It’s rare for me to experience home sickness. In the almost four years I’ve lived away from my home state, I can only recall it happening a handful of times.
The first was the entirety of my first six months on the Apple Isle. If you read back through my old blog posts you’d understand why. I was studying full-time in a fast track degree with no government support, working an underpaid job almost full-time also, and was probably the only person of colour in my suburb. It was a lonely existence.
The other time was during and following a break up. The only person I felt like I could fall into a heap in front of was my house mate, Bec. She was incredibly busy, and spent most of her time at work. I spent a lot of time feeling confused, disrespected, and hurt by how someone had chosen to treat me on the phone to friends and family in another state.
The third time was just the other day. Since moving to Ranelagh I’ve taken to walks around the area, along the dirt roads that surround our home. Just last week, walking along one of these roads I was struck by how much it reminds me of my parents home. And just like that, I was struck by a bout of homesickness for the hills and roads my feet had crossed over many years ago.
The best way to describe it was like how people describe the sensation of your life flashing before your eyes before you die. It was a sequence of images and touch; summers spent running up hills, and rolling down them; the sensation of sharp rocks under bare toes; the smell of a Victorian country back-road replete with eucalypt and wheat grass.
A bit of what you see in this video my sister and I made one day at home when we were feeling creative and bored.