.1400. Sitting in the meeting room with four other displaced persons, including the chap I share a desk with (did I mention that I share a desk?) – Through the meeting room window I watch someone casually claim my desk chair. The air-conditioning works in the meeting room, so I don’t really mind. You can have the chair. It’s all good.

It’s important for people to work out how to find and maintain contentment.  It’s probably not money, and certainly not having a pig or similar creature put a ring on it.  It’s probably cats. Cats and adventures and dancing by the light of the moon.

Well that’s what works for me.

I’m coming home.  I’ve flights booked for mid-December, and I’m happy. I’m glad I spent this time in Timor, but I’m done – for now.

Dili is an easy little town to live in: I can walk to work when it’s not too hot or too wet; feast on the most wonderful tomatoes; be adopted by a most excellent cat; walk along the coast to drink a coconut on the beach as the sun goes down; wear Birkenstocks to work; hike the steep hills right outside my door; lots and lots of good things.

But one can never do everything one may wish in life. Some things just can’t be done in Dili:

Normal is a relative term that recalibrates frequently.  At first glance, my normal life when I’m away is basically the same as my normal life at home: I eat, go to work, sit in an office, come home, and try to have some sort of social life.  On the surface, not that different. It’s all the little things that make my away normal unrecognisable from my home normal.