There were fruit trees on the property I grew up on and they attracted a lot of birds. One of the coolest birds I liked to see, but also quite rarely seen, was the rosella which is a very colourful parrot. Now, this has nothing to do with anything, other than I always thought the bird on the Arnott's logo was a rosella, since it is an Australian brand (or was), but when I was looking at the logo closely, I realised it wasn't and a quick search told me it is a macaw parrot, was gift to the founder from Mexico.
A fucking macaw. I feel cheated.
My whole childhood was a lie.
But that is another collection of stories altogether.
This story is about a simple chocolate biscuit, which has legendary status in Australia and I have only had a couple times in the last few decades when 
Diet be damned.
I only bought one pack, because I really have been trying to improve my eating habits and cutting back on unnecessary sugars, even though I fail often. But, since it was an "occasion" just to find them and my wife was egging me on to get them, I did. And yeah, the packet didn't last long. But to be fair, I did share them with my wife (who seems to be able to eat gluten when it tastes good enough) and I would have given some to Smallsteps, but she can't have gluten at all yet.
It is silly how such a small thing like a chocolate biscuit can carry so much life history in it, as well as bring up so many different kinds of memories. Of course, it isn't the biscuit itself, but rather what it represents, which is a taste of home which I so rarely get. And of course, it isn't just the taste of foods that are missed, but also the typical interactions in Australia, or spending time with family and friends, or the different sense of humour, or the varied expressions of speech and intonation that is only heard locally.
In many ways, I am no longer Australian.
I have sometimes wondered how long a person can be detached from their home country before the local culture has moved on so far, they they no longer are part of it. For instance, when my dad was speaking Bengali to an eighteen year old a few years before he died after hardly speaking it for fifty years, she said that his fluency was perfect, but it is like listening to an old film, because the way he spoke was no longer the way people speak the language.
Was he really still a native speaker?
The world is a different place than what it was for my father of course, since there is the ability to not only watch stuff from anywhere on earth, but also regularly talk to people back home. Still though, I suspect there is a fair amount of disconnection that happens to both the culture, and the many relationships, as distance always changes things. Sometimes for the better, but often it just makes for weaker ties, as out of sight, out of mind dynamics come into play. It isn't intentional, it just happens, as time zones and schedules, as well as having to schedule everything to begin with.
There is no random interaction, it is all planned.
And perhaps this is why the random find of some too-sweet biscuits was so good, because it was an unexpected "drop-in" on my life that came as a pleasant surprise. No planning, just an unscheduled meetup with some memories of the past. I know that they won't be there for long, since this shop changes its random stuff all the time, but I also don't have the urge to go crazy and buy more just in case, because the moment of random has passed. If the next time I am there they have them, I will grab a pack, but I won't be too disappointed if they aren't.
I think these days, a lot of people are living as a "foreigner" in a new country, and I suspect that there are always things that are missed from home. And I also assume that when something from home does popup out of the blue like this, it brings nostalgic thoughts to mind, and perhaps some bitter-sweet memories of times that will never be had again.
A lot of people are also surrounded by friends, family, and the culture they have grown with. Yet, I reckon most of us take it all for granted, because it seems like it is always going to be there, always close by, always available for a chat over a beverage.
It never is.
Sometimes, there is no substitute for the things we lose.
Taraz
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