It's now been four weeks since i arrived in London. I contemplated this last night as i walked home from the tube station. And i wondered why it doesn't feel like a very long time.
I've been on shorter trips before where i've become very unhappy very quickly, and the time drags. I've always liked being at home, and the comfort that home brings, to the point of having hermit-ish tendancies if i'm feeling unsettled or insecure. But since being in London, i have waited for the inevitable pangs of homesickness which usually afflict me, the longing for the familiar, the irritability that comes with being away from home.... And it hasn't yet hit.
How can this be? I am someone who once as a child could not drag myself out of bed to go to school one morning while staying with neighbours while my parents were away. And this was not childish laziness or a dislike of school. And i was next door to my house! But i was not in my house, and although my siblings were with me, my parents were not. I remember i couldn't sleep in the unfamiliar room, and when my brother and sister headed to school, i couldn't stop crying and my neighbour stayed home with me all day while i lay in bed in a pit of misery. At seven years old, homesickness made me physically ill.
I've lived overseas before. It was a long time ago, and i was much younger. I spent fifteen months counting down the days until i could go home. I wrote letters and journal entries complaining of the unfamiliarity, of my longing to be at home in a place i knew, despairing over the minutiae of Australian life that i was missing out on - morning bird calls, radio ad jingles (this was before i discovered Triple J), the smell of roast lamb, the feel of Australian currency in my pocket, an Australian accent coming from a stranger in the street. Sure it was a third-world country and about as different from my own culture as possible at the time, but i absolutely loathed everything i saw that was different.
The last few overseas holidays i've taken have been enjoyable, but i spent much of the time away counting down the days till i would be home. Maybe i'm just lame and don't appreciate new places.
Even when i lived in Sydney in 2009-2010, i was in a constant pit of misery, existing from Canberra visit to Canberra visit. But my misery was due to other things - not just being away from home, but being away from home while i was miserable.
But then i thought, well, what is home? What makes a home? I should know, i've had a few of them. Is it a state of mind? Was i just an angsty, over-sensitive child? A close-minded adult ill-prepared for travel?
Do i feel at home here because i've spent my life watching British TV shows and movies, so everything already looks vaguely familiar? Is it because it's really not very different from Australia anyway (really, it isn't), even down to the street signs and the buildings? Is it because my experience is much more broad now than it was when i was younger, so i can say "Well yeah, we don't have that at home, but i've heard of it before..." Is it because i don't feel the same strong sense of patriotism i felt when i lived in Vietnam, and i just don't want to stand up and say "Hey, this is different here! I don't like it! In Australia it's better!!" Is it because i no longer think that just because i've experienced something one way, that it should always be that way?
I'm not even walking into shops and turning up my nose at unfamiliar brands and items. Sure, i spend a long time peering at stock on shelves, trying to figure out what they are and if i'll like them, but i'm certainly not pining for things i've always seen in Woolies. And thanks to technology, i am still a part of the daily lives of my friends through Facebook and Skype, right down to the latest gossip and political news. I don't feel like i'm missing out, like i did when i was in Vietnam, and my letters from friends were all written a month (or more) earlier and our Australian newspapers and magazines were several weeks out of date.
I haven't been watching TV in Australia for the last couple of years, so i don't miss a familiar programming routine. I don't miss having a car... well, maybe i do a little bit... but i'd hate driving it here. I have a house with a bed and a few personal items in it, and now it feels like home.
I suppose now the concept of home is a lot more portable. As long as i have my laptop and my teddybear, i can go anywhere. I love my friends and family... but i don't really miss them. Or i do, when there's something special happening and i want to hug them, or when i talk to them on Skype and i realise how happy i am to see them... but it's not the constant longing i've felt before.
Either i'm growing up (teddybear notwithstanding), or becoming less angsty, or just more brave. I'm surprised at how ok i am.
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