Showtime
My first blog in Godonlyknowshowlong comes at quite a life juncture. Today is the final day of my youth. Tomorrow, I officially enter an entirely new era. Normally such splits in the space-time continuum happen only gradually. They begin only as hairline cracks and spread so slowly as to become undetectable. The move from childhood to puberty was long and painfully drawn-out. I'm guessing going from middle-age to old-age is much the same. Not this one. Tomorrow, everything will change in a matter of seconds. Tomorrow, I am to become a father, courtesy of a quick surgical snip.
I am told that my life will change irrevocably. I am also told that nothing will prepare for either the shock, or the joy. Selfishness, it seems, will become a thing of the past. Tomorrow I am responsible for the life of another human being and I am told I will bear this burden until the day I die. Not that I want to sound too much like a condemned man. It's a job I hope I will relish.
Married life is different, but marriage wasn't a new stage. It was great, and it has been great to me. Had a bloody good time, if truth be told. But, thanks to my wife's utter selflessness and my selfishness, I've remained at liberty to potter on as I've pleased, not caring much for developing a career, buying cars or houses etc. Tomorrow, everything I do will be influenced by a different consideration. And that's what makes tomorrow the first day of a new life. I can still have a pint, play golf once in a while, mong out in front of the television occasionally. But I'm going to permanently on call. I'm fairly sure I'm in for a shock. But at least I know it. Or at least I think I do.
In this last blog of the era, I did want to say a few words about my wonderful, amazing wife. I know blokes who start showering flowers, gifts and praise on their 'amazing, wonderful' wives are usually accused of having an affair, etc.etc., but motivation is sincere. Honest. Ling has been a pillar during this pregnancy. She has complained not once. As I write she is bouncing around, preparing the rice for tonight’s congee. Her belly is as big as a beachball and she is still as nimble as she always was. There was no morning sickness. There were no cravings. No tantrums. No moans. She let me sidle off to China for six weeks back in May and June without a grumble and busied herself preparing for the imminent arrival while I was away. She swatted up with books (all of which were written in English) and went shopping (hat-tip to my mother for helping ferry her around) while I stomped around the wilds of Tibet and Gansu.
It feels like Ling has been pregnant forever. Last October feels like a lifetime ago. Life has already changed so much. I've written a book, for a start. Thanks to my MA degree, begun in January, I've become a better photographer, as some of these images hopefully testify. We've moved continents in order to have the baby in England, and here we shall remain for at least three more months - maybe more - while we try to figure out what to do next. Ling, far away now from family and friends, has smiled through it all, quietly taking care of things. She's ridden out my own tantrums and dark moments, not least during the hellish days of book writing back in February and March. She lets nothing trouble her and I can only think that she'll remain in that frame of mind as we enter the sleepless nights of crying and peeing that begin tomorrow. Ling is a legend and I am so very, very luck to have her.
I saw a fascinating interview with the travel writer Paul Theroux this week. Back in February, the Telegraph Magazine published a 'Flashback' story in which Theroux reminisced about various travelling experiences. It's a mishmash of quotes, but one of them really struck me. It ran as follows:
"When the children were very young I found it hard to leave them to go on trips. I missed them terribly. Once, when I was in China, I put on my gloves and there was grit inside them. As I shook them out, I got very weepy, thinking, 'The gravel in these gloves comes from Surry, where either Louis or Marcel was using them to slide down Box Hill.'"
My friend, photographer Dan Groshong, has said similar things about his decision to quit war photography after the birth of his two children. It makes me fear for my future plans to build a life out of travel writing. I guess all I can do, for now, is just go with the flow and see how things pan out.
The photographs interspersed with this blog we're all shot within the last couple of weeks as Ling readys herself for the big day tomorrow. She's got the glow, I'm sure you'll agree. It's a magical thing to behold.
