12:01.

The international departure gates at Melbourne Airport are feelingless, disrespectful metal doors which slide shut after your loved ones step through. Effectively disenabling any lingering looks, walk-and-wave-until-you-are-out-of-sight precious rituals.

Dec 21, about 1640, when those doors separated my folks from me and closed, I stood still for a second, looked up to the ceiling, blew out, turned to go but spun a circle instead to stare at those metal gates once more, before - as tears welled - walking away. Towards the direction of the sign directing all and sundry to "Buses" and away from my folks who were not far yet so far, in the same building but away from access.

Bought my skybus ticket, and as I walked out of Tullamarine towards the skybus pick up point, that 150 metres was accompanied by head music in the form of some Christian song which lyrics go "I don't belong here" and yet I was vividly aware of an all-embracing, extremely real feeling of being at home. Just walking there, on that wide pathway with scattered random folks, I felt comfortable. Despite missing my folks, despite the doubts that did assault me, despite being alone physically, I did not feel the lone-ness during that walk.

In some part, it's like the embrace that the walk from the Bus 900 bus stop to my house back home, in Woodlands, in Singapore. It was like the night time walk home, when I would look up at the stars and walk, talk to God and feel peace and be held by that part of the world that was mine at those moments.

The skybus drops one at Spencer Street, which is near Telstra Dome and I found that every where I walked that evening, I was reminded of how now, my family is not with me.

I didn't want to go home 'cause I knew I would cry when I walked into an empty home.

[And all these coming from someone who always enjoyed having the house to herself]

So I made full use of my two-hour tram ticket and hit three Dangerfield shops looking for a bag I fancied two weeks ago, bought two tops from Melb Central, and Van Morrison's Astral Weeks from JB Hi Fi.

[I think I am listing the shop names so that one day, when I can no longer remember this place in detail, I can read about them]

When I finally reached home at about 8, I sat down at the sofa and sobbed.

Talk about being emo. Sigh.

And after eight days of either eating out or cooking for family, I went home to leftover rice in the fridge which I fried up. Nothing wrong at all but at that moment, it did seem, um, sad.

The strange thing is this - By Dec 22 morning, I was okay. Still missing those I love but sane, calm and stable, rational and able to feel the strangeness of being alone but not let it move me negatively.

Went for coffee with a good friend for some whinging. And when I got back at 2am, I walked through the door and into a quiet house - Hannah left the same day - and was at home with it. Vividly aware of the switch in moods.

I am immensely thankful that my parents and aunt were here, that they saw me graduate, that they lived with me, that I could cook for them, that they liked the food places and food I like (KOK, Nando's, Shanghai Dumpling, Seoul Garden, Thnak Thnak, Mars Cheese Cake, Corinthians wafer rolls, tim tams, quatros, starbursts, Red Rocks lime and black pepper chips, chinatown's egg tarts....).

[I cite same reason as last [] for listing all that]

For eight days, they lived in my world. And thank God they liked it.

And really, for that, I have no reason to be sad. Even while sobbing on that sofa three days ago, it wasn't driven by saddness, just displacement mostly. And in between wrecking sobs, I was thanking God.

I am - quietly so now... - happy.