I practice self-care, or attempt to, in Hamburg. On the train from Bremen I tear up, thinking about home and how much I longed for it, thinking of Grandad and how I would never see him again. I dumped my luggage in the hotel room and took my phone into the lobby, calling my girlfriend who was awake at midnight in Victoria, Australia. I cried when I heard her voice.
Growing up in a supermarket is strange. Many rites of passage are faced within those brick walls and dimly-lit interior – love, death, a sweet sixteen, rejection, abuse, somehow finding yourself in the mix of all that.