No What Ifs
Putting Questions to Rest
It was time to put an old dream into reality. It was time to satisfy another personal hunger. My wife — always ready to support me — did so again.
We had money in the bank. We had no children. Seven years into my new career in Japan, I had established myself. My position would be waiting for me if I wanted to come back to it.
My parents spent almost a year living in Melbourne in 1995. They liked it very much. I went to Melbourne for a holiday and stayed with them for two weeks; it was pleasant.
Because my parents liked Melbourne, I decided to go there. I nearly decided on Queensland. An old workmate of mine from New Zealand was living there. I could’ve stayed with him until I got my feet on the ground.
I went ahead of my wife and left Japan in 2007. I arrived in Melbourne in the evening.
“Why do you want to come to Australia?” No surprises. A normal border security question.
“Looking for work and new experiences,” I said.
“Do you know anybody here?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Where?”
“Tullamarine, Brisbane, and Perth.”
I took the bus from the airport to downtown, where I had pre-booked a single room at a hostel. That gave me access to potential work and renting accommodation. I made my way to the reception. The place was clean and colorful. It had a big restaurant area that was homely and casual.
“Hi, I gotta single room booked.”
“Yeah, ok, no worries. What’s your name?”
“Gary Albrecht.”
“Yeah, ok, so what brings you to Australia?”
“Work, new experiences.”
“Why Melbourne?”
“My parents loved it here. Thought I’d try the same journey.”
“Oh, yeah. Ok. Elevator’s over there. Good luck.”
I took my two bags. The man at the counter stood still and watched me walk to the elevator. I could feel his eyeballs rolling all over my back; I locked into a cautious walking rhythm. I pressed the elevator button. I waited. There was no movement happening behind the counter. I casually turned around and put on a masked smile:
“What time is breakfast from?” I said.
“Seven,” he said, leaning straight, with his hand on the desk, and the other hand in his jean pocket.
“Cheers,” I said.
“Yeah, ok.”
I went up to my room. I looked in the mirror. My shirt and casual dress pants looked quite formal, a bit tight looking, I guess. My hair had recently been cut; my features had the appearance of the neatest and best student in the class. I wasn’t happy. I decided to go for a long, hard run. I changed into some old, blue shorts, a golf cap, and a white T-shirt that said in black writing, ‘Getting screwed is not always a bad thing.’ No — it didn’t have any pictures on it. I had it since I was seventeen. I hadn’t worn it out in public since I was 20; it had become a barbecue t-shirt. But with the way I was feeling, I didn’t care. I made my way downstairs and was about to walk out the door.
“Je — sus!” said the man at the desk.
I was surprised. I turned around and said, “Something happened?”
“Nah, Nah, your right, Az.”
“Az?”
“Yeah, yeah. You went A to Z. Goin’ for a run, are ya?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“It’s a bit cold.”
“Nah, not really,” I said.
“There’s a park not far from here.”
“Yeah, there’s a few, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said enthusiastically.
A good response. Now I was learning the language and learning to dress properly. I had steel as well as spring in my legs and covered around ten miles in about seventy-five minutes. I was out of training at the time but, back then, it would usually take me around eight weeks to reach that level of fitness.
I came back and did some stretches. I showered and dressed and went to the shops. The shop was quiet. Feeling good, I wanted to initiate a conversation with the proprietor.
“Good evening, just these things, thanks.”
“You from New Zealand?”
“Yeah. Been in Japan the last seven years, though.”
“Why did you come to Melbourne?”
“Like a lot of other Kiwis, I guess. Bigger country, a lot of work.”
“So, you left New Zealand and went to Japan?” he said in a very friendly manner.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I said and took my change and food.
“Why did you leave New Zealand?” As he asked the question, his face had switched from friendly to interrogative.
“To meet kind-hearted, warm people like yourself,” I said with a forced smile.
He went blank and turned around and started stacking packets of cigarettes, and I left with my guard permanently on. I went to my room feeling down and disgusted, wondering how would I be able to convince an employer of my worth. I was wondering what had changed? Was it because twelve years ago was a holiday, and now it’s for work? Was it because of the large amount of New Zealander’s immigrating there?
