Today I went to lunch with three friends I know from my time on the council of a society I used to be involved with. I served as the Communications Officer for three and a half years, but eventually I reached a point where I wasn’t passionate about it anymore, so I resigned. I stayed on until they found someone to replace me, and then I moved on to other volunteer roles, including with Amnesty International and the Red Cross.
We met for lunch at a café called Sorelli, inside the Ingle Farm Shopping Centre. It was a nice place — it had that Café Buongiorno, Café Bravo kind of vibe.
Below you can see a photo I took of the outside of the café.
The whole point of the lunch was to catch up with our friend Larra, who has liver cancer. She is terminal, and it's so unfair, so sad, and it brings back all my thoughts about that cruel and merciless god I’ve spoken about before. Larra would be around 70, and that is far too young to die. There is still so much life left to be lived. She has a daughter who lives in Europe, and someone told me they had plans to travel together, but I’m not sure if that will be possible now.
Larra arrived at Sorelli with Michelle. Michelle is around 60 and she’s a bigger woman like me. She’s a lot bigger than me, but unlike me she looks beautiful — full-bodied, voluptuous, and confident. She’s also a mother of four older children, which somehow makes her even more beautiful in my eyes.
The three of us sat down and waited for Dianne to arrive. Dianne would be about the same age as Larra, around 70. Once the four of us were together, we started chatting. Larra spoke about her chemotherapy in such a factual, steady way. She talked about the side effects, which were causing her face to blow out — and it really had. I almost didn’t recognise her when I first saw her.
We talked a bit about the society, caught up on life, and then ordered our meals. I ordered a margherita pizza. It was yummy — one of the best I’ve ever had. You can see it below.
We ended up talking about how, in October last year, Adelaide Zoo put down its two African lions — the 19-year-old male, Mujambi, and the 23-year-old female, Amani. The zoo said the decision was made for their welfare: Mujambi was euthanised after his health deteriorated, and Amani was put down shortly afterwards because the zoo believed her wellbeing would suffer without him due to their strong bond, and because she was experiencing her own age-related health issues.
I said how unhappy I was about Amani being euthanised. It felt to me like they hadn’t even given her a chance to see how she coped without Mujambi. I went into a little monologue about how she deserved to savour as much life as possible, even if she was alone — that life is life, and it still has value.
And then, as I was speaking, I realised how incredibly inappropriate and insensitive I was being without meaning to. I was talking about Amani having the right to savour more life, completely forgetting for a moment what Larra herself is facing. As soon as that hit me, I wrapped it up immediately. I felt awful — partly because of the freakish timing of the conversation, and partly because of my lack of awareness in that moment.
But Larra didn’t seem to mind. We had also been talking about how Michelle’s daughter has been diagnosed with cancer, so in many ways the whole conversation had circled around the reality that death is simply a part of life.
The cafe really was beautiful. It was an Italian place, and on one of the walls there was a picture printed of two lovers. You can see it below.
They had also set up a Christmas tree with a whole bunch of toys underneath it. I asked the waitress where the toys were going, and she said that families come in and Sorelli gives the toys to the kids. I wasn’t sure if that meant disadvantaged kids or just part of a community tradition, but whatever it was, I liked it. You can see the Christmas set-up below.
I didn’t want to say goodbye to these lovely ladies, mostly because I didn’t know if it would be the last time I ever saw Larra. But we all agreed we would meet up again soon. We even talked about going to Monarto together, which is something I really hope happens.
When I got home, seeing Larra stayed on my mind. Being told you have terminal cancer is not unusual — it happens far more often than we realise. You hear stories all the time. Someone wakes up in the middle of the night with excruciating abdominal pain, is rushed to hospital, and discovers right then and there they have pancreatic cancer with only months to live. Or someone goes for their usual morning run, comes home, reaches for a glass of water, collapses and knocks their head on the sink. Their partner finds them, they’re rushed to hospital, and the diagnosis is an inoperable brain tumour with six months to a year left on this earth.
Sometimes it’s something even simpler but just as devastating. A person isn’t unwell — they’ve eaten, they’re hydrated, they feel fine — and then, for no obvious reason, they faint. Tests reveal oesophageal cancer, and the prognosis is measured in weeks.
We are all ticking time bombs. If you really think about it, any one of us could be diagnosed at any moment. And that got me thinking : What exactly would I do if a doctor told me I was going to die?
If I had unlimited money and time was on my side, I would travel everywhere — Europe, Egypt, Asia, South America, parts of Africa, and even the Arctic. I’d want to see as much of the world as I possibly could.
But if I only had the money I have now, I’d probably be able to afford one really good trip, and I know exactly where I’d go: Egypt.
It’s dangerous in parts, yes — but I suppose if I were dying, that wouldn’t matter as much. I would want to stand in front of the pyramids, float down the Nile, see the temples at Luxor and Abu Simbel, and feel that sense of mystery that only Egypt can give you.
There are so many people I would love to meet, like His Excellency Sheikh Mohammed bin Abdulrahman bin Jassim Al Thani, the Prime Minister of Qatar, and I feel like some people with a terminal diagnosis would go out and try to live out their dreams before they go. But today, when I was thinking about it, I’m not sure I would even try.
In fact, taking terminal cancer out of the equation, I’ve been thinking about what life would be like without all these big goals and plans. What would it feel like if I didn’t dream of travelling to Europe and Egypt and all those other places? What if I simply resolved that I’m not going to do that?
I can’t afford it, and I don’t think I ever will be able to afford it, but that’s okay. The beauty of this day and age is that we have unlimited access to places like Cairo, Paris and Rome through the internet, especially YouTube. I can talk to people online who live in the places I once dreamed of visiting, and I can write letters to florists and hairdressers and ask them what it’s like to live and work there.
I have never been in love. And if I were told I was dying, there’s a part of me that would feel incredibly sad that I had never truly experienced it. But even then, I wouldn’t go looking for love. Even if it meant I would die never having had it. I’m a big believer in finding love organically.
Which essentially means I don’t like the idea of online dating — but at the same time, I recognise it’s a really positive thing. I know plenty of couples who met online and have fulfilling relationships. It just isn’t how I imagine it happening for me.
For me, love would be something accidental, almost cinematic. I could be walking down the street, drop my phone, and a nice man picks it up for me — and instantly we connect. Or maybe I’m driving and someone rear-ends me; we both get out to exchange details, and we suddenly just know there is something between us. Or maybe I’m grocery shopping, and a man and I both reach for a jar of Vegemite at the same time; our hands touch, and it’s electric. But not lust — something deeper. Love at first sight.
I think the odds of ever really falling in love are incredibly rare. People fall in lust, they get trapped in relationships, they try to make something work because they don’t want to be alone. But to genuinely love someone — to feel that deep, soul-level connection — that’s rare. And I’ve lived without it for nearly 45 years. In many ways, I’ll never know the difference.
So I’ve decided that, whether I live or die, I want to stay here. I don’t want to travel the world and I don’t want to fall in love or get married to some chump just for the sake of it. I want a simple life. I need to be realistic. I need money to survive, I’m going to need somewhere to live, and most of all, I need to reprioritise what I genuinely need to get by in life.
