The gap

I wake up all peaceful as normal, tra-la-la, am sipping coffee as normal, humdy-dum, then suddenly I have the most shocking experience of the last twelve months (not sex).

The moment when I realise it. We are leaving Hong Kong. No, I mean, really leaving Hong Kong. Packing-objects-into-boxes. Deciding, item by item, what is important and what is not; what is worth the journey and what can stay in the landfill. That type of leaving.

With the sudden shock that is the gap between intellectually looking at monthly planning sheets a long way away, and the horrible dawning that the clothes are in the laundry, the books lie open, the cupboards are filled, nothing is sorted, and we're gone in just one month.

And we means me, Shark, Squirrel and Tiger.

There ensues an uncomfortable conversation. Along with this knowledge, how our time is up, how packing is a priority, how I do that alone, how I manage three children leaving Hong Kong, comes the reality that I knew all along, how Dig must keep to an entirely different schedule.

While me and the children unpack our things in England, Dig must return to his old ways of globe wandering. He will stay a while in Hong Kong, visit Brazil, pop back to Blighty, then jump back out to Asia. Colombia, he is yet considering.

I tell myself I can deal with this way of living, because I have done so before. I have a script for it. It is not called packing up, changing places, or living apart. It is called staying on, earning a wage, and supporting a family.