Thanks.

The beatles got it right, didn’t they. They said “I wanna hold your hand”. And there ain’t actually much else I wanna do.

I believe that we as human beings, are able to feel strong emotions across our physical limitations, beyond language and speech, across cultures, backgrounds and our varied histories. Feelings not of negativity, but of trust and belief, of holding another’s hand and knowing that she believes in your fully. Of knowing what trust she has behind that innocent smile. I admit, I do not understand what she was trying to say, nor what was she pointing at. She pointed at the house, was she asking me about my home? And she pointed at faces, was she asking me why do I look so different? And she pointed at my watch. Was she asking me how old am I, or how long will I be there for? Or could she be telling me to feel at home here, and that we are all the same, and that such things are timeless? I could never know. But what I do know is that moment when she grabbed my hand, I feel that immediate bond between us that transcended all our differences. That simple gesture of one’s hand in another, perhaps it's a physiological thing involving our nerve corpuscles and things like that, but yet perhaps it’s something soulful, something that shouts ‘We’re one’. There an unexplained bond there that I felt, something that made me wanna just hold on to her hand and just watch her point to me the wonders of her world. Of when she rode a horse, or when she worked in the garden and drew a painting, or when it was time to go home. Of the bright colours surrounding the room, or the different sounds that different objects make when she knock on them with her little hands, and of that smile, painted bright blue on a picture that made no sense to none other, shining forever in my memory. I do not have a picture, but hopefully your face would never fade from my memory. You’re wonderful, girl.

Thanks Greta. And yes. I Wanna hold your hand.

And that's not forgetting you too little Tiff. Thanks for showing me what painting is all about. The process and not the product. Until now, I still have no idea what are you trying to draw. Was that a rainbow that you couldn’t find enough colour to draw? Or was that the garden outside, with its brilliant hues of green painted on a background of brownish dirt? And those little shapes you made from that dough, are they sheep? Or are they snow? Or are they rocks you saw on the road? And then I turned, and I wonder, were those clouds? I’m still wondering, perhaps one day, you could tell me?

And I do not believe its your fault Tiff, for you and Alex shown me that its mine. With my so called knowledge and ‘normality’, things have became too solid for me, of lines and solid colours, that I could not recognize all the little things that made them what they are. Like it's the smiles that make us human, not proper shapes and faces or things like that. Like it's the ability to fly to make a rocket a rocket, not that it has wings or a giant exhaust and a pointed nose. Sometimes in our pursuit of greater heights, we forget the little things.

And Matt, could you please tell what what’s the story about? I see your fingers moving and your expression changing. It certainly looks interesting, I am genuinely interested in what are your fingers playing. Tell me won’t ya?

The four of you probably won’t get a chance to read or understand this. But let me say that I meant everything I wrote. And I wish you guys the best of luck in your futures. And may our futures cross paths again.

Just back from rural attachment. not actually back actually. sitting on the bus typing this making my way to southern cross. Foster has been a wonderful experience. Time past real fast there, i would definitely go back there if given the chance. Was at one point really affected by my visit to the specialist school, as i always am when i visit such places.

Till next time.