I’ve always sort of liked change. Although I love my comforts, and am pretty habitual at times, I find it easy to frollic from here to there, adjust to new, places, homes, jobs, people, surroundings…I get bored of things quickly; they seem to become mundane and I crave new things to keep myself enthused.
Perhaps that’s why I crave travel so much; I have a severe case of wanderlust that keeps me needing more and more of it, to keep me on my toes; to challenge me at every turn, to shock me and surprise me, to educate me, and to excite my senses constantly.
I’ve always thought of Melbourne, Australia as home; Jake too – we were born here, and we love our beautiful big city. We love it’s old buildings and sprawling gardens, it’s passion for food and for good coffee. We love it’s sporaddic four-seasons-in-a-day weather (most of the time), it’s rumbling trams, and spectacular Flinders Street Station. We love black-coat clad commuters in the Winter, and hot beach days and gelato in the Summer (mmm…maybe not so much Jake, with his fair skin, but I do!). We love the various markets, the festivals and events, and the live music scene that never stops. We just love Melbourne. It’s our home…
But, then again. So is my backpack. I love that sensation; your backpack is bulging – you prepare yourself for the lift onto your back. Knees bent, you brace yourself, arm through one strap, then comes the all important lift swing and you heave and haul it onto your back. Other arm through, wiggle wiggle wiggle, adjust yourself and shake a little, then stand, hitch your pants back up, make yourself comfortable and clip yourself in for support. I love my backpack; it feels good, and it makes me feel all the more like a traveller, not just at heart but in reality too.
It feels so good, when hot and sweaty, tired from travelling and untimely, overcrowded transportation, crowds of people and little sleep, you enter your new hostel for the first time…check in, find your dorm and dump your pack down. You’re home…for now. It’s nice. Even if there are sometimes strange types of dorm mates and ‘not so nice’ rooms… it’s all part of the experience, and it makes you more grateful and appreciative of the ‘better’ homes..
Well, at least that’s how I feel.
As long as I’ve considered Melbourne my home, I’ve considered somewhere else home too. Everywhere else; wherever I go, I make it home. In the past I sometimes mightn’t have liked it as much as other homes I’ve been to, but… still.
Knowing in a few short months we are leaving Melbourne behind for some time, I think we are loving it even more!… or at least, appreciating it more-so. But, I don’t think you can really ever stop being a Melbournian, regardless of where you go. So, we’ll take her with us when we leave, and make Sri Lanka our home… and then India for a few months… and then Burma, then Thailand again. Then spend some time at home in Vietnam before going home to Malaysia and Singapore. Finally, I think we’ll end up dumping our packs back down in old Melbourne town, and be able to say “we’re home”.
Where is home for you?