In June 2017, I moved to Scotland with my partner and our cat, for an adventure. Eight months later, I am in Canberra briefly, before we move back home permanently after an amazing time experiencing life in Edinburgh. When we first arrived in Scotland, my homesickness was like an ache in my stomach - tempering the excitement I felt at being in this new country. Even as I revelled in exploring and building a new, different life, I would be startled with images of Canberra, flickering views of familiarity, that would capture me while I was on the bus, or walking in the Pentlands, or staring at the vast mountains on Skye. Randomly, I would remember the Dickson shops carpark, or Haig park, or the driveway leading to the barn where I horse ride. For a moment, I would be transported home, and reminded of the things I missed.
I captured these moments in a running poem, called Things I miss about Australia. I feel like my thoughts gently moved from the frustrations of finding my feet in a new city, to realising what an impact a home country has on my sense of identity.
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Gumtrees,
leaves filtering blue sky
Blue sky.
Supermarkets that call things the right names
Paper towel not kitchen towel
Pumpkin not squash
Why can I never find capsicums/peppers on self-serve checkout?
Horses
The horses I know
The no-one-cares-what-breed, school horses with their pricked ears
Their greedy snuffles at lunch
Their obliging natures and openness to each new human
The Aussie drawl
The sprawling a's and consumed t's
The use of ‘cunt’ as both slander and term of endearment
The ability to say 'no worries' like we mean it,
And only ask 'you alright?'
If there's cause that they may be otherwise
How listening to The Whitlams grabs my heart in a fist
The growing up, the changing,
the Australian years that made me
Crisp blue skies in spring
Canberra showing its beauty,
no thought of haters
That smell from Commonwealth Park that makes your senses flutter
And your skin tingle
Little ones
Nieces and nephew, their talcum powder smell
Their giving smiles and warm clutches
The way they make no sense
The way they need no justifications
Mum.
Let's be honest, I'm a mama's girl
The security of knowing she's there
The pleasure of catching up as friends
Of knowing her in this new way
The streetlights on wide avenues in Canberra
The way an Australian twilight lingers
The way the sun burns its way out of the sky
Red, and orange, and as bright as can be
My people.
The shared slang and known in-jokes
The drama of unburdening ourselves to each other
The brunches, lunches, coffees, dinners, walks, chats
The sense of knowing myself
The certainty of identity that only comes
in a home country and a home town
The wondering what so-and-so is up to
Safe in two degrees of separation
Home comforts
My car that works, without fail
My nice big salary with its regular fortnightly payments
My full wardrobe of clothes to choose from
Capitalist success, basically
The openness
The vastness of a sunburnt country
The way the horizon is in the distance, where it’s mean to be
Not shrouded in hills and stone and pavement.
The belonging
The strange pride in an Australian accent
The joy of using slang and having people actually understand it
That bubbling feeling of homecoming when the signs of Sydney airport come into view.
Home.