I yelled at my unsuspecting flatmate whilst pointing at the offending TV set. My passionate outburst (as expected of a Saffa) was in response to a newly aired UK advertisement for butter, where a gaggle of girls ‘out on the town’ all return home, get into their Pj’s and enjoy a slice of toast smothered in… butter. Yup. Just butter. My friends and I back home enjoy VEGEMITE toast when drunkenly recalling the 21 year old we’ve just pashed. Not butter toast.
The last week or so has seen my fever rise with a little case of ‘homesickness’. Now I’m not talking about the kind of homesickness that would make me book a flight back to Sydney. Or the type that leaves me crying myself to sleep at night over the fact that I can’t hang out with my cat Toby. In fact after a little bit of a rocky start in Dublin, 2011 is proving to be a much better time of things. The philosophy that is ‘The Year of Saying Yes’ firmly under my belt at all times, giving both Dublin and myself the chance they deserved seems to be proving a wise decision. My social circle is widening, albeit slowly and painfully at times, I don’t feel as ‘saddo with no life’ as I did in the earlier stages. Time you might say was the obvious answer to such a situation. But let me tell you folks sitting comfortably nestled in the armpit of your guaranteed weekend plans – cracking a social life in a corporate environment amongst people who have firmly established lives and social circles has been fucking hard work.
Regardless, here I am in Dublin with a dose of the ‘I wishes…’. I wish I was sitting on the patio of my best friends house drinking wine in the sun, I wish I was supping on cocktails at Cruisebar watching the water, I wish I was still at the Institute speaking IFRS, I wish I had my car back, I wish Ireland had invested in Fitness First and the sun, I wish I was sweating on a crowded Cityrail train … etc. Now on an average week, I miss all of these things but the odd early morning txt to a besty, my weekly call from Mum or a good belting out of Delta’s first album leaves me satiated. Content to go on enjoying and living in the ‘now’. And I think that’s essentially what happens when I get homesick, that while I’m still operating in the present, I’m existing somewhere more familiar.
That said, here I was thinking after my bold (and public) declarations of less than 2 weeks ago of being blessed to be able to have multiple homes all over the world and still be content that I was giant hypocrite for being homesick. For missing Sydney and the people and things in it. Until a good friend, lets call her Mane, offered in comfort the golden nugget that was… “Being homesick is a part of you, because you have pieces of you all over the world. It’s okay.” Turns out letting myself off the ‘I chose to travel, therefore I chose the consequences’ hook and acknowledge my melancholy for what it was, was all I needed. A little bit of self understanding. And so for now, as I’m conscious of my gradual reappearance in my reality I’m going to go eat some toast. With vegemite.