Where I travelled to with my suitcase

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As someone who will never win the title “World’s Most Compassionate Person”, I found myself feeling uncharacteristcally sorry for my trusty black suitcase when it finally fell apart a few hours after landing in Athens. It stood bedraggled and forlorn in the middle of our hotel room after the 21-hour journey from Melbourne–the left wheel had come off and the side zip broke open, like lips gasping to take one last dying breath. It was more depressing than a scene from Angela’s Ashes.

For five years, it endured being unceremoniously thrown around on planes, taxis, buses, ferries and that one leaky bangka (canoe) en route to Boracay Island. It experienced the embarrassment of being morbidly obese in a few different cities and was opened, packed and re-packed by overly efficient German airport staff who rudely called it “overweight.” It had been called other names like “fragile”, “heavy” and “dangerous”. (Apparently a suitcase with one tiny tube of artist’s oil paint is “dangerous” but a flimsy straw bag bulging with about 20 kilos of odious dried fish belonging to the person next to me, is not.) Oh the humiliation!

To my black suitcase, THANK YOU for bearing with me and I hope Dead Suitcase Heaven has express check-in and a 60-kilo baggage allowance.

Being a spatially challenged map-turner, the placement of each city is based on where I think it is, not where it actually is. Hence exact coordinates are also provided.



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