When I had arrived at Singapore, employees head to toe in plastic had led myself and my fellow passengers through a string of chokingly humid passageways and halls of taped-off seats before we took a brief tram ride above the dark airport. By the time another vigorous round of herding and single-file lines had come to an end, including validating my COVID test for what felt like the tenth time, it was closing on midnight, and nearly 48 hours since I had last set foot in a residential building. The endless lengths of aged carpet and the drone of the health warnings on the speakers spoke of a aching, dull strain that had seated itself in my mind for what felt longer than memory itself, and somehow I wasn't even inclined to complain.

But how had I gotten here, and why was everything such a mess?

It was a longer story than you might think.

So here I was, in a complicated spot. I wasn't near ready to give up, yet at the same time I knew that the toll upon my health and standing wasn't an indefinitely maintainable one. Was it selfish to consider something perhaps not life-or-death 'necessary' to seek to travel during these times, or was it cruel for another to chose the importance of things for you? In the end, it is things like these that split people far too easily - for it is a decision that each individual must make to see personal circumstance as 'worth' furthering, be it in a rebellious spirit or through sheer desperation - neither way justifying itself to any other person than those making those same decisions. Hard times bring hard emotions out of people, so a divide upon this argument was more than logical, and it will undoubtedly stay that way. Just as I stayed waiting for month after month, scouring every document, news report, and law for a sign that the borders would open for travel, and soon it would end. Yet things never seemed to get better, and for myself emotionally, things only got worse.

Until eventually, 17 months after this had all started, I finally gave up on waiting, and I was determined that I was going to go the hard way. I was going to apply for exemption.

However, even beyond the forbidding text and limited options - with the only possible reason I could be admitted to leave being having a compelling reason to do so, and remaining from the country for three months minimum - things were even more complicated and hard than they seemed, as I soon found out through digging deeper than the surface. Fatal pitfall after pitfall awaited, from necessary clauses and on the declarations in which evidence must be submitted, what will and won't be considered, and most crippling and expensive of all, the need to translate each and every foreign document to English using only one possible avenue - state endorsed translation, through which I was quoted $450 for a three page employment contract. Neglecting to do so - be it a few words on a driver's license or the heading of a birth certificate - renders the document void in being considered as evidence. Even after a year and a half of sitting in wait, researching what must be done with a stress-ridden, obsessive mind, the task seemed utterly overwhelming, and like a minefield of catastrophic failure.

It was a hard truth but an imperative one that changed my outlook altogether. In basic words, I now knew I was basically writing an statement advertising that I was effectively shirking the Australian Government's protection, and taking three months from the country at my own risk alone. Harsh and potentially dangerous, yes, but something I was more than willing to do, and did almost immediately - amassing documents that together numbered over one hundred pages indicating the relationship between myself and my partner, my proof of funds, our plans in the future, and my complete and utter intention to remain absent from the country for three months. With several hundred hours shared between the two of us in writing and going through the difficult process of having my partner sign a Commonwealth declaration in his non-commonwealth home of Germany, there it all was, written in impartial, factual points, paragraphs, sections, and articles.

Unfortunately, just as it seemed as if the most complicated feat had been achieved, the stay-at-home order came in place across NSW, and most businesses were closed, making it almost impossible for me to find a Justice of the Peace to witness my signature. Eventually, after exhausting almost every other option, I was able to chance upon such a figure within a local tax accountancy, and it seemed as if the deal were set. Last checks were made, last hours were spent assembling evidence and formatting it in such a way as I had learned to be necessary - each piece aligned by articles, categories, sections and subsections, on and on - before late in August, I finally submitted my application.

It was a terse week as I waited. Work was a welcome distraction, even given that I worked in the retain sector and most of my time was spent by myself or with colleagues, preparing orders and deliveries. However, this time I was not so long to wait. The following Sunday, after arriving at work in somewhat of a hurry, I was greeted by a flurry of texts from my partner upon finally checking my phone. I had been approved to travel. Tears were the only response I could muster, and even they felt hollow and insufficient. After so long, I could not properly summon the emotion to convey how I was feeling, even to myself. That day, I went home from work a new person.

But the trials had only begun.

