Moving from Australia to London in 1979 wasn’t as great as I’d expected it to be. In fact, it turned out to be an enormous culture shock. The roads weren’t paved with gold at all; society wasn’t as sophisticated as people made it out to be, the weather didn’t agree with me one bit, and above all, the people weren’t as friendly as the people in Australia. England seemed so backward to me, that for all I knew, I could just as well have landed on the moon.
Giuseppe closed his eyes and began to recall the story that Bee told him about the cowry shell:
Many years ago, at the dawn of time, there was a young man named Googong. He was a skilled hunter and often went out for days, in search of prey that his tribe could feed on for a long time. Fortunately, his orientation skills were outstanding as well, so he always found his way back easily. However, one day when he was on one of his hunting trips, he was so intent on tracking down a big fat wallaroo in unknown territory, that he lost his bearings.
A story on International Women’s Day 2018 about the power of the feminine
As long as Luna could remember, her mother had been consumed by grief. She knew what caused this, even though her mother never talked about it. Two years ago, when Luna was barely three years old, her father had returned from the civil war. Vividly, she remembered the men of her village in the mountains bringing him home safely. She also remembered her mother screeching when she saw how the regime’s cruelty had traumatized her husband.
As soon as the call had ended, Giuseppe put his phone down on the coffee table and walked over to his stereo system in the corner of the living room and started the CD player. Within seconds the melody of one of his favourite operas found its way through the speakers and filled the room. Giuseppe turned up the volume and began pacing through the room, occasionally running his hands through his hair. This and the loud reverberating music helped him to think.
Valentine’s Day Story
Longingly, Rhiannon looked over her shoulder in the direction of the village. When she failed to catch a glimpse of her beloved Dewydd on the treeless hillside, she let her head hang and solemnly observed her tears blending with the raindrops on her face and falling on to her muddied sheepskin boots. She swallowed her pride, wiped her emerald eyes and her nose clean with her woollen coat sleeve, and tried to force the painful event that had taken place only half an hour ago to the back of her mind.