005: Feeling Grateful

This week, I'm feeling a little bit thankful for the world around me. Mostly: 

- That my housemate and I wear the same size, even in shoes.

- That so many of my text books are available for free

- The two bags of food my mum donated. 

- Re-discovering everything I had in storage for six months. Finally being reunited with my books 

- Not needing to worry about wearing shower shoes.

Also, this song has been playing on overload where-ever I seem to go. Seems like a good omen to me.

  Kathleen x 

004: Walls With Secrets

Things are beginning to fall into place. I took the leap yesterday to drive from the comfort (and well stocked pantry) which is my parents’ house my little unit beside my university. It was the first long drive I’ve done since returning – that was nerve racking to say the least, had to keep reminding myself that I wasn’t in Europe any more, and that roundabouts go the other way.

Just driving back, making the physical move was enough to re-trigger all my life changing goals that I have culminated over the last couple of months – all those plans to make the house pretty, to get fit and to keep a schedule. Such a thrill to know that something is actually going to change now.

However this thrill didn’t last long. While I was gone, as punishment for extending my trip, my housemate (love her to bits) took over the larger bedroom. I have no issue with this, as before we lived together, I was in the second room, but returning to that room was a strange occurrence.

That room was the room I had battled depression in, and although the cream coloured walls hide it well, I still see the shadows cast and the memories hidden there. It took me a moment to recognise that this is my home, and although the room is the same, I am not.

Currently it is a mess of coat hangers and boxes, but it will be mine. And not the hermitage that I hide away in, but a sanctuary, a beautiful place just for me. So I guess that is now up there on y ever growing list of things to do. Might as well get started, rather than wasting my time on here.

Kathleen x 

003: Limbo

At 2.13am, in the cloudy chaos of the arrival gates at Melbourne International airport, I lay eyes on my family for the first time in six. I saw my older sister, the tallest of the three, squirming around the heads in front of her, trying to peer through into the customs lounge. My younger sister, more stationary than usual - the bandage around her knee and the crutches keeping her upright - was grinning enthusiastically none the less. And beside her, my mum, still wearing her work suit from the day before, and holding the lumpy cardigan I had requested. I think I held up the stream of people trying to get to taxis and homes. But I didn’t care. I stood there in the middle of the walk way; tears building up on my eye lashes, being held by three sets of arms, thankful for the sudden comforts of home.

I had moved out of my parents house two years before heading to Europe, and for me, lounging in pyjamas, sipping wine with mum, and having a plentiful supply of food and internet usage is not exactly the life I led prior to my travels. My frugal living in a small, often untidy flat makes my time at mum and dad’s relaxing and freeing and rather indulgent. What with work and school and normal life that keep me in my university flat, I only got a few days a month when I was able to enjoy the idle nature of life by the beach, before I have to return to reality. For three days I have been living in this limbo. An unrealistic and unobtainable reality of what life could be like. Not needing to worry about the food on the table or whether an extra long shower will come to bite me in the bum at the end of the month. I may be home, in the home and country that I grew up in, surrounded by my family (and sorely missed dog) but I am not yet able to progress into normal life.

I am making plans and writing lists, re-wording my resume and inching closer to the pile of possessions sealed and stacked months in the corner of the spare room. But I cannot unpack, for I have no place to go. There are complications keeping me by the beach: I need to wait for manly muscle to help move my furniture back in, I needed to sit appointments; a long needed haircut and someone brave enough to look at my teeth and feet. But I have also needed to wait for processes beyond my control. Organising a re-issue of my licence and for a new phone to arrive (there lie two rather unamusing travel stories that will no doubt be recalled later).

And so, I have to wait. Wondering what it is that I will do with my newly returned free time.

Kathleen x 

002: The Worst Part of Flying

I don’t really mind flying. I like watching trashy movies for hours and knowing you’re probably not going to remember them. I like the thrill of takeoff and landing, and a little bit of turbulence can be exciting. I don’t even mind the meals, although that might be more due to having lived off cheap pasta for the last two months more than anything else. Once you get into a comfortable position (knees tucked up and bloated feet resting on the armrest of the person in front is about as good as it got) and indulged in a piccolo bottle of wine (or two) it’s not hard to zone out and know that there is absolutely nothing you can do to get to your destination faster.  

However, the part I hate, more than anything else are the lay over’s.  No longer on a plane but not yet arrived is agony and boring. Sitting a country you never anticipated in your travels, trying to stretch your legs but knowing that the cramps will return once you have to get back on the infernal contraption again. The adrenaline of leaving is gone, you’ve watched the movies that interest you and a distinct aroma of you and the other passengers are become rather apparent.  

My flight from Europe was an agonising twenty nine hours long, including two of these arduous layovers. All I could do was pace up and down, attempting to connect to the Dubai airport wi-fi and remind myself that I would be home in no time. Although I knew that was a lie. I still had another sixteen hours to go.  

Kathleen  x 

001: The Return of the Caterpillar: Now with Wings

Exactly sixmonths ago, I was at the airport; tears streaming down puffy cheeks, unable to look back over my shoulder at my family waving me on from the barrier dividing those going and those staying behind. As the door shut behind me, my sister touched my mother's arm and said, "You know, she will never be the same again." 

And through her tears, my mother nodded. 

That day I set off to study and live in an English city I knew nothing about. I landed in a snow capped London, and watched my life drastically change. I was surrounded by amazing people, from all over the world, seeing a country I have idealised since I was a child reach all my expectations and lead a life that would have satisfied the writers of any second rate Soap Opera. 

But now, after all this time, I will return to that same airport, and cross back over the dividing barrier and return to normal life, and see if my sisters prediction came true: that I really have changed for good. 

The possibility of change has always frightened me. I was scared stiff when I moved out of home, and petrified when I left the home I had made for myself in England. All those time, I had been afraid of the unknown - stepping out into uncharted waters and praying for the best. But after a lot of thought, I have realised that the unknown scares me only half as much as stepping backwards into a bad situation. 

The fear that consumes me now if not a fear of change, but the lack thereof. Having been so content with my life abroad, I don't think returning to the way things were before could no longer satisfy me. I am scared of return to the mundane nature of my home life, knowing what life if like when I am actually living. To know I can enjoy myself and that if living on the edge is more than possible. I know that I am capable of many great thing. I just don't want to forget it. 

But I have decided that I will not be letting that happen. There are a thousand things I can do, from the convenience of my own home, that will hopefully allow me to continue enjoying life and avoid the mundane lifestyle that I was enduring before I left. I want to be able to look back on the years of my twenties as a time when I did extraordinary things, and didn't waste my time. Because now I am out of the cocoon, and who has ever heard of a butterfly turning back into a caterpillar? Yeah, I didn't think so. 

Kathleen
x