Perth: FART (Or the Fucking Australian Road Trip)

July 2012 | Perth, Australia

When you go on vacation with six boys, it’s inevitable that your trip would be unceremoniously christened as such. 

I wrote as much in my album description on Facebook. But there are things I can’t – won’t – share on social media. How does Timeline begin to capture then way you laughed when you fell onto the beach in the middle of an impromptu game of rugby; air knocked out of your lungs, sand in your hair and in-between your toes? Found a new way to love your favourite liquor (and in the process, proclaimed your undying love for everyone present)? Or how you tucked yourself away in various corners of your Margaret River holiday resort, nestled among multiple blankets to keep out the cold, luxuriating in the solitude that comes with the lack of wifi?

Admittedly I am not the most communal by nature and I’m still not sure if group holidays (group anything) are for me. But it was nice to leave my iPad untouched (courtesy of Australia’s sporadic wifi), kick back, and act like a guy for two weeks. No social media, no social pressure, no obligations or expectations. Just an endless stream of food and soccer and ping pong and shots and cards and drinking games and car rides and trashy music and making lots of noise ALL THE TIME.

It’s good to know that Singapore will always have me back, but I am just about ready to leave again. Next stop – fear and exhilaration.

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