australians, could be tourists from Macedonia)
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