An Open Letter to Australia

This is an open letter to Australia.


The country. The continent. THE Australia. 

Dear Australia,

I love you.

That is an undeniable fact that we both have known through all my multiple social media display of affection. And until recently, I still believe that it is not a mere childhood crush nor a Wuthering Height’s type of unrequited one. I believe that we have, or once had, a connection strong enough to weather many years together in the future. Or at least for the next two years.

And such development did not happen over night.

The first night I spent with Melbourne, a city that I know you hold close to your heart, was more like the beginning of a horror flick instead of a romantic one. The 6 feet tall brick of a ton new-international-student driver who fetched me from the airport did NOT smile at all through the awkward 30 minutes drive to Carlton. Oh the horror. Then I bought a liter of sunscreen as it was blistering hot when I entered Woolies. It was subsequently pouring gallons of buckets when I got out. And also for the next two weeks there after. So I used the sunscreen to draw a hot scorching sun, that your brochures promised, on my window pane.

But I soon learnt that Melbourne is a wild child who’s specialty is in luring unsuspected lone souls with its quirky yet sometimes disturbing behaviors. Let’s say you bring out the weird in me.

And I kinda like it.

And so we went from throwing rocks and pulling each other’s hairs to harmless flirting and then heavy make out in a matter of months. I guess we went straight from kindergarten to high school faster than your next indigo child. Then I had to check out what’s still available in the market just to be sure and managed to flirt a bit with the lost angels over the pond. It was fun and disastrous just like any average Hollywood movie as of late. But those angels are just so lost into their fake plastic hell, I had to escape before they turned me into one.

You see, Australia.

You are awesome and all that wah wah rah rah but above all, you let me be to be whoever I want to be. You may be at the end of the world, but at least you have character. I’m sure a lot of your own people disagree as there are plenty more countries with deeper rooted history and well-rounded characters around the world. And at any given time I bet there are so many of your dear Ozzies who are currently making great love with those Eastern Europe, Asian and even South American countries. But let’s just remind ourselves that you chose to have open relationships with them when you equipped them each with that blue passport that let them go anywhere their please.

Now. Speaking about passport.

I for one, need a lot of permissions to get that stamp on my passport that lets me hang out with you and cultivate this beautiful happenings. Talk about old fashion, eh. Endless permissions. I’ve lived with your for more than a year, barring the few months break in the middle. And I’ve known most of your ins and outs, though mostly from a student budget, which is the occasional 15$ brunches and many days gawking at your art and craft markets coupled with back to back festivals sprawl all over town. I heard you’re even more of a lover when one’s on a worker bee’s budget.

The thing is, contrary to what the economy is doing and how tight the job market is, I’ve managed to find a company who’s willing and able to support me while we court further. (And with that giving you almost half of my income along the way. If that doesn’t make me a modern-day whore, I don’t know what you’d call it. Perhaps a marriage. badabum.)

So my only questions is.

Why are you so stubborn in letting me back into your life?

First you thought I had an old TB on my lung. That proved to be a mistake as further tests went negative and as the second x-ray two months after that had came out normal. Now I am in this perpetual wait for you to finally decide whether I am actually fit enough to live and breathe in your soil. And perhaps whether I’d start a plague in the country or not.

The thing is Australia….

I am afraid I only have so much patience as my childhood sweetheart is patiently taking care of me here. You see, Indonesia has grown a lot in the past decade or two. She’s grown into this exciting, voracious lover that is eager to entertain whoever’s willing to go long with her. There are daily risks from getting hit by a car while you’re standing innocently on a sidewalk, getting stuck in one of those unpredictable riots and getting mugged in public transports. But great risks, great return, no?

You are a Godless quirky laid back hunk of a guy, Australia. But Indonesia is a blooming Goddess who is slowly but surely capturing my heart with her recklessness and sexy crazy antics.

And I am scared that your hesitancy in pursuing a partnership with me (50% of my salary! and a sure fire free social media display of affections at that), has started to drain the shine out that luster you have.

So please.

Keep me or let me go, why don’t you just be the gentleman that you are and let me know.

Faithfully (to an extent) yours,



About inifeli

Sketch a lot, write a lot, read a lot. Live a lot.


  1. Don’t worry, Fel. Australia will welcome you back soon enough. 🙂 Speriamo.

  2. Hi! I was surfing and found your blog post… nice! I love your blog. Cheers!

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