The psychic says yes, go.
One of my best friends says no, stay. The other has a baby.
My dad says come home.
John says, do what you need to do. I don’t want you to be unhappy.
Alula says, yes but not if I have to go to school in England.
My gut says …. I don’t know what it says. I can’t hear it. Or maybe I can and I’m just ignoring it.
I throw the question out to the Twitterverse. All but two people ignore it. The two who reply tell me that Christmas is only Christmas in England and for that reason I must return. Oh dear, they don’t know me well. They obviously don’t know how allergic to Christmas I am.
The Twitterverse failing me I ask for a sign from the universe that leaving Bali is the right thing to do.
I open my eyes. There’s a dead cat in my path. Honest to god. A dead cat. Its eyes milky and opaque, staring up at me.
Great. What does that mean?
I ask again as I come in the house, whisper the question to Ganesha, the stone god who guards our entrance.
I sit down on the step. The wind blows the blow-up globe belonging to Alula out from under the bench and across the lawn. It comes to a rest. It’s showing me North America, the world.
I stare at it, and laugh.
My gut says go. OK, OK, I’m listening.