Willa was in the middle of fourth grade when we left San Francisco to move to Perth two months ago. Due to strict age requirements in Western Australia public schools, Willa is now the youngest child in fifth grade. Year Five, Mom. Room 14 is a mixed fifth/sixth grade class. When I learned my stuffed-animal-loving daughter would now be hanging out with sixth graders, I assumed she’d be smoking and stealing cars within the month.

Ten and eleven-year olds in Perth carry their own money, and ride their bikes to the IGA after school to buy Samboy Chips and Tim Tams. Thankfully, they look like kids. They’re delightfully awkward and messy, they’re complaining about their heavy backpacks, and they’re buying the most disgusting looking candy. Did you know that Nerds come in rope form? Empty six boxes of Nerds, stuff them through a giant straw, and wait for them to harden.

When I was in fifth grade, every Wednesday after school I had Hebrew School, a.k.a. Bat Mitzvah Boot Camp. I’d walk down to the corner of 19^th and Eucalyptus and take the 28 Bus to Geary and Park Presidio. Hebrew School was conveniently located around the corner from a 7-Eleven. Before class, I’d use my allowance to buy Lemonheads, Alexander the Grapes, and Fun Dip. I’d wash it all down with a Cherry Slurpee. It’s really hideous when you think about it. It would have been healthier for me at that age to pick up a pack of Marlboro Lights.

Needless to say, my sugar rush and subsequent crash caused me to doze off quite a bit between Torah readings. After class, I’d run up to House of Bagels to wait for the owner to tie his day-old onion flats and bagels in large plastic bags and toss them through the window where they’d land in the dumpster. Yes, after Hebrew School I’d go dumpster diving. But they were rescue bagels and they needed me. I loved coming home and proudly flinging down four bags of bagels on the kitchen counter. My family would shake their heads in disbelief but I knew they were delighted. Free bagels. Best. Jew. Ever.

Today, Willa participated in her first swim meet, mandatory for all kids her age. I wasn’t sure she knew what a swim meet was. My advice to her was, “when you hear a buzzer, dive in and swim as fast as you can.” When I showed up this morning to watch her race in the outdoor Olympic-sized pool, she was huddled with her friends, giggling. And eating candy. She did great.

And speaking of familiar objects in unfamiliar settings…

The other night, Dave and I went to the small artsy theater up the road from our house in Perth because SANDRA BERNHARD was performing. IN PERTH. And there were all these beautiful gay people in attendance, and she sang Wrecking Ball in her underwear, and I felt like I was back home in San Francisco.

The loneliness of moving is creeping in. It is neither surprising nor unbearable, but it is distracting nonetheless, like a hole in your sock exposing your little toe that you try to ignore but then you’re talking to someone and you’re like, “I’m sorry I can’t hear you over the sound of the HOLE IN MY SOCK.”

Somewhat predictably, the loneliness is intensified by the business of making new friends. With the relief and gratitude of a budding friendship comes a certain amount of melancholy. A new friend in a new country can be a reminder of old friends and inevitable endings. I remember this feeling from when we moved to Singapore in 2005, and I met Elinor. I knew immediately she was the friend I was searching for, and the friend I would leave behind.

When does someone become a certified, thumb-stamped friend? Bachelorette #1 is a relocated Brit; she is quick and self-assured, but lives 20 minutes away, which, in Perth, is considered a schlep (Perthians have a funny sense of distance. A 10-minute drive is too far, but a nine-hour flight to Japan to ski over a long weekend is no worries mate). Another potential friend has refreshingly strong opinions – an Australian, go figure – and took me for my first real Indian Ocean swim last week where, treading water 70 meters from shore, she remarked nonchalantly, “Something just stung me. Bastard.”

When I was pregnant with Willa and trying to decide whether or not we should have a friend present for the birth, our midwife asked me, “can you be naked and crying in front of her?” In the human-being-coming-out-of-my-vagina scenario, this advice was helpful. However, if I actually abided by these criteria of nudity and hysteria, I’d have two friends. And one of them would be like, “We have to talk about the whole naked and crying thing.”

A college friend of mine kept a stuffed toy rabbit in her dorm room specifically as a test for potential friends. When given this rabbit to hold, do they take a moment and look it in the eye, or do they toss it aside with complete disregard? She swore it was a predictor of character traits like empathy, playfulness, and curiosity.

With little understanding and/or concern for the bigger picture, the kids are the friendship experts. Bored at the beach? Invite someone to dig a hole with you. The boy next door owns a remote control car? Smile and introduce yourself. Friendships come easy and are not overthought.

I’ve got some free time at the moment. I am consciously trying to appear busy enough to be seen as interesting, but not so busy as to appear unavailable. In fact, just this morning I told someone I prefer lunch next Wednesday to next Tuesday when of course both days are wide open. But, you see, this is all part of my sophisticated friendship strategy. And obviously I’ll make friends because I’m a totally relaxed person who never overthinks anything.

She wakes up to find her hair in her mouth. She gingerly lifts a finger to her lips and slowly removes her mouth guard. She stretches her arms back over the pillow and then gently, delicately, removes each of her earplugs. She yawns and sits up to find her water glass empty. Fuck, she thinks to herself. Her head falls back on the pillow and she stares at a white wall. She has to pee. She stumbles to the toilet, sits down, and stares at a white wall. Once she’s pulled on her t-shirt and yoga pants, she glides down the white hallway to the white kitchen. “Good morning,” she whispers to no one in particular as her index finger gingerly pushes down on the power button of the electric kettle. As she waits for the water to boil, she gazes out to the living room, to the white walls and the wooden floors. The floor is so hard, she thinks to herself, and the walls are so… big. As she dips her tea bag in and out of the scorching hot mug, she sighs. This house is so empty I can’t wait to be alone with it. Later that morning, she is finally alone with the house. She traces her finger along the back of the temporary couch, and thinks to herself, did I ship the ottoman or did we put that in storage? She opens her laptop to check email. Her breath stops short. There is a message from the relocation consultant. There is an update on your sea shipment. She moans and lets her eyes rest on the white wall. Enlighten me then.

To: Western Australia Public Schools

From: Editors, Ripley’s Believe It Or Not

Date: February 27, 2015

Thank you for agreeing to offer the latest edition of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not in your school libraries. We pride ourselves on visually scarring children all over the world, and are honored to be included in the Western Australia school library collection. Please note that this book should be available to children of all ages. In fact, research shows that introducing children to horrific images when they are, say, seven or nine, results in permanent trauma.

We are pleased to offer you several discussion questions for families:

1. Why do think this man was stabbed in the eyeball?
2. What did you learn about fluorescent-light fighting in Japan, where professional wrestlers batter each other into submission with long glass rods?
3. The section on self-mutilation features a full-page color photograph of a Thai man who has pierced his face with dozens of needles. Do you like to eat pad thai?
4. Xu Tiancheng can do a headstand on a nail for 30 minutes. How long can you do a headstand on a nail?
5. What is your favorite recurring nightmare?

We are confident that our book will provide lasting memories for your school community. Please don’t hesitate to contact us with any questions. Thank you.