I’m sitting at my kitchen table, writing on my laptop, surrounded by the few items that are mine. I am home. Well, I have moved into what is to be my home, but honestly, it doesn’t feel like mine yet. I look around the open living room, my bedroom, and my bathroom, and I don’t see the reflections of myself that I had before. There are no tapestries on the wall, records, hanging baskets, or scribbled notes to myself. My fridge is filled and my pantry has food, but none of it tastes like home. I think that this weekend, my first weekend in my new place after my second week of work in a new car, it finally hit me that this isn’t a vacation anymore. I’m not house sitting or crashing at a friend’s, I’ve signed a lease, I’ve started a business; I am actually living in Australia. Though I know that this is what was always meant for me, though I love being here, the reality of living here also hurts.
It’s been almost two months since I hopped on a plane and flew across the world, which feels like yesterday and also another lifetime ago. I’ve adjusted to life here a bit on autopilot, and a bit through sheer willing myself to. What I haven’t heard talked about by others who’ve moved abroad is how things taste different here than they do back home. Sour cream, cheese, beef, beans, fries from McDonalds, prebiotic sodas, and so many other things taste… different. I know it’s because they have better regulations here about ingredients and growing food, which is wonderful, but I also find myself hating the fact that even the food reminds me that I’m not in my country. I’m going to be honest and say, I would probably pay a hundred dollars for Chick-fil-a or Chipotle, I miss it that much. I crave the sauce and hard shell tacos and guac that much.
All that to say, when I find myself missing home, there isn’t much I can find to comfort myself. I’ve grown accustomed to driving on the left, I can navigate Launceston pretty well, and even though it still takes me a while to shop at Woolworths, it doesn’t overwhelm me the way it used to. Even though I’ve adjusted to moving here in all those ways, I think some part of me was convinced this wasn’t permanent, that there was no way I’d actually spend my birthday or Christmas here. But here I am, in my house that I now get to make a home. It’s frustrating because I had to buy all new kitchenware, towels, bed sheets and pillows. I kept thinking, “This is ridiculous! I have all these things in America, I just bought new seasonings and olive oil a few months ago. I have a bedside table, but it’s just not here.” I’ve moved five times in the last year and a half, if you count my brief stay with Liam and Abby. It’s been difficult because each time, I’ve had to let go of more things, the smallest amount being the two suitcases of clothes I flew here with me. But really, it’s not just the food frustration or the filling my house that has put me on edge this last week, it’s everything else that being here means.
Even if you aren’t from America, you’ve probably heard about the devastating hurricane and floods that hit North Carolina. Asheville, my favorite place on earth, was forever altered by mudslides and flash flooding. Hearing stories of the people I know who lost everything, seeing photos of the roads I’ve walked underwater, and watching the death toll rise is a pain I’ve never experienced. I lived two hours away, but Asheville will always be the place that God used to grow and transform me; I am crushed at what happened. To see somewhere I love destroyed hurts, and somehow, it feels wrong that I’m so far away. I am NC Strong, that is my state, my community, those are my people, and it feels wrong to not be there alongside them. There have also been health issues with family, ones that you can’t come back from. Someone I love has been diagnosed with a disease that is only going to get worse, and I find myself wondering how they will be when I get back? What in their life, that they have left, am I missing out on? My heart hurts because I love so many people, so many places, and I feel like I’m missing things I need to be there for. I miss home not just for the food, but for the people and places I love.
Though I miss home and I miss my family, there are people and places here that welcome me, there are people who are beginning to feel like home. I stayed with Liam and Abby for a week and a half between moves, and I don’t know where I’d be without them. Not only did they invite me to stay with them, they actually enjoyed my company. We laughed together, we played games together, and we ate Abby’s banana muffins together; they made me feel like I belonged. I started my job and I love it, but the funniest perk and one I never would have seen coming, is the built in little brother figure. Jack not only makes me laugh, he not only watches shows with me when I’m on the clock, but he also talks with me and listens to me. If you would have told lonely Molly of a month ago the three person family that she’d feel so close with now was out there, she wouldn’t have believed it. I’ve also started helping Kane’s mother, Wilma, every Wednesday when she watches her two grandsons. She’s taken me with her to church dinners, and after the Bible conference on Thursday night, we sat in the car for an hour and talked. Even Kane, when I found a dead mouse on the day I moved in, came when I called him crying and asked him to move it. Saturday night, I even got invited to sing karaoke with some of my friends as a farewell for Emeline.
The bright side is that, even though this place isn’t America, and it doesn’t feel like home, that doesn’t mean it can’t be home. I miss my friends, my family, my routines, my restaurants, my car, my job, and my state. I miss all of these things more than I can find the words to describe; it’s a constant ache in my chest. But, I’m so thankful for what has already been placed here before me, the people whom I’ve already grown to care for. Because even though being away is hard, leaving here to return to America would also be hard. I think I’m beginning to learn that my heart is big enough to call two places home, my heart is big enough to love more people and grow in another church and have another family, and maybe that’s what also scares me. Because when you open your heart to love something, you also open your heart to the pain of losing it. Though loving Launceston and Abby and my job and this church and Wilma and Jack and every hiking trail is scary, I’m thankful for the chance to risk the pain. I’m thankful that there are people who are worth risking the pain of losing them, because loving them is worth it. I’m thankful that, even when the reality of being ten thousand miles from home becomes too much, there are countless outstretched hands holding me afloat here.
Yours Truly,
the Brightside Blonde