As I look around the empty skeletal apartment that has been the last year of my life, I notice how truly, unrecognizably empty the shell of my surroundings are. After a mere 2 days, there is not one shred of evidence left of a year filled with laughter, tears, frustrations, friendships, goals achieved, moments of let-downs and absolute, always-and-forever-abundant love.
The biggest lesson I face every single year since leaving home is the questioning of precisely that, home.
What is home? How do I make it? Am I not able to just pack it up like I did my over-grown collection of make up and bring it with me?
Since moving away I have had serious inconsistencies with where I have lived taking me to all corners of the world. To sketch out a perfectly precise timeline of said inconsistencies, would look a little like a toddler grabbing a large bunch of pencils and scribbling around and around and around in every single colour for a Jackson Pollock inspired piece of art – One year at home here, 3 months at home over there, 10 months of home at that place, back at home for just under a quarter of a year, 8 months home down there and now back home here for a while.
I have suitcase anxiety just typing about it!
Being from Canberra, Australia, home was never further than a 30 minute drive away at all times. So the home rollercoaster couldn’t leave me more as a fishy-out-of-water.
Faithy out of water, if you will. 😉
I’ve tried it all, in my many stints of making myself at home, but I guess it isn’t ever the moving in that spikes the anxiety, moving into a brand new shell is all the fun. I get to buy countless throw rugs and pillows, ship over Glasshouse candles, put up pictures and I always purchase the same white embossed bed sheets from IKEA in every house we move into.
Its always the same, the first few days you get used to weird noises that the neighbours make and opening every cupboard in the kitchen until you FINALLY remember where the coffee cups are. But Girl, give it a week and you’ve figured out every short cut everywhere, the tram and tube lines and the same old guy on the corner asking for change is basically your mate now.
Moving in is fun, exciting and a fresh new start.
However, every fresh, shiny beginning walks into your life hand-in-hand with a sad goodbye and a hell of a lot of empty boxes to help you pack.
And 4th-time-round packing boxes, that’s where it got me thinking.
Home isn’t the apartment I walk into every night after work. It isn’t my bed, the plates I eat off or my towels. It isn’t even the beautifully embossed IKEA sheets or my pictures on the wall. Because I always have to end up pulling off those sheets and packing the frames into boxes.
That stuff isn’t home, it is all just really pretty, beautiful, important Fluff.
Fluff that I love, fluff that I will always ensure I have(Poor GG who has an actual, real vendetta against my love for throw rugs and picture frame fluff that we always end up having to pack and transport 😀 Love yoooouuuuu). Fluff that makes the shell a pretty shell to come home to.
But it isn’t ever home, Babe. Come on, Faithy, you gotta be smarter than that.
Instead, I narrowed ‘home’ down to a few special things..
Home isn’t the city, but its the people I fall absolutely in love with along the way. The ones who I can keep forever to whatever shell I’m off to next, maybe not in person, but always in my heart aka snapchat/facetime/imessage. It is the lessons they teach me, the stories they tell me, the coffee dates and laughter and joy that they bring me.
My home is GG, my best friend and Ride or Die guy. Its him and I against the world and no matter if I’m cheering him on in the stadium or helping him push a broken down car up a highway (nightmare of a true story), we do us and we have each others backs through every one of those moments.
My home is my coffee in the morning, when I sit with myself and think about whatever my day will bring in whatever city I find myself in. Pulling out my laptop and writing, or putting my headphones in and listening to music.
But most of all, my home is that belief that tells me I am totally good enough to go for that job and then go for the other job, to start a university degree, to adventure out on my own and make friends with the gal at the coffee shop.
It’s the belief that both excites me about where we’ll be going next and that is strong enough to talk me through it all when it comes to and end.
The one that tells me there will be more beautiful, amazing people. Never the same as the ones here or there or in the other place, but there will be more. There will be a new shell, in need of fluff and throw rugs and those embossed IKEA bed sheets.
There will be my morning coffee and my GG.
That belief will always be with me, it never, ever leaves.
So no matter where I go, home will also always be with me, it never, ever leaves.
Everything else is just beautiful, exciting, lovely Fluff.
Bye bye Bosisto Street and Thank you.
You were an amazing shell, one that I can’t ever forget.
Thank you to my new amazing people and the coffee dates and stories and lessons they taught me that I have forever and ever.
Thank you to my GG, my ride or die guy.
Time for our new beginnings in a brand new shell.
Olivia On-the-move-again Faith.