Without change in Fiction, there would be no conflict.
Without change in life, there would be nothing.
When I think about my life, I am reminded of a particular time when change was waiting and how incredibly frightening it was. As soon as I turned 21, I moved to another country with little more than an education and the clothes on my back.
I left behind my life as I knew it, my family, my friends – basically, that which gives us meaning – in pursuit of a way of life that seemed foreign to me. Although I had known no different, the days were gone when I had to check and double check the locks on my house or my car or think twice about walking down the street, at the first sight of the light beginning to fade.
I remember when I stood up in front of my new country, family and friends and became an Australian. I realised then as I do now, how humbling it is when another country agrees to love you as its own. I almost always have to swallow the emotion away whenever I hear Waltzing Matilda being played at home or any significant public event.
And now as I think about the future and the chapters to come, I chase away the familiar feelings of apprehension and fear. I remember the people, old and new, who shaped my life and continue to do so. I remember them all.
That’s what gives us meaning.