I got a job four days later, a three-day job, cleaning a commercial kitchen. It was the hardest job that I ever had. It had been years since I had picked up a scrubbing brush or a mop. After that, I was offered a job to clean pubs. The pay was good, and the woman who interviewed me was good. 4:00 am start, 14:00 finish, six days per week. And what was better, there were no online applications. I turned it down. I was sure I was done cleaning; however, there were many good opportunities like that. I had a sole trader’s tax number, so I could work for myself. I gave myself every chance of success and hadn’t quit on the idea of cleaning.
After a week, I found a place to live, near the tram lines. That meant I didn’t need to buy a car. A couple of weeks later, I got a part-time job telemarketing, ten to twenty hours per week. And then a couple of weeks after that I got another part-time job, doing door to door sales. Finally, I got full-time work.
After three months of getting set up, my wife arrived. It was great seeing her. We made up for a lost time. We spent a lot of time walking around the beaches of Saint Kilda, near where we lived. The summer days were hot, but the nights were cool. Everything was comfortable. The food was great. I made it through my trial period and secured my job. The job was only fair, but it was giving me leverage and freed me up to do more if I wanted to expand. I met another New Zealander at work. We became friends. He had a heart of gold, and his home was mine and mine was his. A terrier of a man he was, a master at the racecourse, funny, good company, and plenty of evil stories.
Melbourne and its people are good. But my wife and I felt isolated. It was a strange feeling. People were formally polite, but it seemed difficult to make a connection. We spent a lot of time at the library or the beach. The city of Saint Kilda was young and bohemian, something that we had graduated from in our twenties. We wanted to meet couples in their late thirties or forties, blue-collar go-getters, go to restaurants and barbecuing, and seek unfilled pockets of opportunities that were there for the taking.
My wife’s health wasn’t all that good. Quite sick and only after five months, she returned home. She wanted to do more and was frustrated. It was a major blow for us. I couldn’t pack it in immediately, as we had just bought a property. Though it was cheap and in the rural area of Victoria, I put my foot down and did a part-time job. I wasn’t going to let a few sighs dictate our destiny. Thankfully, things worked out, and we even managed to make a small profit when we sold it. Then I got a hernia. I had to take an operation. I avoided paying major bills, thanks to the Australian Medicare system, and most of my pay was supplemented.
I called my boss in Japan. My job was waiting for me, though I had to wait for another six months until the start of the new school year in April. The wait was too long for me, so I decided to leave at the beginning of February, head to Brisbane, and then on to New Zealand for a few weeks, before returning to Japan.
The last week before I left, a real estate cleaner was preparing some vacant rooms in our apartment block. I started talking to him. He was looking for a sole-trader to help him out, as he was mired in busyness. ‘Damn it,’ I thought.
On the last day before leaving Melbourne, our family friend in Tullamarine took me to the pub ahead of Brisbane and farewelled me in true Australian tradition.
A friend of his was there, and we sat down and enjoyed a couple of jugs and a meat pie each. My friend’s mate was talkative and positive about my trip up to Brisbane, so I thought I’d ask him a question that I had wanted to get off my chest for some time.
“Why is it that so many people want to know why I came to Australia, and why I left New Zealand or Japan?” I said.
“The short of it, Gaz, is, is that people want a fair go when they come here, but don’t give a fair go in return.”
“You mean when in Rome, do as the Romans do?”
“Nah, Nah, that’s not it. Because when in Rome, you had to do as the Romans did, or yah were meat for lions, yeah?”
I was amazed at his answer. “Wow, I never thought of it in that way before.”
“Yeah, that’s it. You got it, mate. Fair go is the unwritten rule.”
I was in the right company of people. I wouldn’t have got a clearer or more truthful answer.
It was great catching up with my friend in Brisbane. He is ten years older than I and had lived in Australia previously, in the late seventies and early eighties. He was settled. On the second day, some friends of his came for a barbecue. Two of them said there was work on offer and that I wouldn’t need to go through the rigmarole of computer application. Too little, too late.
I left the land of green and gold, a country deeply rooted in tradition, straight people but shrewdly watchful, a country that jealously guard’s its borders, and the rights of its people. I envied their patriotism, something very similar to Japan, but displayed in a more outward fashion.
they fight for the underdog
and treasure their brave
they have an abundance of work
as much as their gold
but care more for rain
as they do for their old
Would I go back to Australia again to work and live? If the conditions were right, most definitely.
I did one thing wrong: I didn’t follow my heart and go to Queensland.
I did one thing right: I left behind no what-ifs.
