when you're lost, try going far away.
Well, I'm leaving in 5 days. For my last weekend in Sydney (for a while) I decided to emerge from my cocoon for a couple of nights to go do as others my age do: party and drink a lot.
It was pretty fun. But now I am more than ready for one month of quiet, cold air, icy cobbled streets, meat n' 3 veg, floral patterned arm chairs, porcelain dolls and grandma's hugs. The nice thing about England, my second home, is that it's where I do most of my collecting. I collect pieces of myself that may have fallen off and gotten lost during whirlwinds of chaotic thought processes.
In England, in the little village of Bungay full of tiny flint stone houses and even smaller doors (back from early 20th Century when people must've been shorter) there is no mum, dad, sister, dogs, friends, university, love/lust ... no Australia. Sometimes I need to be somewhere that Australia isn't.
And after a month spent with people over the age of 60, drinking tea, reading books and bickering over the BBC news' main headlines I will feel more than ready for Australia, and come back a whole person again - all the pieces collected and assembled, perhaps a few new pieces added, albeit just to have them jumble up and fall off again. But hey, that's alright, because there's always England next year, too.