8 weeks, almost to the day, since we we’re flying down the freeway, scrambling to make a last minute flight out Victoria. More than ever we have been grateful to be with family and friends in Perth. The sweet smell of the Western Australian spring gently blowing hay fever reactions in our direction. Escaping a lockdown into complete freedom felt like waking up from an afternoon nap without any concept of what year it is, or what your role in the universe is. It was both debilitating and wonderful. Simultaneously overstimulating and delightful. It took two weeks for me to stop reaching towards my face to re-adjust the mask I wasn’t wearing. It took about two minutes to remember the sweet taste of a frothing pint straight from the tap.
Two months is by far the longest stint we’ve done in Perth. The glory of weddings and grand finals will be treasured memories for many years to come. Somehow these months still haven’t been long enough but more than any other Perth visit we have felt the longing for Melbourne. It was like an itch you couldn’t scratch or a song you can’t get out of your head. Despite some of the harshest lockdown restrictions in the world the yearn for our undersized apartment with our oversized dog was a consistent tug on our heartstrings. We we’re recently released prisoners day dreaming of our cells. It’s taken almost 3 years but our love for Melbourne is now well and truly established. It’s now more than a city we live in but a place we have built to be a home. Fortunately and unfortunately it is probably a feeling we may never shake for the rest of our lives.
The phrase “we’re going home” has slowly become more and more confusing. The term now blended and undefined. Only context might shed some light on what I mean but in fact, as I speak, it is likely that I too am unsure of what I am saying. Two cities on the furthest coasts are two homes, merged but in constant competition. Like twins in the womb, wrestling to be the first one out. One home is full of history and nostalgia — the rich embodiment of summer sunshine for a cold and weary soul. The other is fresh and lively. A call for excitement and potential. Unexplored pockets and new experiences wait at every street corner. Each home plays tug-of war with our hearts and each plane ride is a cause for both celebration and misery.
What has become apparent is that no matter where we are, we are both home and going home. Like Schrodinger’s cat we exist as a paradoxical entity, ill-defined and most definitely confused. Over the years our minds have become muddled. If home is where the heart is, is our heart now split? Have we, like Voldemort, split our soul too many times it’s no good anymore? There are always tears, one way or another. An accepted side effect of a mutually exclusive arrangement without compromise? No, the truth is a much brighter perspective. The fact of the matter is we have been blessed beyond our expectations. While many in the world have no home, or don’t feel comfortable in the one they have, we seem to have acquired the luxury of two. We are not grappling with the fear that we are never at home but the joy that we are always.
This feeling is bewildering and surreal and for all this mess, it’s clear who we need to hold accountable. It comes down, almost exclusively, to the people. Both family, and friends, and friends who are family. If not for your love and kindness we wouldn’t feel so welcome, wherever we are. If not for your open arms we wouldn’t feel so torn when we leave. If you are reading this chances are we are extremely thankful for your role in our lives. So you have our pure and sincere gratitude. And a promise that, should you ever find yourself in a similar position, we will do our best to leave you happy and confused like us.