Pretending to die is fine in my book

Pretending to die is fine in my book

In the year since she pretended to die, I hadn't dreamt of my mum even once, but a year and a week after the fact  – which is to say, a few days ago – I did. 

In the waking hours beforehand I'd attended my Australian citizenship ceremony – an occasion of pride, introspection and and mounting hunger. The event was at 6:30pm, at Coburg Town Hall. On the drive there I was clock-watching. I had to get my citizenship certificate; it needed to go off without a hitch: I had to present it the following morning at the passport office to have even a fighting chance of getting a passport turned around within three working days so that I could fly to Chile, which on that same day had been hit by a massive earthquake.

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