Booking flights was not all that hard. Although I paid somewhat more having waited some time, my flights weren't unreasonably expensive, and I was able to secure my desired date with only a little shuffling. My agent was extremely helpful every step of the way, juggling the days between the expiry of my visa and the minimum time I could be out of the country as I had stated in my exemption declaration to a perfect degree, and before long all seemed set, and the only thing left was to pack and prepare physically. The date drew closer and closer lethargically, until it almost seemed as though my period of anticipation were the true work, rather than that which I had achieved before. Sleep was hard to come by, most notably of all. Anxiety was taking its toll, and with my lack of appetite and motivation, I was feeling it harder than ever before. But time's arrow marches only forward, and in due course, it was time.

A couple frantic hours later after a constant row of phone calls to family, my travel agent, agency's emergency line, and both of my airlines, I was sitting in a set of sad black vinyl chairs at 10pm, checking the time over my head to make certain that I still had time before the airport closed, and I was forced to move on. By the effort of my agent, a refund had been avoided, but this in itself had presented new problems. Very clearly, I wasn't going anywhere that evening. My flight was now with Singapore Airlines, at four the next day. While the time pleased me, the date understandably did not. Lufthansa had shirked all responsibility of inconvenience caused by their change, and while I had no means to expect anything more, it left me with very little options. After attempting to cross the bridge out of the airport by foot, and then reluctantly waiting for a late shuttle, I managed to find myself a cheap hotel room - paid out of my own pocket - and called it quits for the night.

10th OCTOBER

The morning came with shaky hope, and a few last minute calls to airlines, trying to do what I could to assure myself that I would be safe on my way this time. With a much sunnier day than the last, it was only three hours until I was back in the airport's main hall, and queuing up for checking in, unlocking my phone again and again, time after time, to make certain there were no further emails. Eventually, I was allowed through the gates, and the process began. At first, there was concern over whether my COVID test - being a day older at this point due to the cancellation - but eventually with a few calls and conjecture the attendants were confident that it would suffice. First, I handed over my luggage, had my passport checked with my ticket, and then the call was made to validate my exemption to leave. The woman behind the counter nodded her head, and put down the phone, and I sighed. All had checked out. Pass in hand, I made my way to the gate utterly alone, unsure whether to be relieved or if this was just another build up to inevitable disappointment.

The walkway was long, but I made the journey gladly. I could see my plane out of the window, bridge extended, and seeming entirely prepared. A long last thirty minutes passed in the lounge, where a scanty few passengers - under 20 - waited to board, and then eventually we were allowed on. Settling down in my seat, and with takeoff, some weight came off my shoulders in turn, and was replaced by fatigue. But fly I did, and what a glad flight it was. The night lights of Melanesian islands and strikes of lightning from distant storms shone out into the darkness - strangely calming in their abstract, threatening quality of unknown.

Here, my tale returns to Singapore. Landing late at night, and first being herded out of the plane through a narrow lane, I pushed on, with no other option. Uncertain where to go, and uncertain as to whether my transit flight to Frankfurt would be maintained as it were, I could only trust in the screens displaying my flight, and eventually made it through my gate and onto my plane. Finally relief, knowing that without doubt, I would at least be arriving in Germany.

Upon the first of November, the NSW Government opened flights for vaccinated Australian citizens. Though fraught with complications, loopholes, and imperfections, one can only hope that the system eventually put into place is less narrow and has far more leniency than the last one. But, to myself, and in the words of others, this news came with a strange sadness. A strange feeling of invalidation, as though now we had been 'given what we wanted' - though it were not so simple - all pain and all feeling of having achieved something by staying strong was to be washed away and flushed to the past. It may seem petty, and those unaffected definitely seem to think so, as since social media has exploded with negativity and voices who would label those who still seek to remember ungrateful, but when at least feeling like you have something to stand up against is all that was keeping you together for such a long period of time, having it stripped away is a feeling unique amongst all, and quite unexplainable as a whole. I hope to not allow this to happen, as to me - though I state with privilege that I have recovered and reciprocated all that I was separated from during this time - it will not be something so easily forgotten, and nor for others who have lost and suffered far, far more. That time will never replace itself, and the strain it took will never mend, but in it, perhaps myself, others in my situation, and all who have lost and waited can find the true value of what is absent or held from our grasps, for that is what I have.

So push, and achieve. If I learned something, it is that there is always a way, and there is always another side to everything, another side to each wall of hardship, and another chance, with each failure. Sometimes, although suffering strain, anxiety and taking a hard path may seem unreasonable, when it is pushed through and overcome, what lays beyond is often the sweetest. In the end, if you can summon the strength to fight against opposition for something, then it is worth fighting for. And in the end, what is more worth fighting for than family and love?

2nd November, Gabriel Foxx