Early January:
Mid April (most recent):
Since moving here I've felt the need to reconcile what (or perhaps, where) home is for myself, as I have sort of created two. Perth is my true home because that is where (most of) the people that I love also live. However, this hasn't stopped me creating a new sense of home here in London. I feel a fond familiarity with this place, one that I doubt will leave once I do. When I first moved into my London house, I had these dreams where I was walking around outside, and the streets kept flickering back and forth between English looking streets and Australian looking streets, and I was stumbling around trying to figure out what was wrong with my vision. I woke up from one of these dreams once in the dark, completely disoriented, with no idea where I was - all I knew was that I was in a bed, and I mentally had to retrace my steps over the last few weeks to remember that I was now living in London. It's funny how the mind tries to make things familiar and understandable, even if it's nowhere near the truth. My house sits on a corner and one night, as I was falling asleep in bed I heard a car turn the corner, which reminded me of the sound of my mum pulling into the driveway. I thought to myself: 'oh, mum's home', and for a second I truly believed that she was. I think that home is really closer that I think. The memory of Perth, and the places there are still so fresh to me, I don't feel the distance mentally. Sometimes I feel it physically, like when I look at a map of the world, or I really, really want a hug. But time keeps moving on, and I know I'll be home soon - perhaps staring at the little dot marked 'London' on my globe of the world.
In a month I'll be taking down the postcards and letters from my wall and leaving. I'll be sad to go.
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